Chapter Text
One of the strangest things about living in Small Gods was that it was quiet at night. Too quiet. Vimes kept waking up due to the lack of noise he associated with, “And all’s well”. How could it be well when it sounded like he was already in his grave? And the grave would probably be a lot noisier what with all the worms, grave robbers and zombies going about their business. Granted this was only his third night in the neighbourhood, maybe he would get used to it now that he had committed to living here long term.1
Speaking of strange things, some were definitely stranger than others. For example, the warm body next to him belonged to Havelock Vetinari, Patrician. He was sleeping with his back to Vimes, trusting, at ease, and it still amazed Sam that he couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than in this man’s bed. He scooted closer and nuzzled Havelock’s neck.
There was a sigh, a slight shift. Someone whispered something in the dark followed by a throaty chuckle. They moved together unhurriedly. Sam started to kiss his way down Havelock’s back, pushing the covers away as he went. The warmth of the blanket cocoon evaporated, goosebumps spread across his body but he ignored it. A different kind of heat quickly took over.
Fully awake now, Vetinari rolled onto his back, his fingers sliding into Sam’s hair. Vimes’ lips skimmed along the happy trail, brushing his cheek against the soft skin of Havelock’s hard cock before he sucked it into his mouth.
He wasn’t sure what turned him on more, the fact that he could do this now or the noises coming out of Vetinari’s mouth. It was such a bloody rush. One of Sam’s hands snaked down to his own dick, giving it a squeeze. His groan rippled along the hot flesh filling his mouth. Vetinari arched off the bed, making Sam choke on cock.
“I’m close,” Havelock panted, pulling Sam’s hair, forcing him to let go and shift upward. Vimes hovered above Vetinari, giving him space to reach down and encircle them both in his long fingers. There was no art or playfulness, they were already too far gone for games. Sam’s hips seemed to have a mind of their own as they thrust into the tight grip, sliding against Havelock’s cock.
He leaned down for a kiss when his orgasm slammed through him. Sam groaned into Havelock’s mouth who followed close behind, hot cum splashing against their already slick skin.
Sam’s arms gave in and he rolled to the side, breathing heavily. Next to him Vetinari turned his head toward him and smiled.
The world felt floaty and happy and it was still hours before they would have to leave this house, this sanctuary, and face reality again. A part of Vimes was itching to get back to work but another dreaded to find out how Ankh-Morpork would react to the news. He didn’t regret his decision, that much was certain, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to the inevitable knock-on effects this would have. He wasn’t naive, there would be trouble.
“I can practically hear you thinking,” Havelock stated calmly.
Sam sighed and got out of bed. “Be right back,” he announced and disappeared into the bathroom across the hall to fetch a damp cloth to clean them up.
“Thank you.” Vetinari almost purred when Sam swiped the warm towel over his skin.
“My pleasure.” Vimes dropped the still damp cloth on the floor.
Vetinari cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow.
Sam rolled his eyes although Havelock couldn’t see it and said, “I’ll clean it up later. Move over.”
Vetinari shook his head and made room. They burrowed back under the covers, facing each other.
“The things I let you get away with.”
Sam chuckled, “I noticed.”
“I hope you’re not under the delusion this will extend to our professional relationship.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Sam replied and kissed him, knowing full well that Vetinari had always been exceedingly permissive when it came to Vimes’ idiosyncratic approach to solving crime, often acting against his direct orders.
In fact, as long as there was no actual harm done, Vetinari was incredibly lenient in all aspects of his life. Sam had not really appreciated this before but Havelock tended to let everyone have their way until it ran against what he thought was the greater good aka the future of Ankh-Morpork, probably making Vetinari the most accommodating tyrant in history.
“You really don’t want to rule anything, do you? I mean not for the lording-it-over-people sake?” asked Sam, watching Havelock smirk in the dark.
“If I did, I would be out of a job before sunrise. You of all people should know Ankh-Morpork doesn’t fare well under despotism.”
The image of Old Stoneface lopping the King’s head off surfaced in front of Sam’s inner eye. “Not for any length of time, no. Ha! And you call me zen, tyrant of Ankh and Morpork, Lord Havelock Vetinari, sir.”
“Are you implying we’re similar?”
The question gave Sam pause. “Am I?”
“I suppose you’re not wrong,” Havelock replied, answering his own question. “We’re both something we’re very much trying not to be while at the same time having to act as though we are.”
Sam shrugged, “You may have turned me into a nob and a politician but that doesn’t mean I have to behave like them. I keep the peace, always have, always will, and that’s it.”
“Yes, by causing a stir, upsetting pretty much everyone who is anyone in the city and sometimes elsewhere.”
“You have people killed and resurrected whenever it suits you.”
Vetinari sighed. “When it suits the city. This may surprise you but I take no pleasure in killing.”
“Yes, that does surprise me,” Sam growled who hated any reminder that Havelock had trained at the Assassins’ Guild.
“Does it really?”
Vimes paused and thought for a moment. “No,” he admitted, “you have never given me the impression of actually enjoying anything other than manipulating people.”
“Truly? Nothing at all?”
Sam hesitated. “Well…maybe one or two other things,” he grinned and leaned in for a kiss.
“What do you expect will happen today?” Sam asked after a while. He had no doubt that rumours about them were already circulating the city.
“Not much, although I suspect I shall be getting a visit from Mr Slant, asking me to sign a demand by the Guilds leaders that should there ever be any charges brought against you, I will have to recuse myself from the case and vice versa. Oh, and the Times will pay me a visit. You, too, of course. They will say something about giving us the opportunity to tell our side of the story in the hopes of getting exclusive interviews. I think we should comply. It is as much for our benefit as it is for theirs.”
“I don’t like either of these options,” Sam grumbled. “Bloody free press. And how am I to protect you if I can’t investigate when you’re involved?”
“Weakening our power to protect each other from their scheming is what they’ve been waiting for.”
Sam propped himself up on his elbow, “And this doesn’t worry you?”
Havelock stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand and rolled over, staring at the ceiling.
“They’ll be too busy trying to figure out what, if any, benefit they can wrangle out of this paradigm shift which will inevitably lead to them fighting amongst each other. And if all else fails, I am a tyrant, Sam.”
“Yes, but only for a given amount of tyranny.”
Vetinari chuckled. “True. But what being a tyrant in this city really means is having access to extensive resources. We can sign the piece of paper, it won’t change anything other than make us look good.”
“I don’t know, you look pretty good as it is,” Sam said and enjoyed the resulting smirk on Havelock’s face. Vain bastard.
“I’m very pleased to see you can actually be charming. Please do try and use it during your next diplomatic encounter, it will confuse everybody.”
Sam scoffed, “If I did that they’d blame your influence and I’d lose what little ground I have. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Vetinari’s hand snaked around Sam’s back and pulled him over for a kiss. “Please don’t ever change,” he whispered against Vimes’ lips.
*~*
There was a tall woman - probably taller than Vimes - doing the dishes with her back to them as they came downstairs. Her hair was short, curly and iron grey. She wore a white apron tied with a neat bow behind her back over sensible clothing. Unusual for a woman her age - Vimes guessed she was about twenty years his senior - she wore trousers and, less unusual, comfortable shoes.
“Sam, may I introduce Modesty Gellafate? She’s our housekeeper.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms Gellafate,” Sam greeted.
“It’s Maud,” said the woman. Vimes noticed the lack of “sir” only because he was used to staff adding it every time, even if he considered said staff as almost friends. Apparently, Maud didn’t care for etiquette either. A good start.
She put the last plate on a rack before drying her hands on a towel. Only then did she turn around and Sam’s inner watchman perked up. Everything about her slow, deliberate movements screamed capable, dangerous, assassin. Damn, and he had just started to like her.
“Maud?” he enquired. He could feel his face taking on the wooden expression he usually reserved for work.
Eyes so deep brown they looked black gave him a long, calculating look before she nodded and checked on something baking in the oven. “Almost done.”
“Maud, it is.” Sam said, watching her hands, calloused, strong, used to handling weapons. And if the muscles shifting under the fabric of her black sleeves were any indication, using them often and with great skill.
“Why don’t you boys stop wasting space in my kitchen and sit down? Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” She dismissed them and turned toward the stove.
Boys! Sam glanced at Havelock who had already turned and gone into the dining room. They sat down at the table.
“So, you’ve an assassin as a housekeeper?” Sam enquired.
Vetinari unfolded his napkin and put it in his lap. “No. We have a spy as a housekeeper.”
“A spy? Spy for whom?”
Havelock smacked his lips, “Let’s see. Maud used to work for the Baron of Genua. And then came into my family’s service and moved here with my aunt when she started to look after me. After Winder’s assassination, she worked abroad in Klatsch and Howondaland for, oh, twenty years or so before she resumed her service for my aunt in Pseudopolis.”
Sam let all of that sink in. “But how come she is now your housekeeper?”
“Our housekeeper,” Havelock corrected, giving Sam a look that made his stomach flip. Damn, Vimes wasn’t sure how much of this he could take. It made his skin tingle in weird ways and he had to get to work today. They were running late as it was. Also, something about having another person in the house made him ridiculously conscious of what said person might hear or worse, see.
A plate appeared in front of Sam who had to use every ounce of willpower not to jump out of his skin. Where had she come from?
“You two are nauseating. I’m glad I’m only here from six to two every day. And to answer your question, young man-“
Young man? Sam gaped at her.
“-because Madam thought it would be a nice retirement job for me.” Maud put another plate in front of Havelock.
“Cooking, cleaning and doing laundry? I find that- you’re keeping an eye on him for her.”
“You said he was smart,” Maud cackled and prodded Havelock’s shoulder before she returned to the kitchen.
Sam stared. “Did she just nudge you?”
Vetinari nodded. “She has known me since I was six. I sometimes think she barely acknowledges that I have grown into a teenager at some point, let alone an adult.”
“And you let her just- I mean-“ Sam’s egalitarian heart was fighting his common sense. Half of him was rejoicing while the other half was bewildered that anyone could get away with treating the Patrician with such a degree of familiarity - except for himself, of course, but that was different.
“Maud is efficient and a great cook. She isn’t just a spy. She is an old spy-“
“Tais-toi! Who are you calling old?” shouted their housekeeper from the kitchen.
Havelock took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes before he continued, “As I was saying, she is an-“
“I get it,” Sam waved a hand at him. “You’re saying if anything gets past her, it deserves a shot at killing us.”
“Quite so.”
“I like him!” Maud shouted. Sam blushed and hastily shovelled egg into his mouth, pointedly not looking at Havelock who he knew was smiling at him.
“Good grief, we are nauseating,” Sam thought and refrained from smirking by stuffing his face with more food which was indeed delicious.
*~*
The familiar smell of armour polish, sweat and coffee greeted him like an old friend when he walked through the front doors of the Watch headquarters at Pseudopolis Yard just after 8am. All eyes turned on the Commander and a silence so thick you could cut it settled over the room.
“Good morning,” Vimes said a little too cheerful. The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Copies of the Times lay on every table with watchmen clustered around them.
“I’ll be-“
Angua’s coffee mug smashed on the floor, briefly drawing the room’s attention. She muttered something about butter fingers and started to tidy up the shards.
“Ah, werewolf sense of smell,” thought Sam. “Oh well, they’ll all know soon enough.”
“-in my office,” he finished out loud and walked up the stairs. As soon as he had closed his door, the noise exploded.
After five minutes there was a knock. “Come in, Captain,” called Vimes. Only Carrot knocked with this kind of keen efficiency.
The tallest dwarf on the Disc entered and saluted. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning, did I miss anything?”
“No, sir. Been really quiet. It’s all in my report, right there.” Carrot pointed to the piece of paper on top of the other papers. Granted their were less now since A.E. Pessimal had joined the ranks but there were still enough memos to make Vimes’ eyes water.
Sam made a show of reading Carrot’s report while the captain shifted from foot to foot. “I see we finally got on top of that inconvenient apparition on Easy Street nonsense.”
“Yes, sir. Turned out it wasn’t a bogey man after all. Just a neighbour with a grudge.”
“Every time,” Vimes sighed. Neighbourly disputes were in the top five of reasons why the Watch was called to keep the peace in this town. “Anything else?”
“Uhm-“
Sam took a leaf out of Havelock’s book, leaned back and quietly stared at his captain. The colour of Carrot’s face matched his hair by now. A minute passed in awkward silence before all the words came out in a rush.
“Well, Mister Vimes. I- that is all of us here were very sorry to hear about your separation. It must be very difficult. I’m sure his lordship would understand if you wanted to take a bit more time off to sort things out. As you can see, it’s dead quiet at the moment and I’m happy to keep an eye on things.”
“Yes, his lordship would be positively delighted if I took time off and stayed at home,” thought Sam, who could just see how that would end. However, there was only so much hanky-panky a man his age could handle. Damn, he was sore as it was.
“Thank you, Captain, but I’ll stick with work for now. Besides there is nothing left to sort. Lady Sybil and I have already signed all the papers.”
Carrot’s face fell. “Ah, I see.”
“You seem disappointed.”
“No, no. It’s just that, well, I had sort of hoped you’d be able to, you know, work things out if you’d only enough time. I’m sorry, I know that’s none of my business. I’ll get back to it, sir.”
For a moment, Vimes debated whether he should fill Carrot in on all the details but something told him the man wasn’t prepared to hear the truth quite yet. However, he didn’t want to lie to his best man either.
“Carrot, I appreciate your concern but there’s more to this whole story than meets the eye. Rest assured for now that Lady Sybil and I parted amicably. It was the best solution for all concerned.”
The young man’s honest face rested on Vimes for a few moments. People always pointed out how simple Carrot seemed, and he was, he really was. However, what many failed to realise was that simple didn’t mean stupid.
“Mister Vimes, I feel I should tell you that there are rumours going around.”
Sam sighed, “I’m sure there are.”
Carrot nervously licked his lips. “It’s just some of them are quite-“
“Sordid?”
There was another knock. “Come in,” called Vimes. Sergeant Angua entered and closed the door behind her.
“I was just telling the Commander-“ Carrot began but Angua interjected.
“Yes, I know.”
“Werewolf hearing,” thought Vimes. Out loud he asked, “Sergeant, I assume you’re also here to weigh in on my private life?” He hadn’t meant for it to come out so defensive. Ah well, too late now.
If she had taken offence, she didn’t show it. Instead she said, “In a manner of speaking, yes. I’m here to say that I understand and you have my full support, sir.”
Vimes blinked. Of all the things he had expected to come flying his way today, this hadn’t even been on the list. However, it dawned on him if anyone understood what it was like to have a part of yourself you’ve kept and sometimes still had to keep hidden, it would be a werewolf who had chosen to live among ordinary and often small-minded people.
Carrot looked from Angua to his boss and back. “I think I’m missing part of the conversation.”
Angua kept her eyes on Vimes when she said, “There’s going to be a lot of talk. Some of the lads won’t like it.”
The commander nodded. “Yes, I was expecting as much. The way I see it, the best thing I can do is carry on and do my job. I’m here to keep the peace and that’s what I’ll do.”
“Ah, so it’s true,” Carrot suddenly said - simple, not stupid. Angua and Sam stared at him as if they’d forgotten he had even been in the room. The captain looked thoughtful for a moment and then he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to think about this for a bit.” When Angua tried to speak, he held up his hand and quietly left the room.
“I’ll talk to him,” Angua said, still staring at the closed door. “Being in a relationship with another man is not something he’s had to think about up until now. You’ll remember how he first kicked up a fuss when Cheery came out as female. He’ll come around, you’ll see, sir.”
Vimes nodded, “Thank you, I appreciate your support. I mean it.”
She frowned at him. “It’s just Vetinari, though, right?”
“What? Yes, of course, why- what kind of rumours are going around out there? No, I don’t want to know. For the record, it’s just him. It has always been just him. It’s a very recent development and nothing serious happened between us until I had had a conversation with Sybil about it. We are living together in Small Gods. End of story.” Sam knew his ears were burning but there was no way around it. He knew his private life would be a favourite gossip topic for some time to come. The least he could do is make sure some of the rumours were rooted in facts.
Angua smiled. “That’s what I thought.”
“Glad to hear it, Sergeant.”
She walked to the door. “Permission to set the record straight with the others?”
“Was that a pun?”
“Not intentionally.”
“Do it, but only on a need to know when asked basis. No need to make a big deal about this.”
Angua wrinkled her nose. “No offence, sir, but it kind of is a big deal already.”
Vimes grumbled under his breath when Cheery knocked on the door.
“Yes?” Sam called.
“Sorry, sir, but Sacharissa Cripslock would like a word,” Cheery announced, glancing at Angua. There was a brief non-verbal exchange that went along the lines of, “Well?” and, “Tell you later”. Vimes rolled his eyes.
“Whatever happened to respect for privacy?” he wondered out loud when the reporter pushed past Cheery into the room with a big smile.
“Sir?”
“It’s fine, Littlebottom.” He nodded at Angua and the two watchmen headed back downstairs, leaving him alone with the nosiest person in Ankh-Morpork.
*~*
“Damn, I owe Havelock a dollar,” thought Vimes. They’d bet on their way in the coach which reporter would show up on whose doorstep.
“Are you here to report a crime, Ms Cripslock?”
She beamed at him. “On the contrary, I’m here to prevent one. Slander and libel may not be actionable by themselves but they often lead to unpleasantness that breaks the peace. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”
“Are you saying if I don’t give you what you want you will make up your own truth? Isn’t that rather unethical?”
Sacharissa’s hand flew to her heart. “I’m shocked you’d even suggest such a thing. I’m here to give you the chance to tell your side of the story before all those nasty rumours blow what should be a private matter out of proportion.”
“Of course,” Vimes smiled with his teeth alone, “how silly of me. What with the Times being known for their altruistic motivation. Do take a seat.”
Ignoring his jibe, the reporter sat down and whipped out her notebook in one fluent motion.
“You can ask me three questions, Ms Cripslock,” he offered.
“And you’ll answer them truthfully?”
“Naturally, provided in doing so I’m not breaking the law. That was the first question, by the way.”
“Commander!” She feigned outrage rather well.
“Oh, go on, then. Three questions.” Out of the corner of his eye Sam noticed the floorboards close to the door shift in a familiar pattern.
Oblivious to this detail, Sacharissa cleared her throat. “What are the terms of your divorce?”
“We share custody and I get to see my son every weekend. Young Sam will inherit the estate and titles. Lady Sybil will remain Duchess of Ankh for life.” If she had hoped for a different answer, she would have to learn to live with disappointment.
“Is it true you left your wife for another man?”
“Ah, and there it is,” Sam thought. “Yes,” he admitted.
She didn’t miss a beat before she fired her last question. “Is it true that man is the Patrician, Havelock Vetinari?”
“Yes.”
“BLOODY HELL!” That was Sergeant Colon who had been listening at the door.
“Come in, Fred!”
“I believe we’re done here,” Sam nodded at Sacharissa who had gotten up but was taking her sweet time putting her notebook away.
Fred slammed his badge on the desk. “That’s just so I can talk to you from man to man. I’ll take it back. I’m too close to retirement to gamble my pension. But, Sam, have you lost your mind?”
Vimes scratched his chin. “Possibly, Fred. Goodbye, Ms Cripslock, I trust the Times is not going to quote me out of context!”
“You have my word, Commander.” She beamed at him and closed the door as she left.
Colon was so red in the face, Sam feared he might have a heart attack. “Sit down, you look like you’re going to die on me.”
The chair the reporter had just vacated creaked ominously under the sergeant’s weight.
“Sam, I know men sometimes get funny ideas when they get to a certain age - I’ve been there.” Vimes gave Colon a look.
“No, not like that! I went and bought fancy clothes I couldn’t afford and hung around, you know, the places where ladies half my age gather.”
“The market?”
“No, the temples, Sam! Praying for husbands, or more a miracle in some cases. Always eager to chat and grateful when you help them pick up something they have dropped, which, mind you, happens a lot. But that’s not the bloody point! It’s not about me,” Fred snapped, resurfacing out of the rosy cloud of recollection and diving into the red mist of misplaced concern. He glared at Sam. “This is about you and what you’ve done to your fine lady for a …for a…and with him of all people.”
Vimes still tried to mentally insert the man in front of him into the Ankh-Morpork dating scene. It didn’t work. Fred Colon, gigolo. No.
“Sam-“
Vimes shook his head. “Save it, Fred.” There was no other way. He had to say it. For the second time ever. “I love him. That’s the truth.” He thought he heard a tiny shriek from outside the office door followed by the clicking of fashionable boots scurrying off in a hurry.
“That will make for an interesting headline,” thought Vimes. And stopped. He scratched his chin. Fred was saying something but Sam was too busy trying to figure out whether Havelock was actually aware of his feelings. It wasn’t as if they had said anything, not in so many words. It had just sort of been implied. After all, they were both more show than tell kind of people. Actions speak louder etcetera etcetera.
“Damn! Ah well, if he doesn’t know it yet, he’ll find out first thing tomorrow.”
“What?”
“What? Oh, nothing, Fred.”
“Love, you say,” the sergeant wiped his forehead with a hanky. “Well, I dunno about that, Sam. But I can’t argue with it either.”
Vimes let out a brief chuckle. Sybil had said the same thing but he didn’t want to mention it because Fred had just sort of latched on to the idea that Sam was in a loving relationship with another man and you had to keep Fred’s mind on track if you ever wanted to get anywhere.
“But, I mean, who is the-“
“Stop right there, Fred.”
“I was only going to ask who-“
“No. You’re thinking about it in terms of husband and wife and that’s not how this works. Please stop, and if you can, accept that I love him. End of story.” Damn, he had said it again.
Colon got out of his chair and picked up his badge. He sighed and gave Vimes a long look. “I’ve known you for a long time, Sam. I just hope you’re happy, that’s all.”
Sam felt oddly touched. “Thank you, Fred. I appreciate that.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m sure someone’s committing a crime out there, why don’t you go see what we can do about it.”
Colon saluted, “Right you are, Mister Vimes.”
After he had gone, Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. This was going to be a damn long day and it wasn’t even 9am yet. He wondered whether Havelock’s day was going any better.
TBC