Work Text:
Victor could always hear the ticking of a clock, even in an empty room. He didn’t bother keeping a physical clock in his own study for this reason, though gears and hands and other disassembled pieces graced the few empty spaces between the books on his shelves. Bachelor Dankovsky moved as if he also heard that same ticking in his mind’s ear. His movements were sharp and economical and his words carried the clipped accent that Victor remembered from his own time in the Capital.
But it was more than just Dankovsky’s words that marked him as an outsider. The architecture of a place shaped the souls that moved through it and Dankovsky carried the Capital in his manner and in the way he wore his clothes. It had been a lifetime ago when Victor had left the town, never intending to look back, and a lifetime ago when he had first met Nina and agreed to return to the town to fulfil her vision.
Looking at Dankovsky now made something itch under Victor’s skin. Maria had advised them that an outsider would come and hold the fate of their vision in his hands. Even Simon had been more obnoxiously cryptic than usual in the last few days – his last few days – regarding a correspondent of Isidor’s.
‘And there’s nothing more you can tell me of the circumstances of Simon’s death?’ Dankovsky pressed.
Victor had already explained what he could of the Focus, but there was only so much that could be grasped without a background in oneiritecture.
‘His death came as a surprise,’ said Victor quietly. He found one of his fists clenching in his lap without having made the conscious decision to do so. He loosened it.
‘Most deaths do,’ Dankovsky said, grimly enough to belie the hint of irony in his tone.
‘Not Simon’s. I would have thought,’ Victor amended. He still wasn’t entirely sure he believed that Simon had truly died, but there was an emptiness in the Crucible that he hadn’t felt for a long time. He feared that the Polyhedron would be put under metaphysical strain. As much as he longed for Nina’s whispers to become clearer to him, it wouldn’t be a good sign.
‘And there’s nothing I can do to persuade you to let me see his body.’ Dankovsky said it without inflection. His gaze roved over Victor much as it had over the books on his shelves, cataloguing information of interest. That he wasn’t asking a direct question meant that Georgiy had properly emphasised the nature of the Focus and its… limitations.
‘At sundown. No sooner, I’m afraid,’ Victor said reluctantly.
‘Well, I’m afraid that conspiracy has followed me to this town. It seems awfully coincidental that the immortal man who might have saved my work dies just before my arrival. If Simon existed at all, that is.’
Victor hadn’t expected such a quick grasp of metaphor from an outsider, especially not one so scientifically inclined. He assured Dankovsky that Simon had indeed literally existed and noticed both the easing of his guest’s posture and his response to praise for his acuity.
///
After a few misunderstandings, household staff now knew to bring reports about the current outbreak directly to Victor’s desk. He couldn’t say whether he or Georgiy resented this arrangement more. Consolidating power in the town required engaging with the practical logistics of the outbreak. Georgiy’s lack of interest in those matters was eclipsed only by his inability to manage them with any level of finesse. He’d thrown himself into Simon’s more esoteric pursuits instead, and paraded grand visions of scepticism about the death itself whenever they spoke. Victor was left to deal with the mundane politics.
The report currently in front of him was about the re-housing efforts. The word of Isidor’s son was still mistrusted in many parts of the town and Rubin hadn’t emerged from hiding. Without Dankovsky’s medical authority, it would have been impossible to convince the townspeople that the districts the plague had passed through were safe to inhabit. That authority would only become more important as the days wore on.
Alexander was too blinded by his ideological concerns to see it and, in an utterly bewildering move, the elder Vlad was still refusing to unlock the Termitary, even in the face of Dankovsky’s increasingly forceful demands. While this meant that Dankovsky was unlikely to side with the other ruling families, he seemed to care far more for the Polyhedron itself than the family who had supported its creation. Victor drummed his fingers against the top of his desk as he read, unconsciously replicating the tempo of the ticking in his head.
Dankovsky had stopped knocking to announce his presence two days ago. Victor suspected that even this small gesture to put them on equal footing and emphasise the seriousness of the situation meant something to Dankovsky. Today he stormed in without preamble and planted two curled fists on Victor’s desk.
‘Sixty thousand,’ he enunciated clearly, leaning into the space between them.
‘Pardon?’
‘The bribe the guards are demanding to free the men trapped in Saburov’s plague-pit of a prison. He’s gone mad with power and started arresting men over nothing, all in the name of order. He knows the Inquisitor’s coming and he’s scared,’ Dankovsky added darkly.
‘And what are you going to do?’ Victor asked.
‘Pay it, of course,’ Dankovsky said bitterly. ‘It’s an obscene amount of money to even be handling, but if I do nothing then the men in there will become infected. Better that they have a sporting chance against the plague on the open streets, don’t you think?’ he asked, as if he were making a droll comment over dinner, but his smile held a manic edge.
Victor summoned a servant to retrieve some funds without further question. Dankovsky watched him silently with a raptor’s eyes. He spoke again when they were alone. ‘I already have Olgimsky’s contribution sitting in my bag, less than yours, mind you. I suspect he was more interested in undermining Saburov than in freeing the prisoners – not that his motives really matter. But I could believe that you’re actually paying to give those men a chance.’
‘I believe that an uncertain death is better than a certain one,’ said Victor.
Dankovsky scoffed and the sound held genuine amusement beneath the weariness and frustration. ‘A belief we share.’ He leaned a little more heavily against the desk and tilted his head. The movement bared a flash of his throat above the blood-red ascot. ‘The plague has necessarily consumed much of my efforts these past few days, but I haven’t forgotten my purpose here.’
‘Simon might not be as far beyond your grasp as you thought,’ Victor said carefully.
Dankovsky’s expression shuttered and he made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. ‘Simon was a means of sparing my laboratory undue… criticism… about my theories. We have made progress, but not enough of it, not fast enough. My work attracts bold, forward thinkers, but they are often fair-weather friends.’
Victor could imagine it. Even with the knife-edge political situation, the Capital was a beating heart of scientific and cultural innovation. Finding like-minded individuals would be far easier among the Capital’s towering buildings, university districts and secluded tearooms. With Dankovsky leaning over his desk like this he could almost hear those teeming streets and the sounds of the traffic at all hours. In Dankovsky’s presence, it was almost as real to him as the ticking. ‘You present yourself as a pragmatic man, but I can recognise a depth of idealism within you,’ said Victor.
‘Recognised as an idealist by another idealist?’ Dankovsky asked. ‘Your family seems to collect them. But I would have said that there’s a depth of pragmatism to you, beneath the veneer of your family’s idealism.’
‘This place is special, practically and ideally. You’ve met Yulia and the twins. There is no other place in the world their work could have succeeded,’ Victor said more sharply than he intended. He adjusted his shirt-cuffs and gave himself a moment to regain his composure. ‘I say that not to boast, but as plain unadorned fact.’
‘The Polyhedron is certainly a marvel. The streets take some getting used to, however,’ he added wryly.
‘We could provide the stability you sought for your work,’ Victor said bluntly. Dankovsky went very still. ‘You would be required to stay here, of course.’
Dankovsky swallowed. ‘In this… special place.’ Victor inclined his head. ‘It’s not easy running a laboratory even when I’m in the thick of it. Trying to run it by correspondence would be unthinkable. I doubt you’re proposing to displace a dozen of my colleagues and an entire laboratory complex.’ Dankovsky said the last dismissively, but there was an echo of uncertainty, as if he were waiting for Victor to suggest just precisely that.
‘I imagine that would present some difficulties,’ Victor admitted.
‘Quite. Though I appreciate the offer and your… theoretical support.’
Dankovsky glanced down at the desk between them. Victor’s hands were folded in front of himself and his revised reports were gathered out of the way to the left of the inkwell. Dankovsky uncurled his fist so that he could slowly reach out and skim his fingertips along the thin strip of skin showing just above the edge of Victor’s shirt-cuff. Even without direct skin contact, the brush of warm leather against Victor’s wrist sent a shiver down his back.
Dankovsky wasn’t watching their hands, instead his eyes were fixed firmly on Victor’s face. ‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful.’
The returning servant knocked on the study door and Dankovsky immediately withdrew his hand and became a study in disinterest.
‘Enter,’ Victor called, keeping his voice level despite the heat that tingled in the tips of his fingers.
The servant handed over a pouch and Victor dismissed him with a nod. Dankovsky’s focused attention returned once they were alone again. He was too well-mannered or practiced to be staring at the pouch of money. Victor handed it over. He couldn’t say which of them was responsible for drawing out that brief touch, before the pouch disappeared into a pocket of Dankovsky’s snake-skin coat.
‘With this and Olgimsky’s share, I should have enough to make the balance. Thank you,’ said Dankovsky. He could have made his tone brusque, but instead he lingered over the syllables. Then he circled the desk. Victor stood, more by reflex than intent. They were of a height like this. Victor’s pulse pounded in his neck. ‘Perhaps I could show you my appreciation for your continued support.’ Dankovsky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.
The day after he arrived, Dankovsky had tried to leave with the Stamatins and Eva on the last outbound train. At least that’s what Maria had told him in a whirlwind of outrage the day after that. She hadn’t liked the thought of her coterie vanishing, especially without her permission. The news had also filled Victor with a horrible dread, though he understood well enough. The very first thing he had ever truly wanted was to leave this town. Instead he had found Nina and had wanted her more than he’d wanted his next breath. After that, he hadn’t wanted for anything at all. Losing her had jammed a vital mechanism within him. If it weren’t for the Polyhedron and the force of her spirit holding on, he might have lost more.
Where Dankovsky was concerned, Victor’s goals were the same as any political actor. The celebrity Thanatologist had a unique authority during this outbreak. The Pest wouldn’t escape the attention of The Powers That Be forever and a strong outside voice raised in defence of the Polyhedron would be invaluable. But in convincing Dankovsky of the merits of the vision, Victor hadn’t quite intended this. Were he a better man, he would have gently rebuffed Dankovsky’s advances.
At the root of his desire lay an uncomfortable vanity. Dankovsky was handsome in a distinctly cosmopolitan way. The attentions of an urbane intellectual, with that same spark of idealism that his whole family esteemed, were flattering and heady. He just knew that either of his brothers would be smugly gratified by this kind of seduction and that neither of them would spare a single thought to the transactional undercurrents or vassal ethics at all. Perhaps it even made him worse, that he saw all of that and still leaned in.
The physical cue was enough for Dankovsky. He mirrored Victor’s movement and brushed his lips against Victor’s jaw. Dankovsky’s deliberate gentleness felt less like timidity and more like hypothesis-testing. Victor hadn’t said yes, hadn’t let an order pass his lips, despite the weight of his new familial authority that felt less uncomfortable with each passing day. Plausible deniability at its finest. He let his hands worm their way beneath Dankovsky’s coat to press against his sides. He felt hot, almost feverish, even beneath the layers of his waistcoat and shirt. Teeth scraped Victor’s throat and the lips that replaced them were upturned in a pleased little smirk.
This was indulgent and dangerous and Dankovsky would return to the Capital as soon as the Pest had been broken and the trains returned. The drive and dedication, the precise things that would make him a valuable addition to their faction, would pull him back to his laboratory and his colleagues. Back to the towering buildings and the thick crush of people, the high places and the low places. Museums and drinking dens, grand parks and dank alleyways.
Dankovsky knelt gracefully and Victor made no move to stop him. He waited until Dankovsky’s hands alighted on the fastenings of his trousers, deft and sure, before stepping back. ‘No,’ he said.
Dankovsky sat back on his heels and raised a coolly enquiring brow. ‘Is there another way you’d rather have me? Keep in mind that time is short.’
Victor did not need to be reminded of the ticking. He also hadn’t needed to wait until Dankovsky had gone to his knees, but he’d wanted to see it. Arousal pulsed in his veins. ‘This isn’t appropriate.’
Stung pride put an ugly expression on Dankovsky’s face. A part of Victor had wanted to see that too. ‘I know what desire looks like on another man,’ said Dankovsky. ‘I don’t enjoy being toyed with.’
Victor swallowed. I haven’t touched another person since my wife died. I don’t want to be my brother and I feel more under his shadow now than when he lived. I want you bound to us, but this is clearly a game you’re accustomed to playing. He couldn’t even say that he wasn’t toying with Dankovsky, at least a little. ‘You said it yourself, time is short and you have what you need from me.’
Dankovsky’s eyes narrowed further, but he got to his feet smoothly and adjusted the hang of his clothing with a few pointed tugs. ‘Quite. There really isn’t time to waste.’
Victor collapsed back into his chair and ran his hands down his face as soon as he was alone again. He wanted Dankovsky and couldn’t find a way to hold the concept in his head in a way he found palatable. He wanted Dankovsky to champion the interests of the Utopians, but this was something else. Nina had taken the attentions of her hand-picked artists and intellectuals as her due. It wasn’t something that had particularly stirred Victor, even those times when she had wanted him there too. But now the Bachelor, with his ambitions and the Capital following in his wake like a train, had awakened a sour hunger in him. His hand drifted down below his desk and he pressed the heel of his palm between his legs to relieve the ache. Then he went back to his stack of reports and the ticking in his head.
///
Victor knew the identity of the Inquisitor without needing to rely on rumour. As soon as Aglaya Lilich set foot in the town a great cry like metal scraping against glass echoed through the Stone Yard. Only Victor and the birds that nested near the Cathedral seemed to hear it, but Nina’s feelings about her sister transcended death for the both of them. He had warned Maria to stay in the Crucible, ostensibly because of the quarantine, but more because he knew that Aglaya would try to confront her. Maria would probably ignore him. His children had never particularly relied on nor heeded him.
Many people in the town had reason to fear an Inquisitor, regardless of which one had been sent. Victor’s position in the town’s power structure was nebulous enough that he had nothing to fear but Aglaya’s personal grudges. But the Polyhedron would almost certainly become a target of her ire. So would any who sought to defend it.
Dankovsky hadn’t returned to Victor’s study since their aborted liaison. Reports of the prisons being emptied as part of his sanitary measures had reached Victor’s desk. He felt a proprietary pride over Dankovsky’s actions that he went beyond contributing to the funds. Not that he would admit it aloud. Aglaya would be paying special attention to that along with all the other measures that had been put in place to curb the outbreak. Nina had followed her sister’s career obsessively and Victor knew that Aglaya’s life hung in the balance.
There was a knock at the door of Victor’s study. The gifts of the Mistresses began and ended with them, but deep inside Victor was a certainty that it was not a member of his household seeking entry. ‘Come in,’ he said, a little over-loud. He cleared his throat.
When Dankovsky shuffled in, Victor’s first thought was that he’d been stabbed or succumbed to the Pest. Then he remembered the look that Lara’s father had worn, when he’d been back from campaigning that last time. Shellshock. Victor was on his feet in an instant, circling his desk. ‘Are you quite alright?’ he asked pointlessly.
Dankovsky stared past him with hollow eyes. ‘It’s gone. Thanatica was burned to the ground. My colleagues, the papers, my life’s work… ashes.’ Gone. Dead. Loss. Grief. A great fist wrapped itself around Victor’s heart and lungs. Dankovsky stopped staring into the middle distance and focused on Victor. ‘Much in the last few days has made me contemplate the nature of fate. What would have happened if I had said yes to your offer, do you think?’ He gave a sickly smile.
Victor’s heart thudded deep and hard in his chest. ‘What are you trying to imply?’
‘I’m not trying to imply anything about your family. I had an opportunity to make a sacrifice for Thanatica, to join whatever collection you’re accumulating here, to keep myself from the Capital in exchange for protection and support. Now I have nothing to protect. It’s all gone.’ Dankovsky swayed on his feet.
Victor reached out to grip Dankovsky’s arm to steady him. Dankovsky stared down at Victor’s hand as if he couldn’t comprehend it. Victor was more than familiar with the late night thoughts about responsibility and blame. About what might have been possible had his soul been more receptive, had the Polyhedron acted as more of a Focus, if he could have just loved Nina enough to be the vessel she needed. He could be, he was sure, he just needed time.
‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Victor. ‘The only fate is the one we make for ourselves. The world doesn’t run on cruel irony.’
Dankovsky gave a bitter barking laugh. ‘It might as well. And I think it’s worth keeping the concept of sacrifice in mind, if another opportunity presents itself.’ His tone went soft, but didn’t lose its resentful edge.
Bitter loss was an old, old friend of Victor’s and a dull ache sat behind his breastbone. He was still gripping Dankovsky’s arm and his hand had gone white-knuckled with the pressure. It was easy, suddenly, to close the distance between them and press his lips to Dankovsky’s. The salt of these tears was indistinguishable from the familiar taste of his own, and it felt right for it to permeated their kiss. Victor lifted a hand to Dankovsky’s cheek to trace their path.
Dankovsky went rigid for the space of a heartbeat before kissing back fiercely. His hands found their way into Victor’s hair, tangling and tugging to change the angle of their mouths. He was fire and teeth and that was better than being a pillar of salt. There was a list that bore their names, but this was a deeper connection existing only through profound loss. The kind of loss that could change the course of a lifetime.
Dankovsky was gasping when they drew back, though Victor didn’t flatter himself to imagine the hitched breath was only a result of their kissing. ‘Tell me of your support. Tell me what I could build here in this special place,’ he demanded between panting breaths.
Victor felt a little light-headed himself. ‘What you lost could be recreated here. Thanatica lives in your mind, does it not? The building plan, your papers? We have architects that are capable of designing miracles.’
‘A recreation,’ Dankovsky repeated slowly.
Victor could hear his own pulse in his ears like the rushing of air. ‘What was lost can be regained, here, and nowhere else.’ He gripped the edges of Dankovsky’s coat and pulled him in. They met again, bodies pressing in, crowding against each other. This was less vulgar than what Victor had nearly let transpire during their last encounter. What lay between them now transcended the bounds of patronage. It was gratifying when Dankovsky pulled back to voice the same thoughts aloud.
‘Not here. I won’t end up bent over your desk.’
Victor nodded silently and led him out of the study and through his wing of the Crucible. The guests he received were largely professional and no one but family had made it as far as his sitting room in years. Now he led Dankovsky deeper still into the bedroom itself. Nina had had her own wing, but Victor had adorned his most personal space with the deep burgundies and reds that she favoured. Other than the servants, only Nina had set foot in this room. The ache inside him redoubled and he pushed Dankovsky up against the closed door, bodies aligning hip to shoulder.
Dankovsky pushed the coat off Victor’s shoulders and they had to untangle for him to get it off the rest of the way. Dankovsky took the opportunity to start unbuttoning his shirt. His hands were shaking. Victor remembered the months he’d eschewed all touch after Nina’s death, even the comforts of his family, while deep in mourning. But Dankovsky had lost his life in a very different way. Perhaps he’d want to avoid reading or writing for a time.
They shed clothes and artifice and came together skin-to-skin, hot and alive, burning, almost. ‘Does this suit your sensibilities better?’ Dankovsky asked as he backed Victor toward the bed. ‘How long is the Kain name? Could you have saved my laboratory all the way from here?’
‘You spoke of conspiracy when you first arrived. Perhaps Thanatica wasn’t their true target and the ravening beasts turned on it in their frustrated inability to reach you directly.’
‘Beasts,’ Dankovsky repeated with a sneer. They all but fell against the bed. Impulse and instinct seized Victor, much as it had back in his study. The want that drove him felt as ill-fitting as the political authority he now wielded for his family. They ground against one another. Dankovsky moved with a practiced grace that Victor met with a stuttering rhythm like the pulse of a heart or a clock.
He ended up braced above Dankovsky, bracketing him with his arms. Staring down at the fine, cold features twisted with the strength of grief and passion struck Victor like a blow. Nina would have had him. Victor was utterly certain of it. The tick of his rhythm faltered as the thought washed over him. This was exactly what she liked.
‘Stay,’ Victor demanded and caught Dankovsky’s lips again before he could respond. He pushed his tongue into Dankovsky’s mouth and was fiercely gratified when Dankovsky’s hands raked down his back and pulled his hips in tighter. The pleasure between them burned hot enough to consume loss, to consume grief. Wanting in and of itself could burn away that which came before it and leave a beautiful clarity of purpose behind. Dankovsky would see this as Victor had seen this.
Dankovsky arched against him with a guttural cry and it was a victory to feel him spill between them. He rolled them over as Victor reeled in drunken triumph and braced one arm on the bed beside Victor’s shoulder. He licked over his other palm, the gesture hovering between clinical and obscene, and wrapped a hand around Victor’s erection. He bit along Victor’s collarbone as he stroked him and things rapidly came to a head. There was an aching familiarity in letting someone else do as they pleased with his body.
They lay panting together and Victor idly ran his hand through Dankovsky’s hair. ‘True recreation of Thanatica is impossible, especially here,’ Dankovsky said once he’d regained his breath. His voice was heavy with regret.
Victor stilled. ‘You’ve seen the miracles that have been achieved in this town.’
‘You don’t have to worry,’ Dankovsky assured him. ‘I recognise the Polyhedron for what it is and will use whatever power I have to defend it. It’s the only place in this godforsaken town that has stood against the plague.’
‘So rebuild Thanatica beneath its glow. Simon kept a civil war from this town. Keeping your persecutors away would be far easier.’
Dankovsky propped his chin on Victor’s chest. The hollow grief in his eyes hadn’t faded, but he spoke without hesitation. ‘I’ve no doubt that your architects could design a fabulous laboratory, but I couldn’t pursue my work out here, so far from scientific centres. My esteemed colleague, Isidor, lamented similar realities. He sent his own son away to learn what he couldn’t learn here. There’s nothing for me here.’
Something of Victor’s shocked pain must have shown on his face. Dankovsky grimaced. ‘My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply – not to diminish what we’ve just done – I simply mean that there is nothing that could keep me here. Not without it destroying me.’ His tone was contrite and regretful and his platitudes were utterly meaningless.
‘You’re wrong,’ Victor rasped. The Polyhedron was the only thing keeping Nina from total destruction. With her and Simon now trying to share the limited metaphysical space, there was only one option left to him and to Georgiy.
‘Perhaps,’ Dankovsky conceded, ‘and all of this is predicated on destroying the plague. But I must do what I can for my colleagues back in the Capital. Call it idealism,’ he added grimly.
As he was, Victor could do nothing to change Dankovsky’s decision-making. Practicality and political might were paltry tools unfit to change the course of a life. Dark failure hung over Victor, but dismissing Dankovsky now was unthinkable and would undo any good will he had managed to acquire. But where he had failed, Nina might yet succeed. The only other possibility was that the plague would destroy enough of Dankovsky that what he might lose by staying would cease mattering to him at all. Victor went back to running his hand through Dankovsky’s hair and tried to block out the sound of ticking.