Chapter Text
Tara stopped eating on a Thursday.
Gale was not usually this perceptive to the passing of time, and would not have made a point of it at all, had it not also been two years to the day that he had packed up and left Mystra’s house for the last time, and a week after he had received her email.
“Maybe it’s your cooking,” Astarion offered from his spot across the room on the sofa, equal parts uninterested and unhelpful.
“Funny,” Gale shot back. “Considering that’s the only thing you’ve never complained about.”
“You wound me,” Astarion raised his fingers in feigned shock to his chest. “Persecute me for my discerning taste.”
Gale noted the deflection for the compliment that it was. He grinned, deciding this was victory enough. Instead of continuing their playful argument, he turned his attention back to his laptop and articles.
“Kidney disease?” Gale murmured to himself out loud, as he often did when lost in his research. “Liver disease? Parasites?”
“Shouldn’t you be consulting a doctor for those ailments and not WebMD?” Astarion finally looked up from his—Gale’s—book.
Gale turned, offended. “That is not a reputable source! I’ll have you know all of these articles are peer reviewed.”
“Peer…’Journal of Veterinary Science’?!” Quicker than Gale realized, Astarion was beside him, peering over his shoulder. “You’re reading in the wrong field, darling.”
“This is clearly a scientific problem,” Gale shook his head. “And it requires a scientific solution.” He scrunched his nose. “Although I do wish that the methodology in this field were more rigorous—”
“Gale.”
Astarion put a hand on both of his shoulders and spun his chair so that they were facing each other.
“It’s been one day .”
“She’s been eating so well recently,” Gale protested, despite hearing the reason in Astarion’s words.
Gale had found Tara, small, shivering and alone, huddling in a small cardboard box for shelter several years ago, and it had taken weeks before he managed to gain her trust. She had barely eaten then too, and Gale had feared he was going to lose her. That fear returned in full force, somehow irrationally amplified by the arrival of Mystra's email.
“There must be something—”
From her place on his lap, Tara gave a quick mew, and stomped off, tail up high.
“Tara!” Gale called after her helplessly.
Astarion rolled his eyes, and followed her into Gale's bedroom.
Having nothing else to do and no one else to talk to, what else could Gale do but stare again at his screen and the words searing through it?
It was ridiculous that the message could have such power despite lacking a verbal, somatic or material component, even.
He hadn’t heard from Mystra at all since the day he left, hadn’t seen her—although, he supposed that this was partially by his own design. After leaving Baldur's Gate, Gale all but built a tower around himself, cutting off any of the few acquaintances he had. Quantum mechanics, at the level at which he and Mystra could practice it, was a very small pond, one in which most of the fishes owed Mystra their allegiance. They would not risk her approval (or, their careers) by continuing to speak with him; of this, Gale was certain. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to talk to them anyway—they reminded him of a life he had decidedly had to abandon.
“Abandoned”, he thought, as though he chose to do so. And yet, two years later, here he was, hand trembling uncontrollably every time he tried to approach clicking that email from her personal address.
A coward.
“I’m going to work,” Astarion announced from behind him, shaking him from reverie.
“Alright,” Gale turned to find him cuddling Tara in his arms and breathed an unsteady sigh of relief that she seemed okay. He reached forward to scratch under her chin, and she lifted her head to allow it. The smile he tried to give Astarion must have fallen flat though, given the way the other man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He tried to deflect. “Will you be coming back afterwards?”
Astarion shared a flat with Karlach, but spent just as many evenings over at Gale’s.
Gale observed the haunted expression that sometimes overcame Astarion very early in their friendship—when memories of his life before escaping Cazador became too much. He had sensed it that evening over a year ago now, when Astarion had been closing the Infernal Iron himself, an evening when Karlach was to be over at Dammon’s—Astarion had been going through the motions, slowly, as though dreading the thought of whatever purgatory he had put himself in might be over, not wanting to face the empty room that would follow.
It was a feeling that Gale himself knew all too well.
“You know, I made entirely too much pork pie before I left,” Gale said lightly as he finished the last of his wine. “And it never tastes the same the next day. Would you like to come over to help me out with it?”
Astarion blinked at the invitation. “It’s going to be past midnight by the time I’m finished here, darling.”
“And I still haven’t eaten,” Gale shrugged. “In truth, I could use the company. You could stay the night if you like.”
Gale's face drained of colour as he realized how his intentions could be misinterpreted. “If you were worried about missing the last train, I mean,” he added hastily. “I have a spare bedroom.”
“A spare bedroom?” Astarion’s eyes had narrowed initially at the offer, but melted into one of amusement once faced with Gale’s mortification.
Gale held his breath after the invitation was extended, leaving space for Astarion’s answer—leaving space for him.
He had expected a playful misdirection, an attempt to cloak any discomfort with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach Astarion’s eyes. He hadn’t expected the sudden softness that was gone just as soon as Gale thought he’d noticed it.
“Why darling, how could I say no?”
It was convenience, Gale decided, that had initially won Astarion over that evening. Gale lived walking distance from the pub. It was how he had originally found it, wandering in one evening, heart in pieces, needing to be around somebody, but not having anybody in town he could call on.
Whatever the actual reason may have been, was grateful for this—he enjoyed Astarion's company and counted him now as one of his best friends (of which he had very few). They had fallen immediately into a comfortable pattern with barely any effort.
“Yes, I think I’d better come back,” Astarion nodded, kissing Tara on the head lightly before allowed her to jump down onto the floor.
His words again brought Gale back from his musings.
“After all, somebody has to make sure the two of you are eating.”
Gale huffed in mock frustration. “I eat!”
“When you have someone to cook for,” Astarion waved carelessly without turning. “I’ll bring us some wine.”
“Red tonight, please.”
“Done. Ta.”
Something about his exchanges with Astarion always soothed the complex system of knots that tangled in Gale’s chest at any thought of Mystra. He took a deep breath, and closed his email for the day. She could wait.
Tara meowed, and leaped into his lap, as though in agreement. Gale chuckled and petted her along her back. He focused his considerable talent towards figuring out this evening’s dinner instead.
—
As Astarion predicted, Tara was in better spirits the next day. She had spent the previous evening snuggled on the sofa after dinner with Gale and Astarion, as the two of them bickered over what to watch and recounted the events of their day. These sorts of evenings always put Gale's own heart at ease, so he wasn't surprised that it had the same effect on Tara.
Astarion had spent the better part of the time criticizing the expensive and “disgusting” cat food Gale had been feeding her.
“This is for cats ,” Gale pointed out. “I'd be worried if you did find it palatable.”
“It's lucky she's a cat, because she'd likely vomit reading this drivel they're passing off as copy,” Astarion shot back. He picked up the package. “A decadent melange of organics; real, whole foods; and love.”
Gale winced. “Fair point.”
“What sort of new age bullshit is this?” Astarion asked, gesturing with his long, elegant fingers. “Who uses semicolons properly when referring to cat food?”
“All research points to it being the best!” Gale protested, while still grinning, enjoying this game they played. “She deserves the best.”
“‘Best’ by your measure, darling, or hers?” Astarion drawled.
Gale's smile fell from his lips. “Mystra's.”
Gale’s new friends knew Mystra’s name, and her general station. Gradually, over time, after some gentle teasing and encouragement, the urge to mention Mystra with his every living breath subsided. In truth, it was likely the arrival of his new friends that allowed it. Mystra and their work together had been Gale’s whole life. He had never thought that void to be fillable, had never been able to imagine a life “walking amongst mortals”, as Mystra had called it so often, with disdain.
Astarion had developed an immediate and intense dislike for her.
As though to demonstrate, the air in the room noticeably shifted, grew stilted and awkward in a way that felt far too familiar. Another relic of Gale's time with her.
Astarion scowled. “All the more reason to throw it out.”
He dropped the entire bag of food in the trash, and Gale didn't stop him. If he were honest, there was something satisfying about the act, about disposing of one of her decisions.
Astarion looked pleased. He pulled Gale towards the living room to his usual spot and sat down beside him (which just happened to be Astarion’s usual spot).
“Now come, what dreadful program would you like to watch?”
—
Gale decided to have a late drink at the Iron the evening after. Astarion was working, so they could leave together once his shift was done. Gale didn't mind waiting. Inevitably, one of their other friends would drop by, or, he could message one of them to ask if they would, if he truly wanted.
It was a busy evening, but Karlach came over to the bar the minute she caught sight of him.
“Gale! Good to see you, mate!” She slid him a glass of his favourite wine. “Was beginning to worry it was something I said.”
“It's been three days since my last visit,” Gale pointed out with amusement, after thanking her for the drink.
“And that's ages for you!” Karlach punched him just a bit too hard on the arm. She leaned in, looking left to right conspiratorially. For what, Gale couldn't fathom. “Things must be going well with your lil’ sweetheart?”
She pulled herself a pint of beer, and sipped it while giving him a knowing grin.
“Things are much better now, thank the gods,” Gale sighed. “She's still not eating as well as I'd like, but at least she's eating. I'm trying a new brand of food, and it seems to be going alright, even though I wish it were more nutritious.”
Karlach coughed as she choked on her beer.
“Are you alright?” Gale reached up to pat at her back with concern.
“Yes. No. Are you talking about your cat?”
Gale blinked at her. “Of course. That's who you asked about. It's why I've not been around.”
Karlach stared at him, her mouth trying to form words that her brain could not quite process.
“Are you sure you're alright?” Gale asked again.
“Fuck, no,“ Karlach muttered, taking another long swig from her drink. “I'm not nearly drunk enough for this. So…there's no one else you'd say was your sweetheart? Other than your cat?”
“I'll have you know that Tara is absolutely the sweetest!” Gale protested. “...although it does sound somewhat pathetic, when you put it that way.”
“Oh Gale, no!” Karlach pleaded. “Didn't mean it like that. It's just…you're so good at taking care of animals and people. Surely some lucky person's noticed? Or there's someone you feel like…you know.”
She teetered back and forth and gave him that eager smile, the one that always suggested to Gale she thought better of him than he actually was.
He huffed a laugh and hid the rest of his expression in his wine glass. This topic was unfamiliar territory.
“To be truly honest, I'm not sure I remember what any of that feels like,” Gale shook his head. “It's been ages since I felt that sort of longing, and with Mystra she just…”
Karlach tilted her head, unable to guess at the response.
“...took,” Gale managed finally. “She wanted. I don’t recall much of the rest.”
Karlach’s lips curled into a much uglier look than was ever meant for him. “I've got some words for her if we ever were to meet.”
“I'm being unfair,” Gale relented. “You only know of her from my description.”
“That's all I need to know,” Karlach said, slamming a hand lightly on the table. “Because I know you . When you care about someone, it's with your whole heart. Whether we deserve it or not.”
It felt generous. Karlach didn't know the part about how powerful it felt to be by Mystra's side, the way it felt like all calculations felt within reach. But there was something in what Mystra was asking of him now that felt incredibly familiar, wasn't there? Instead of only asking for his complete devotion, she asked now for the last thing he had to give professionally, once again, for her benefit, at his expense.
“Hey.”
Gale looked up when Karlach placed a hand over his, and only noticed then that his fingers were biting hard into the palm. Karlach pried his hand open, her motions careful and slow.
“I'm fine.” Gale felt the tightness in his smile, watched the lines of concern deepen at the corner of Karlach’s eyes, and tried again. “You could tell me. What it feels like, to fall in love, for you,” he added when she tilted her head in confusion.
The strain in her expression fell away to sheer delight. “Ha! Astarion says you got cheesy novels for that sort of thing. He leaves the ones he's stolen in the living room sometimes.”
“I figured that was where they'd went,” Gale grumbled. “Real life isn't like those stories though, I imagine.”
“Wouldn't know. Don't read.”
She grinned at the high pitched whine he gave in response, giving Gale hope that she was just kidding.
“Alright,” Karlach hums, scrunching her face and narrowing her eyes in thought. “It's like…you know what the other person's thinking or feeling, but they don't have to say it.”
“I believe that's called insight,” Gale replied dryly.
“Well, yea, but it's different ,” Karlach insisted. “It's not like you're in their head. It's like you're in their heart.”
“That's…actually quite beautiful,” Gale admitted.
Karlach beamed. “And when you're with them, it just feels…natural. Like everything could be right in the world, even though it isn't. Like maybe you want it to be, for them. And even for yourself.”
“And you just…trust them. They say things you should know. But somehow, when they say it, you believe ‘em.”
Karlach’s eyes were distant, a faint smile pulled at her lips.
Gale chuckled to himself. “You have me convinced. Quite the lesson.”
Her attention shot back towards him and she blushed, caught in her daydream. “You're an excellent student.”
“Always have been,” Gale hummed.
Karlach leaned in. “So. Is there anyone like that for you?”
“Ah,” Gale could feel the heat creep up his neck. “I hope that you'd know I would tell you, if there were someone in my life in that capacity.”
“Of course,” Karlach flashed him a warm smile. “But… could there be someone in your life with that potential?”
“You seem awfully invested in this idea all of a sudden,” Gale frowned.
Karlach shrugged. “I just want to see my friends happy. You deserve to be happy, Gale.”
Gale drew a breath to protest, but his voice stuck in his throat. Why was this something he felt he needed to argue against?
Something in his expression made Karlach’s face fall and she reached across the counter for his hand again.
“What have you done to him now ?” Astarion’s voice from behind Gale made her freeze. Astarion reached over Gale's shoulder to pluck the glass of wine from his grasp and took a sip. “I leave for ten minutes .”
He leans his weight into Gale's side and Gale lets out a breath he doesn't realize he's been holding.
Karlach observed all of this and grinned slyly up at Astarion. “We're just chatting.”
“Don't you own this bar, or something?” Astarion sniped at her irritably. “Isn't there something more important you could be doing with your time?”
“Alright, alright. I know when I'm not wanted,” she waved him away and gave Gale a wink that Astarion traced across the space between them. He fixed Karlach with a glare that could have frozen the nine hells all at once. Karlach only laughed at him, and slapped him hard on the back as she left.
“She meant well,” Gale chuckled, turning to greet Astarion properly.
“She usually does.” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Now tell me, why do you look like she kicked Tara over a bridge?”
Gale recognized this as Astarion’s way of indicating his concern. As touched as he was by the gesture, he couldn't handle the return to this topic right now.
“I…”
He couldn’t even explain this.
“Perhaps later?” Astarion cut in gently.
Gale looked up at him, eyes wide and grateful, and he nodded. He sat for the bar awhile longer, happy to just to watch Astarion work and return to him for brief conversation. Eventually, Wyll and Tav arrived, and he joined their table, putting his anxieties from his mind.
—
Gale wasn't expecting Astarion the evening after. While evenings alone had become less and less common, Gale still found himself missing Astarion's company when he was not here.
Gale had just finished feeding Tara—mixing a few of her favourite treats into her food as encouragement, when heard the sound of fumbling keys, first just in someone's hand, then a more insistent pounding of metal on the door, as though the person had given up finding the correct key and was attempting instead to will the door open by jamming the entire set against it.
He had heard these sounds before, recognized the frantic need to find safety. It always made his blood run cold. As quickly as he could, he opened the door and Astarion all but fell through it. Gale caught him, and was alarmed to find his entire body shaking. When Astarion didn't pull away, Gale tightened his hold, pulling Astarion close.
Despite the rapid beating of his heart, Gale did his best to murmur soft assurances, petting down Astarion’s side, knowing to avoid his back.
Astarion took a long, shuddering breath, and hid his face in Gale's shoulder.
The first time this happened, Astarion had balked, pushed Gale away and locked himself in his own room. Gale had made him a sandwich and a pot of his favourite tea. Gale had then knocked lightly to say that he would leave these outside the door, and that he would be happy to either talk or leave, whichever it was that Astarion needed. While he hadn't expected any response, he couldn't shake feelings of helplessness either in the face of his friend's distress. He had woken up the morning after to find the sandwich gone and the teapot drained. Astarion was sitting at their kitchen table, looking completely wrecked, but wanting to talk extensively about the lack of proper lighting in the hallways.
The second time this happened, Astarion's door had opened before the sandwich hit the floor. Gale sat silently with him while he ate. He eventually extended a hand, palm facing upwards, were Astarion to need it. Astarion blinked at the gesture for a full minute before grasping Gale's fingers so tightly that their fingers turned pale white.
The third time this happened, Gale learned about Cazador, and was filled with such a fury that Astarion was the one who ended up calming him down.
Over time, these occurrences happened less and less, to Gale's great relief. All the more reason he was so worried whenever he did see Astarion in such a state.
“Tea and a sandwich?” Gale offered quietly when the quiet sobs had subsided into stillness.
Astarion didn't answer.
“Something stronger?” Gale guessed. Astarion nodded. Gale reached down to find Astarion's hand, and Astarion took it, gave Gale's fingers a squeeze: their sign that he was okay. Gale led him to the sofa and looked him over closely. Once he was satisfied that Astarion truly was alright, he left for the kitchen.
He returned with the food and wine, as promised, and set it all on the table. As was often the case in these moments, Astarion couldn't bring himself to look at Gale, not right away.
Gale sat quietly, sipping his wine, trying to swallow down his anger, that Astarion was still forced to fight this demon, even though its physical body was long gone.
Astarion finished his sandwich and took a long sip of his wine before he spoke.
“Cazador wore a particular cologne. Always the same one.”
Gale could see where this was going. “We don't have to talk about it if—”
“You say this every time,” Astarion cut in, but with the smallest of smiles. “I know.”
Gale nodded and waited.
“It smelled expensive. Fuck, I know that it was expensive. But when I smell it, all I can think of is blood and rot and shit. It chokes me. I suffocate on it.”
Gale extended his hand again, and Astarion took it without looking, almost instinctively.
“I could have sworn that I smelled it on the streets today. And that's it.” Astarion gave a short, hysterical laugh. “That's…all it took.”
Gale rubbed his thumb gently over Astarion's knuckles, memorizing the grooves in the bone. For someone so fond of words, it was frustrating, debilitating to find none.
He settled for placing his other hand on top of Astarion's as well, rubbing to warm the cold fingers in his grasp. If he could not find the words to say, he would be there to listen.
“I will never be free of him,” Astarion spat. “Will never escape this pathetic thing that he's made me.”
Gale clenched his jaw against the growl that threatened from deep within his chest. This was unacceptable to him. He understood this sort of phantom emotional pain intimately, on some level, even believed he deserved it. The idea though that someone had this hold on Astarion…anger came much more easily to Gale when it was leveled on someone else's behalf.
“You're not pathetic.”
Astarion stilled, allowed his gaze to be drawn up to meet Gale's.
“You're so much more than whatever it was he made you,” Gale insisted, his voice still rough despite his best efforts to stay soft, to give Astarion that. Some of the despair slipped from Astarion's expression, replaced with something Gale could not place. Curiosity, perhaps? Hope? Gale would grasp at the strands of this, if he could, have it fill every last part of Astarion to displace any part of him that Cazador still influenced.
“You always were.”
“How could you know?” Astarion asked, flippant to everyone else, but trembling with that same vulnerability to Gale's practiced ear.
“Because I know you, as you are now,” Gale replied. “And you are…”
Everything.
Gale pursed his lips against the word that nearly escaped. That was something to be parsed another day.
“Remarkable,” he settled for instead. “I wish I could show you.”
Astarion snorted, blushing slightly, Gale presumed because of the wine. They sat together in silence for awhile, but not uncomfortably so.
“You do.”
“Hm?”
Gale had lost himself studying the way Astarion’s hair curled neatly at the nape of his neck.
“You do show me that I'm more.” Astarion was leaning towards him now and somehow, this stole away any response Gale had to give.
Their eyes met and this seemed to startle them both. Astarion pulled back, drew a breath as though to speak, but paused as though he'd thought better of what he was going to say. “Is there any more of that soup from last night?”
Gale blinked, equally relieved and disappointed by whatever it was that did not pass.
“Yes, of course,” he nodded. “Stay here. I'll warm some up for you.”
His phone chimed while he was in the kitchen and he reached for it to find a message from Karlach.
Is Fangs ok?
Gale considered the question. He hadn't been certainly, when he first returned, not at all.
No. Gale finally decided.
But I think he will be.
There was a longer, uncharacteristic pause before Karlach replied.
Good. Knew he'd feel better once he got home to you.
Gale blinked at the message, his nerves fizzled with a warmth that felt far too familiar and yet not familiar at all. He swallowed hard, in awe of how such a simple phrase could just feel so incredibly right.
Foolish. He shook his head, not allowing himself to parse this any further. Not while Astarion needed him.
He returned to the living room to find Astarion under several blankets. Astarion graciously extended the end of one of them so that Gale could join him. Gale laughed, and obliged. Tara leaped carefully onto Astarion’s lap as soon as the two of them seemed settled, mewing expectantly.
“You know, she liked you right away,” Gale mused, as he watched as Tara press her little head into Astarion’s hand affectionately. “That’s rare.”
“Hmm,” Astarion’s indifference is betrayed by the way in which he scratches her under her chin in just the way to make her purr. “She likely just recognized a kindred spirit.”
“Because you’re both fickle?” Gale teased.
“No, darling,” Astarion waved his free hand in a way that affected carelessness. Gale had always been able to see right through the motion. “Because we’re both former strays.”
Gale’s heart ached at the flippant observation. And yet something about how Astarion said “former”, something in the way his face didn’t twist at the ugly memories that such a statement would have elicited in the past, made Gale nearly giddy in a way he himself had not felt in a long time. Perhaps it was the wine.
He laughed and reached up to pet his fingers through Astarion’s white curls, mimicking Astarion’s own motions through Tara’s fur.
“Well. I’m glad you both found a home.”
Astarion was talking about the Infernal Iron, of course, when he spoke of a “home”. He had arrived as a bartender years ago, but after some time, Karlach insisted on making him part owner. It was where Gale had met their Party, friends brought together because they were each haunted by their own demons.
Gale couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment, although uncertain of its source. What if Astarion had meant somewhere different? Found a ‘home’ with someone, perhaps? He toyed briefly with the idea that this home could be with him, here as they were right now, and found the thought far too comfortable for his liking. He shook his head free of the thought, struck suddenly that his gesture and words could have been taken the wrong way, as Astarion stiffened under his touch. Gale had an apology at the ready when just as quick, Astarion’s entire frame relaxed.
Gale blinked, surprised, but pleased.
They continued to watch their movie in a comfortable silence. Gradually, in inches, Astarion fell fully against Gale’s body, resting his head snugly on Gale’s shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.
Gale inhaled a slow, careful breath, unwilling to break the spell.
As Gale suspected, that too was at least partially performed.
“I didn’t say stop,” Astarion grumbled when Gale’s hand stilled for too long.
“My apologies,” Gale laughed, the sound as light as his heart was feeling. He resumed and they sat together until sleep eventually claimed them both.