Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I know it’s kinda weird,” Beau says, “but when the idea came up, I couldn’t think of anyone better fit than you.” She’s watching him, body tilted to the side, leg up over the chair arm, face pinched in the way that Caleb has come to learn means ‘I’m really uncertain about this, but I don’t want to show it.’ He cocks his head in line with her.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to work as a clerk at your brothel?” Caleb’s proud that he doesn’t blush, that he can acknowledge that Beau works at a brothel without the embarrassment from discussing such a thing becoming visible. Beau leans back.
“Its not my brothel,” she replies, “I’m just security. But yes. The clerk we have currently is an anus jerk and we’re pretty sure he’s stealing from us. But we can’t boot him without evidence, and he’s got a really complicated system besides, so anyone new would be lost.” She leans forwards again, across the table towards him, legs coming up so she’s perching on the chair rather than sitting. “But then he started asking for an assistant, and it’s a perfect opportunity, cause he’ll have to teach them his system, which means when we find evidence he’s stealing, then we can ditch him and have a competent clerk for a change. And, you’d get a job. Win-win all around!” She sits back and her legs come down as she finally uses the chair for its intended purpose, and she watches him.
Caleb thinks it through. He doesn’t have money to pay rent, they’re going to be booted out soon unless he can find work, but no-one wants to hire a dirty hobo, apart from the ships that have all left port this time of year. Nott had assured him they’d get by, but he’s sure whatever she’s planning is illegal and he doesn’t want to risk it. On the other hand, if he says yes, then he’d be working in a brothel, a full, straight-up sex-house. Which, he realises, is one of the last places anyone would think to look for him. They wouldn’t think to look there for good reason, of course, but still. His eyes come back to meet Beau’s.
“Okay.”

The rest of the day is a flurry of moments for Caleb - Beau leading him to the building, smuggling him in the back, despite the fact the place is closed in the midday sun. He meets Marion, The Ruby of the Sea, his new boss, who explains what she needs, as she examines him. The current clerk - a human named Hugo - does sound like a piece of work, and Marion is overjoyed at the idea of getting rid of him. There is a moment of panic when he is informed he’ll be expected to stay there, but after being assured Nott can stay with him, he calms down again. He’s given a tour of the building, mostly just the corridors as Beau points out
“that’s the room where Marion works, that’s the one where Molly does, here’s the toilet…”
Eventually, he’s handed a pile of clothes to change into, led to a room, and finally left alone for a minute. The fabric is soft as he plunks his face into it, and takes a minute to breathe. The plain white shirt fits fine, and if the brown breeches are slightly to large, he doesn’t mind as he rolls them up. He twists his hair up in a strap of leather, and spends a few minutes transferring various components from his coat’s vast pockets to the deep few in the breeches. Feeling underdressed and cleaner than he’s been in years, he leaves the safety of the room - his room, apparently - and prepares to face the chaos again.
There’s another few hours of flashes, as Marion marvels at the wonders some clean clothes can do, he’s introduced to the staff - the prostitutes, his mind supplies - and then to Hugo himself. The large human rakes his eyes across Caleb, deems him ‘acceptable, if skinny’ and promptly turns from the room to check the accounts. Then Caleb finds himself being led back through the streets of Nicodranas by Beau, back to his old apartment, and Beau shoves him into his room once they arrive.
“Pack your things, I’ll explain it to Nott.” An hour later, and Caleb is walking through the streets yet again, a pack with all his belongings on his back, and Nott, his sister in everything but blood, swinging excitedly beside him.
Caleb’s mind catches up as he walks, and he realises that his whole life has just been upheaved yet again, completely rearranged. But this time, he thinks, he had some say in it. And it might not be entirely bad. At least they have a place to sleep.

Chapter Text

Hugo’s system, Caleb discovers, is extremely convoluted. Within the first half an hour, the man has sent him to the same filling cabinet three times, all for completely unrelated things. When he tries to put one of the Ruby’s customer files with another, Hugo informs him, none to kindly, that it goes in a completely different section. Slowly Caleb adds up all the illogical placements and forms a catalogue in his mind, remembering where everything goes. For the first night, Hugo has him acting as a runner, while them man himself runs the till. When Caleb’s not going to get change, organising files, or informing one of the staff that their next client is here, he keeps an eye on the man’s calculations and costs. By the end of the first night, he is certain that Beau is right – the man is scamming money, charging people more than he writes down, and scribbling between two different books. When they close up for the night, Hugo stands up, carrying one tome.
“Can ya check mah calculations?” he nods to the book still on the counter. “Just run through the transactions, then make sure we’ve got the right amount of coin.” He saunters out of the room before Caleb can reply, his pockets heavy with something that wasn’t there at the start of the night. Caleb sits down at the desk with a sigh, pulling the book towards him. He runs through the calculations, all there, clean and following order, before turning to the money. The coins sit in a metal box, Caleb knows the key is stored in Marion’s room. Glancing at the messy collection of platinum, gold and silver, with a few copper mixed in, he realises that Hugo hasn’t counted the coin in the first place. Caleb’s not checking the man’s calculations for him as much as he is doing them in the first place. He’s sorted out the platinum and copper and is halfway through the gold, when Jester walks into the room. She’s a bouncy blue tiefling that Caleb had met earlier today, briefly, and then encountered a few times throughout the night. The Sapphire, Marion’s daughter. She’s changed from the floating gown she’s been wearing, now dressed in a pink nightdress with a cosy blue robe wrapped around her.
“Did Hugo make you add up all the coin?” she asks in her lilting accent that Caleb can’t quite place, “what a meany poo!”
“I don’t mind,” Caleb mutters, but she has already turned away, pulling one of the other chairs over and around the desk next to him, before plonking down in it. Her eyes run over what he’s done, before she pulls the tin towards herself and starts sorting through the silver coins, passing gold that she finds to him as she goes. She talks as they work, making light comments about customers – “did you see that red tiefling I had? The one with the round ears? He was sooooo boring I nearly fell asleep!” – and asking questions about himself that she doesn’t seem to mind when he deflects from answering. Before long they’re done, and Caleb compares the figures against those in the book – a perfect match.
“Well!” Jester exclaims as she stands up, “I think now I am ready for bed!” She stretches her arms above her head, reaching to the celling and not minding that her robe pulls tight along all her curves. Caleb’s keen eyes notice Hugo lurking in the doorway, his gaze lingering hungrily on the girl. He clears his throat and turns away, glancing back at the desk.
“Ya finished there, Caleb?” Hugo’s voice booms from the passage and Jester jumps with a giggle.
“Hugo! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!” He walks into the room, his eyes still wandering all over her body. Caleb turns his attention back to the coins, shifting the neat stacks back into the tin.
“Ja,” he speaks softly, “I am finished. The figures were exact.” He carefully avoids meeting Hugo’s eyes, trying to prevent the man from seeing the realisation in his own. Exact figures in a shop, Caleb knows, are always extremely rare. Someone’s always payed less or been charged more, coins have rolled away, the figure is never perfect. Whatever the man was writing in the other book – a book he no longer holds – he’s managed to balance what he takes with what should be in the tin, and come up perfectly. For all his slime, he has a brain in there somewhere.
“Wonderful!” Hugo walks over to the desk, finally taking his eyes off Jester, still in the middle of the room. “I’ll take tha’ to Marion, then. Ya can head to bed now.” He reaches down to grab the tin, and Caleb contemplates for a second refusing, grabbing the tin and demanding an answer to the questions in his brain. Instead he passes the tin to the man, pretends not to notice the sweaty palms, and watches the man leave the room. Jester shivers once he’s gone.
“He always gives me the creeps.” She whispers conspiratorially. Caleb doesn’t know what to say to that.
“Come on!” suddenly she’s back to her bouncy self, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down the corridor. “Once we close for the night we have a group dinner before we head to bed!” she explains, leading him into the kitchen. “Caduceus is the best cook!”
The kitchen is a large room, the back wall covered in a bench and stove, two long tables taking up the middle and the last wall completely open to the hallway they enter from. Beau is seated at one of the tables, resting her head on the arm of the large woman Caleb had met before, Yasha, he recalls. Beau is trying not to flinch as her arm is laid on the table before her, a large firbolg doing something to it with a needle. Across from Beau sits an ostentatious purple tiefling, all golden jewellery and tattoos. “Well, if you are going to get into knife fights with our customers…” He’s saying, before braking away to look at Caleb. “Oh, hello. You must be Caleb. Marion said we’d got someone new.” Jester giggles.
“Caleb, this is Molly,” She starts, leading him over to sit on the other side of Yasha. “He’s the Amethyst.” She squeezes his arm gently before letting go and fixing Molly with a look. “Be nice to him,” she tells the other tiefling, “he’s shy.” Beau splutters her laughter as Caleb opens his mouth to retort that he isn’t shy just new, but he’s cut off by a drawl behind him.
“What’d you do this time, Beau?” the voice asks, moving around the table to sit beside Molly, showing itself to be attached to the half-orc Caleb had met earlier that day – Fjord. He smiles at Caleb as he reaches across the table and produces a plate of fruit from beside the firbolg, sitting it in front of them all and grabbing a slice of apple.
“Gret,” Beau grunts, “Is an asshole.” Evidently her arm’s been stitched up now, as she pulls the bandage wrapped appendage slowly towards herself, before grabbing a bunch of grapes with her good arm. “He was annoyed that we wouldn’t let him in, and tried to take it out on me.” She pops three grapes in her mouth, the picture of unconcern, but Caleb knows her well enough to know she’s still annoyed, not at anyone here, but at this Gret person. Apparently the others know it too, because there are a few exchanged glances before Fjord’s arm reaches across the table to rest just above her bandage, drawing her gaze to his eyes.
“Seriously, thank you.” Beau shrugs, but the tension’s gone from her shoulders and she settles more comfortably against Yasha as Fjord withdraws his arm, grabbing another piece of apple.
“It’s my job.” She says with a smirk, before turning her attention to the firbolg now carrying a large pot to the table. “What miracle have you made for us tonight, Cad?” she asks. Caleb files away the knowledge that this must be Caduceus, the cook Jester mentioned.
“Just a simple stew,” the man replies, his voice deep but calm. “thought you’d be too tired for something more extravagant.”
“Deuce, you are AMAZING!” Jester cries from her seat beside Caleb, bouncing excitedly. He has to admit that the smells wafting from the bowl are incredible, and by the time a bowl is passed to him, he’s eager to try it.

Chapter Text

The next night, Hugo has Caleb working the front counter, while he ducks in and out, dealing with … something out back. Caleb’s not sure what. It’s fine for the first few hours, but as he totals a cost for one customer Caleb realises that all the discounts provided to various people seem completely arbitrary. He makes a game of it, observing who gets what discount and trying to find a pattern. Eventually he can’t ignore the way Hugo’s eyes scan everyone who walks in, and the correlation between how much he appears to like the look of them, and the discount they potentially receive. Caleb silently fumes, goes back to get a file when Hugo asks, and then, once the night is over and he’s added up the book and coins again – another perfect tally – he sits in his room and writes out all his observations on a piece of paper.
It’s on the third night that Caleb notices Nott ducking in and out of the kitchen, taking covered plates to the various rooms housing the workers, and his mind adds up that she’s running food and drink in when they’re between customers. She grins at him when they cross each other in the hallway,
“This is better than I thought it’d be, Caleb!” she tells him, trying to balance two separate dishes on her two tiny arms. Caleb laughs quietly and ruffles her hair.
“Of course you are happy, suss, you will always be happy if there is food.“ She ducks away from his hand, and staggers as the plates wobble precariously.
“I’m happy that we have a roof over our heads,” she tells him seriously, and he nods.
“Ja, so am I.” Then she’s shooting off down the hall, plates bouncing, as he heads the rest of the way 7to the toilet.
By the end of the week, Caleb has figured out where Hugo is keeping the extra tome, and the coin he’s pilfering. It’s eight days after he and Nott moved in and Hugo is outside having a smoke – Fjord’s allergies prevent him from doing so inside – when Caleb leads Beau to the little nook hidden under one of the storage cupboards. There they find a sack with a collection of gold and silver coins, plus the book. As Beau counts the coins, Caleb flips through the book to find a neat record kept of everything the man’s scammed. Every time he’s charged someone extra, every time he’s written into the official records a discount that the customer never received, it’s all noted in the man’s hand, calculating how much he’s taken, what the records show should be left in the tin at the end, and then a scrawling of what is left. Caleb supposes it’s so the man can keep track of what he’s taken, make sure no one gets suspicious if the records show they’ve come up short, but it’s also the perfect evidence against him. Beau whistles,
“There must be at least a thousand gold in here,” she says. Caleb flicks to the back of the book. The man has also kept a running total of how much he has in the sack, noting any time he takes coins out, or when the till is over float at the end of the night and he nabs the extra.
“One thousand, two hundred and thirty nine gold,” he reads, “Plus one hundred and five silver.” Beau whistles again.
“What’s he wanna do with all this, d’ya recon?” she asks. Caleb blinks at her,
“I do not know,” he replies.
They take the book and the bag to Marion, who calls in the Zolezzo. Caleb hands in his sheaf of notes on all the oddities of the man, and between the evidence and the testimonies given, the man is dragged away. Once he’d discovered he’d been found out, he had sat at the table, hands clasped in front of him, and refused to speak, even to defend himself. The Zolezzo take him away, still silent, and his eyes linger on Jester until the door is closed behind him. Beau’s hand comes down to clasp Caleb’s shoulder.
“Told you, you were the right person for the job.” There’s a question in her voice, but he can’t follow it as Marion answers.
“Yes, thank you Beau, it was a wonderful suggestion! And thank you Caleb, dear, for helping us so marvellously!” He looks up to find not just Beau and Marion’s faces watching him, but everyone, from Caduceus to Nott, and he gets the feeling that whatever he says here is going to be important.
“Ja, well, I can hardly say no when Beauregard comes asking for help, now, can I?” he tries for a joking smile and thinks he must be somewhere close from the relaxing faces around him. Nott gives him a subtle thumbs up, as Beau’s hand leaves his shoulder to instead punch his arm.
“Hey! I resent that!” Caleb quirks his eye at her. He’s not sure what to do with all the other people staring expectantly at him, but Beau he can handle. He travelled from Trostenwald with Beau, he understands her by now. Better yet, she understands him.
“You resent what, exactly? That I respect you enough to handle yourself that when you come asking for help, I know it must be serious?” Beau blinks at him.
“O-oh! Was that – was that a compliment?” Fjord’s laugh disrupts their little moment, his hand scruffling at Beau’s hair.
“Ya really need to get better at reading people Beau,” he tells her pulling his hand up before she can swat it away. Caleb finds his eyes meeting the man’s yellow ones, and what he sees there is nothing but kindness. “Ya think ya understand his system, Caleb?” he’s nodding even before he finds his voice.
“Oh, ja, his system is ridiculously convoluted, but I understand it.”
“Well,” Marion claps her hands together, “you are more than welcome to change it to something more straightforward if you think it’ll work.” She says. Caleb nods.

Chapter Text

“Come ooonnn Cay-leb!” Jester whines outside his door. “You’re taking longer to get dressed than Molly! And I didn’t think that was possible!” Caleb knows for a fact that that isn’t true, because if the purple tiefling had finished getting ready, then he would no doubt be outside Caleb’s door too. Both Jester and Molly have repeatedly expressed their excitement for the day, gushing over how good Caleb will look once he’s had a bath. He’s studiously ignored them, spending every waking moment, when not serving customers or eating, on his new system for organisation. He’s sorted the customer files by who they see and each draw is colour co-ordinated to the person, while he’s adjusted the discounts – with Marion’s permission, as it is her establishment – to be a fixed rate, offered to regular customers upon certain conditions.

He finishes extracting the molasses from his coat pocket, twists shut the lid of the jar it now sits in, and tucks it into a draw before walking over to open the door. Jester’s eyes sweep over him in shock as he walks out and he would feel embarrassed at the difference between their casual clothes if he hadn’t gotten over that a long time ago. She's wearing a deep blue dress that reaches below her knees, puffed out with a petticoat, and a pink ribbon tied around her waist to accentuate her curves. Her sturdy brown boots are polished to perfection and look relatively new. In comparison, he wears the clothes from his first day here, a torn up once-white shirt and brown breeches, covered with a holey and patchy coat. His shoes fare little better, toes sticking through holes into the open air.

“Why do you look like a homeless person, Caleb?” she asks, scrambling to his side as he walks down the hall.

“I am wearing my cleanest shirt and breeches?” he meets her eyes, hoping that feigning confusion will lead her to not pushing further.

“But they have holes!” No such luck, he thinks. “And your poor coat!” he closes his eyes as they reach the kitchen, taking in a deep breath.

“My clothes were one of the last things I worried about,” he admits to her quietly, “paying our rent and making sure that Nott, at least, had one meal a day was where almost all money I earnt went.” His ears are burning with shame now, embarrassed by the admission, not the circumstance. He turns around when Jester doesn’t follow him into the kitchen.

“You didn’t have food?” she asks, quiet and shocked.

“I had no money to waste on appearing more presentable, and no-one would hire someone who looked so … bedraggled.” He explains. “It is a vicious cycle.” She slowly walks forwards, wrapping her arms around his waist. With a start, he realises he thinks she is crying.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Caleb.” She sobs, “You are too nice to be a hobo.” Caleb wants to argue, to tell her how horrible he is, everything he’s done, but he wants this conversation to finish more, so he keeps the thoughts boiling through his head quiet.

Suddenly Jesters head whips up and even through her tears, she is smiling. “But, you are not a hobo any longer!” she exclaims, her arms squeezing tight before pulling away. “Now you have a job and a home and you will have a nice bath and then you will be handsome!” She frowns momentarily, in concentration, not sadness, “Well, more handsome, because you are already handsome, it will just be even better once you do not stink of the gutter!” She spins to emphasise her delight, and bumps into Yasha’s stomach. The tiefling giggles.

“Hello Yasha, I didn’t see you there!” Instead of moving away she wraps her arms around the larger woman’s waist.

“Hello,” Yasha replies, “Are you ready for the baths?” Jester lets her go, spinning with joy again.

“I am soooo ready, Yasha! Did you know Caleb has never had a bath before? It is why he is so stinky!” she whispers the last, but still allows it to carry across the room.

“I didn’t say I’d never had a bath,” Caleb tries to speak, but Jester ignores him as Nott comes into the room.

“Nott! Have you ever had a bath?” she runs to the goblin, picking her up and spinning her around. “Are you excited? Have you ever seen Caleb clean before?” she continues babbling questions, leaving the other girl no time to answer, but Nott just laughs. Caleb meets Yasha’s gaze where it is resting on him.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“For what?” He asks, confused.

“For getting Hugo out.” Her voice is quiet, gentle, but Caleb can hear the honesty in it. “I know you saw the way he looked at Jester. The others didn’t notice, but I was never sure how to bring it up. So thank you.” She nods.

“Oh. Um, ja, it was no pro- I was, was happy to help.” He stammers, and it must be enough for her because she nods once more, decisive, then turns away. Caleb stays standing in the middle of the kitchen, his mind running a mile a minute, as the others file in. Eventually he finds Nott’s hand coming to rest in his.

“You ready to go, Caleb?” she asks, and he nods. He knows how frightened she is of water, so if she is willing to do this, then he will be with her for it. Even as his mind remembers that pile of gold the man had hoarded.
Fjord hands him a robe with a hood, a wry smile when Caleb meets his eyes in confusion.

“We get enough trouble just from people trying to sneak in to see us,” he explains, “we’d rather not encounter them out in the streets.” Caleb blinks,

“Ah, ja.” He replies, eloquent, Caleb, he thinks, “And, as your clerk, if I was recognised with you, it’d be a problem?” he assumes. Fjord nods.

“No point taking needless chances, anyway.” He concedes.

The shrouded group make their way through the streets, avoiding the bustling main streets for the less travelled back roads, a cloaked Beau leading, with another guard, also covered, bringing up their rear. They make it into the bathhouse without encountering anyone, and are quickly divested of their cloaks and overlayers by confident hands. Marion’s lips purse at the state of his and Nott’s dress, but no one says anything as they make their way into the private rooms. A minute later and Caleb finds himself standing alone in the changing room, knowing everyone else has moved on into the bathhouse proper. He takes a moment to breathe.

“Caleb?” Nott asks cautiously from behind him. “You okay?”

“Ja,” he turns, still clothed, and finds her wrapped in a towel, hovering by the door. “I just need a minute, you go on ahead.” Nott shakes her head and instead comes to sit beside him, pulling him down with her.

“No, I know you’ll lose yourself in your head if I leave you alone right now.” She shakes her head. “I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to go.” His arm finds its way to rest around her shoulders, taking strength from this small creature.

“Danke.” He manages, before turning his focus to his breathing, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. He repeats the process a few times before he realises that Nott is talking again.

“- and I know it’s different, and maybe not what you wanted, but it’s good cause you have a job and we have rooms and beds, and we’re getting a bath which I don’t really like, but its good to be clean, I suppose, nice. And OH! I didn’t tell you! Marion asked if I wanted a job as a runner-girl. Cause you were doing that as well as serving people, but really it should be someone else, so if you want to stay, and I’m not saying that you have to, but if you want to, then I’ll be running around, bringing people food and telling them when their clients are ready and – “ she cuts off to peer back up at him. “Are you back with me yet?” she asks, not accusing but gentle.

“Ja,” he nods. “Did- did I hear you right? You said Marion was going to give you a job?” he asks. Her green cheeks flush dark as she nods.

“Yes, she said, since I am already living there, and I’ve been bringing people food anyway, but if you think it’s a bad idea, then I won’t-“

“Nott,” he cuts her off, a rare circumstance that shuts her up completely, “Nott, that is wonderful! You can earn your own money, and buy yourself all the shiny things you want.” She grins back at him.

“Do you know how many buttons I could buy with just one week’s worth of wages?” she asks.

“No, I do not. Do you?”

“To many!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air.
The door swings open as Molly saunters in, quirking his eyebrow when he finds them sitting on the floor.

“Are you two planning to stay in here forever? Or are you coming out to the baths?” He asks.

“We’re coming,” Nott bites back, “We just needed a moment.” Molly’s eyebrows come together in a way that changes the whole shape of his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stepping closer but still keeping distance. His voice shifts too, the tantalising lilt gone, replaced with concern. Caleb heaves himself off the floor.

“Ja, we are gut. We just needed a moment.” He replies, repeating Nott’s vagueties. Nott scrambles up as well.

“I don’t like water,” she admits to Molly, before pulling a ridiculous face, one that Caleb thinks is supposed to be brave, and plunging through the door. Molly lingers, watching Caleb, and he wishes that the tiefling would leave already. When it becomes clear Caleb is not about to pull his clothes off and follow Nott through the door, Molly steps closer again.

“You know,” he begins, voice still a reassurance, “We’re going to see you naked at some point or other, it comes from working in a brothel.” Caleb takes another breath.

“Ja, I know, I just, I wish I didn’t have to.” He admits, finding Molly’s eyes. He expects to see a hunger in there, an excitement at seeing the man naked, or a judgement that he is so shy. Instead all he sees is sympathy. Somehow, from Nott’s support and the kindness in Molly’s eyes, Caleb finds the strength he needs to pull his shirt over his head, keeping eye contact until the fabric blocks it. When he pulls his head free, the tiefling’s eyes are already raking across his chest, taking in the scars and marks, the dancing flames and the carved ‘T’. Caleb meets his eyes one last time, watches as the sympathy grows to concern, but he’s already come this far, so he turns to pull down his pants, revealing his back as he does. There is an indrawn breath as the tiefling sees his scars, long red gashes up and down the length of his back, but Caleb has already made his decision and ignores the tiefling as he finds a towel and wraps it around his waist. Turning back, Molly nods at him once, before leading the way out of the changeroom.

Chapter Text

The large room is shrouded in mist, swirls flowing up in an entrancing dance Caleb is sure he would love if he had his glasses on to see. Instead he blindly makes his way forward, hoping that the mist will keep his scars hidden, at least from a distance. Molly’s hand catches him just before he plunges face-first into a pool, holding on until he’s righted himself.

“You might want to take your towel off, before you go jumping in, darling.” The purr is back in his voice, but softer than before, weaving around the still present air of reassurance. Caleb nods, mutters,

“Ja,” and copies Molly when the tiefling drops his towel to the ground, before stepping carefully into the water.

The water is warm and comforting, not to hot, but reassuring, as he sinks into it. Glancing around, he can make out a green blob that might be Nott, but judging from the size is probably Fjord, and a bright blue smudge that he thinks is Jester. Next to Jester is a red blob that his brain places as Marion. He thinks she’s smiling at him, but without his glasses he can barely make out who she is, so he assumes it’s just his imagination.

“Caleb, darling,” the red blob that is Marion addresses him, “This is Elaina, Elaina, this is Caleb.” She indicates a woman who has walked up beside the pool as she speaks, so he turns to nod at the blob of a person. “Elaina dear, Caleb is new and while he needs a good cleaning, please be careful with him?” she asks and Caleb thinks the blob nods in response.

“Of course.” The voice is gentle and calm, but at the same time, a voice that could harden to broker no nonsense with barley a shift. “I’ll get some oils out for your hair, Caleb, and we’ll need to at least trim the beard, but would you rather keep it, or shave it completely?” she asks, not realising the spiral Caleb falls into trying to answer. He grew the beard to help disguise himself, Trent never let them grow beards. But maybe that means that he should lose it, because they’ll be expecting him to have grown a beard to defy him. But losing it will make him more identifiable and also feels like the man is winning. His thoughts clarify into an answer: he won’t let Trent dictate his appearance any more, won’t let the man dictate any of his life.

“I’d like to keep it if I may?” he asks, eyes darting to Marion’s blob.

“Of course, dear, as long as you keep it neat.” He’s certain she’s smiling now, maybe he can’t see it, but he can hear it.

“Sounds good.” Elaina’s voice comes again. “We’ll start there, then?” He turns to look at her, realises she’s waiting for his response and manages to reply,

“Ja,” she nods and leaves. He glances around the tub again, as his eyes finally adjust a little and some slight definition comes into his view. The green blob that he thought was Fjord not Nott turns out to be both Fjord and Nott, the half-orc in the water while the goblin perches on the edge, dipping her toes in. Caleb fixes his eyes on where he assumes hers are, and tries for his best cajoling stare.

“You know, suss, you need to actually get in the water to clean,” he comments. He’s pretty sure she’s glaring at him.

“I know,” she grumbles, “I’m just, working myself up to it.”

“I think its so brave!” Jester declares from across the pool. “You are standing up to your fear because you do not want to be messy and smelly anymore!” Caleb can tell she’s accentuating her point by moving, as ripples make their way across the pool towards him.

“Yes!” Nott agrees. “See Caleb? I’m being brave!” He smiles at her teasing answer,

“I never said you were not, suss,” he reassures.

“Well, good!” Nott replies. They sit in silence for a moment longer, before Fjord speaks up.

“Hey Caleb, I don’ mean to intrude, but why d’ya keep squinting all the time?” Caleb draws his gaze back to the Fjord shaped blob, now just distinguishable from Nott’s blob and squints at him in response.

“Because I cannot see.” He replies simply. There’s silence for a minute before Nott speaks up,

“Without his glasses, he means. He can’t see without his glasses.” Caleb would have thought that an unnecessary addition, but the quiet “oh” from Jester suggests that maybe he should have clarified.

“Yes, I mean without my glasses.” he allows, quirking a slight smile.

By the time he’s been bathed and washed, beard and hair trimmed, his head is aching from constantly squinting to see. Elaina had been thorough, guiding him between pools, handing him all sorts of lotions to use on various parts of his body and hair, after discovering he prefers to do it himself. She gives instructions on how long to leave various mixtures in his hair before washing, and by the end his hair is so silky smooth he can hardly recognise the feeling as the knotty mess from before. Eventually, she leads him back to the change room and he can finally pull his clothes back on, and, worn as they are, its still a comfort to have a barrier once again between his scars and the people around him. As he’s finishing pulling on his clothes, the door opens and Jester, Molly and Nott all come in together.

“Caleb?” Jester’s voice is filled with surprise but also joy. He turns around, delighting that he finally has his glasses back and can make out their features.

“OH! I /knew/ you’d look even better cleaned up!” she exclaims, darting forward to wrap her arms around him again. He looks over her head at Nott and Molly, meeting the goblin’s searching eyes, before the tiefling’s. Molly’s eyes have a look in them that Caleb can’t quite identify, but its gone in a blink as he strides forward to gently pull Jester back.

“He does look amazingly handsome, dear, but if you don’t let him breathe soon, then we’re going to have an amazingly handsome corpse on our hands, and somehow I don’t think Marion would approve of you killing our new clerk.”

“OH!” Jester pulls back, “Sorry Caleb, I didn’t mean to squeeze so tight!”

“Nein, it was okay,” he replies sparing her a small smile before meeting Mollymauk’s eyes in thanks. The tiefling nods once before turning to get dressed. Jester pulls away to her own clothes, still gushing over how handsome Caleb is and how it’s such a shame he doesn’t want to be trained because he would be an instant success, and Caleb tunes her out as he sits on a bench, not sure what to do now he’s dressed again. Marion, Fjord and Yasha file in one by one, each commenting on his new appearance, or not, in their own way. Once everyone is dressed, Marion leads the way out of the change rooms, where they pick up their coats and cloaks before heading out into the afternoon sky.
This time they don’t sneak along back ways, but Marion leads them a few shops down and into a building with a sign out the front labelled “The Slayers’ Cake” Caleb follows the group into a cosy bakery, and watches as Jester pulls Nott up to the counter, explaining all the different delicacies in great detail. The others all pull their hoods down, so Caleb follows suite, meeting Fjord’s eyes where the yellow is trained on him.

“Ya get to pick something,” he explains over the sound of Jester’s increasingly ridiculous descriptions.

“And this one tastes of unicorn vomit, don’t ask me how I know, and /this one/ …”

“Was?” he asks, confused.

“Its part of our day out, dear,” Marion explains from his other side. “We have a nice bath, then get a nice pastry.” She’s smiling at him, gentle and encouraging and Caleb isn’t sure he can take much more of this, of all these people smiling at him like they care about him, like they understand. His head starts to spin when Nott’s hand slips into his and he hears her whisper,

“Breathe.”

“Ja,” he replies, before focusing on his breath again, breathe in, hold, breathe out. Fjord and Marion turn their attention away, having a conversation with Yasha, but Caleb just focuses on his breathing until it’s under control. Once his head stops spinning, he turns his attention back to the baked goods, listening as Jester prattles to the shop keeper now, a gnomish woman with pure white hair.

“I was thinking of getting the apricot turnover because apricots are really good this time of year but the chocolate éclair looks amazing and I want to try the-“

“Caleb,” Marion’s quiet voice draws his attention back to her.

“Ja?” he asks.

“Do you know what you want?” her eyes jump again to the counter, where he can see various pastries lined up in paper bags, resting on top. His eyes graze over the sweet display before turning to the rolls and loafs behind the counter. He’s never been one for sweets, but there’s a bread roll that catches his eye, stuffed with olives and tomatoes and cheese.

“Could I-“ his breath catches in his throat and he starts again. “Could I try one of those rolls?” he nods to where he’s looking and Marion follows his gaze.

“Of course, dear. I can say from experience that they are amazing.” He nods, then watches as the gnome woman places one in a bag beside all the other snacks, and then takes his bag as they leave the store, keeping a grip on Nott’s hand the entire time.

They eat as they wander back to their building, once more through alleyways and backstreets, Beau leading with confidence. He can hear conversations going on around him, but he focuses on his roll and the familiarity of Nott’s hand in his.

He doesn’t even realise they’ve made it back to the Lavish Chateau until Nott’s encouraging him to take off his coat, in his room. Once the thick fabric has found a home on the floor, she leads him to the bed, settling him comfortably with his back propped against the headboard, before she curls up to one side, reassuring but not overwhelming. Caleb stares at the wall for a few minutes, unblinking, before his eyes come to rest on his lap, and he snaps his fingers. Frumpkin purrs as he fizzles into existence, curling up on his lap. Caleb brings the arm not resting on Nott up to pet the fae cat, sitting peacefully and recovering from the interactions of the day.

Chapter Text

Caleb wakes a few hours later with Frumpkin still curled on his lap, but the reassurance of Nott gone from his side. He pulls his hands through his hair – shorter than it was, but still long – before sitting up properly and heaving himself to his feet with a sigh.

It’s a good thing we’re closed tonight. He thinks to himself as he scans the room for his coat. I would never be able to serve customers in this state. After finding his crumpled mess of a coat on the floor, he pulls it on as he makes his way out into the corridor.

Jester is in the kitchen, he can hear her talking a mile a minute from down the hall, but the smells of food wafting from there remind his stomach that he hasn’t eaten very much today, and after two weeks of three solid meals a day, it isn’t happy with that. Maybe he can just slip in and Jester will distract attention from him, he supposes.

Everyone is in the kitchen, spilling out around the two tables. Nott is wedged between Jester and one of the guards, listening in on a conversation about a unicorn vs a dragon. Beau waves to him from the other table and scoots over to make room, so he moves to join her as she grabs a bowl and starts ladling something into it. By the time he’s sitting down between her and Mollymauk, she’s placed a bowl of soup on the table in front of him. Molly hands him a spoon and he starts poking around, discovering chunks of chicken and carrot before bringing the laden spoon to his mouth.

“How you going Caleb?” Beau asks, bumping his shoulder, not unkindly. He frowns at her as some of the soup spills down into his beard from the jolt.

“I was going well until I spilt my soup.” He replies, a quiet joke that he knows she will understand. The hidden message of I am doing better now, thank you, is understood as well. Beau nods.

“Good. I was worried Molly broke you in the baths. He can be a terror!” a chunk of bread flies across his face to hit Beau’s nose and he turns to where Mollymauk’s hand is still up. The tiefling grins at him.

“I resent that!” He informs Beau. “I’m hardly going to break our new clerk when we’ve just got him. Where on earth would we find another one?” a chunk of bread comes flying from Beau’s direction but falls short and lands in Caleb’s soup. He turns to glare at her again.

“You’re just intent on ruining the poor man’s soup, aren’t you Beauregard?” Molly chides. “First you spill it into his freshly trimmed beard, then you throw bread in it…” he’s shaking his head as Caleb turns to look at him again. He draws his vision back to the chunk of bread now floating in his soup, before scooping it up with his spoon and popping it in his mouth. Once he’s swallowed he meets Molly’s gaze with a quirk of the lips.

“I don’t mind croutons,” he admits, “though, unexpected ones are rude.”

“Caleb, how are you dear?” Marion asks as she slips into the bench opposite him. He can see the concern in her eyes, and wonders what Nott – or Beau, he supposes – might have told her. But although he looks for it, he can’t see any pity in those golden eyes.

“Ja, I am okay,” he replies, eyes dropping to his soup again. “I have not been to a bathhouse in some time, it was … overwhelming.” He admits.

“That’s quite alright, dear.” Marion’s voice is smooth and reassuring, but he can hear the sincerity behind it – she means what she says. “Although,” she adds and his eyes dart back up in fright, “We will need to get you some new clothes.” She’s scanning him again, examining every inch of his worn clothing. “I can’t have someone on my staff looking so ragged, even off shift.” Her eyes crinkle with her gentle smile as she meets his startled gaze again, and it takes his brain a second to catch up.

“Uh, ja. I was planning to get something with my first pay.” He aims for a reassuring tone, but it comes out more embarrassed. He knows he’ll get payed for the first time tomorrow and he had been planning to wake Nott up early to get some clothes for both of them, and buttons for her.

“Oh, no dear. You don’t need to spend your pay on that.” Marion’s hand comes over the table to rest on his where he holds the spoon. He realises that his arm is shaking. “I cover necessary expenses for my staff, such as food and clothes. It factors into your pay, but what you get is for you to use on things you like. Not boring necessities.” Beau’s shoulder bumps his,

“You can get some books, Caleb.” She grins. He’s to busy examining his soup to respond.

“I – I can’t. I can’t ask you to do that,” he tells the bowl, “You’ve already done so much for me – for us.” His eyes glance across to Nott, laughing at something Jester’s said, her hood down, for once not ashamed of her appearance.

“Caleb, darling. Look at me.” Marion’s voice is still kind, but it brokers a tone of no disagreement. Reluctantly, he meets her gaze. “I don’t know what work was like for you before, what it’s like in the Empire, but here I make sure my staff are cared for. Due to the nature of our business, my staff don’t merely come in for a few hours and work a shift, they live here. You live here. You eat with us, work with us, sleep down the hall from us. We say we’re like a family here, and you may be new, but you are a part of that family too, now. As the manager, its my responsibility, my pleasure, to ensure that my staff, my family, are cared for. Food, bed, clothes, they are my charge. We all have our pasts that haunt us, but here you are safe. You have a bed, you have food, and a job. As soon as I can organise it you will have new clothes. It is not a burden on me, not any more than I do for everyone here, and I am happy to do it. So don’t tell me you can’t accept it, because then I will feel that I am not doing my job as manager.”

Caleb’s gaze falls back to the soup again as Marion talks, he can feel tears trailing down his cheeks. Her hand comes to gently pull his chin up, until his water-logged eyes meet her golden ones.

“Do not feel ashamed, darling. Just say ‘thank you’ and let me do my job.” She holds his eyes until he nods.

“Ja, uh. Tha- thank you.” He mutters. She smiles, and lets his chin drop.

“It is my pleasure, dear.” She replies. Caleb focuses on eating his rapidly-turning-cold soup, and ignores the light-hearted conversation Beau strikes up with Molly. When his bowl is empty, he glances up and finds Yasha sitting in the seat Marion has vacated, working through her own bowl. She meets his eyes and nods once, before turning her attention to her bowl, thankfully letting him process his thoughts.

Chapter Text

There’s a knock on his door a few days later, early enough in the day that Caleb hasn’t actually gone to bed yet. His brain tells him it’s around 7 in the morning, but when he doesn’t get off work until 3, he usually reads his books for a few hours before falling into bed, waking up in time for a late lunch. He sighs to himself as he resigns to no sleep until tomorrow, and goes to open the door. Fjord nearly punches his nose as the door swings open, the man’s hand coming in to knock again.

“Ja?” Caleb asks, trying to keep the exhaustion from his voice.
“Oh! I – um, I wasn’t actually expecting you to be up.” Fjord admits. Caleb cocks a slight grin.

“I am a light sleeper.” He informs the other man. It’s not a lie, just, hides the implications of what he was actually doing.

“Right, well. We’re gonna - we’re planning on going out in an hour or so, Yasha needs a new uniform, and Marion thought you might like to get some new clothes? Nott’s coming too.” Fjord’s voice is smooth and collected, but Caleb can hear the uncertainty under it, had been trained to notice those vocal hitches in other people, and to hide them in himself.

“Uh, ja. That would be gut,” he decides, “leaving in an hour, you say?”

“Yeah, Pumat opens his shop early and Marion wants to get our orders in quick. Deuce is whipping up some breakfast now.”

“Right, danke, I will be out shortly.” Caleb confirms, then shuts his door as the half-orc turns away.
He leans his face into the cold wood, trying desperately not to think of the last time he was fitted for clothes. He fails.

”Come on, Caleb!” Edowulf cajoles, tugging on the other boy’s arm. “We’re going to get our proper uniforms fitted today!” Astrid joins on his other side, smiling warmly at him.

“Ja, just one last test then we’ll be fully qualified war mages. Its amazing to think, isn’t it?”

“Ja,” Caleb agrees, “Who would have thought three children from the Zemni Fields would end up serving the archmage?” He bats Wulf off his arm, before smiling at Astrid and leading them on down the corridor to Trent and the waiting seamstresses.

Two days later, Caleb burned his parents to death in their own house. Two days later, Caleb lost his mind.

The door swings open again and Caleb, lost in his memory, falls through the frame. He’s caught by two strong green arms, toned and smooth, and he takes a moment to appreciate why this man decided to take this job, before he realises said man is talking. And Caleb is still fully supported in his arms.
He pulls himself back and up onto his own two feet, before finding the man’s eyes watching him in concern.

“Ya okay there, Caleb?” he asks, voice as gentle as his frown appears.

“Ja, I was just… lost in thought.” He replies, dancing around the truth.

“Right.” Fjord’s expression shows he can tell there’s more Caleb isn’t saying, but he doesn’t ask. “Well, just letting ya know, we’re leaving in ten. If ya want breakfast, best to come now.” Caleb’s mind runs for a minute – where did the time go? – before he realises Fjord is still standing in front of him, waiting for an answer.

“Ah, Ja. I will… I will just get changed, then be right out.” He replies.

“Sounds good,” Fjord cracks a smile, “and Caleb?” He adds, just before the door closes, “I know it’s not easy to talk about, but if you ever want to talk to someone, we’re all happy to listen. We won’t pressure you, but… just know we’re here, yeah?” The half-orc’s yellow eyes hold Caleb’s own blue ones until he manages to nod.

“Ja, thank you. I will… I will keep that in mind.” He nods.

“Good.” Fjord replies, before turning away, leaving Caleb to get changed in peace.

By the time he makes it to the kitchen, Jester is bouncing in her seat, and he catches the end of a conversation between her and Nott.

“- Won’t get clothes!”

“He’ll make it, don’t worry.”
At Caleb’s cough, both girls turn, and Jester knocks the bench over in her excitement, sending Nott sprawling.

“Caleb! You made it! I thought you were going to keep hiding in your room and just have stinky, ruined clothes forever!” She exclaims. Instead of replying, Caleb extricates himself from her hugging grasp and moves over to help Nott from where she is sprawled on the floor.

“Oh! I am soooo sorry, Nott!” Jester cries, seemingly forgetting about Caleb to pick the smaller girl up, professing her apologies at knocking the goblin over. Caduceus ambles over from the stove, handing Caleb two slices of bread. Upon investigation, the bread holds fried egg and ham, and Caduceus’s large hand comes to rest on Caleb’s shoulder after the human takes the sandwich.

“You don’t have time to eat a proper breakfast, if you’re planning on leaving with Marion, so I made you something portable.” The firbolg explains, hand squeezing gently before releasing. Normally, Caleb would have shied away from the contact, but he’s found that Caduceus’s unflappable calmness is reassuring, and the man seems to always know how Caleb feels, even when he’s not sure himself. Caleb’s not certain he likes someone being able to read him so thoroughly.

“Uh, ja, thank you.” He manages, but the firbolg just gives him a nod and turns back to the stove, leaving Caleb to eat in peace.

A minute later, Marion, Fjord, Yasha, Beau and another guard, whom Caleb has learned is named Bryce, all walk in together. They are all wearing long cloaks again, and Beau hands two to Jester and Nott as Bryce hands one to Caleb. He mutters a thanks and swings it on, following them to the door. Bryce and Marion lead the way down the alley, followed by Fjord and Yasha, then Caleb, Nott and Jester, with Beau bringing up the rear. Caleb starts contemplating whether there is any point to bringing Beau and Bryce, when Fjord and Yasha are both so … looming, until he feels a light hand on his shoulder.

“Are you okay, darling?” Marion asks, concerned.

“Ja,” Caleb replies without thinking. Considering it though, he realises he is okay, more than he thought he’d be in public. Nott and Beau are both behind him, Nott talking nineteen to the dozen with Jester, a friend that the girl never thought she’d find, and he feels safe following Bryce, nestled behind the combined mass of Fjord and Yasha.

“… Ja.” He confirms again. Marion looks like she’s waiting for something more, but Caleb saves himself from figuring out what she wants by taking another bite of his sandwich. Biting into the egg causes the liquid yoke to spurt up all over his face and front, effectively cutting off whatever Marion was asking, as she laughs quietly.

“Sorry,” he mutters quietly, his free hand searching through his pockets for the handkerchief Nott had ‘found’ him on their way down from the Empire. He brings it up to his face and scrubs the worst of the mess off, before turning back to Marion, who is still smiling her amusement.

“What were you saying?” He asks, suddenly wanting to draw her attention away from his accident, even if it comes back to the conversation he was trying to avoid. She accepts the change in conversation as her smile shifts from amusement to kindness, hinted with pity that Caleb tells himself isn’t real.

“I was asking,” she starts, “if you had any ideas about what you wanted for clothes?”
Oh, right, he thinks, clothes shopping. He draws his gaze down to his now yoke-covered coat, before tilting his head to glance behind at Nott.

“I know Nott would love a dress,” he admits, “she’s never felt comfortable wearing one, because she’s always worried someone will attack her for – well, being her, but maybe she’d be more comfortable within the building?” He trails off as Marion shakes her head at him, smile shifting from kindness-with-a-hint-of-pity to amusement-with-a-hint-of-pity.

“Caleb, dear, I asked what you wanted for clothes, not Nott.” She informs him, gently brushing at his beard with her fingertips, before wiping the transferred egg yoke onto her own handkerchief.

“Sorry,” Caleb mutters again, bringing his own handkerchief back up to give his beard a more thorough scrubbing. Marion tuts at him, before producing a flask from somewhere, wetting her handkerchief and passing it over.
“Danke,” he mutters as he uses the damp cloth to clear his beard off. Once it is as clean as it’s going to get for now, he looks to her, silently asking if she wants the now water-and-yolk covered cloth back. She shakes her head, smile verging even further to amusement,

“Keep it, I have enough.” She waves the thought away, so Caleb bundles both handkerchiefs together, stuffing them into a pocket – he can always give it back once it’s clean.
“Now dear,” she continues once the handkerchiefs are safely tucked out of sight, “what do you want in terms of clothes?” she asks again. Evidently she senses his uncertainty, as she speaks up again.

“Certainly, you’ll need some clean shirts and trousers, we can’t have you walking around in your uniform all the time, but is there anything else you want, anything special?” She presses, and Caleb starts to feel his head swim, as he remembers the seamstress from before asking a similar question.

”Now, obviously, this is standard issue uniform,” the woman starts, eyes darting around the three of them, “but I can certainly try to accommodate any specific requests – hidden pockets, or components sewn into the hems for emergency, the like?” she raises her brow questioningly, and Caleb’s mind runs. Mostly, he’s planned for components to be sorted into the standard issue pockets, but having something hidden would be useful…

He rips his mind from the memory, taking an aggressive bite of his sandwich to help ground himself in the present. Different clothes, different people. he reminds himself. Different Caleb. The egg makes a last pitiful spurt onto his coat at the vicious bite, and the action draws his attention back to his messy, holey, jacket. He slowly moves his attention back to Marion, who is watching him with a kind but concerned look.

“I…” he cuts off, looking away, “I would like a new coat,” he admits to the wall on his right, “if it is not to much trouble. I can put my pay towards it, or-“ He’s cut off as Marion speaks once more,

“Caleb, darling, we’ve already been through this. It is my responsibility to ensure my staff are clothed. If a coat is what you want, then that can certainly be arranged. Do you have any ideas of materials? Colours?” she prompts, and Caleb allows himself to latch onto the conversation, refusing to draw connections to his past – they never had options in the past, it was always standard uniform, then whatever he and Nott could scrounge from bins or laundry lines. He ignores those passing thoughts, turning his attention back to Marion.

“I have never really considered such things,” he admits, trying for a shy smile.

“Well, darling, a bright blue might clash with your hair, but it would bring out your lovely eyes, so maybe a darker blue, or hmm – or maybe a blue trim?” she muses. He allows himself to fall into the simple conversation, steering her away from more extravagant and outstanding colours, drawn as always towards the muted browns and reds he’s always favoured.