Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

London is full of cats. Not that he’s counted them, though that was a hard habit to break. Perhaps Edwin only thinks the city is full of cats because he is now primed to spot them. There had never seemed so many before. Now he sees them everywhere. Or rather catches glimpses of them, they remain somewhat elusive. A flick of a tail, or a pair of pointed ears, disappearing behind a window sill or parked car. If he had the paranoia to spare he’d start thinking they were watching him. Fortunately the one upside to the constant fear that Hell is still looking for him is that he is used to calming such thoughts, picking them rationally apart and, at least in this case, realising he is exaggerating the situation. Or rather that he’s got things the wrong way around: the cats aren’t focussing on him, he’s focussing on the cats.

Then he starts feeding them. Not to trick them this time, but because a little calico keeps disappearing out of sight in the alley by the office and she looks small and hungry and so very alone. He has it seems developed a soft spot for lonely felines, and he’s absolutely not going to interrogate that.

Then other cats start to show up, because they’ve learned there’s food. They talk to him, not saying much but thanking him for the meal and complaining about humans as though he is responsible for them. Edwin doesn’t linger to chat, Charles and Crystal don’t know what he’s doing and he’s not really sure he wants to explain himself. He’s not actually sure he could.

The Agency has re-established itself in London with no trouble whatsoever. There has been a slew of cases to keep them busy even without the odd one that the Night Nurse pops in with, belligerent and resentful but apparently as stuck with them as they are with her. Thankfully she has mostly confined her meddling to Edwin’s paperwork, which has driven him half mad but he has been forced to admit that some of her systems are more efficient. If she’d started following them round on cases he thinks Charles might have walloped her with his new cricket bat, and Edwin does not wish to put this uneasy truce with the afterlife to the test. Logically he knows they have an agreement, that he should be safe – though he’s not sure any agreement made with the Lost and Found would prevent Hell taking action if they knew where he was, and part of him feels constantly on edge as a result.

Strangely, the cats help. They move through the world like they own it, utterly unconcerned with other people and what they might want. It soothes his stress a little to watch them.

Charles has definitely clocked the increased number of cats and is giving them suspicious looks, but so far nothing has been said. He has asked no questions about the lily sat under a glass cloche on the bookshelves either, though he’s certainly noticed it.

Currently Edwin’s partner is fiddling with the arrangement of some of the other items on the shelves whilst waiting for Crystal to finish doing her make up. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?” he asks.

“No, thank you, Charles.” They’ve had this conversation three times already and Edwin has declined the offer each time.

“You might like it,” Charles wheedles.

“I would not.”

“He wouldn’t,” Crystal chimes in. On this issue they are in utter agreement.

“I just think you should get out more,” Charles insists.

“I am fine.”

Crystal no longer looks like she agrees with him, but thankfully it is apparently hard for her to talk while putting on lipstick.

“The concert’s going to be aces, mate!”

If you like that sort of thing, it probably will be. Edwin does not like that sort of thing. “Charles, I want to take the opportunity to go to the library...”

“Please.”

That is unfair. When Charles pleads with him like that Edwin finds it almost impossible to say no. Surprisingly, Crystal comes to his rescue. “Charles, if he doesn’t want to go he doesn’t want to go. Don’t pressure him.”

Edwin gives her a grateful look. His friends have both been very good at trying to persuade him out since returning from America. They seem unwilling to leave him alone, Charles in particular. It is touching, but also slightly exhausting now. Edwin has always needed a little time to himself every once in a while, even with Charles, and he certainly does not care to join some of their outings, which tend to involve people, noise, and other things Edwin doesn’t much like. Case in point, the concert that they have planned for this evening’s entertainment.

He also doesn’t care to see what looks like a burgeoning romance up close. They’re not dating, he’s sure of that, Charles would have told him, but he thinks it’s going to happen sooner or later. It’s fine, he’s fine, he really does just want Charles to be happy. He wants Crystal to be happy too. As for himself, well solving cases with Charles as his best mate has been the happiest he’s ever been, a little unrequited romantic longing isn’t going to upend that. They won’t let it.

The feelings of loneliness he had confessed to the Cat King back in Port Townsend though have only become more pronounced in the intervening months, and once Charles and Crystal are gone Edwin almost wishes he had accompanied them after all. More powerfully, he wishes that Niko were here. There’s a Niko-shaped hole in everything these days.

Edwin has the awful feeling that if he doesn’t leave for the library he might start weeping, so he very quickly gets to his feet, straightens his jacket, and steps through the mirror.

Mirror travel is tricky. Edwin is good at it, very good at it, but he still needs to focus in order to find the right path. He's led Charles to a few random destinations over the years when they've been escaping difficult situations and his concentration has slipped, but it's not usually an issue. What all those incidents had in common though is that he was overwhelmed by some kind of emotion, fear or anger or panic. Thus it is not entirely a surprise when he exits the mirror not in the library but in Niko's empty room at the Tongue and Tail. It is nearly three months since he has been here, and it feels like a lifetime.

He sighs. “Bugger.” Running his hand through his hair, Edwin sits heavily on the bed for a moment. If he closes his eyes he can see it all as it was, can imagine a smiling white haired girl sat beside him chattering happily. It’s too quiet though and it shatters the illusion.

It is probably best not to step back through the mirror until he's got a better grip on himself. He could end up anywhere and he doesn't fancy spending the night trying to get back to London from Timbuktu. He cannot however stay in here, the room feels so bare and bereft.

The building is silent as he ventures out, Jenny doesn’t appear to be in. He looks with interest at the building works, still progressing slowly following months of Jenny arguing with insurers and refusing to take Crystal’s money. It does look like things are coming on though, hopefully she will soon be able to reopen if she chooses to stay here.

It's early afternoon once more, thanks to the time difference, and Edwin finds himself drifting out onto the streets and wandering aimlessly through the town until he finds himself on the little rocky shore, beneath the lighthouse, where Niko had once collected sea glass. He sits down on a rock by the water and spends a long time just watching the sea, basking in the sun he cannot feel. After a while though he does feel something, the prickle of eyes on the back of his neck, and he stands, turning quickly, anxiety flaring until he sees who it is.

The Cat King is stood a little way up the cliff path, golden eyes fixed on Edwin, the breeze ruffling his black skirt, and a decided smirk on his handsome face.

Edwin’s lips curl upwards before he can stop them. He should have known he couldn't remain in the man’s kingdom without drawing his attention. “Have you been watching me?” he asks.

An innocent shrug. “I was just appreciating the scenery.”

Edwin looks back out over the sun-dappled sea. After so many grey days here it is nice to see it in the sunshine. “It is a nice view.”

The Cat King continues staring right at Edwin. “Beautiful.”

He will not react, he is not going to allow the man to unsettle him. He is unsettled enough. Edwin watches as the Cat King strolls down the path towards him, moving with feline grace over the rough ground.

“I began to think you were never coming back,” the Cat King says.

“I did not actually intend to.” The fleeting look of hurt on the Cat King’s face appears too genuine for Edwin not to follow up by admitting, “Well, not today at least. An accident with mirror travel. I was supposed to be going to the British Library.”

“Then you are a long way off course.”

Edwin is. So why doesn’t he feel like he is? “Mirror travel requires a strong focus on where you are going. I was...distracted.”

A sly smile. “So subconsciously this is where you really wanted to be?”

“That is not exactly how it works. But it does suggest I was thinking of Port Townsend I suppose.”

The smile becomes a grin, the golden eyes alight with triumph. “I told you you’d miss me.”

Edwin shakes his head in amusement. “That is not how I’d put it.”

“Only because you’re hopelessly repressed.” The Cat King winks, the words a tease not meant to offend.

Edwin cannot help but rise to the bait. “Well you are just hopeless.”

“Ooh!” The Cat King chuckles. “Been sharpening your claws, kitten?” He sounds delighted. He always did seem to enjoy it when Edwin responded to his teasing banter.

Edwin rolls his eyes, but there’s no real resentment in it. He will not admit it to the man, but it is not unpleasant to see him again.

“So where’s your other half?” the Cat King asks, affecting disinterest.

“Charles and Crystal are out at a concert. They did invite me to join them but it is not my sort of thing. As I said, I had intended to spend the night in the library.”

“But your instincts led you here.” The man steps in close and drags a forefinger slowly up Edwin’s arm.

“I found myself in Niko’s room. I have been thinking about her a lot lately.”

The playfulness drops from the other man’s expression and he offers Edwin a small sympathetic smile, the teasing finger transforming into a brief squeeze of his bicep. “Grief takes time. You just have to let yourself feel it.”

“I am not always good at that,” Edwin admits. “I find emotions...inconvenient.”

The Cat King laughs at the choice of word and shakes his head in what appears to be fond amusement. “God, what am I going to do with you?”

“You have done quite enough to me.” Edwin’s left hand instinctively encircles his right wrist, which just increases the Cat King’s enjoyment of the exchange.

“You don’t want a repeat of that, then don’t play bondage games with my cats. Though if you want to play them with me...”

“Do not finish that thought!” Edwin interjects hastily, hoping he sounds authoritative rather than simply flustered.

The Cat King tries to look contrite. It is thoroughly unconvincing. He does however sober up after a moment’s silence. “As you’re here...there is something I’d like to show you.” He offers a crooked elbow like some kind of old fashioned gentleman and Edwin almost takes his arm without thinking, common sense kicking in just in time.

“And what would that be?” he asks cautiously.

The man hesitates and looks oddly uncertain. “I think it’s best if I show you. Let me take you back to the cannery?”

Edwin narrows his eyes suspiciously but places his hand on the Cat King’s elbow. “Very well.”

The world dissolves in a cloud of purple smoke and Edwin finds himself standing in the Cat King’s familiar domain. Familiar despite only having been here once before. The encounter has relived itself in his mind so many times he feels like he spent months here rather than the mere minutes it must have been.

The man’s transportation magic is impressive and Edwin wonders what limits it has, if any. Could he transport himself outside of his kingdom, is his magic dependant on being here? Could he theoretically come and bother them in London? Edwin realises he’s still holding the Cat King’s arm and hastily lets go.

“Well, what did you want to show me?” He supposes he should be grateful they’re in the main warehouse space and not the bedroom he’d been transported to last time. Not much has changed, cats lounge everywhere, and it takes a gesture from his host for him to spot the new addition.

A few feet from where they’re standing is a cage, hanging from a beam at about head height, a familiar bundle of black feathers inside.

Edwin steps forward in shock. “Is that...?"

The Cat King nods grimly, unusually serious. "I found him in Esther's house."

"What were you doing there?" That comes out rather more accusatory that it was intended, but Edwin thinks it is a fair question. What has the Cat King been up to?

"Gutting the place. There were things in there that did not need to fall into the wrong hands."

“And you were the right hands?”

“Trust me, ghostie, there were worse options. But I didn’t keep her stuff, I trashed it. Believe it or not I have no use for a torture table perfectly calibrated for you.”

A cold hand grips Edwin’s heart. They’d never even given the table a second thought. They’d run from Esther’s house of horrors and never looked back, but the Cat King is right, that table was not something that needed to be loose in the world. “You destroyed it?” His voice emerges as a rough whisper, panic almost stealing his words.

“Yes.” The golden eyes are fixed on his again, calm and reassuring.

“Thank you. We did not think...” They should have thought! Edwin should have thought!

“You all had other things on your mind,” the Cat King says, soothingly. “Perfectly understandable.”

“But...” Edwin turns back to the cage, unwilling to dwell on the ‘other things’, the emptiness of Niko’s room still haunting his heart. “What are you doing with Monty?”

“Failing.”

Edwin frowns in confusion.

“Familiars rarely survive the death of a witch. I thought given time he might perk back up if I made sure he had food and water but he barely eats, won’t leave the cage. He’s dying. Mostly because he won’t make any effort to live.” The Cat King shrugs. “I wondered if seeing you might help.”

“Me?”

“Well he was rather fond of you.” The Cat King looks Edwin up and down appreciatively. “Can’t say I blame him. I’d blame him for quite a lot of other things but, honestly, it’s not like he had a whole bunch of choices.”

No, Edwin considers, he probably hadn’t. He approaches the cage with its open door and peers inside. “Monty?”

The bird finally lifts its head, dull eyes taking in the ghost before him. He shuffles back a little, feathers fluffing up in fear. Edwin keeps his voice low and soft. “Hello. It has been quite some time. It is nice to see you.”

The bird tips its head on one side, questioningly.

“I am sorry for what I said in the forest the last time we spoke.” You’re a bloody crow! He can still see the pain in Monty’s eyes when he’d said it. “I know you helped Charles when Esther trapped us, that was very brave of you.” Slowly he extends his hand into the cage, moving a fingertip to gently stroke the sooty feathers. The bird tenses for a second before tilting its head to lean into his touch.

“I think he feels guilty about what he did to you.” The Cat King’s voice is suddenly very close to his ear.

Edwin startles slightly but turns his attention quickly back to Monty. “There is no need for that. Your life was never your own, was it? I forgive you, Monty. But you must eat better, try to build your strength up. You surely do not wish to stay in a cage forever?”

The bird nudges his fingers in acknowledgement but looks exhausted by the effort.

The Cat King takes his arm and draws him away.

“Will he recover?” Edwin asks when they’re far enough away that he assumes Monty can’t hear him.

“I don’t know. There’s nothing more I can do for him. That’s the most responsive I’ve seen him since Esther died though, so I think you did some good.”

“It is very kind of you to care for him.” Edwin leaves the question unspoken, why would the Cat King bother?

“I just don’t like seeing Esther win. She broke enough things.” There’s a bitter undertone to those words that reminds Edwin of what Crystal had told him, that the Cat King was one of those things.

Some part of Edwin aches to reach out. He’d had to admit to himself by the time he left this place that he’d become a little fond of the outrageous creature beside him. More than a little. Comfort does not come naturally to him though, and he is not sure if the Cat King would welcome it. Was he truly pleased to see him again, or was it just that he thought he might help Monty?

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be happy to see him bugger off and fly away,” the Cat King muses. “I would rather like my space back.”

“Understandable.” Edwin takes that as his cue to escape. “And on that note I should leave you in peace.”

“Leaving so soon?” The Cat King steps closer, golden eyes looking up at him through long lashes.

Panic welling slightly at the proximity, Edwin remembers what happened last time they were this close, how those eyelashes had fluttered closed as he’d pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek. “I have been in Port Townsend for several hours, I ought to return home,” he insists. “I would not wish to worry Charles and Crystal.” Remaining here feels like too risky a proposition.

“Because I’m sure you’ve never spent several hours at the library,” the man teases.

“I have, that is true enough,” Edwin concedes, but he doesn’t offer to stay.

“Will you come back again?”

“Well...” The problem is he wants to, but he doesn’t think he is in any way ready to say that.

“You’ll want to check on Monty, won’t you?”

Edwin smiles softly at the excuse he is being handed. It is uncomfortable to suspect he has been read that well, but it is also a touch reassuring. “Yes, I would like to see how he is getting on.”

A plume of purple smoke and an ornate free-standing mirror appears to the side of the warehouse space. “I’ll just leave this here, then you can drop by whenever you like.”

Tone and gesture are both dismissive, bored even, but Edwin is far from ignorant of the welcome he’s just been offered. “Thank you. I suppose I will see you again.”

He can see the Cat King reflected in the mirror as he goes to step through, and Port Townsend’s 147^th cat looks like he’s got the proverbial cream. “Come back any time you’re missing me.” He smirks.

Edwin rolls his eyes and steps back through to the office.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

The cats are getting bolder. Stating preferences for salmon over tuna, or chicken over ham, following Edwin about on the odd occasions he ventures out around the local area, and occasionally requesting help. The things they need help with tend to be odd, and often focus on something they have stolen. One brings a plastic packet of cat treats for him to open – the cat is entirely shifty about where they got it. Another brings him a sausage, that it tells him quite proudly it’d stolen from someone’s kitchen when they’d left their back door open, and requests that he cook it. As Edwin has no oven, and has never cooked anything in his entire existence, the cat goes disappointed. They also get a lecture on theft, which is clearly ignored.

Today’s request is rather more dramatic. Edwin’s a couple of streets from the office, having stepped out for walk to think over a knotty problem with getting an enchantment to work, when a cat races up to him, meowing desperately and clawing at his ankle.

“Ow!” He pulls his leg back and is ready to deliver a lecture when the cat starts talking.

“Please, help me! My kitten, please!”

Crouching to her level Edwin tries to understand the panicked animal. She’s incoherent with desperation, but he gathers that her kitten is trapped and she wants him to follow her. He has to run to keep up but she doesn’t lead him far, just down a nearby alleyway.

The kitten has somehow slipped through a grate over a drain and cannot get out, nor can the mother get to it. The little thing is so small, and so mucky from everything in the drain with it, that it’s hard to even make it out at first, though Edwin can hear its quiet cries.

The grate doesn’t look to be fastened down, it shouldn’t be too difficult to lift it and rescue the little cat. The only problem is that it is made of iron and there’s nothing nearby that might work as a lever to help him move it. He could try to fetch something, but the kitten’s cries are concerningly faint and the mother is frantic. She keeps sticking her paw desperately between the bars, trying to reach her little one.

“Move aside, please.” Edwin pushes her gently out of the way. “I will help, but I need you to stay back.”

The cat lets out a desperate little wail, echoed faintly by her kitten, but she does move out of the way.

Edwin’s going to need a working hand to pick up the kitten, which means he needs to grab the grate one handed. It is heavy but thankfully not stuck and he is able to move it with a sharp pull and drop it to the side. Ignoring his now smoking left hand, Edwin reaches down to the little ball of bedraggled fluff, which instantly grabs onto his right hand with every last one of its tiny poisonous claws. Wincing, he lifts the little creature up into the daylight and quickly reunites the kitten with its mother.

Then he slumps back, sat in the dirty gutter, holding both of his hands protectively to his chest. The mother cat, who has been frantically licking and sniffing at her young one, seems satisfied no lasting harm is done though and that brings a smile to his face. The kitten is a mess, and clearly very frightened, but it is tottering about on its tiny paws and starting to look annoyed at its mother’s attempts to clean it.

The cat now turns to Edwin. “Thank you! You saved her!”

“You are very welcome. I was glad to help.” He was, it would be worth much greater pain than he’s currently in to see the two safely reunited.

The mother looks at his hands, cradled to his torso. “You’re hurt.”

“I assure you it will heal.”

The cat places her front paws on his knee and sniffs cautiously around the scratches on his right hand, before giving them a gentle lick with a rough tongue. It makes the sting of the scratches even worse, but the sweetness of the gesture makes up for that. The little kitten is headbutting his leg in an insistent manner and Edwin carefully scratches behind its ears with a mostly unharmed fingertip. His hand hurts too much to be sure, but he’d swear he can feel the soft fur against his skin. He makes a mental note to follow that up when he’s not distracted by burns - can ghosts feel cats beyond just their claws?

“She’s thanking you,” the mother explains. “She’s too young for your language.”

“You are very welcome, little one.” Edwin smiles at the little spiky-haired mess, with its beguilingly blue eyes. “Please do be careful in future. You have given your mother a dreadful fright.”

“She certainly has!” The mother scolds, but nuzzles lovingly against her errant child before picking her up by her scruff and (with a final soft headbutt of her own to Edwin’s knee) carrying her away.

Edwin watches them go before staggering back to his feet, still clutching his hands to his chest, and heading over to a nearby mirrored shop window, keen to return home.

~*~*~*~

Unfortunately, Charles and Crystal are both in the office when Edwin emerges from the mirror. Charles tossing a tennis ball up and down, Crystal demolishing a huge sandwich on the sofa and making Edwin wince at the thought of crumbs. The living really are messy.

Charles takes one look at Edwin's smoking hand and drops the ball. “What the hell?!” he exclaims, rushing over to his partner's side.

“I am fine!” Edwin quickly interjects before anyone can panic.

“Really?” Crystal questions, calmer than Charles but still looking concerned. “Because you look like you lost a fight with...I don’t even know what.”

“It was an iron grate and a kitten if you must know.”

“A kitten?” Crystal’s unable to hold back a grin.

Charles on the other hand is trying to fuss, to get a better look at his injured hands and, because positions reversed he knows he’d be doing the same, Edwin lets him. “I am really quite alright.”

“Those burns are bad, mate. And what do you mean about a kitten?”

Edwin sighs. “There was a kitten trapped beneath an iron grate, I removed the grate and lifted the kitten out. Unfortunately it was extremely frightened and clung on with it’s tiny, needle-like claws.” He flexes his sore hand at the memory.

“You were rescuing a kitten?” Charles says flatly.

“Well, I could hardly leave it to die down there. You would have done the same.”

Charles looks at him like he’s gone slightly mad. “I would have got Crystal to pick up the grate! Or found a way to lever it with something. You can’t just go around grabbing iron, mate!”

“There was nothing to hand that was useful, I did consider that! And the kitten was clearly not faring well, I did not like to waste time seeking help.” He shrugs Charles off, judging that he has allowed enough fussing for now, and moves over to the desk to sort through some case notes.

“How did you even know it was down there?” Crystal asks the question he’d been hoping to avoid.

Edwin uses the notes as excuse to avoid eye contact. “The mother came to ask me for help, she was clearly distressed and unable to get the kitten out herself.”

“Ok, you need to sit down and rest and let your hands heal.” Charles takes his paperwork away and ushers him over to the sofa, which Crystal and her sandwich vacate to give him space. “And then when you’re a bit better we’re going to have a chat about cats, and the sheer number of them that suddenly seem to hang around outside our office these days.”

Edwin wonders if he could play up his injuries after all. That is not a chat he is looking forward to, largely because he has no real explanation to offer. It seems better though to simply get it over with. “I have been feeding them.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up and he visibly takes a breath, that he does not need, in order to calm himself. “Why have you been feeding cats? Why have you been saving kittens? What is going on?”

“Nothing is going on. It was one kitten!” Edwin takes a calming breath of his own. “There was a small cat hanging around a month or so back that looked hungry, so I fed it, then of course more turned up. I merely became accustomed to looking out for them in Port Townsend and it is now hard for me to ignore them, or to ignore how many of them seem to be strays with no one to care for them.”

“I mean they’re pretty bloody streetwise, mate, they can mostly look after themselves.”

“Yes I realise that, but...”

“Is this about the bloody Cat King?” Charles interrupts, looking slightly appalled.

Edwin groans internally, this is exactly the topic he most wishes to avoid. Charles does not like the Cat King, quite understandably, and Edwin is yet to broach the subject of his recent, unintentional, visit to Port Townsend with either of his friends. “Of course it is not. As I say, the counting cats he had me do has rather attuned my senses to the creatures, but that is the only influence he has had upon the situation.”

“Uh huh.” Crystal, still munching on her sandwich, looks unconvinced.

Edwin glares at her.

Charles just looks concerned. “You would tell me, mate, if that wanker showed up again?”

Edwin cannot look up into those warm brown eyes and lie to him, not like this. “Charles, if he bothers me I will tell you.”

Charles’ eyes are locked on his and Edwin can tell instantly that he’s said the wrong thing. “That wasn’t what I asked, mate,” Charles says carefully. “In fact you seem to have been pretty keen to leave yourself some kind of loophole there, hoping I won’t notice and’ll let it go!”

Well, yes, that is exactly what Edwin was hoping. They’re both quiet for a long moment. Edwin unwilling to admit he’d been trying to work his way around the truth without actually lying.

“Have you seen him since we left Port Townsend?” Charles asks. Edwin hesitates and his friend knows him all too well. “You have!”

“It was not intentional. On his part, or mine.”

Charles pulls a face. “Right, I’m sure he just happened to be in London for a cat show or something!”

Edwin exhales sharply in annoyance. “I did not see him in London. It was I who just happened to be in Port Townsend.”

“When did you go back there?” Crystal asks curiously.

God he is going to have to explain everything, whether he wants to or not. “Might the two of you stop standing over me like a firing squad?” Edwin snaps.

Charles, suddenly looking down at Edwin's injured hands, deflates and claims the seat beside him on the sofa with a deep sigh. “Sorry, mate, but do you want tell us what’s going on?” he asks softly.

Crystal perches in Charles' usual spot on the desk and Edwin is dying to shoo her off it but figures he’s in enough trouble with the pair of them. At least she has finished her sandwich so there is a limited risk of mayonnaise ending up on his notes.

Edwin recounts, as briefly as he can, the story of how he ended up back in Port Townsend. When he gets to the part where he agreed to accompany the Cat King back to his home, Charles lets out another exclamation. “Really, mate?! What were you thinking?”

“Perhaps that I could look after myself,” Edwin says stiffly. “He meant no harm, and I am glad I went as I gained some interesting information.”

Explaining the Monty situation, and the fact that the Cat King had apparently destroyed Esther’s torture table, seems to distract from the issue of why Edwin had agreed to go with him.

“Bloody hell, we should have thought of destroying that fucking thing!” Charles looks dismayed.

“Yes, I have been kicking myself for never even considering it. But with one thing and another it had quite slipped my mind. So I find myself very grateful that the Cat King dealt with it.”

“We’ve only got his word for that,” Charles grumbles.

“He is a trickster, not a liar.” Edwin’s made the assertion before he’s had chance to think about it, but when he does he can’t find fault with his position. The Cat King has never exactly lied to him. He has wildly exaggerated (telling Edwin he was miles off at his count of 142 cats, for example) and said things in temper that he appeared not to mean, such as when they had fought in the forest, but Edwin cannot think of a single instance where he outright lied.

Charles doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go, returning to his fussing over Edwin’s hands which are healing slowly. His best friend takes his iron-burnt hand into his lap, examining it and stroking gently at the uninjured skin around the wrist. It is simultaneously wonderful and awful. It is everything Edwin wants, and everything he cannot have. Charles is worried and Charles loves him, but Charles is not in love with him. Edwin does not resent that, he understands just how precious a gift he has already received in Charles’ devoted friendship, but he is beginning to realise that he’d really rather like someone to hold his hand in quite a different way.

Charles wrinkles his nose and examines the blackened skin before carefully placing Edwin’s hand back on his own leg. “You’ll be alright, just let it heal for god’s sake, leave the damn paperwork alone.”

“So are you going to go to back again?” Crystal asks.

“Back where… Why would he go back again?!” Charles looks round at Edwin, clearly horrified by the notion.

If Edwin’s hands didn’t hurt he’d sink his head into them. Why did Crystal have to ask that? “I said that I would go back to see how Monty was getting on. I want to know if he recovers.”

Somehow Charles seems less angry with Monty than with the Cat King. Edwin struggles to understand that. Monty was in a terrible bind, undoubtedly, and Edwin has forgiven him, but the familiar still betrayed them. The Cat King on the other hand has never pretended to be anything but what he is. For all his posturing, the man is refreshingly blatant about who he is and what he wants. Edwin doesn’t just admire that, he envies it.

“Well, I’m going with you then,” Charles insists.

“No. Charles, please. I am asking you to trust me. I will not go without telling you, and if I do not return within an agreed time frame you can come and see what is going on, but I would rather do this on my own.”

The look of betrayal in his partner’s eyes is difficult to take, but Edwin is not backing down. He’s not sure why he’s so set on doing this alone, but if nothing else the invitation from the Cat King was for himself, not for anyone else, and he does not want a cricket-bat-wielding Charles in tow.

“I don’t trust the frisky bastard.”

“You do not have to. Just trust me.”

Charles sighs in defeat. “You know I trust you.”

Edwin smiles and nudges their shoulders together. “Thank you, Charles. It is appreciated.”

“When are you going?” Charles asks, resigned.

“I...do not know yet. I have not decided. For now we have work to do, if I can’t figure out how to make that enchantment stick then we’ll never close this case.” Edwin determinedly changes the subject.

The three of them slide back into business as usual, poring over the options for their latest investigation, and Edwin tucks all thoughts of Port Townsend away in the back of his mind. For now.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

It takes Edwin several weeks to feel ready to return to Port Townsend. Charles and Crystal have said nothing more about it, Charles clearly hoping Edwin will forget the entire idea. As though he could. The Cat King has always been annoyingly good at holding his attention.

It is clear though that Charles has likewise not forgotten by the face that he pulls when eventually Edwin informs him he has made up his mind to go.

“Does it have to be tonight?” Charles groans. “Crystal and I were going to go see a film.”

Edwin frowns. “I do not see why that is a problem. The office does not need to be manned, it is hardly work hours.”

“We were going to ask you to join us,” Charles insists.

“Well, thank you, but I am going to have to decline.”

“Mate, what if something happens while we’re out?”

“Then it will happen regardless of whether you are at the cinema or in the office,” Edwin reasons.

“Not making me feel better!”

“Seriously Charles, the Cat King has had any number of opportunities to harm me and he never has yet.”

“He trapped you in that sodding town!”

As though that isn’t something Edwin has devoted long hours of thought to. “Because of what I had done. I will not be using magic on any more cats, so I do not foresee a repeat of that situation occurring.”

“I don’t like this.”

Charles’ dislike of the situation is so obvious that Edwin doesn’t really think he needed to say so, but he tries to remain patient. “Charles. Go to the cinema. Have fun with Crystal. I will be fine.”

“If you’re not back by 10, I’m coming to get you!” Charles gives a significant look to his cricket bat leaning against the bookcase.

“Midnight.”

“10:30!”

Edwin folds his arms crossly. “I am not negotiating with you for a curfew! You are unlikely to even be back from the cinema by 10:30. I will return by midnight. I may very likely return before that, but if I’m not back by then then you may come after me.”

Charles frowns, but gives in. “Alright, Cinderella, midnight it is. Hopefully Whiskers’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

Edwin shakes his head in amusement. “It will not be midnight there. There is a significant time difference.”

“Still hope he turns into a pumpkin.”

Edwin rolls his eyes.

~*~*~*~

Not wanting an audience, Edwin waits until Charles has gone to meet Crystal before passing through the mirror. He arrives in an empty warehouse and wonders if maybe he should have sent some kind of message to say he intended a visit. The Cat King had implied he would be welcome at any time, but of course he cannot always be in. That had somehow failed to occur to Edwin.

He is of course supposed to be here to see Monty, it should not matter whether the Cat King is here or not. So why is he disappointed? He’s not, he decides, of course he is not. This is far simpler without him. Edwin strides purposefully over to the cage, pleased to see Monty is no longer a ragged bundle of feathers but looking sleek and alert.

“Hello again. You are looking much better.”

The bird caws excitedly and extends its head towards him. Edwin reaches out and strokes down Monty’s head and back.

“Do you ever leave this cage?” he wonders, not expecting a response.

“He does sometimes.” A voice by his feet claims his attention. Edwin looks down to find a small, very fluffy, black and white cat rubbing against his ankles.

“Hello there.”

“Hello. Are you a friend of the bird?” The voice is young, almost childlike.

Edwin looks over at Monty. “Yes. I am.”

“He flies around here sometimes,” the cat says. “He even landed on the throne once, but he got told off for that.”

Edwin grins. “I bet he did.”

Monty gives a disdainful caw.

Edwin slowly drops to his haunches, eager to test out a theory that has been buzzing around in his brain since the kitten rescue. “My name is Edwin, it is nice to meet you.” He removes a glove and extends a cautious hand towards the little cat. It instantly nuzzles its face against his bare skin and Edwin has to bite back a gasp. He can feel it, soft and warm, it’s faint, but he can feel it.

The cat purrs as he moves to gently scratch behind its ears. “I know who you are, we all do. I’m Button.” He’s obviously very young, really just a big kitten. “Have you got any treats?” Button asks hopefully.

Laughter rings out across the warehouse. “Ghosts don’t normally carry cat treats, kiddo.”

The Cat King is watching from beside the throne, dressed in an exceedingly sheer black shirt and exceedingly tight black leather trousers. Edwin quickly focuses his attention back on the little cat. He finds pleading green eyes looking up at him, as though Button is not going to give up hope that there might be treats until Edwin has confirmed he doesn’t have any. “I’m afraid I do not. Perhaps I can bring you some another time,” Edwin offers.

Button nudges his hand again and lets out a soft little mew, his disappointment evident.

There’s a chuckle from close by and Edwin can almost feel the Cat King’s sudden presence beside him. When the man crouches down Edwin is still trying not to look at him, and that turns out to be a mistake. Instead of looking up to see the man’s face he finds himself looking at black leather stretched tight over muscular thighs, and briefly forgets what he is here for.

Thankfully the Cat King seems focussed on the fluffy youngster, giving Edwin time to swallow nervously and school his face into something approaching calm.

“What have we said about emotional manipulation and looking obnoxiously cute?” The Cat King tickles the kitten’s ears.

“It gets you what you want?” Button asks innocently.

The Cat King winks. “Usually.” He extends his hand towards Button. There’s a flash of purple and a small fish appears in his outstretched fingers, much to the cat’s delight. He scratches the cat’s head briefly as Button devours the fish, then shoos him away. “Go on now, go and annoy someone else.”

The monarch stands, remarkably gracefully for someone in garments that restrictive, and offers Edwin a hand that the ghost ignores, instead standing unaided.

“He’ll remember you offered to bring treats next time you know. You should be careful, making promises to cats,” the Cat King warns. “It is fun to see you getting a taste of your own medicine though.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Finding yourself at the mercy of sweet green eyes.”

Edwin scoffs and quickly turns his attention back to Monty, who has been watching them with his head tilted to one side. Edwin wonders what he’s thinking.

“He’s doing a lot better.” The crow caws again. “And he’s happy to see you. We began to think you weren’t coming.” The Cat King eyes him reproachfully.

“Things have been busy for the Agency.” It’s a poor excuse, there have been other opportunities before now, but the Cat King doesn’t have to know that. “Can you understand him?” Edwin asks as the crow caws once more. As a familiar Edwin knows Monty should be able to understand them, but he has no idea what the crow might be trying to say in return.

The Cat King shrugs. “The basics. We’re not about to hold a deep and meaningful philosophical debate, but I usually know what he’s getting at. He’s got chattier since you were last here. He’s started to fly again, even tried to take a shit on my throne.”

The bird caws indignantly at that and the Cat King glares at him. “Yeah you were, I saw you.”

If a bird could look amused, then Monty certainly did. The Cat King has likely saved the crow’s life, but they’re clearly still not entirely fond of each other.

Edwin bites back a smile. “I am very glad to see he’s improving so well.” He hesitates, reluctant to ask his next question while the bird can hear. He wanders across the warehouse, assuming (correctly) that the Cat King will follow him. “Is he stuck like this?” Edwin asks quietly. “Can’t you help him?”

“Stuck like what?”

“As a crow.”

The Cat King looks at him like he’s said something unfathomably stupid. “He is a crow.”

“You know what I mean!”

“No. I don’t.”

“He wasn’t always a crow!”

“Yes. He was.” The Cat King gestures flamboyantly at himself. “Looking human doesn’t make you human.”

That is a good point, but still not what Edwin is getting at. “He was a person, and Esther took that away from him. Turned him back into a bird in a cage!”

“The door’s open, he can leave when he’s ready.”

“It is not just about the cage!” Edwin can feel frustration mounting. “How can he be free if he is trapped as a crow?”

“He is a crow! And what’s wrong with being a crow?” The Cat King grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Urgh, I can’t believe I just said that.”

Edwin frowns. “Well, there is nothing wrong I suppose but...”

“But being human is better?” There’s a look in those golden eyes that Edwin recalls from their first meeting. It is not a look he’d had any particular desire to see again.

“I… You are twisting my words.”

“No, I’m really not. I’m just showing you what you’re actually saying.” The smile that accompanies this is too sickly sweet to be genuine.

“I am not saying there is anything wrong, or lesser, about being a crow,” Edwin attempts to clarify, “But he wasn’t just a crow!”

“Just a crow.” The Cat King mimics him. “Is Button just a cat?”

“You are taking this the wrong way.”

“I’m not convinced there’s a right way, Edwin.” The smile has turned mocking, a tease that lacks any of the flirtatious friendliness of their last encounter. “You’re about one step away from saying all crows look the same to you.”

“I...” That stops Edwin in his tracks. It is too ridiculous, too disconnected from what they are talking about, but it stirs a memory. “That was what...your cat said,” he finishes lamely.

The smile’s triumphant now, a predator that’s caught its prey. “The cat whose name you still don’t know.”

There’s a tight ball of shame hot in Edwin’s stomach, like he’s swallowed a lump of iron. “No,” he says quietly. “I do not.”

The Cat King laughs without a trace of humour. “You learnt absolutely nothing from it all, did you? You know when I realised you’d finished counting the cats, even when you no longer had to, I thought you’d understood.”

“I did!” Edwin insists. “I know why you did it.” He does. It had taken weeks to sink in but returning to London, removing the constant fear of capture and return to Hell, gave him time to really think about everything. The relevance to Monty is dancing at the edges of his mental reach, still not quite coming together, but Edwin has a sickening feeling that he won’t like it (or possibly himself) when it does. “You did the same thing to me that I had done to your cat,” he says carefully. “You ‘leashed’ me and made me do what you wanted in order to regain my freedom. And what you asked me to do, once you had stopped being crude.” Edwin frowns at the innocent little shrug that elicits. “Was to count cats. You knew that in order to do so successfully I would need to view them as individuals. If I continued to see them as all ‘looking alike’ I would never have been able to complete the task.”

The Cat King’s expression has softened. “So I was right, you were bright enough to get there in the end.”

Edwin has never enjoyed admitting when he was wrong but he ploughs on regardless. “I acted as though that cat’s free-will didn’t matter. I didn’t treat them like a person because I didn’t see them as one.” He wonders now what might have happened if he’d said any of this at their first meeting, if he’d been able to admit he was wrong then. Would an apology have averted the Cat King’s ire? He’ll never know now. “I used them.”

“Which I highly doubt you’d have done to something that looked human.”

“Perhaps not. I should be frank though that I was in a fairly awful frame of mind when I did it, and I am not sure that I would not have mistreated just about anything in order to make my point.” His point being that they didn’t need Crystal. It’s all rather embarrassing in retrospect, his behaviour was shameful.

“Well, I wouldn’t honestly have cared if you’d done it to anyone but one of my cats,” the Cat King admits with a grin, the tension in the air subsiding.

“So, yes,” the Cat King says, “Monty’s ‘just’ a crow, and he’ll likely stay that way. What Esther did to him to make him look human was unspeakable, I have no interest in repeating it even if I could. He is what he is, what he always was, and honestly I don’t think he’s particularly unhappy about that. I know you think he must be pining to be a real boy again, but in reality it’s only humans who think that’s so damned great to begin with.”

Edwin’s eyes drift back to the caged bird. “Do you think he can be happy? What will he do with Esther gone?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think the way to make him happy would be to force him back into a body that’s not really his.”

There’s really nothing more Edwin can say to that. The Cat King has made his point, and Edwin can’t argue with it.

“I’d have thought you’d have come to terms by now with the fact you can’t change something’s nature, ghostie.”

Edwin manages a wry smile. “Accepted maybe, coming to terms may yet take a little longer.” The words feel like stepping out into a spotlight, a level of exposure he’s still uncomfortable with, and for a moment he has no idea why, of all people, this is the man he’d choose to say them to. Except, with the affectionate smile he receives in response, perhaps he does.

The Cat King has after all always claimed that he doesn’t need to hide. Now his casually assured, “You’ll get there,” is enough to convince Edwin that yes, he will. Accepting himself doesn’t mean he always has to like talking about things, but it is getting a tiny bit easier.

The feeling that they have both had enough of emotions for one day though is quickly justified by the Cat King retreating to his more usual flippancy. “Well, this has all been heavy. Maybe we should hug it out? I’d hate to think our little disagreement had left any hard feelings.”

Golden eyes are sparkling with mischief again as he opens his arms, and Edwin can’t quite hide his smile. “I think we are fine. I had better get going.”

The Cat King sighs. “Your loss. Will you come back?”

“If I am still welcome.”

The man shrugs disinterestedly and examines his nails. “Well, obviously I don’t care one way or another, but you did promise Button treats.” The act doesn’t work very well when he keeps looking over at Edwin out the corner of his eye to see how the ghost is responding.

“That is very true,” Edwin says seriously.

“And you wouldn’t want to break your word to a sweet little kitten.”

“No. I would not.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you soon, ghostie.”

With barely a wave to Monty, Edwin hops back through the mirror before his face can betray him into another smile. He has far too much to think about to stay here.

~*~*~*~

He beats Charles home by almost 10 minutes and is rewarded with a delighted grin when his partner returns. “Oh thank god, I thought I was going to be chasing Whiskers with the cricket bat.”

Edwin shakes his head and sighs in amusement. “I told you everything would be fine.”

“How’s Monty?”

“Much better. He has begun to fly again and seems to be coming along well.”

“That’s aces, didn’t like thinking of him wasting away because of that bitch. I bet he’s happy to be back on the wing after being stuck as a human,” Charles says, seemingly oblivious to the way his words stop Edwin in his tracks.

“I dare say he is,” Edwin manages. He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. Of course Charles would understand effortlessly what Edwin had to be taught. He is always kind and accepting and empathetic in ways Edwin has never been.

Charles describes himself as the brawn to Edwin’s brain, but Edwin thinks of him as the heart of their partnership. Edwin can play hard-ball with the clients, Charles puts them at their ease. He offsets Edwin’s lack of social graces with a charm that is all the more charming for being entirely genuine. How Charles could ever question his own goodness is beyond his friend. It is in moments like this that Edwin swears he can feel his long dead heart manage a beat.

It seems his admiration must have become a little too obvious, as Charles gives him a questioning look. “What?”

“Just… You are truly the best person I have ever known.” Edwin’s confession should have made saying things like that more awkward, but part of Charles’ charm is 30 years of unstinting friendship and support that make it almost impossible for anything to come between them.

Charles ducks his head at the compliment, a pleased smile on his lips. “You’re pretty mint yourself, mate.” His expression hardens, just a touch, as he remembers what they were talking about. “Which is why I’m glad you’re back and not being held at his Majesty’s pleasure!”

Edwin almost chokes at Charles’ choice of words. The silly pun turning rather more inappropriate in his head. His mind trying, unhelpfully, to provide ideas of what being held at the Cat King’s pleasure might entail. “Charles!”

The boy seems to miss the provocative connotation of his words and takes Edwin’s strangled outburst as annoyance. “I know, I know, you can look after yourself. I do trust you, I meant that. I also meant it when I said I didn’t trust him. Still, with Monty on the mend, I guess you won’t be needing to go back again?”

“I...said that I would do. Monty is after all still not quite recovered.”

Charles raises an eyebrow that says he knows his friend too well to not hear the parts left unsaid, that there is more to his visits than concern for Monty.

“I learnt something interesting actually,” Edwin says, quickly moving the conversation onwards. “It was something I had thought I had encountered when I rescued that kitten a few weeks back. I can feel cats, and not just their scratches.”

“What?!” That certainly distracts Charles from thinking about the wrong cat.

“It is faint, I was not sure I wasn’t imagining it at first, but there was a young cat in Port Townsend who let me stroke him, and we can feel them!”

Charles’ eyes are wide. “How could we not know that? You think it’s all cats?”

“In 30 years how many cats have you stroked, Charles? We stay away from them because they can hurt us and they have rarely been friendly. And yes, I assume it must be, the kitten I rescued was in London, unlike the cat today in Port Townsend, so it seems unlikely to be connected to the Cat King’s magic. It is very likely it is all of them.”

“Fuuuuuck!” Charles grins suddenly, it’s no secret he misses his human senses much more than Edwin does. “You think those cats you’ve been feeding’ll let me stroke them?”

Edwin has images of Charles harassing cats until he gets himself scratched, and briefly regrets saying anything. “That might not be a good idea, we know they don’t often like to be touched.”

Charles shrugs dismissively. “Even you let me hug you eventually. I bet I can bring them round.”

Edwin is torn between arguing with the fact he’s just been compared to a jumpy stray cat, and acknowledging that there are few things on this earth that can resist the persuasive powers of Charles Rowland.

“Just be careful.”

“Bit rich, mate.” Charles gives him a significant look. “You warning me about the dangers of cats.”

Edwin huffs in irritation, but he doesn’t have a response to that.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Charles has developed a habit of wandering out to meet Crystal of a morning when she’s planning to join them, sometimes even bobbing through the mirror to the swanky flat she technically shares with her parents (though it seems they are rarely there), in order to travel to the office with her. As though he almost can’t spend enough time with her. He seems to think he’s not being very obvious about it all, which is rather endearing even while the whole thing leaves Edwin fighting down jealousy. He wants Charles to be happy, he reminds himself.

Plus they have seen less of Crystal since their return. She has been busy attempting to repair the damage to her familial relations, and indeed her education. She is still a frequent visitor to the office but only manages to spend full days, or nights, with them a couple of times a week. Edwin can admit both that he likes having Charles to himself more and that he also finds he misses Crystal sometimes. Not enough to want to walk her to the office though.

Charles disappears to do so yet again the morning after Edwin returns from Port Townsend, only for Crystal to arrive shortly afterwards without him.

“Where is Charles?” Edwin frowns.

Crystal rolls her eyes. “Outside, trying to hug cats by the looks of it. From what I heard, that seems to be your fault.”

“I told him he’d be best leaving them alone,” Edwin sighs.

“Yeah, he stole some of the bacon from my sandwich and is basically trying to get them to prostitute themselves for it. So far they’re not biting.”

“It is the scratching I would be worried about.” Edwin, seated neatly at the desk, tidies away his notebook.

“Well there are some things I can’t watch,” Crystal says, plonking down on the sofa. “So I left him to it.”

“Actually, it is good that you are here,” Edwin says. “I was hoping to speak with you privately.”

“Oh?” He thinks that’s what she says as a muffled single syllable emerges round a mouthful of bacon.

“I need to ask for an honest opinion.” Edwin barrels ahead before he can second guess himself. “And Charles is...well, he is too kind sometimes.”

“Especially to you.”

Edwin smiles fondly. “Yes, that is true.”

“You could confess to being Jack the Ripper back in the day and he’d still tell the world you’re ‘totally aces’.”

“You do know the Ripper murders took place more than a decade before I was even born?”

Crystal just shrugs and finishes off her sandwich. The living always seem to be eating, or sleeping, or excusing themselves to the bathroom, he finds it hard to remember how he ever got anything done with a body to maintain.

“Anyway, I expect I can rely on you not being too kind.” He smiles pointedly. He likes Crystal, but one of the reasons he values her is she is not terribly interested in being nice. Much like himself.

Crystal snorts. “I expect you can.”

As he hesitates, trying to think how to phrase what has been buzzing round his brain all night (perhaps the inability to sleep is not always a boon), she fixes him with an expectant stare. “Well, what is it?”

“Am I...do you think that I am arrogant?”

“Uh, yes?” she says, like it’s so obvious she can’t quite fathom why he’s asking.

“Right.”

“I mean you have the brains to back it up a good 75 per cent of the time, so it’s not the worst I suppose.” Unsurprisingly, given that he doesn’t know how to explain himself, she has clearly not understood.

“I did not mean quite like that. I mean, am I disrespectful of others? I do not mean…” What does he mean? “I am aware that I am combative and wilful, and sometimes rather bad tempered when dealing with the general idiocies of the world. That is not what I am referring to. I mean…” He takes a deep breath. “I am from a time and a society that most today would find difficult to accept the values and behaviours of. I am concerned that I may reflect those values and behaviours.”

Crystal clearly needs a minute to parse what he’s said and find the meaning. “You mean you’re a rich white dude from the Victorian era?” she eventually asks.

“I am not a Victorian, the Queen died when I was too young to even remember,” Edwin corrects her crossly. “But I suppose in principle, yes. Is that how I behave?”

Crystal’s expression is annoyingly unreadable. “Edwin, you’re a bitch. I’ve never thought of you as a bigot. I do not want to know what horrors still lurk in your brain that you were taught by the upper class pricks of your day, but I do know that when I point out you shouldn’t say something you stop saying it. I don’t think you’ve called a woman hysterical in a good few months now.” She smirks.

Edwin grimaces at the memory of that conversation. “I did not properly understand the implications. I was not seeking to be dismissive, merely to describe an extreme emotional state. I was, I confess, blind to the way the term had been used to silence and demean women, because I am not one and I had not stopped to put myself in their shoes.”

“Most people don’t until someone points it out to them.” She eyes him critically, thinking things over. “Your choice of words matters. You understand that, even when you sometimes need a good kick to understand which words are the right ones.”

“Yes.” The boy who was sent to his death with a chanting of ‘Mary Ann’ in his ears can well understand the harm caused by words.

“What’s kicked all this off anyway?” she asks.

“I had something of an argument with the Cat King and it left me rather uncomfortable because I was forced to conclude that he was right, and that I had perhaps been extolling views that were not appropriate.”

Her brows crease in a frown. “What did you say?” Her tone says she’s exactly the right person to be talking to if he wants the truth, because she absolutely sounds like she expects he did say something wrong.

Edwin explains. He repeats what he can recall of what he had said regarding Monty, and the points the Cat King had made, being sure to ignore the temptation to justify himself in the telling.

Crystal looks more confused than anything else by the end. “Well, none of that is what I expected.”

What did she expect, he wonders.

“Ok, so I gotta be honest,” she says. “That’s not an old white dude thing. I’d probably have said the same. It feels so weird that Monty was a person and now he’s not.”

“I think not seeing him as a person might be our failing, rather than his.”

She sighs. “You, or rather the Cat King, are probably right about that. I wouldn’t sweat it too much though, that is not you being out of touch with the world. I find it hard to imagine someone not thinking the way you did, right or not.”

“Charles didn’t. I did not tell him what had happened, but when he asked after Monty he said how he must be enjoying being able to fly again after being stuck as a human.”

Crystal smiles softly. “I think if you make Charles your benchmark for acceptance and compassion, you’re always going to come up short. We both are. Most people would.”

They share a fond look, bonded over a shared love for a dead boy who is so much more alive than most of the actual living. Edwin doesn’t know if she knows about his feelings, or his confession of them. He doesn’t think Charles would have told her. He wonders sometimes if he should tell her. Save Charles being in the position of keeping it quiet. She looks at him sometimes like she already knows.

“So why do you care what the Cat King thinks anyway?” she asks.

“I…” Edwin is somewhat thrown by the question. “I do not. In this instance though, after hearing him out, I felt that he was right, that there had been something troubling in my assumptions and attitudes, and I was concerned that that might be true in more than just this example.”

“Uh huh.” She sounds unconvinced. “You know, I know I’m not Charles, but if you ever wanted to talk about anything...”

Talking to her about his feelings for Charles is a daunting enough idea. Talking about the complicated knot of thoughts and feelings, buried as deep as he can keep them in his mind, about the Cat King and his trips to Port Townsend to visit him is absolutely not happening. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Uh huh.” She sounds even less convinced this time.

Edwin is spared further probing by Charles appearing in the doorway, beaming and carrying a cat.

“Charles!” he exclaims. “What are you doing with that cat!”

“I didn't do anything,” he protests. “She jumped onto my lap when I bent down to try and stroke her and then she let me pick her up. At least I think it's a she, aren’t all calicoes girls or something?”

“Male calicoes do occur but the overwhelming majority are in fact female, yes,” Edwin confirms. He may have done a little reading up on cats that he’s not in a hurry to admit to. “That is the cat I first started feeding. She has never spoken to me, I thought she was shy. Apparently she is not.”

“She’s not said anything to me either. I tried talking to her but she doesn’t answer.” Charles is distractedly stroking the cat, occasionally rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. The cat seems perfectly content but she also doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to their words. “Can we keep her?”

Charles looks at him like a small boy asking to keep the puppy that ‘followed him home’, and that had not ended well in ’94. “Charles!”

“We could get her a little basket and she can come in and out when she wants to.”

“We are not leaving the door open all the time.”

“We could get a cat flap!”

“Absolutely not!”

“I don’t think she has anywhere else to go.” Charles plays what he clearly considers his trump card.

Edwin doesn’t think she has either, that was why he had started feeding her. He sighs heavily. “She may not want to stay here. And apparently we cannot ask her.” There is absolutely no sign that the cat understands them. He doesn’t think she’s merely refusing to answer, she seems very happy being cuddled by Charles. “We can see if she comes in again of her own accord, and I suppose we can always let her in if we hear her at the door. Cats tend to make their wishes known.”

Charles, who had clearly expected a straightforward ‘no’, nods eagerly. “I promise I’ll clean up any mess she makes.” He won’t, Edwin knows from experience, but he’s impossible to refuse sometimes. Besides, Edwin rather likes the quiet little cat.

“Very well, but we are not fitting a cat flap and you will have to make sure you do not leave anything lying around that could harm her if she comes into contact with it. He is eyeing the jar of bees, perched precariously on the corner of the desk for some reason.

“I promise!” Charles nods earnestly.

Crystal, having watched their exchange like a spectator at Wimbledon, snickers. “Since when are you this fond of cats?”

“This one’s different!” Charles insists. “She’s sweet, and she likes me.”

“The Cat King likes Edwin, you didn’t want to keep him,” Crystal teases.

“Crystal!” Edwin is regretting saying anything to her about the man. He has the nasty feeling he has not heard the last of the matter.

Charles wrinkles his nose. “Who’d want that slimy tosser.”

“He is not without his better traits,” Edwin finds himself insisting. “He has been helping Monty,” he adds, hoping it will stop the look he realises Crystal is now giving him.

“Only to get you to keep coming back,” Charles says obstinately.

“Charles, he had taken him in before I ever set foot in Port Townsend again. I confess I was surprised but it does seem like a genuinely altruistic gesture on his part.”

It’s not entirely altruistic, Edwin doesn’t think. It’s the only revenge he can get on a dead woman, refusing to allow her reach to extend from beyond the grave to claim any more victims. Even if the Cat King is clearly not entirely fond of said victim. Edwin smiles in private amusement, remembering their exchange about whether Monty had been trying to relieve himself on the Cat King’s throne.

“What are you smiling at?” Crystal asks, her own smile aiming for innocent and missing by a country mile.

“Nothing.” Edwin stands and pulls on his coat. “Now are you two intending to get any work done today. Charles, the cat cannot come on cases with us, put her down. We are supposed to be checking that graveyard for signs of recent disturbance.”

“She needs a name,” Charles muses as he finally sets the cat down, whereupon she wanders over to the bookshelves and starts sniffing things in that curious manner of cats in a new space. “We can’t just keep calling her the cat.”

Well that settles it, once you name something there’s no chance you’re not going to keep it. Now they’ve got a cat. Wonderful. Edwin sighs.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Edwin does not wait quite as long before returning to Port Townsend this time, but it is still almost three weeks before he steps through the mirror, eager to see if Monty is still making progress. The first thing he sees is an empty cage. He looks around in concern but there’s no sign of the bird anywhere.

“You’re too late, he’s gone.”

Edwin spins to face the Cat King, unable to hide his dismay. “Gone?”

“Oh don’t look so upset, he’s not dead.” The Cat King looks amused by his panic, but his words are reassuring. “He just found his wings and his confidence again. He drops in every once in a while to annoy me. You might just have to visit more often if you want to catch him.”

He shouldn’t have left it so long. Pleased as he is to hear Monty is back on his feet, or rather wings, Edwin feels guilty for not returning sooner. It is not that he has not wanted to, but the wanting is complicated and it felt so much simpler to stay in London.

Before he can say anything, Edwin feels a nudging at his ankles and looks down to see the same fluffy black and white cat he’d befriended on his last visit.

“Did you come back with treats? You were ages!” the cat whines endearingly.

“I warned you,” the Cat King singsongs.

Edwin scoffs at him and turns to Button, crouching down beside him. “Of course I did. A gentleman does not break his word. I can only apologise for the delay.”

He pulls the little packet from his jacket pocket and tips a few treats into his hand, meaning to put them on the floor, but the little cat starts eating from his palm before he can do so. Edwin finds himself frozen, marvelling at the faint sensation of the kitten’s whiskers tickling his wrist.

“What is it?” The Cat King is suddenly right beside him, being his annoyingly observant self.

“I can feel his whiskers. Ghosts cannot feel most things but...”

“You didn’t know you could feel cats?”

“Not until rather recently. Ghosts tend to avoid them. We’re not fond of your claws,” Edwin says pointedly.

The Cat King smirks. “Well, you’re about to get inundated.”

Edwin drags his eyes away from the golden ones at his side to see that the bag of treats has attracted a lot of attention from a lot of cats, who have wandered close with varying levels of caution.

Button puts his front paws up on the detective’s hand, looking for any remaining crumbs. “Are there any more?”

Edwin has no idea how to proceed now. How many treats should a small cat have? How can he offer them to the other cats as well? It is a trifle unnerving to be surrounded by the tiny predators with their poison tipped claws.

The Cat King does nothing to assist him and it feels like a test. A quick count shows about a dozen cats, plus Button. Determined not to panic, Edwin roughly halves the pile of treats and extends both hands in offering, hoping none of the cats decide to get their claws out. They’re wary at first but, realising that if they don’t hurry Button will eat the lot, the first come forward and nose their way into the treats in his hands and soon they are all gathered around him. Aside from a slightly overzealous nip to his finger, that he can hardly feel and which the cat in question seems to try to soothe with a couple of licks, Edwin happily emerges largely unscathed.

Throughout he is watched by more than just the Cat King, though the Cat King is certainly watching intently. There’s a familiar tabby sat swishing its tail crossly from atop a nearby crate.

When the cats have eaten the treats and, with the exception of Button, quickly lost interest in him, Edwin stands up and approaches the grumpy tabby. “Hello. I believe I owe you an apology for my behaviour towards you earlier this year.” He holds out one last treat he’d hidden beneath his thumb.

The cat looks at him in disgust. “I ain’t falling for that again. Go tie up some other cat, you pervert.” He turns, showing Edwin his arse, and then bounds off and away.

The Cat King laughs helplessly. “Yeah, nice try. No really, it was a nice try. But trust is very hard to win back with cats.”

“I’ll be your friend.” A little voice floats up to him from round his ankles. “You don’t really tie up cats, do you?”

Edwin crouches back down and offers the remaining treat to Button. “I have not always behaved in an exemplary manner towards cats, but I promise you I would not hurt you. I deeply regret my behaviour now.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo, he’s not all bad.”

Edwin smiles to himself and strokes the little cat (who seems reassured by the Cat King’s endorsement of his new friend), careful to school his face back into a more neutral expression before he stands to meet the Cat King’s gaze once more.

“Look at you, coming here and feeding my cats. How times change.” There’s something affectionate in the man’s tone and it is clear, more than ever, that he feels deeply for the cats in his care.

Edwin considers saying that he’s been feeding cats for months now, but something holds him back. It feels like a sort of confession though he’s not sure why. “I am sorry I missed Monty,” he says instead.

“I know. So sad.” The Cat King clearly does not find this sad at all. “You’ll just have to talk to little old me instead.”

“And what is it you would wish to discuss?”

“So formal!” he teases, coming close enough to adjust Edwin’s bow tie. “Can’t we just see where things take us?”

“I am terrible at small talk.”

“Good. Small talk’s boring. There are so many more interesting things,” he murmurs up close, looking unfairly attractive in a simple combination of a black tank top and black knee-length culottes, gold jewellery somehow not quite so golden as the miles of exposed skin.

“Such as?” Edwin’s breath hitches as he forces his face to remain neutral.

“Let’s go out!” The suggestion is a surprise, the Cat King wrong footing him entirely.

“Go out? Where?”

“It’s a nice day, let’s go for a walk.”

Edwin considers. There is nothing urgent for him to do back at the office, and he is finding he could grow to like the Cat King’s company. “Very well.”

~*~*~*~

They wander down a quiet path beside the coast that Edwin had never explored in his time here. The views of the sea are beautiful but the narrow path is treacherous enough that humans seem to give it a wide berth. That though is hardly a concern for either of them. The Cat King has the grace and balance Edwin would expect from a feline, and he himself can simply phase through anything blocking his way. There is little in the way of conversation, and they have to walk in single file to navigate the path, but the sun is pleasant, even if he can’t feel it, and it is nice to be out with someone.

The path comes to an end in a little cove, completely hidden until they’re almost upon it. Edwin takes in the steep cliffs behind them and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. “How lovely.”

“Isn’t it. There’s a rock that’s perfect for sunbathing.”

Edwin wonders if he means as a cat or a human. He doesn’t really know what he is doing here. There seems to have been no particular point to their walk or purpose to their destination. “Why are we here?”

“Because it’s pretty.” It’s said as though that is an obvious reason to do something, merely to enjoy the view. The man drapes himself happily across a sunny rock. “You need to relax more.”

“I do not tend to have time to sunbathe.” Not to mention the sun has no physical effect on him.

“Things busy back in London then?”

“Reasonably. We are certainly not short of cases.”

“You must be glad to be back.”

“Yes, I think we all are. Crystal in particular. She has been trying to reconnect with her family, though with mixed results from what she has said.”

“And how is Charles,” the Cat King drawls, “You two still best friends?”

“I would hope we will always be,” Edwin responds stiffly, but there's a wistfulness to his tone he can’t seem to hide.

The Cat King’s silence at that answer goads him on, and Edwin surrenders with a sigh. He perches on a nearby rocky outcrop, eyes staying firmly on the sea. “Very well, if you must know, I told him how I felt – do not be disingenuous enough to ask for clarification on that point – and he does not feel the same way. However it has not caused problems in our friendship and I do feel better for getting it off my chest.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Cat King sit bolt upright and turn to look at him. “He turned you down? God, he’s dumber than I thought.”

Whilst Edwin thoroughly disagrees with the man’s assessment, there is something a little flattering in the sheer outrage that someone could not want him. It’s completely nonsensical, but it is soothing to the part of him that did feel rejected. “He cannot help how he feels.” Edwin is very clear on this point. He could never resent Charles for anything, least of all not loving Edwin in quite the way Edwin does him. “Any more than I can.”

The Cat King looks approving of the latter sentiment. “Well, that at least sounds like progress. You getting a little bit more comfortable with all those ‘inconvenient’ emotions, kitten?”

“Perhaps. Slowly.” Edwin does not know what to make of the pet name so ignores it as the safest option. He’s been called far worse things.

They sit in silence for a while, the Cat King lying back down to bask in the sunshine. It is not unpleasant. The man is for once an undemanding presence. The view is beautiful and the companionship not unwelcome.

Eventually it’s the Cat King who breaks the silence. “When did you tell him?”

“On the way out of Hell. And yes, I am aware my sense of timing is sometimes lacking.” It is impossible to explain why it had felt so desperately important to do it then and there.

“I don’t know about that. Hell seems the perfect place to unburden yourself of shame that’s been keeping you silent and stuck,” the Cat King muses. “Leave your hang ups with your demons, they’ll cause you just as much harm in their own way.”

Edwin wants to argue with that, claim his hang ups have never ripped him apart. Except in a sense they have, over and over again throughout his brief life and turbulent afterlife. It is a surprisingly insightful response from the last person he expected. He glances over to find the Cat King watching him again, no longer sprawled on his back but sat up, legs dangling just above the water of the cove.

His surprise must be obvious because the man smirks at him and visibly preens. “Oh, you thought I was just a pretty face?”

Edwin wants to bite back in response, but ‘not even that’ is too ridiculous. The Cat King is undeniably attractive and fully aware of it. Denying it would just be him being sulky and discourteous because the man has got under his skin.

“I am perfectly aware that over the course of hundreds of years you must have learned a good deal. You play the dilettante but it is quite clear there is more to you.” He’d meant to sound annoyed, he doesn’t think it came out that way.

“Perhaps that’s something else we have in common, along with the loneliness,” the Cat King suggests. “We both favour putting up a front over letting people see too much of us.”

Edwin wonders what the man hides behind that fashionable front, behind the teasing and toying, and wonders if maybe this is a glimpse of it. It would, he thinks, be a mistake to assume that what he has previously seen of the Cat King is false. The playful, vain, extravagant exterior is real enough, just as Edwin’s quiet, detached ways are, but there is likely more to both of them.

“It is not always comfortable being seen,” Edwin agrees.

“Or safe.”

Edwin raises an eyebrow in question.

“I’d wager ‘being seen’ is at least partly what got you killed.” It’s said quietly, empathy palpable in his tone, and Edwin can’t find it in him to take offence. He doesn’t know what the Cat King knows about him, has never asked why the man showed no signs of surprise or even curiosity at the mention of Hell. He has always seemed to know things he should not, probably from the spy network of cats he has at his beck and call.

Edwin turns back to the water, away from the golden gaze. “It was.” Might as well say it. Admit that if he hadn’t been the way he is he might have seen his 17^th birthday. Or would he? It was never so much about him as it was those boys’ perceptions of him. It didn’t matter who or what he was, they’d written whatever story they wanted onto him like a blank slate. The weird loner, the snooty know it all, the queer outsider, the boy that wouldn’t return Simon’s attentions. It is infuriating.

“If looks could kill, that water would be boiling alive everything in it by now,” the Cat King observes.

Edwin turns still further away, cross and uncomfortable.

“It’s ok to be angry.”

Edwin is quite aware of that, thank you. He is also aware that it won’t change anything. “My classmates tied me to a table and sacrificed me to a demon.” He leaves out the chanting, still ringing in his ears more than a century later, he’s never repeated that part to anyone. “They meant it as a prank, they did not know the ritual was real.”

“No,” the Cat King disagrees. “They meant it as abuse. A prank is rearranging someone’s garden gnomes into an erotic tableau, it’s something funny and silly. I don’t expect I’m off the mark when I say they weren’t hoping to make you laugh.”

Edwin feels his lips twitch into a smile without humour. “Quite.” He deigns to look back at his companion and even allows the small smile to remain in place. “We seem to keep finding ourselves in very serious conversations.”

“That hug’s still on offer...”

A more genuine smile crosses Edwin's’ face and he shakes his head. There is however a treacherous little voice at the back of his head that says a hug might be nice. “I should return to the office.”

A puff of purple smoke and the Cat King is stood beside the rock Edwin’s perched upon, offering a hand.

“I do not require...” Edwin sighs and gives up. What harm can it do to accept the gesture. He places his hand cautiously in the Cat King’s and allows himself to be helped down.

Given that he had earlier been distracted by the faint tickle of a kitten’s whiskers, which he can only just feel, he should perhaps have been a little warier of how distracting the Cat King’s palm would be against his own. It is solid and warm and real in a way that few things have been in so long. From their first frustrating encounter Edwin had known there was something different about the Cat King that enabled him to feel him. The man had nuzzled his cheek, the sensations would have been hard to miss. It is not that he had forgotten it, he’s been unable to, and they have touched a few times since. Edwin even went so far as to kiss his cheek, and if he thinks about it he can still feel the phantom brush of the man’s skin against his lips. However he is simply not accustomed to being able to feel most things, and he had acted to take the man’s hand before he’d thought it through.

His mind works quickly to catalogue the sensation; not quite like human touch used to be, he can feel the magic in it, but it’s close. A little different to Charles. All ghosts can physically feel each other, but that feeling isn’t quite like touch was when they were alive either. There is a deep intimacy when touching another ghost, almost like, sans any kind of body, contact is made directly with the other person’s soul. Or perhaps it only feels that way because the only ghost he tends to touch is Charles. This doesn’t feel like that, but it has a warm intimacy all of its own.

He’s been staring at their joined hands too long, it’s an effort to force himself to look the other man in the face. He’s not quite sure what he’s expecting to find there but the Cat King’s smile is devoid of mockery. In fact it looks genuine, even if he does also look somewhat irritatingly pleased with himself. The man clearly knows exactly what he’s doing to him, and Edwin will not give him the satisfaction of a reaction or of pulling away. If the Cat King wants to play games then so be it. He’ll find Edwin plays to win.

“May I ask you something?” he says quietly.

“Anything, kitten.” There’s that endearment again, it is odd but it sounds sweetly affectionate.

He can’t help his own smirk. “Did you really do that with someone’s garden gnomes?”

Just for a moment he manages to catch the man off guard, surprise and then amusement chasing across his irritatingly handsome features. “You are quite something, Edwin Payne. And that would be telling.” The Cat King’s grin has never looked more wicked and more unknowable.

He squeezes Edwin’s hand and bounds off ahead, looking behind him to check the ghost is following. He’s like that all the way back to the warehouse, excited, almost gleeful, and always checking Edwin is still with him.

He sobers up a little when they reach his home and Edwin crosses to the mirror. “You’ll come back?”

He keeps asking that. Every time Edwin’s left he’s asked him if he’ll return, and Edwin keeps returning. “You know you could always visit London.” He has no idea if the Cat King actually can, if he’s bound to Port Townsend, or if his magic could take him that far. He also has no idea if he should be issuing such an invitation, even if he doesn’t think the man will take him up on it.

“I suppose I could. I’d like to see your kingdom.”

Edwin laughs. “It is an office, not a kingdom, and I should be getting back to it.” He hesitates as he reaches out for the mirror. “Thank you for listening to me earlier, it was appreciated.”

“Anytime, kitten,” reaches his ears just as he passes through the mirror’s surface. He’s smiling when he reaches the office.

~*~*~*~

Edwin’s smiles are soon tempered by his reflections. He has no idea how he feels, and even less idea of what he’s doing. Days of dwelling on it, whilst insisting to Charles and Crystal that nothing is amiss, have left him without much more of an idea of either than he’d had to begin with. Verbal sparring with the Cat King is undeniably enjoyable, and he can’t help but feel fond of the man. It’s dangerous though, that fondness. It’s what had led to him brazenly kissing the other’s cheek - back when he’d thought he’d never see him again, so he was free to allow himself to want something, just the tiniest bit. A little, inconsequential flirt with a handsome man he’d never have to see things through with. The Cat King had known better though, had warned Edwin he’d miss him. All signs point to him having been right.

Is their verbal sparing flirting? If so does it have to mean anything? Edwin is wading out of his depth and, for all he can’t stop thinking about it, he’s nothing like as unsettled by that as he thinks he should be. It is after all just a bit of fun. The problem is he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s rather gone and thrown down a gauntlet with no idea of what that will incite. It feels like he can’t go back to Port Townsend now, like doing so would be playing right into the man’s hands, proclaiming he had been thinking of him and wanted to see him. Proving that his invitation had not merely been a polite pleasantry but a desire to keep playing this game.

At length Edwin decides he will wait him out, see if he does visit. He ignores the part of him that argues that the Cat King may literally be unable to, choosing to assume that if the man could not leave Port Townsend then he would have said so. He had literally said he ‘could’ so Edwin has to believe it simply a matter of whether or not he would choose to.

Not that he knows what the Cat King visiting would mean, other than a lot of explanations he’s not ready or able to give to Charles and Crystal. He doesn’t really know if he wants him to, and as the weeks pass with no sign of him there is a small inner sigh of regret that is undeniably cushioned by one of relief.

The little calico, now named Cally, (Imaginative, Edwin had quipped at the time, but he could never say no to Charles so Cally it is), has become a fixture in their lives, wandering in and out of the office as she sees fit. Charles leaps up to let her in or out whenever she likes with all the alacrity of a well trained footman. The other cats still hang round the alley waiting to be fed and exchange a few words, but rarely wander into the building.

Thus Edwin is caught a little off guard one bright sunny afternoon when a little black cat stalks in through the partly open office door, looking around in that manner cats have of surveying their domain. Bright eyes fix on Edwin, sat in the wing-backed armchair he’d treated himself to when Crystal had complained there weren’t enough seats in the office, and the cat trots over and lands on his lap in a graceful bound.

“Oh!” Edwin laughs in surprise. “Hello.” His hand comes up instinctively to stroke the soft fur, the cat emitting a deep rumbling purr at his touch.

Charles looks up with a grin. “These cats are getting cheeky.”

“Hmm, well they are cats.” Edwin is distracted by how soft the creature’s fur feels. He’s become used to the faint sensations of the cats, the vague feeling of warmth and softness that is nothing like real feeling but so much more than he gets from most things. This cat though is viscerally solid beneath his fingers. Looking into half-closed golden amber eyes, Edwin suddenly stiffens and withdraws his hand. Surely not. “Is that you?” he demands.

Charles and Crystal look over at him like he’s lost the plot, and for a moment Edwin doubts himself. The fur is the wrong colour, and the cat is a little too small but...

Then there’s a plume of purple fire and in place of the cat Edwin finds himself with a lap-full of grinning Cat King. “Hi,” the man wiggles his fingers in a little wave.

“Get down!” Edwin manages to sound stern, noting from the corner of his eye that Charles has reached for his cricket bat.

The Cat King winks and with another flash of purple he’s suddenly standing by their bookshelves, looking very interested in the lily.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?!” Charles is swinging the bat in a way Edwin does not like to see in the office, too many things have been broken that way before.

“Charles, put the bat down!” he cautions.

“Oh, I was invited.” The Cat King looks insufferably smug.

Edwin’s briefly tempted to tell Charles to ignore what he’d previously said, and please do what he clearly wants to do with the bat. Unfortunately Charles has dropped his weapon and is giving his partner a look. “Edwin!”

“Yes, alright, I did offer an invitation.”

“Oh, for the...” Charles throws up his hands in annoyance and glares at the Cat King.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Ever since a certain uptight, stuffy, British tease had wandered into his kingdom, and into his life, Thomas has been unable to get him out of his head. At first he’d thought the ghost would simply prove the latest in a long line of distractions, if a more intriguing one than most, but Edwin Payne had gone from fascinating, to frustrating, to possibly the most ridiculously captivating thing he’s ever seen, in a terrifyingly short timespan.

Perhaps it’s the draw of someone who is, in their own way, almost as dramatic as himself. Breaking a caging spell by getting dragged to Hell? Bit extra. Thomas’ thoughts run quickly onwards from there to avoid the memory of the bracelet reappearing beside him, and him being forced to conclude there was only one way it could have come off without his cooperation. He doesn’t like to think about that.

He’d much rather think about how his lovely ghost is so charmingly extravagant. For example, Edwin doesn’t walk anywhere. He stalks, he strides, he flounces, head held high, face and gestures equally expressive – usually of excitable annoyance. It’s really sweet, and the stalking about is fucking sexy. For someone who clearly has issues with self-esteem, and who is equally clearly clueless about how entrancingly beautiful he is, nothing about the confidence Edwin moves with seems false or unearned. When it comes to his areas of expertise Edwin is utterly self-assured, and it’s dangerously alluring. Especially as it feels like Thomas is becoming one of those areas of expertise. Edwin is fast gaining in confidence in their interactions. He’s not unaffected by Thomas’ teasing and flirting, but he’s far from uncomfortable when Thomas starts to play.

In fact whatever else might be going on in that clever head of his, Edwin is playing too now. The sweet ghost is good at it as well, knows how to draw someone in. God he’s going to be a menace if he ever truly comes to terms with how gorgeously enticing he is. The way he’d looked at Thomas in the little cove, hand soft and cool in his, green eyes half hidden beneath demurely lowered lashes. Only to pull the rug out from under his feet with a question about garden gnomes. It’s fucking brilliant! Edwin had proven before that he knew how to get under his skin, but this was the first time he’d used that to toy with him.

His ghost had once told him in no uncertain terms that he was not a toy for Thomas to yank around. Thomas has no objection to being Edwin’s toy though, if the ghost would like to yank him around then his schedule is wide open.

Edwin had even gone so far as to throw out a challenge, inviting him to London. Seemingly the only option if Thomas wants to see him again. That is slightly less brilliant. He’s not technically, exactly, supposed to go to London. It’s less that he can’t leave his own kingdom, he’s done that plenty over the years. It’s more that he’d be right in the heart of someone else’s territory, and, while he thinks he could get permission pretty easily, that would involve explaining why he wanted to visit to begin with. He’s not doing that. He’s romantic, not insane. Shouting his little obsession with a terminally repressed ghost for all to hear is a step too far just now.

So he tries waiting him out. Edwin enjoys their visits, he’s sure of it. If Thomas doesn’t go to see him he’ll come back eventually, if only to see bloody Monty. How long will that take though? The ghost has whet his appetite only to stalk off through a mirror to the other side of the world. Thomas can be patient, he’s a cat, watching and waiting come naturally. But patient is boring.

It’s barely a fortnight before he’s thinking that maybe he can just sneak in a quick visit to London and nobody but Edwin and his merry band of detectives needs to know. A squabble amongst the cats comes at a good moment to distract him from those thoughts, but it’s still not even another week before he caves in.

~*~*~*~

It’s not hard to find out where the Dead Boy Detectives have their base, and even easier to transport himself a little way down the street from their office. Having spent hours perfecting an outfit though, he proceeds in his cat form. All the better for staying out of sight.

It’s a nice street, not too busy, with some lovely buildings. He suspects the age of them would have appealed to Edwin as something familiar. There are a lot of cats around though, more than he’d have expected. When he reaches the alley beside their office he sees there’s a little pile of fish they’re polishing off in a corner. Someone’s feeding them. Perhaps the Agency has a cat lady neighbour. Thomas loves cat ladies, they’ll always provide food and a warm place for the night no questions asked. It’s a complication though, so much for flying under the radar. He doesn’t know these cats, but they know what he is and there’s no way that’s not getting back to a certain someone.

He wanders past nonchalantly, act like you every right to be somewhere and often people don’t question it. Cats however are nosy buggers who question everything so his hopes aren’t particularly high for that strategy.

Thomas had considered appearing directly in their office but he wants to prove he can be considerate, not just waltz in when they could be with a client. He thinks Edwin would get quite sniffy about that.

It’s a lot of stairs up to the top floor, the building looking less and less occupied with every level, not a soul to be seen anywhere. It looks like the whole building’s abandoned. He pauses outside their office door. ‘Dead Boy Detective Agency est. 1990’. Cute. They’re so official. They take things so seriously, take the people they help seriously. For all he forced Edwin to admit, to himself as much as to Thomas, that he (like everyone else) has an ulterior motive for ‘doing good’, it’s always clear how much the ghost cares.

He’s getting soppy, he’s such a damned romantic, on the verge of waxing lyrical over an office door. Thomas shakes his head and slinks inside, a nudge of magic opening the door just enough to admit a small cat.

The office is so adorably Edwin, bookshelves and dark wood and a wing-back chair. In which his favourite ghost is sat with a book. His least favourite ghost is sat with the psychic on the sofa, absorbed in sorting through his bizarre backpack, but they’ve not noticed him and so he ignores them.

Thomas wants to investigate more but as soon as he sets his eyes on those beautiful green ones (of course Edwin’s too observant to have not seen him) he can’t look away. He expects the ghost to say something, but he’s just looking at him in slight puzzlement. Of course, Edwin’s not seen his cat form since before he died, he doesn’t recognise him. The temptation is too great to resist.

The ghost looks surprised, but doesn’t object, as Thomas jumps up to sit on his lap, purring in delight as one of those lovely elegant hands comes up to stroke him.

The other two finally notice him and there’s some brief exchange between Charles and Edwin, but the Cat King’s too distracted by a particularly good scratch behind the ears to really take in anything until suddenly the hand is gone.

The beautiful emerald eyes narrow at him. “Is that you?”

Caught. He decides to make the most of the situation and transforms right where he is. How many opportunities is he likely to get to sit on Edwin’s lap? “Hi.”

“Get down!” Edwin insists, a delightful little flush of colour appearing on his pale cheeks.

Thomas winks playfully but does as he’s told, removing himself to a spot by the bookshelves, distracted by a very familiar looking white lily that definitely shouldn’t still be alive.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?!” His least favourite ghost is swinging a cricket bat in a threatening manner, but amusingly he drops it as soon as Edwin tells him to.

“Oh, I was invited.” Thomas smirks.

“Edwin!” Interesting that Charles apparently has no trouble believing that. What has his ghost been telling his friends about his visits to Port Townsend?

“Yes, alright,” Edwin sighs, “I did offer an invitation.”

“Oh, for the...” Charles throws up his hands, glaring at the Cat King and clearly too irritated to even know how to adequately express it.

Crystal looks vaguely amused but also unimpressed. Well at least no one’s waving a bat around anymore, and Edwin is adorably flustered.

“I was not expecting you today,” the proper ghost says awkwardly.

Not expecting him at all maybe, and certainly he’s got no idea how to respond now that Thomas is here. “That’s ok, I don’t need a red carpet welcome. I’d settle for a hug?”

Before Edwin can respond, though it’s not very likely he was going to say yes anyway, Charles steps between them. “Yeah, we were just heading out in a minute so looks like your little visit will have to be a quick hello and goodbye.”

“We were heading out,” Edwin confirms, apologetically, stepping out from behind his partner.

Thomas realises he’s in danger of being sent off with a flea in his ear if he doesn’t play this right. “Ooh where are you going, got a big case?”

“Not particularly,” Edwin says. “We need to visit a magic shop to pick up some supplies for a ritual one of our cases requires.”

“So you’re just going shopping?”

“In essence.” Edwin nods.

“Great.” Thomas smiles at his ghost. “I love shopping, happy to tag along.”

“Well I suppose...”

Charles coughs loudly and obnoxiously, interrupting his partner. “Edwin. A word?” Charles nods significantly towards a large closet. Whereupon his fellow detective sighs and follows him in there, closing the door behind them.

Well, that’s weird. If Edwin emerges sporting a hickey and a grin (can ghosts get hickeys or do they just automatically heal?) then Thomas might actually take his cue to leave.

Apparently something along those lines is written across his face, as Crystal rolls her eyes and explains. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Right. Do they know what it looks like?”

There’s fevered whispering emerging from the closet.

“I doubt they’ve ever even thought about it. They seem to think it’s normal.”

“Right.”

The two exchange a look that screams of ‘what can you do with codependent ghosts?’, but any solidarity is short lived. “You hurt him and Charles won’t be the only person coming after you, and I don’t need a cricket bat.” Unlike Charles, Crystal isn’t angry or aggressive and he doesn’t think he’s being warned off as much as he’s being warned to behave.

He crosses his heart with more solemnity than the gesture deserves and is rewarded with another eye roll.

The whispering stops abruptly and the closet door swings open. When they emerge Edwin does look a little red faced, but neither of them look happy so Thomas is pretty convinced this isn’t some bizarre seven minutes in heaven type scenario.

“You are very welcome to accompany us should you wish to,” Edwin informs him. “However please refrain from causing trouble.”

Thomas gives his most innocent smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Edwin looks doubtful, but also amused, while Charles lets out a snort of disbelief.

~*~*~*~

It turns out the magic shop they’re headed to isn’t much more than a mile away, so they’re walking in the pleasant summer sunshine rather than taking a tube. Thomas has managed to contrive to walk beside Edwin, a few steps behind the other two, much to Charles’ annoyance, and whilst he’d have liked to have ditched the others altogether this will certainly do for now. He’s got Edwin’s attention to himself and a modicum of privacy so long as they keep their voices down.

Crystal’s talking to Charles with a phone held to her ear so she doesn’t look crazy to passers by, and Thomas is grateful he doesn’t have that problem. If he doesn’t want people’s attention, then he doesn’t get it. Less that they can’t see him, more that they don’t think about him, as he explains to the ever-curious Edwin.

“Attention on your own terms, yes, that fits.” The ghost smirks at him and predictably peppers him with questions of how that works, which Thomas is only half able to answer.

He’s happy to indulge the detective’s curiosity but he’s got his own questions too. “You still have the flower.”

Oh that gets a response, Edwin looks almost guilty. “I used a charm to preserve it. It was a kind gesture, and it makes me think of Niko.” As ever, his clever detective turns things back on him with his next remark. “Lilies are toxic to cats.”

“I’m not a cat, I’m a Cat King.”

“So they do not affect you?”

Thomas did not say that and Edwin has very obviously noticed that he did not say that. “Well they’re not good for me.”

Edwin cocks his head, a curious expression on his handsome face. “You gave me something capable of hurting you.”

How can he possibly say that Edwin doesn’t need a lily to hurt him? “Well, you kept it, so I assume you liked it well enough. That’s some fancy spell-work there.”

“Not that fancy,” Edwin protests. “And yes, I like it very much actually.”

Thomas is about to ask if Charles knows where it came from, when they turn down a quiet alleyway and he realises any flying under the radar he’d been managing is well and truly over as a large black and white tuxedo cat jumps down from a wall. By time it lands, in a puff of flames, it’s a dark haired woman in a mini dress and fashionable boots, eyeing them all critically with an amber-gold gaze almost the same as his own

“Look what the cat dragged in,” she drawls. Oh well, this was probably predictable.

“Duchess!” Thomas steps forward to greet her effusively, but she dodges his cheek kiss in favour of poking him hard in the chest with a very bony finger.

“You are on my territory.”

Right, straight down to business. “I told you I was thinking of visiting.” Well, technically he’d sent a note that he’d hoped she wouldn’t read and that was intended to provide plausible deniability. Same thing.

“Doesn’t look like it’s me you’re visiting. And I’d prefer less ‘telling’ and more asking permission.”

“I’ve always found it easier to get forgiveness.” He bats his eyelashes, aiming for charming and silly, eager to be perceived as unthreatening. He doesn’t think she’d do anything too terrible, but he’s transgressed knowingly and intentionally and it’s important she doesn’t see that as him trying to start something.

The Duchess rolls her eyes. It feels like everyone’s doing that to him today. “Well I’m slightly reassured, not to mention intrigued, by the company you’re keeping. You going to introduce me?”

Something tight in his stomach unknots as he recognises her mocking, but not unfriendly, smile. The one that speaks to lifetimes of fond annoyance with him.

“This,” he sweeps an arm at his companions, “Is the Dead Boy Detective Agency, established 1990 in your own fair city. Edwin, Crystal, Charles, this is the Duchess, my London counterpart you might say.”

She snorts at that last part, then bows gracefully. It’s not a bow of deference, more the kind that suggests someone ready to soak up their well-deserved applause.

Thankfully Edwin’s manners are impeccable when he wants them to be. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are we to assume that you are the Cat Queen of London?”

Her eyes light up at the sight of the ghost. “Edwin Payne. My cats have been talking about you.” She dodges his question, clearly more interested in talking about the ghost than herself. “‘Smells like a demon, acts like an angel.’ It’s rare I hear of a ghost taking care of cats.”

He’s been taking care of cats??? The food in the alley, was that him? Thomas can feel himself going mushy. Oh dear god, if this is true he is so screwed.

Edwin looks a little taken aback. “I have just been feeding some local strays.”

She shakes her head. “No, I think you’ve been doing more than that. I hear you saved Mina’s kitten.”

He saved a fucking kitten! Of course he did, this ghost appears to be Thomas’ own personal catnip; thoroughly intoxicating and utterly irresistible.

“I merely helped her out of a drain she had fallen into,” Edwin modestly demurs.

“He didn’t merely anything,” Charles interjects, never missing a chance to talk up his partner. “He got a right bad burn off an iron grate when he moved it with his bare hands to get to them, and he got scratched up by the little thing ’cos it was scared.”

Oh god, he’s going to swoon.

Fuck, she’s looking at him. Thomas tries to return the Duchess’ cool glance with a nonchalant shrug, but he has a horrible feeling he just looks lovesick. She smiles warmly at Edwin, much more warmly than she had at him. “I heard. I am very grateful for your kindness.” Her smile turns calculating. “You might say I am in your debt.”

“Not at all.” Oh so he can be diplomatic when faced with a cat monarch. Did he learn from his interactions with Thomas, or does he just prefer the Duchess’ approach? “I did what anyone would have, I could not let the cats’ suffering continue if I could prevent it.”

“There are not enough people who think like you.” This stuff’s working on her almost as well as it is on Thomas. She’s not a woman to cross, but she’s a softie deep down. “I hope you’ve not picked up a new member for your agency,” she gestures at him. “I should warn you he’s liable to be a pain in the neck.”

“Oh we know!” Charles chimes in cheerfully. There’s someone who wouldn’t know diplomacy if it bit him. “Looks like cat monarchs are just something Britain does better.” He gives her an admiring look that takes in her long legs and short skirt, and that somehow translates perfectly as flattering rather than objectifying.

The little shit! She’s eating it up too, smiling at Charles like she thinks he’s just adorable. For the second time today Thomas finds himself locking eyes with Crystal, who’s clearly trying not to laugh at Charles laying on the charm.

Edwin though is quiet and Thomas doesn’t like the look on his face. He doesn’t get chance to say anything further though before there’s a firm hand on his arm and he’s being drawn aside. “Oh good,” the Duchess winks at Charles. “Then you won’t mind if I borrow him for a moment.”

“Oh, you can keep him if you like!” Charles winks back, but Thomas is pretty sure that’s not a joke.

Edwin says nothing.

“I know I should have...” he tries to defuse things before the woman can start but she shushes him and he deems it best to stay quiet.

“We will be discussing this further.” She leans in close, almost of a height with him in her low-heeled boots, looking him in the eye in a way that brooks no objections. “But right now I have places to be, and you’re clearly not here to start a coup so I’ll leave you to it with your cute friend.” Looks like he’s shouted that obsession whether he intended to or not. Oh well.

“Always lovely to see you, Duchess.”

“Of course it is.” She smirks at him before planting a lingering kiss on his lips. It’s not like he’s ever going to object to kissing her, but the timing is hardly spectacular with Edwin watching. If he’s honest there is only one person in the world he wants to kiss after that revelation - his kitten-saving hero, who likely won’t be impressed by this display.

Ok so he still kisses her back, she’s gorgeous and fun and his absolute favourite amongst his own kind (which is not saying much), but he still glares at her afterwards.

She meets his glare with a wink and leans in for a hug. “He looks jealous,” she whispers, her breath ghosting over his ear. “You’re welcome.”

That quickly puts a grin back on his face. Jealous is he? Excellent.

She laughs and twirls away. “It was lovely to meet you all. Now behave yourself, Thomas.” She tosses the words back over her shoulder with a grin. Bitch.

“Who’s Thomas?” Charles asks.

“I am.” Was that not obvious?

“You’ve got a name?”

He’s too busy staring incredulously at Charles to answer. He is amused though to see Crystal doing the same thing.

“Of course he has a name,” Edwin says stiffly. “Might we get on?” He stalks on ahead and Thomas finds himself scrambling to keep up.

Edwin seems lost in thought though and barely notices when Thomas tries to get his attention.

~*~*~*~

In the shop he gets the thrill of watching Edwin haggle a more reasonable price for the selection of things on his list, plus a couple of random things Charles has added like a kid putting sweets in the grocery cart. Charles has his uses though, the charming smile comes out again and Thomas thinks that helps them secure a more favourable price just as readily as Edwin’s negotiating does.

Back outside Crystal declares she’s hungry and Edwin surprises both himself and Charles by suggesting the latter go with Crystal to get her some lunch, whilst Edwin heads back to the office. There’s no mention of Thomas, but the inference seems clear to him that Edwin would like the opportunity to talk.

Charles is not happy, but Crystal links an arm through his and he allows himself to be drawn away.

It’s interesting watching Charles and Edwin together. Thomas had struggled to understand why on earth Charles would have rejected Edwin romantically, he had originally assumed that the only reason they weren’t already an item was Edwin’s own repression. Watching the three detectives though it seems like it’s not that simple. Charles loves Edwin, of course he does, but he loves the girl too. His eyes track Edwin in what looks like a constant desire to keep him safe, they track Crystal like he just likes to look at her. If Thomas had to guess he’d say there were some very complicated feelings under the uncomplicated exterior, and he’s not entirely convinced Charles is aware of some them.

The two ghosts scream ‘messy co-dependence, get involved at your own risk’, but Thomas can’t help himself.

“Looks like I owe you apology,” he says once they’re walking back unchaperoned. “I was wrong about you learning nothing from your little punishment. Why didn’t you tell me about any of this cat saving you’ve been up to?”

“There was really nothing to tell. I did not do much.”

“Yes, you did.” Thomas can’t help the warmth in his chest creeping into his voice.

Edwin gives him a shrewd look. “I do not think you owe me an apology, but if you feel you have something to atone for then you could do so by answering some questions.”

“What do you want to know?” He’s charmed, he’s so far gone, but not quite far enough to promise answers to questions he hasn’t yet heard.

The first one is a surprise. “Are you in trouble for coming here?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That is not an answer,” Edwin protests.

“You worried about me, kitten?” Thomas rather likes that idea.

Edwin gives a huff of annoyance and stays stubbornly quiet.

“Ok, fine,” Thomas surrenders. “Not really, I don’t think? Duchess is a bit pissed, and I’m going to get it in the ear about trespassing without permission, but she’s not really angry.”

Edwin appears pleased by that. “The two of you seemed close,” he says carefully.

Definitely jealous, Thomas thinks. “She’s an old friend.” Very old friend.

“Is that how you greet all your friends?” Edwin’s smile is teasing but there’s a definite edge to his tone.

Thomas offers his most disarming grin in response. “Well I would if you’d let me.”

“Hmm.” Edwin looks amused but offers no further comment on that matter. “Why do you call her Duchess? I assume that is not her name?”

“No, but it’s what she goes by. When she first took the throne here, London already had a Queen Regnant and I think there was as much diplomacy as there was sisterhood in her not using that title.”

“Which Queen?” Edwin’s notebook has appeared in his hand like he’s manifested its existence.

“Now, now, no prying about a lady’s age. I’m in enough trouble with her without giving away things like that. Suffice to say she’s been ruling this place for a really long time, and if she ever asked you to count all of her cats you’d be here ’til doomsday.”

“She is more powerful than you.”

“Slightly hurts that that’s not a question. But yes.”

“I apologise. I did not mean to make you feel inadequate.”

Thomas chuckles. “I’ll have you know I am very comfortable in myself, and I measure up pretty well.”

Edwin smirks back at him, but there’s something else in his expression and Thomas is reminded of how quiet he went during the encounter with Duchess.

“What’s troubling you?” He doesn’t think it’s just jealousy somehow.

“There was something else I wished to ask you, but I had hoped to return to the office first. I would rather not discuss it here.”

“Not a problem.” Thomas waves his hand and they’re both back in the cosy office.

“Oh.” Edwin is clearly surprised. “That was rather helpful, thank you.”

“Anything for you.” He’s back to batting his eyelashes in a bid to make someone more comfortable again. Only this time it’s not because he feels any need to defuse a situation, but that he can tell Edwin is tense and he just wants to see him smile in that annoyed but slightly fond way of his.

He’s disappointed in that though, as Edwin simply gestures to the sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

“You going to join me?” Thomas pats the spot beside him.

Edwin though is spared answering by a scratching at the door. He gives a small smile in that direction. “Apparently I have another, much less troublesome, cat to accommodate.” He opens the door and a pretty little calico wanders in, rubbing briefly round Edwin’s ankles before stopping to stare at Thomas.

“Well, hello, who’s this?”

“We call her Cally, she seems to be a stray. She does not speak to us, however she is very friendly.”

Curious. Thomas extends a hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The cat trots over happily and butts her head affectionately against his shins, purring. It’s clear she knows who, or rather what, he is but she doesn’t say anything. Thomas pats the cushion again and this time his invitation is accepted. Cally nuzzles sweetly into his side. “What’s got you so quiet then?” he asks softly. He doesn’t think this is a cat being stubborn. He’s not even convinced she understands what they’re saying. It was his outstretched hand that had brought her over and tapping the cushion that had encouraged her to join him, his words don’t seem to bring any recognition.

Thomas transforms to better communicate with her and has a brief exchange in language he knows will mean nothing to Edwin, who is watching with great interest from the wing-back chair. There’s a lot he doesn’t think Cally really understands but it’s a familiar story, not hard to fill in the blanks. Her earliest memories are of pain and fear and then running, being alone and learning how to care for herself. Then one day the ghosts had come along, and then one of them had brought her inside (amusingly, it seems to have been Charles), and now she comes and goes as she pleases and they give her pieces of fish and chicken, and there’s a girl who always shares her food. Nuzzling round behind her ear, Thomas can feel a little dip in the fragile skull. He licks gently at the old wound but she’s not in pain anymore and she seems utterly fearless, confident in her now home where she can do as she pleases. So long as she doesn’t jump on the desk anyway, a rule that he assumes is Edwin’s.

He takes a moment to compose himself before he changes back, and it’s hard not to just jump back onto Edwin’s lap and shower him with affection for all that he’s been doing. He has a feeling though that it would only get him scolded. “She’s very fond of you. She doesn’t understand a word you say, but she likes hearing you talk to her.”

Edwin frowns. “Why does she not understand?”

“As best as I can work out, when she was a kitten someone hurt her. At a guess I think they kicked her and it caused some damage. She’s fine, she can communicate with other cats, but she can’t process human speech. She ran away and lived on the streets until some sweet ghostie started looking after her.” It’s impossible to hold back a dopey smile any longer.

“It was Charles who brought her up here.” Edwin’s modesty is back on display, but so is his fondness for the other ghost. “He has been quite enchanted by her.”

“Well, if he’s got a cat maybe you need one too?” Thomas suggests with a wink.

“I think one is enough,” Edwin says, dryly.

“You sure about that?”

“Might you be serious, there was something I wished to ask you.”

“Oh I’m perfectly serious, and you can’t go around acting like a hero and expect not to be admired.”

Edwin looks uncomfortable. “I have not been acting like a hero.”

“Most strays are more used to getting kicked in the head than treated with kindness.” His own world has held more Esthers than Edwins. He doesn’t say any more, he gets too angry about the way humans treat cats and Edwin’s already on edge. He doesn’t need Thomas in a temper. “Now what was it you wanted to ask me?”

The ghost is sat stiffly, knuckles of one hand pressed against the other, hasn’t even removed his gloves. His voice when he speaks is sharp and brittle, as though he doesn’t really want to be asking the question but has to know the answer. “What did she mean when she said her cats described me as smelling like a demon?”

Thomas is a little surprised, he had assumed Edwin would know, but then it’s unlikely he’s come across many things that could catch any scent from him at all. “It’s not so much that you smell like a demon exactly,” Thomas explains, carefully. “You smell slightly of brimstone, you smell like a soul who’s been in Hell. It’s faint,” he adds quickly at the dismayed look on Edwin’s face. “No one would notice unless they were up close, and I suspect most things can’t smell it on you at all. Cats interact with ghosts a little differently than most do.”

“Why did you never mention this?” The question is clipped and accusatory.

“I honestly thought you knew.”

“Ghosts aren’t supposed to smell of anything,” Edwin says quietly.

“They don’t. You don’t, not exactly.” Thomas struggles to explain. “It’s not you that smells. It’s Hell, it tends to cling on to things.”

“I am quite well aware of that.”

Right, yeah, he would be. The moment feels delicate in a way Thomas doesn’t know how to handle. He wants to reassure Edwin but his words feel clumsy and the ghost won’t allow him to offer physical comfort. He tries again. “There are very few things out there other than cats that are at all likely to be able to pick up on it.”

“Is it worse now?”

“What?”

“Since I went back there,” Edwin clarifies.

Oh. “No. It’s the same as it was when I first met you.”

“So it does not fade over time.” The ghost’s flat tone sounds alarmingly like it’s holding back a surfeit of uncomfortable emotions.

“I suspect the marks of Hell never do. Edwin, it doesn’t mean anything you didn’t already know.”

“I suppose not,” he smiles humourlessly. “Should be hardly a surprise that I ‘smell like a demon’. Nothing truly human walks out of Hell.”

What can he say to that. Are ghosts human? That feels like a philosophical question too far. Also like it’s not really what Edwin needs to hear. Maybe, just maybe, it’s much simpler than that.

Moving slowly, Thomas crosses over to kneel gracefully beside Edwin’s neatly crossed legs and settles a hand atop the ghost’s tightly clenched fists. “I like you whatever you are. Humans in my experience are overrated.”

Dazzling green eyes meet his, filled with emotion even as the ghost’s expression remains impassive. Thomas’s thumb caresses gently over the still bunched up hands, and incredibly he feels them start to unclench beneath his touch. Edwin accepts the contact for a long moment before he finds his voice and slowly withdraws from Thomas’ hand.

“Thank you. I am fine. It simply troubles me to think that Hell is still hovering about me in some way. But then you are correct, in a sense that is nothing I did not already know.” Edwin takes one of those deep calming breaths he hasn’t technically needed in over a century. “I did not tell you. The afterlife caught up with Charles and I upon our return here. A deal was struck. We are allowed to remain here among the living, so long as we continue to be useful. Our deal though is not with Hell, nor I suspect anything they are likely to respect. We have got Death off our backs, but Hell… Well, I do not know.”

Thomas could quite happily punch Death, or whatever afterlife official thinks it’s acceptable to tell an innocent soul that they’ll refrain from dobbing them in to Hell as long as they ‘remain useful’. He wants to promise Edwin that he’s not going back there, but he can’t. Edwin is not someone to appreciate empty words and Thomas can’t protect him from that.

Instead he says, “You know what that smell says to cats? It says you’re strong, that you survived, that you escaped.”

“Is that why you found me so fascinating, all because of Hell?” Edwin spits the word like an angry kitten, and Thomas knows better than to underestimate how sharp a kitten’s claws are but he has never been able to resist this ghost.

He rises to perch on the arm of the chair, deliberately leaning into Edwin’s personal space. “Oh I was fascinated by you before I got close enough to smell you, and long before I understood what it meant.” He fixes those green eyes with a heated stare. “From when you walked into my home like you owned the place, stood before my throne like you were the one deigning to favour me with an audience.” He dares to trail a hand up Edwin’s lapel. “All buttoned up, and yet so expressive.” His hand hovers over Edwin’s cheek without quite making contact.

Edwin leans in closer, a brush of cool skin against Thomas’ palm. “If you attempt to sit on my lap again I shall push you onto the floor,” he whispers in a firm tone before pulling back, green eyes regaining some of their vitality.

Thomas laughs, delighted that whatever spark of fun had been struck between them hasn’t been extinguished by the day’s events. “Do you prefer me on my knees?”

Edwin flushes a beautiful shade of pink. “Oh, really!” he exclaims, flustered and annoyed, and oh so very tempting. He doesn’t look so tense and upset any more either.

Thomas preens, very pleased with himself for, as he sees it, improving the ghost’s mood. “You’re not gonna invite me back again?”

“I think that is an issue best resolved between yourself and the Duchess.”

Urgh, he’s not wrong. “I’ll square things with her, you’ll see. But maybe you should come to visit me next time.”

“I have not agreed that there is going to be a next time.”

Thomas pouts, which is meant to be fetching but makes Edwin laugh. That’s almost as good though.

“Very well, if the alternative is for you to be sulky and ridiculous, then I will visit. I should like to see Monty again anyway.”

“Oh thanks, you really know how to make a guy feel wanted.”

“I do not think your ego is in need of stroking.”

Thomas is pondering a very rude insinuation involving what might need stroking, just to see if he can make Edwin flush again, when there’s a rippling of the mirror and Charles steps through. “You still here?” He glares at Thomas, looking particularly put out by his proximity to his friend.

“Charles, where is Crystal?” Edwin asks.

Charles looks guilty. “She’s on her way, I just wanted to get all this shopping back. We bought loads.”

“Your bag is a pocket dimension,” Edwin points out. “It does not weigh more because you put more in it.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure he wasn’t causing trouble.” Charles gestures rudely at Thomas.

Edwin eyes Thomas carefully, as if giving the matter serious consideration before coming to a conclusion. “He is not.”

Charles looks disbelieving, Thomas feels like his own expression probably has a little doubt mixed in too. Charles’ arrival though feels like his cue to be gone. Edwin’s looking weary of their bickering already and the last thing he wants is for him to be upset again.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” he says, diplomatically, hopping down from the arm of Edwin’s chair. “Don’t leave it too long, ghostie. You might miss me.”

Edwin sighs fondly. “Do not be ridiculous. Goodbye, Thomas.”

Ok, he’s going to forgive Duchess everything just for how good his name sounds on Edwin’s lips. He has a feeling his smile might be best described as ‘besotted’. “Bye, Edwin.”

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Ever since the Cat King’s visit a few days prior, Charles has been grumpy, Crystal has been giving Edwin looks he cannot interpret, and the office feels altogether less like a haven than it usually does. Edwin can’t stop thinking about the Cat King appearing in it, can’t stop thinking about him at all, but he has no wish to talk about it with Charles who so clearly wants to deliver some kind of lecture on the matter. Edwin has only dodged this as effectively as he has via a sudden deluge of casework, courtesy of the Night Nurse.

Charles doesn’t like the Cat King, doesn’t trust him, and is clearly not thrilled Edwin invited him into their space. Edwin half wants to apologise and half wants to snap that ‘that is what you did with Crystal, Charles’ and that isn’t going to help anything so he holds his tongue and avoids the conversation.

He cannot though avoid his own thoughts, which drift constantly back to the complicated feline. Why, Edwin wonders, is he a black cat now? He used to be ginger. Is it because he died? It does correlate with how his human form has appeared since that time. While his style most certainly has not dulled, his colour pallet has. The bronzed highlights of both dress and hair are gone, as are the rather fluffier jumpers and jackets that Edwin now thinks rather reflected how relatively fluffy he’d appeared as a ginger cat. That though may just be down to the change in weather. Thomas does not react to temperature as readily as a human, Edwin has observed, but he’s not oblivious to it like a ghost is.

Thomas. The name suits him, Edwin thinks with a wry smile. He is after all something of a Tomcat, an unneutered and slightly feral stray. That makes him think though of the strays outside the office, how a little kindness has brought them to trust, how they slink around his ankles and some even condescend to accept a gentle chin scratch. The Cat King is a bit like that - all his bombastic flair and wild flirtation seem to calm a little whenever Edwin offers him his attention, especially if it’s positive. Like he’s a stray that just wants someone to be kind.

Edwin shakes his head, that is ridiculous. Thomas is incredibly powerful, centuries old, and not some sweet little kitten looking for a treat and a gentle pat. God knows what he is looking for. Besides the obvious, which even he must have worked out he is unlikely to get. Certainly not going to get, Edwin hastily corrects his own train of thought.

The question Edwin’s not sure he wants to answer though, is what is he looking for. Is there something beyond the empathy produced by a shared loneliness that has lead him to pursue this odd friendship? He can admit to some fond feelings, and privately it is even possible to acknowledge that the Cat King’s overt admiration of him is very flattering and enjoyable in it’s own way. There is also much to be said for such blatant admiration and flirtation coming from another man. Thomas reminds him constantly that there doesn’t have to be any shame in who he is and what he wants. That it most certainly does not have to be torture, he thinks with a sad smile.

The man is also quick to offer comfort when Edwin will allow him to. Edwin’s not sure he’s ever going to feel comfortable with the idea that he apparently smells like Hell, but Thomas’ assurances, and perhaps even the gentle hand atop his own, had helped. He’d been upon the edge of panic but found that once they had talked he had felt calmer. There have not been many people in his life who could do that, who could calm him. For decades the only one who could was Charles. Indeed, if he weren’t currently slightly avoiding taking to Charles at all then Edwin would have liked to have talked to him about the issue of the Hellish odour. Sometimes he even wishes he could talk to Charles about Thomas, but that feels impossible.

Or rather a reasonable conversation feels impossible, Charles bringing up Thomas however is inevitable and Edwin can only dodge it for so long. Their Night Nurse mandated cases are wrapped up to her satisfaction, Crystal is heading off for the day, and Charles is bound to restart the lecture he’s been trying to deliver for nearly a week. Even the sudden appearance of a ghost wielding a scythe had been unusually welcome as a means of evading the topic two days ago. Now though, Edwin is out of distractions and out of time. He’s resigned to an uncomfortable evening that may well culminate in an argument.

“Not heading out tonight?” he asks, hopefully, as Crystal leaves. Perhaps Charles will walk Crystal home and Edwin can gain some peace.

Charles though seems to think from this that he’s plotting an escape. “Why? You planning on sneaking off somewhere? Port Townsend maybe?”

“Given that you know that I have been there, I would think that would negate the idea that I had been ‘sneaking’,” Edwin reasons.

“I dunno mate, you didn’t tell us about it until I straight up asked you and even then you tried to dodge the question!” That is unfortunately true. “Then you invite him here without even warning us.”

“This is my home too, Charles! I was not aware I required your permission to invite someone, or indeed to go out.”

“I thought you weren’t going out?”

“I did not say that, I said I wasn’t sneaking out!” Edwin snaps.

He doesn’t even think, he’s too annoyed and too eager to avoid the coming row, and he’s heading for the mirror before he can consider if he actually wants to see the Cat King at the current moment. Indecision when mirror hopping is a recipe for getting lost, and as he passes through Edwin focuses on finding his way to the Tongue and Tail. It is at best a compromise, a decision deferred, but it does get him away from the brewing storm in London without depositing him in front of Thomas.

Niko’s bedroom is as empty and forlorn as the last time, but the building is much noisier. It sounds like there are workmen doing something and he thinks he can hear Jenny’s voice raised in annoyance. He should probably go and talk to her, say hello, see how she’s doing, but she doesn’t sound like she’s any more inclined to chat than he is right now.

He’s just walked out on his best friend, there’s only one person he wants to talk to and it’s the same person he walked through the mirror to avoid talking to. He’s an idiot. An idiot who is far too stubborn to simply turn around and go home.

Avoiding the butcher, Edwin drifts out onto the streets and wanders purposely in the opposite direction to the cannery. His pleasure in the Cat King’s company, in this odd friendship they have struck up, is soured by the reality that it is causing problems with the most important person in his life or afterlife. Walking out on Charles will not change that, it is only going to make it worse. He should have stayed and heard him out, but he’s found himself feeling oddly defensive of the Cat King and their friendship, and reluctant to hear criticism from the person whose judgement he holds highest.

There’d been no conscious destination in Edwin’s mind, just ‘away’, away from Charles, away from Thomas, away from conversations he is ill-equipped for. Some part of his mind though has been dwelling on dark things for too long and he soon finds it has guided his feet to the house of Esther Finch. Or rather to what used to be a house. When the Cat King had said he had ‘gutted the place’, he was not exaggerating.

The roof is entirely gone, the remaining walls blackened and burnt, broken glass litters the unkempt garden and there are deep claw marks in the wooden gate post. Somebody was angry. Edwin is not vain enough to think it was all about him, the woman had claimed one of Thomas’ lives and he doesn’t think they were exactly friendly before that happened. Still, something quickens in his chest at the proof of Thomas’ revenge. Certainly nothing of Esther’s is going to be causing further harm here.

There is still something of Esther’s out there though, and perhaps it is that thought that turns his steps to the forest. On the other hand it is also an obvious stalling technique, the one place in Port Townsend he knows the Cat King does not like. The one place he can detour to where it seems unlikely that he will be found.

Of course life (or rather death) being what it is, Edwin’s no sooner thought that than he is found. Only not by the Cat King. He’s not more than a few hundred metres into the trees when a dark shape in the corner of his eye reveals itself to be an incoming crow, and Edwin smiles with absolute certainty of who it is. “Hello, Monty. You are looking very well!”

Monty caws, and flies around Edwin’s head, in what seems to be excitable agreement. It is rather charming. Monty always was enthusiastic.

“I am very glad to see you. I was sorry I had missed you at the cannery, but I was very pleased to hear that you were well recovered. The Cat King said that you visited sometimes and I’d been hoping to run across you there. I should have thought to just come to the woods.”

The bird perches on a convenient low branch and tilts its head in an inquiring manner, perhaps wondering why Edwin has been spending time in the cannery at all.

“Is that what you’re wondering? Why have I been spending time with the Cat King? If so that makes both of us. Probably a few other people besides.” Just about everyone Edwin knows in fact. “I did not intend to, it rather started by accident. That first day I saw you was the first time I had ventured back to Port Townsend since we had left, and it was due to an error while mirror hopping. Once I saw him though I found that I...” he hesitates and the bird watches with bright eyes, not moving so much as a feather as though trying not to put Edwin off. He makes himself say it, aloud, for the first time. “I found I enjoyed his company, I liked talking with him.” A deep breath and he finishes in a quieter but very determined tone. “I even like flirting with him.”

With anyone else Edwin would have been put off, but talking to Monty feels close to talking to himself. The moment he thinks that though he feels furious with shame. Monty is not a dumb animal (and there’s a phrase he decides he will never use near Thomas), he understands every word Edwin is saying, he just can’t answer. Or rather Edwin cannot understand his answers.

“I am sorry. I have no one I can say any of this to, I had a fight with Charles and talking to him about the Cat King feels quite impossible anyway. But it occurs to me now that I might be slightly cruel in saying it to you. You did once express feelings for me,” he trails off quietly.

There’s a quiet caw, and a flutter of wings precedes a sudden presence on his shoulder. Edwin turns his head, a little startled to find Monty sat there. The bird presses his head against Edwin’s temple and allows him to carefully stroke his feathers.

What it means though is beyond the ghost. It seems affectionate, but is it Monty’s way of saying that yes, his feelings were very real, and Edwin is still hurting them? Or is he trying to offer comfort to Edwin, or to tell him that he does not mind Edwin talking about such things?

“I wish I could understand you like the Cat King does.” If Monty were simply speaking a different language then Edwin would be making every effort to learn it. If only it were that simple.

In essence though that is the situation, and Edwin isn’t even trying. He’s anywhere from passable to masterful in any number of languages. If he can get his head around Latin, Aramaic, Coptic and various modern languages, what’s stopping him trying Corvid? Well, quite a lot really. There are almost certainly no books to help him. While there are surely books on bird behaviours, he’s conscious that Monty isn’t just a crow but a familiar and that his behaviours are thus not likely to be typical. He’d also be trying to tune into a non-human language with human hearing, and even the Cat King (who is decidedly not human) said he could only get the gist of things. However, while it may be difficult and his understanding likely always limited, he can certainly try. It’s not like he needs to recreate the language, thank goodness as that is certainly beyond his vocal chords, Monty understands human speech perfectly well.

“I want to learn how to understand you.” He startles the crow with his sudden outburst and Monty takes flight back to the branch. “I apologise. But I would like us to be able to have more of a conversation than me monologuing while you have to listen.”

A caw of disapproval, Monty doesn’t have to listen. Edwin brushes that aside. “You will have to help me. You understand me. So let us begin with the most basic of ideas, the negative and affirmative.”

The bird looks at him blankly.

“I mean let’s try one caw for yes and two for no?”

Monty caws once obediently. It’s a start.

“Did I hurt you, with what I just said?”

The cawing is loud and clear indicating the negative. Edwin smiles in relief. “That is good. I have never wished to hurt you. I hope you know that.”

A soft little caw suggests that he does.

“Are you doing well?”

The bird is silent for a while, head tipped to the side as if considering the question carefully. The eventual yes is quiet but definite.

Monty then makes an odd little stabbing motion towards Edwin with his beak. At his evident confusion, Monty does it again and eventually flies down to land on his shoulder once more and pokes him in the temple.

“What the..?” Edwin is bewildered and the bird is looking at him like he’s a moron. “Why are you pecking me? Are you angry with me?”

The bird’s negative sounds very frustrated and Edwin tries to think logically. “You are pointing at me?”

“Caw!”

“Why?” He thinks back. “You want to ask me how I am doing in return?”

The bird caws and flaps around excitedly at being understood.

“I am very well, thank you.”

Monty stops dead and stares at him. Right, given what he’d been saying a few minutes ago ‘very well’ probably doesn’t cover things and Monty (not being a complete fool) knows that.

Edwin snorts. “Alright, I am not very well. I am frustrated, upset and confused. My jumbled up feelings, as you once referred to them, seem more jumbled than ever and they are causing friction.”

Monty settles back on his shoulder and presses close, making Edwin smile. “Thank you. As I say, I have struggled for someone to talk to. I do not wish to give up this friendship with the Cat King, even though I am unsure how I feel towards him, but it is causing Charles and I to fight and I cannot bear that.” He sighs. “You were right, I do have feelings for Charles. I told him, a few months back, and he does not feel the same. Our friendship has been stronger than ever and I do not regret voicing my affections, I think perhaps it was necessary for me to stop hiding in order to rid myself of the shame I’d felt for so long. However whilst something as serious as an ill-timed and unreciprocated love confession only seemed to bring us closer, something as frivolous as a feline trickster is causing tension which I do not know how to resolve.”

At some point in saying all that Monty had started grooming his hair, which is a little odd but does firmly convey a sense of care and affection that is much appreciated.

“I need to talk to Charles, don’t I?” Edwin asks.

Monty caws his agreement.

“What I can say to him though I do not know.”

If Monty has the answers he’s not in a position to give them with their current simplistic method of communication.

“I think we both needed a little time to cool off.” Edwin makes a decision. “And I think I would like to see Thomas whilst I am here.”

The bird makes a soft wheezy noise that almost sounds like a laugh. Edwin eyes him suspiciously. “He is pleasant company, that is all.” He sighs. “Well no, that is not all, but that had best remain between you and me. Charles would throw a fit, and Thomas...” The very idea of admitting to Thomas that he enjoys his admiration and flirting tangles his insides up in knots. “Well, his ego is quite swollen enough.”

That, Monty signals his agreement with.

“I think I will go and see him though. You could come with me?”

The negative is emphatic enough to make Edwin laugh.

“Perhaps not. Though he has told me you still visit.”

The bird returns to his branch and gives reluctant assent.

“I will take that as an admission that maybe he’s not all bad.” Edwin smiles.

Monty fixes him with a ‘look’, but he also does not signal any negation. Perhaps, Edwin thinks, he will yet get the hang of understanding him.

It’s a bit of a trek from the forest to the cannery, but the walk is pleasant and provides time for Edwin to further reflect upon his intention to learn more about communicating with Monty. He writes notes as he goes of books to seek out and things to research that may help. It is soothing to his own ruffled feathers to have a new project, a puzzle for him to solve. The idea of learning to meaningfully communicate with a crow sounds a lot easier at the moment than communicating meaningfully with his best friend.

~*~*~*~

As soon as he enters the warehouse, Button runs up joyfully and Edwin is reaching into his pocket for treats before he is even asked. The sweet little cat apparently has him well trained. “Hello there, is your King at home?”

“He’s grilling the others on where you are.” Button pauses to crunch another treat. “He was worried you weren’t going to visit whilst you were here.”

Edwin smirks. “Was he now?”

“I knew you’d come.”

“Oh?”

The cat does not elaborate on his certainty that Edwin would visit, but looks up and purrs as they’re joined by an older feline. The sleek black cat saunters over and butts its head against Edwin’s knee. He’s holding out a few treats before he’s realised who he’s offering them to. The cat though seems delighted, soft fur and ticklish whiskers brushing Edwin’s skin as he helps himself eagerly.

Edwin freezes in place. The Cat King of Port Townsend is eating treats out of his hand. A rough tongue seeks out any remaining crumbs, though Edwin doesn’t think there were any, before there’s a plume of the familiar violet flames and he finds himself at Thomas’ feet.

The man looks down at him and licks his lips. “Not bad, though I do prefer a fresh bit of salmon.”

Edwin finds his feet and his voice only with great difficulty. “Well, I should have known you would be demanding.”

“I just know my own worth.” Thomas is wearing those ridiculously tight leather trousers again, this time with a silky looking blouse, which Edwin can’t hold back a smile at when he takes in the pussy bow detail at the neck. How very appropriate. Thomas catches the look and reaches out to gently flick his bow tie. “We match. We’re both tied up with a bow today.” His voice is a sensual tease and Edwin finds himself lost for a response, busy resisting the urge to tug on the silky black bow at Thomas’ throat. He has clearly been around cats too long.

His silence causes Thomas’ expression to fall a little. “I heard you were in town, thought you weren’t going to come and see me. Not that I care, obviously.”

Obviously. Edwin has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “I have been in the forest, speaking with Monty.”

“I’m sure that was a riveting conversation.”

Edwin ignores the sarcasm. “I am working on understanding him. I speak numerous languages and yet I realised I was making no effort to find a way to better communicate with him.”

“How enlightened of you.” Edwin’s not sure if that comment is sarcastic or not.

“Well, someone forced me to consider that just because somebody is not human it does not mean they are not a person, or that they should be dismissed because you cannot understand them.”

“Those of us with fur and feathers have feelings too.” The mockery sounds a little vulnerable, like when Thomas had said he thought Edwin wasn’t going to visit.

It makes Edwin wish he were bolder, that he might say something to express that he did in fact want to be here. So much so apparently that he’s willing to upset Charles over it. “Quite,” is all he manages. He feels stiff and awkward, unsure what to say. Today is not going well, he has never been good with people and now he seems bent on alienating the two who most want to be around him.

Thomas though is hard to put off. He eyes Edwin critically and idly waves his hand, then quite suddenly they’re back where they started – in a dimly lit bedroom with a neon crown above a round bed. Only it’s not quite as it was then. It’s a little brighter, allowing Edwin to see the various knick-knacks and curios which crowd the shelves, and there’s a small sofa to one side of the space which Thomas gestures him towards. “Sit. You let me into your space, suppose maybe you should see mine under better circumstances.” It’s said with a studied air of nonchalance that gives the impression that being brought up here this time is a lot more meaningful than last.

Edwin’s still not a hundred per cent happy to be spirited away again and Thomas seems to see it. Another flourish and there’s a free-standing mirror – a more highly ornamented sibling to the one in the warehouse – placed near the sofa. “Just in case you thought I was going to try any more tricks with caging spells.” The Cat King winks at him.

Edwin didn’t think that, but he is still glad of the mirror. This is the only place that the Cat King has ever come close to frightening him, he’s not expecting a repeat but he can’t help but feel a little on edge at finding himself back here. Reasonably reassured, he sits on the sofa, only to find himself staring at the circular bed (which, now that he thinks about it, reminds Edwin of nothing so much as a cat basket). Last time he’d seen it it had been adorned with rumpled sheets, now it’s covered in discarded clothing options as though Thomas had struggled to choose an outfit this morning. It is an endearing thought.

“Hmm, forgot about that.” Thomas banishes the mess and sits on the edge of the bed, facing the ghost. “I liked seeing your office,” he says. “Now I can picture you sat at your old-timey desk solving your mysteries.”

“I am glad you approve.” Is Edwin supposed to picture Thomas here in future? The thought quickly strays from idle to erotic and he changes the subject. “Have you had any further issues with having trespassed on another cat monarch's territory?”

Thomas grimaces a little. “Not yet, she’s leaving me hanging. She’ll turn up at some point and tell me I’ve been a bad boy, but it’ll all be fine. I’d be more worried about my welcome from bat-boy than from her if I returned to London.”

“His name is Charles,” Edwin says sternly, though he can’t entirely disagree. The Duchess had been clearly fond of Thomas, even if she was also annoyed with him. Charles, well that’s why Edwin’s here isn’t it, Charles very definitely doesn’t want Thomas around. “He has reason to be less than fond of you.”

Thomas sighs dramatically. “Well, as long as you’re fond of me.”

Edwin’s mouth quirks up at the corners entirely without his permission. “Possibly. You may want to give Charles some time to calm down before visiting again, let alone your London counterpart, but you would be welcome back on the proviso that you behave yourself.”

“I can behave.” Thomas smiles sweetly.

Edwin doesn’t even try to suppress his own smile. It’s not that he exactly believes Thomas, but he is feeling undeniably fond. Especially perhaps because of what he’d seen earlier. “Before I saw Monty, I went to Esther’s house.”

“Oh? And do you approve of my remodelling?”

Edwin grins, a touch of something savage burning in his veins. “Very much.” He does not generally revel in destruction, but there had been something cathartic about seeing the house that had taken Niko, and caused so much pain for so many people, brought to ruination like that. He wonders if it had been cathartic for Thomas too.

Thomas leans back on his elbows, looking comfortable and relaxed more than flirty – though that only serves to make him look more attractive somehow. “Well, I have a flair for these things.”

“You certainly do.”

“I should remodel in here more.” He glances around his room, critically. “It’s not exactly cosy.”

“This sofa appears to be new,” Edwin observes.

“Well I didn’t really need one previously, I just sit on the bed.”

“And you do not have visitors?”

Thomas smirks wickedly. “If they’re up here, they’re usually on the bed too.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Edwin curses his own stupidity in his question, what on earth does he think Thomas gets up with his usual visitors - whoever they may be.

“Though it is nice to have options.” Thomas waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Edwin finds himself warily eyeing the sofa he’s sat upon, wondering what multitude of sins the dim lighting and patterned upholstery might be covering.

“Options of where to sit!” Thomas gasps in mock horror. “You have such a filthy mind Edwin Payne.”

Edwin huffs, covering his embarrassment as best he can. “Well, you are clearly a terrible influence.”

“Have I rubbed off on you?”

The innuendo nearly flies over Edwin’s head, would have done until fairly recently, but having Crystal around the last few months has meant he’s been introduced to all manner of new ways to refer to very old activities. He fights down the flush he can feel wanting to burn his cheeks, and fixes Thomas with a stern look. “I thought you said you could behave?”

“I thought I only had to behave in London?”

“You are incorrigible.”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“I would not go that far.”

“Look at you sat there with your arms folded, all stern and intimidating. I feel like a naughty schoolboy in front of the headmaster.”

“Oh, Thomas, really!”

The Cat King laughs as Edwin finally loses his composure at the man’s infuriating teasing. Edwin glares at him but fears it is having entirely the wrong effect. It doesn’t help that he’s enjoying seeing the man in such a teasing mood, the vulnerability of earlier apparently banished by the simple fact of Edwin staying.

“It strikes me,” Edwin says, both to change the subject and because he feels he should check, “I should have asked the other day, do you mind my using your name?”

He’s gifted a slow, warm smile, one that reaches deep amber eyes and adds an extra sparkle to their usual golden lustre. “I really rather like it actually.”

“Yet you never told me it.”

Thomas shrugs. “You never asked.”

“I was not sure it would be polite. Names can hold a lot of power for supernatural creatures.”

“Oh your power over me all comes from those pretty green eyes,” Thomas teases.

It is a tease, of course it is a tease, but the way he says such things sometimes they sound almost real. Like a dead boy with no social skills and a century of self-loathing and repression could actually hold the attention of, or even power over, a centuries old magical creature accustomed to ruling a kingdom of want and pleasure. Of course he makes it sound real, Thomas is a natural charmer, teasing and provoking and able to make Edwin feel like he’s the most interesting thing in the room, even when he doesn’t want to be. It’s intoxicating as often as it is infuriating, and it’s becoming uncomfortable less and less frequently.

Still, he knows better than to encourage it. “Do be serious.”

“Edwin, you have me literally eating out of your hand.”

“Well...” Edwin trails off, unsure of how to respond to that. In a factual sense, certainly, it is undeniably true, what it actually means though is an entirely different question. The Cat King, Thomas, is looking at him with his head tilted and a sweet little smile. He looks a little vulnerable again, but in a much more hopeful way. Edwin, madly out of his depth and floundering now, is tempted to retreat. He needs to go and deal with the situation with Charles, he can’t sit here and flirt, or whatever it is they are doing, while he’s left his best friend steaming over the very man he’s flirting with.

Edwin is not so lacking in self-awareness however that he doesn’t see that, just as he had used visiting Thomas as a way to escape the situation with Charles, he is now using Charles to escape from Thomas.

“I think I may need to make use of that mirror,” he says abruptly. “I left things in rather a bad way with Charles. I have been avoiding him and I think I need to stop.”

The sweet smile falls, but Thomas nods in acceptance. “Avoiding things doesn’t usually work out well, kitten.”

Once more Edwin considers challenging the endearment, and decides he doesn’t mind it. “Perhaps I could visit you again soon?” he asks.

Thomas’ smile returns, and it’s thrilling how easy it is to do that – to make him smile – simply with a request to see him again. “You’re welcome here any time, ghostie.” His smile turns mischievous. “Tell you what, I’ll leave this mirror too, but if you come through it unannounced and get an eyeful I won’t be apologising for it.”

Edwin tries very hard not to think about what he might get an eyeful of. “Of course I would not disturb you in your private space unannounced.”

“Oh I wouldn't mind.” Thomas smirks. “I just wouldn’t be apologising.”

“Well, I shall use the one in the warehouse just to be safe.”

Thomas leans in and strokes a finger up his arm. “Safe’s boring, Edwin.”

Edwin shakes his head with a smile. How can he explain that 70 years of torment make ‘boring’ feel like an unimaginable blessing, that for so long ‘safe’ was a distant pipe-dream that still often eludes him.

As he steps though the mirror though, there is a treacherous little voice in his head reminding him that he didn’t get out of Hell by playing it safe.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Charles is stood staring at the mirror when Edwin steps back through. Edwin wonders if he’s been there like that ever since he’d left. Likely not, Charles could never stay still for that long. That thought triggers a wave of fondness and regret for leaving at all in the way that he had.

His partner glares at him but there’s an underlying note of relief in his tone when he says, “No need to ask where you’ve been.”

“Hello to you too, Charles.”

“Edwin, mate...” Charles trails off like he doesn’t know what to say and Edwin hates that. He hates that after thirty years they can not know what to say to each other.

“Please Charles, let’s not fight. I apologise for walking out on you, I was trying to avoid a row.”

“You were trying to avoid what I’ve got to say,” Charles argues. “Same as you have for days now.”

Charles lets Edwin get away with a lot, he doesn’t pry too often or too hard, has spent years allowing his friend to say only what he is comfortable with as regards Hell, his life, his death, and just about everything else. He has been unbelievably kind and patient, and Edwin has chosen to shut him out lately just because their views do not align. There really is no other option, he needs to hear Charles out. “I am not avoiding you now,” he says.

“You did go to Port Townsend, didn’t you?” Charles asks, much more calmly than Edwin would have expected.

“Yes.”

His partner frowns. “To see him?”

“Partly. I saw Monty first.”

Charles’ frown eases a little at the mention of the crow. “How’s he doing?”

“Well, I think. I am trying to learn to communicate with him better.”

Normally Charles would ask further questions about Edwin’s latest project, but they’re both too aware of what they really need to talk about to get sidetracked. “And Whiskers?”

“He is fine.” Eating out of Edwin’s hand, apparently, but he doesn’t think he should say that.

“Not trying it on?”

“He was his usual self. He is rather flirtatious but it would likely not be wise to read too much into that, it is simply his way.”

“Simply his way?” Charles’ composure runs out. “Edwin, he’s bloody obsessed with you!”

“Charles please don’t be absurd.” The Cat King is lonely and bored, the idea that he is obsessed with Edwin is patently ridiculous.

“He crossed an ocean just to come bother you!”

“In fairness I crossed an ocean to see him first,” Edwin points out, calmly. “And I do not think that that kind of travel is much more difficult for him than it is for us.”

“That’s not the point!” Charles insists.

“Then what is the point?” With luck they might finally get to it and then maybe they can move past it.

“He’s bloody bad news!” Charles bursts out. “He trapped you in Port Townsend and then made a move on you like a fucking creep!”

Edwin has never told Charles the full extent of that first uncomfortable interaction but Charles is insightful enough, and knows Edwin well enough, that it’s clear he’s got some idea of what went down.

Edwin sighs. “His behaviour was not exactly gentlemanly, I grant you, but, despite the fact that I was the one who had done something wrong and he was rightfully angry with me, when he realised he had made me uncomfortable he backed off.”

Charles’ eyes narrow. “Backed off from what exactly? ’Cause you’ve still never told me what he did. Presumably because whatever it was you know it’ll make me want to shave his fur and pluck his whiskers out.”

Quite. The problem is that dodging the question only makes Charles assume the worst, there is no good outcome to telling him or not telling him. “He made a rather lewd inference of what might incline him to remove the bracelet immediately.”

“The fuck…!”

“He thought I was interested,” Edwin interrupts swiftly.

“Yeah right mate, he had you there against your will and he was threatening you, what exactly made him think you were interested?”

The fact that I was. He is not going to say that. “We had had a somewhat charged exchange, it does not matter. I made it clear he had made me uncomfortable and he backed off. Told me to go and count the cats.”

“Mate, he set you an impossible task to keep you trapped! Probably in hopes you’d revisit his ‘lewd suggestions’ in desperation to be free!”

Edwin sighs. “No. He didn’t. You are correct that counting all the cats in Port Townsend should have been impossible. However given that I completed the task well within a fortnight, despite numerous distractions, we are left with the logical conclusion that it was far from impossible.”

“He just underestimated how smart you are!”

“Charles, there were cats everywhere, far more than would have simply been required to spy upon us. He practically had them parading before me, which I believe was the point. He wanted me to see the cats as individuals with lives and value.”

“He wanted to keep you close so he could keep trying it on with you,” Charles insists.

“He could have made it impossible had he wished to, he could have told the cats to avoid me, he could have held me there indefinitely! He did not. And whilst he was inappropriate, he was never aggressive. He did not continue to make me uncomfortable.” How on earth can he explain that after that first encounter Thomas had quickly slid into the category of mildly infuriating. He’d never again looked like a threat, merely an occasionally amusing and far too handsome nuisance.

“No, he just held you captive in a town where both the afterlife and a murderous witch were after us, until you got dragged to Hell and Niko got killed.”

“I do not think he knew about the issues we were having with the Night Nurse, and he tried to help us with Esther.” Edwin cannot help himself defending Thomas, his tone getting more strident as their discussion goes on and Charles becomes angrier.

“He sent the girls into that house!”

“They were going anyway, Charles. They were trying to save us!” Edwin takes one of his deep calming breaths that can’t actually do anything but which tend to make him feel more composed. “If we had left when we originally intended, Niko would still have died. The sprites would have killed her, and Jenny would have found a scene of horror that she could not explain. Niko would have died alone and afraid without ever leaving her room, without ever sending that final letter to her mother, without ever meeting us. That is not an alternative history I would wish to take any part in.”

Charles is quiet for a moment. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re right about that. And I shouldn’t have brought up Niko.”

Edwin’s mouth curves into a sad smile. “It is quite alright, Charles, I do not mind speaking of her.”

“Crystal cries sometimes when I mention her.” Charles looks so guilty as he says it, like it’s his fault for not shielding Crystal from the pain he could not reasonably spare her.

“Charles...” Edwin begins softly.

Charles though is on a roll and not stopping for anything. “I know there was stuff you felt you could talk to her about that you don’t with me.”

“Charles...”

“No, listen! I get that, I do. And I can’t phrase things like she would, but I’m worried about you. I don’t understand why you seem to have forgiven him, why you don’t see how dangerous he is.”

“I do not believe he is dangerous, or at least I do not think he means me any harm. Crystal is dangerous, you are dangerous, I am dangerous. We all know how to inflict harm or, as I did, how to entrap something.”

“You were trying to save a little girl.”

“No.” Edwin would rather almost anything than damage that rose-tinted view Charles has of him, but he cannot lie to him. “I was trying to prove to you that I was better than Crystal. I wasn’t thinking of the girl at all.” Becky, he thinks, it was Becky something. Shamefully, he doesn’t remember, the name was never particularly important.

Far from condemning though, Charles’ face instantly falls into an expression of deep concern. “Mate...” He reaches out and squeezes Edwin’s upper arm and Edwin happily leans into his grounding touch.

“It is alright Charles.” He pats his friend’s hand affectionately. “I was being foolish and acting pettily. I have become very fond of Crystal and I am not in need of your reassurance regarding our friendship. You would hardly be arguing so determinedly on the subject of Thomas if you did not care about me.”

“Thomas?!” Charles whines, actually whines like a kicked puppy, and it does make Edwin feel awful. “Really?!”

“It is his name,” Edwin responds defensively.

Charles tips his head to the Heavens in utter despair. “Oh my god! Nothing I say is going to convince you is it?” The hand still gripping his arm feels like it’s holding back from shaking him.

“Convince me of what, exactly?” He feels he has answered all of Charles’ concerns and he’s hoping that Charles will eventually be forced to concede that.

“Convince you to think bloody carefully about what you’re doing! Mate, when we first met him there was a corpse not ten feet from his stupid ‘throne’, being eaten by cats! Have you forgotten that or something?”

Edwin had. Or at least he had ignored it. Nothing he has seen since has suggested the man was interested in casual violence. He does not feel physically unsafe around him. Thomas helped Monty back to health despite the fact they still clearly don’t exactly like each other, and his interactions with the younger of his cats in particular are endearingly tender. He is not the monster with a corpse at his feet that he first appeared.

“I have not forgotten, but we do not know what that was about. We have no idea who the dead man was or how he died.”

Charles levels him with an unimpressed look. “We know exactly how he died, mate. Whiskers killed him.”

It is the most likely explanation.

Edwin thinks of the ruins of Esther’s house, the destruction that was so much more than simply what might be required to dispose of the dangerous things she left behind, those deep, angry scratches on the gate, like a warning to anyone else in Port Townsend who might think of picking up where she left off. Interested in it or not, Thomas is certainly capable of violence.

“I...will think about what you have said.”

“That’s all I’m asking, mate.” Charles sounds relieved. “I just want you to be safe.”

~*~*~*~

Edwin does think about it. Every spare minute that he’s not working on a case, and a good few when he should have been. Thirty-odd years of partnership mean that while he and Charles do not always agree they do each trust the other’s judgement, and it’s rare that they disagree quite so violently about someone.

Up until now this particular disagreement has only been a problem for the tensions it has caused from him attempting to avoid Charles’ lecture on the matter. Edwin had told himself he was avoiding it to prevent a row, now he wonders if he’d just been afraid of what he might hear. Afraid that Charles’ judgement might have been rather more objective than his own. For example upon the issue of whether or not to brush under the metaphorical carpet Thomas feeding a dead man to his cats...

That’s the part that he can’t refute. He can deal with all the rest, acknowledge that Charles doesn’t know the man like he does, and agree that Thomas’ behaviour has not always been ideal.

Edwin would not deny that that first encounter in Thomas’ bedroom had scared him, it had very quickly passed from frustrating to uncomfortable to outright frightening. His thoughts had been very much along the same lines as Charles’ - that this creature was trying to force him into some kind of amorous congress, which (while it was hard to deny a certain attraction to the man) he most certainly did not want. What he remembers most vividly about that meeting though was the fact that, when his fear had become obvious, Thomas had backed off. He’d talked about consent in a manner that suggested he was insulted Edwin might ever have thought it wasn’t something he respected. He’d suggested an alternative punishment that was rather more mundane, and, whilst the flirting had never ceased, he had never again come on quite so strong. He’d never again scared Edwin at all.

But now Edwin cannot stop thinking about that corpse. Now that Charles has brought it up it is uncomfortably settled at the back of his mind, and every time he considers going to Port Townsend he again sees the half-eaten body at the foot of the dais bearing Thomas’ throne. He struggles to square that with the playful flirt who comforted him in this very office, hand warm and reassuring upon his own.

The inevitable thought is forming that he’s going to have to ask him about it. He’s going to have to find a way to ask Thomas why there was a dead man in his warehouse being devoured by his cats. Edwin does not expect it will be an enjoyable conversation.

More than that though, he knows he’s now avoiding another conversation because he’s afraid Charles could be right. That the man he finds himself so fond of might not be quite what he has built him up to be in his head. Might be closer to the monster he’d first appeared after all.

If there is one thing Thomas was certainly right about however, it is that avoiding things does not usually work out well. Edwin knows what he has to do.

~*~*~*~

“I was beginning to think Charles had talked you out of coming back.” Thomas is near the mirror when Edwin exits it, and it’s an effort not to visibly startle at his voice.

“Not at all.” Edwin draws himself up into his typical straight-backed posture. “We have simply been busy.”

The look Thomas gives him suggests that they both know he’s lying but that neither of them particularly wants to say so.

“Have you seen Monty recently?” Edwin asks before Thomas can say anything else.

“Not for a couple of weeks.”

“Ah.” Edwin looks about for something else to say, feeling he cannot jump straight into an interrogation as he would in any other circumstances. Having friends other than Charles (or rather being friends with Crystal) has taught him this is not the done thing, even amongst those who appreciate his bluntness. It has not taught him how to alternatively navigate such situations.

Noticing there are very few cats about, probably because it is a nice day and they’re out enjoying the sun, Edwin thinks of a safe line of enquiry. “And how is Button?”

Thomas smiles, despite his obvious irritation with the stilted small talk, his fondness for the little cat shines through. “He’s good, as much trouble as ever. Think he’s out trying to hunt seagulls. Key word being trying.”

Edwin nods. “And yourself?” This is excruciating, he does not know how to do ‘chit chat’.

“Wondering what the fuck you’re on today if I’m honest.” Thomas indulges in the kind of bluntness Edwin has been at pains to avoid. “Not that it’s not lovely to see you, but this is a bit weird and I think you might want to get to whatever point it is you’re clearly not keen to make.”

“There is nothing...” Edwin sighs. “Yes. There was something I wished to ask you about.”

Thomas smirks. “If it’s am I free Friday night, the answer’s yes but I expect you to behave like a gentleman.” He makes a pearl clutching gesture and gives Edwin a look that implies he cannot possibly be trusted to resist Thomas.

“I...what...no.” Edwin, slightly flustered and caught off guard, struggles.

“Well ok.” Thomas leans in close and raises his eyebrows suggestively. “The gentleman part’s highly negotiable.”

“Thomas!”

The man pouts fetchingly, and annoyingly Edwin needs a moment to pull his brain back into gear.

“Fine,” Thomas sighs. “Tell me why you’re really here. Apparently it’s not for my charm.”

Certainly not, Thomas’ charm is making things very much more difficult. Edwin steels himself. “When we first met there was a body, here in the warehouse.”

Thomas’ expression hardens. “Yeah, if you don’t mind, kitten, I really don’t want to talk about that.”

As though it’s that simple, as though a corpse is something you can just dismiss with an ‘I don’t feel like talking about it’. Thomas’s unusual reluctance to answer him simply raises more red flags. If there was a good explanation then surely he would say so. The problem is what on earth is a good explanation? Even if this was someone who had randomly wandered into the warehouse, innocently had a heart attack, and died (unlikely), there’s still a world of questions as to why Thomas seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to just let him be consumed by the cats.

Edwin can’t help wondering what happened to the rest of him, the cats could not eat the larger parts of his skeleton. Did Thomas bury it, throw it in the harbour, dump it somewhere? “I’m sorry but surely you can understand why it might raise some questions.”

“And surely you can understand why I might not want to answer them.”

No. No Edwin can’t. Unless the reason is that the answers will make Thomas look bad. Unless the answers are exactly what Charles thought they were. Unless the man he’s been befriending, and flirting with, is capable of deadly violence with no guilt or remorse.

“It is not unreasonable for a dead body to provoke concerns,” Edwin points out.

“Is it that so, Detective? Well I will take that under advisement.”

The sarcasm is simply more concerning. Is Thomas implying that it is a situation likely to be repeated? Is he just being facetious? There’s little of his usual bantering playfulness to be found in his tone or deportment. He looks, and sounds, stiff and on edge, anger bubbling under the dismissive surface.

Edwin tries another angle, hoping to reason his way to some answers. “If you had found a dead cat in my office I am quite sure you would have had questions.” He catches Thomas’ flinch when he says ‘dead cat’ and tries to moderate his tone. “Do you not see why I have questions about a dead man in your home?”

Thomas wipes his hand over his face, looking like he’s fighting for calm. “But that’s not what I found is it? I found you tending to an alley-full of cats, and it was really very sweet.”

Seeing Thomas’ gaze soften towards him again almost beguiles Edwin into dropping it, he doesn’t want to see those golden eyes turning cold and hunted because of him. He cannot however let this go, it is not some minor infraction, it is a dead human being. “Do not change the subject!”

The soft look is gone in a heartbeat. “You know I really thought you’d learned, and yet here you are, still demanding answers whether someone wants to give them to you or not. You aren’t entitled to information just because you want it, Edwin. The world doesn’t owe it to you, I don’t owe it to you.”

“Under the circumstances, I think you do. You cannot simply brush aside a dead body as though it is nothing!” As though it doesn’t matter.

“Look, I realise someone like you probably grew up expecting the world would settle itself in its natural place, beneath your feet, but that’s not actually how things work. Those 70-odd years you missed were largely spent dismantling a lot of that bullshit. You don’t get to walk into someone else’s kingdom and interrogate them!”

A dispassionate, detached part of Edwin (the part that learnt to plan for the next escape attempt while he was still been torn apart from the latest failure) thinks back over his reading of social history texts and critiques Thomas’ assessment of the time period he spent in Hell and how much progress might be assigned to it. The rest of him, (the part that never learned to stop screaming while being torn apart), wants to verbally eviscerate him for what has just been thrown callously in his face, but is in too much pain to find the right words.

“I should think it hardly matters what I expected to grow up to, given that, as you so kindly reminded me, I did not actually live long enough to do so,” he spits.

Thomas drags a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I shouldn’t have...”

“No.” Edwin agrees before Thomas can finish. “You should not.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, the two of them staring at each other, both too angry and insulted to back down. Though why Thomas has any right to feel that way, Edwin is unsure. He takes a deep breath and strides towards the mirror. “This is pointless.” He’s not going to get any sensible answers and the row is upsetting them both. “I am going home.”

“146.” Edwin turns at the number snapped harshly at his back. “Cats,” Thomas continues. “That’s how many I had when I met you. You want to know how many I’d started that week with? 153.”

“I do not...” Edwin wants to say he doesn't understand the relevance, but a sickening thought is developing and he cannot finish his remark.

Thomas doesn’t seem to be listening anyway. “That piece of shit that was decorating the warehouse when you got here, he had cats. Seven of them. A mother and six newborn kittens. Only,” Thomas laughs and it’s a dark, hollow sound that freezes whatever is left of Edwin’s soul, “Funny story, he didn’t want kittens. He didn’t know the cat he’d been living peacefully enough with for 4 years was pregnant!” He claps a hand to his heart in a dramatic manner and fakes a look of outraged surprise. “He’s had a long, hard day at work and he comes home one night to six little fluffy surprises.” The Cat King’s voice cracks and Edwin is suddenly desperate to stop this, but he can’t. He is frozen in place, compelled to watch it play out to it’s predictably awful end.

“So what do you think he did?” It’s clearly rhetorical, Thomas leaves him no chance to answer. “He gives it a few days, mulls it over. And he keeps feeding Smudge as usual, so despite the fact he seems unhappy she doesn’t really see anything is amiss. After all she’s got six tiny, perfect little bundles of joy to focus on and she’s not really got eyes or ears for anything else. Then one day her food tastes a little funny, and she falls asleep for a long time, and when she wakes up her kittens are gone.”

A cold hand has gripped Edwin’s heart. Thomas looks like he’s being ripped apart, being forced to relive this. “He’d taken them. He tied them in a sack, weighed it down, and threw it in the river.”

Edwin’s eyes close as though trying to shut out the images. He knows though that it’s not the dreadful imaginings of the kittens’ suffering, but the sight of Thomas falling apart in front of him, that he can’t bear.

“I was too fucking late.” Thomas sounds broken, utterly desolate, and ravaged by guilt. “I wasted an hour floundering about in the water before I found them.” Edwin is horrified to to see him dash away a stray tear. “Can you imagine how scared they were? They were so tiny, their eyes weren’t even open yet. The only thing they knew in the world was their mother, and he took her away from them!”

The furious shout makes Edwin jump. The silence afterwards though is so much worse. He can see Thomas’ chest heaving like he’s run a marathon, fists balled at his sides, those lovely golden eyes looking blank and dull. He wants nothing more than to go to him, to comfort him. Just when he feels he has no right to, he suddenly wants to offer that hug Thomas has been asking for for months.

“Perhaps now you can understand why I don’t like people who treat my cats like they’re an inconvenience,” Thomas hisses quietly, and Edwin cannot be ignorant to the comparison being drawn between the dead man and his own actions in leashing the cat that he still has not discovered the name of. It is at least no longer for lack of trying, but that tabby has not forgiven him. He wonders now if Thomas really has.

“I...”

“Don’t!” Thomas snaps. “Don’t waste the breath you don’t have. I don’t need your judgement. He murdered those kittens and he murdered their mother. Smudge ran off and I found her a few hours later on the side of the road. She’d been hit by a car. She wasn’t the type to run accidentally into traffic, but she’d been understandably distraught, it wasn’t hard to work out what happened. So I buried seven cats and then I extended a gracious invitation to their killer to come and face justice. What exactly would you have had me do? I could hardly hand him over to the police, humans only care when it’s their own who’ve been hurt.” He snorts in disgust. “Half of them don’t even care then.”

Edwin considers pointing out that people who torture animals often go on to commit violent crimes against other human beings, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. He has done enough damage, and implying that the man would have only deserved what happened to him because he had likely been a risk to humans can only make things worse. He would be devaluing the kittens’ lives and suffering. “I am sorry. I did not...”

“What? Didn’t know it was going to be something like that? What exactly did you think I was going to say? ‘Oh yeah, the corpse, well the cats like their meat fresh, you know how it is. Canned food just never tastes the same.’”

“No! I understand that you are not human, and that holding you to the moral standards of a different culture is not...” He doesn’t get to finish his awkward sentence before Thomas interrupts him.

“You think I’m a monster because I’m not human? Well let me point you to your own words, Edwin,” the Cat King sneers at him. “Nothing human walks out of Hell.”

The flinch is impossible to contain. His own words stab neatly up beneath his ribcage to deal a blow to heart and lungs that no longer function but still sometimes seem able to hurt. His chest tightens and his stomach clenches, and his spectral form altogether acts more like a living body than it should be possible for it to.

“I think I should go.” He feels like he’s going to be sick. He is a ghost, he cannot be sick, but he still feels like he’s about to be.

“Yes, I think you should.” Thomas turns away, like he can’t even look at him, and as Edwin turns to the mirror he can see him leaning heavily on the arm on his throne, head bowed and shoulders sagging, a world away from his usual swagger.

As he steps through the mirror he hears what sounds like something breaking. He hates himself for not turning back, but his eyes are burning and his churned up emotions urge him on to be anywhere but here.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Edwin’s been worryingly quiet lately. At first Charles had just thought he was taking his time, mulling over the chat they’d had about the Cat King. That maybe he was even angry with Charles for what he’d said. It’s becoming increasingly clear though that, while Edwin does seem a bit cross, he’s mostly just quiet and sad. Charles hasn’t seen him like this in a long time. Even in Port Townsend, when it seemed like Edwin was hiding so much from his partner of thirty years, it never felt like this.

They’ve both been getting better at talking since they got back to London, better at dealing with all the things they’ve both been hiding. Not that Charles thinks the things they were hiding were particularly comparable. He was trying, and largely failing, to hide the rage and shame that were literally beaten into him, and the terror that maybe, when it comes down to it, he’s just a copy of his dad. At least the feelings Edwin was hiding were positive ones, though Charles does grasp that there was a lot of shame and fear involved with them too.

Knowing Edwin loves him hasn’t really changed anything for Charles. Selfishly, it’s kind of nice. It makes him feel warm and cherished. If someone as amazing as Edwin can be in love with him then he can’t be the waste of space his father always said he was. It’s an honour; of all the people his brilliant best friend’s big heart could have chosen, it chose him. Then Edwin trusted him enough to tell him, to stand there vulnerable and frightened and just say it, lay that beautiful heart on the line. Charles knew in that moment he was being handed a fragile gift, something he could shatter if he wasn’t careful enough (and Charles has rarely been noted for being careful with fragile things), not just being handed it but being trusted with it. It was enough to make him want to panic, not because his male best friend was in love with him, but because the idea of hurting Edwin is unbearable. He’s the other half of Charles’ soul, the single most important person in his life or afterlife.

Which is confusing and suddenly difficult, because love and love are not the same thing. Of course Charles loves Edwin, but it’s not quite the same definition of love which Edwin has for him.

The thing is, he looks at Crystal and he wants to snog her. He looks at Edwin and he wants to give him a hug, he wants Edwin to read to him when he’s sad, and he wants to protect him with everything he has. He doesn’t really think about snogging him though. Edwin deserves someone who wants to snog him silly.

If that’s the sort of thing Edwin’s even interested in. Honestly, after so many years, Charles had worked out that Edwin didn’t have any interest in girls, without needing to be told, but he’d actually been under the impression that Edwin just wasn’t much interested in anyone in that way.

Which is one of many reasons Charles needs to protect him from tossers like the Cat King who, yes, quite likely does want to snog Edwin silly, but who probably has little interest in what Edwin wants. Which Charles assumes involves hand-holding and poetry, or some such thing, because he can’t really imagine Edwin as deserving anything other than the most old-fashioned of romance. He’d probably like someone to court him (or would he want to be the one doing the courting, Charles is a bit hazy in what he thinks Edwin would be like in a relationship but he knows from things Crystal has said that he’s not supposed to make assumptions based on outdated gender roles). Anyway, Edwin deserves better than a horny cat-man and if Charles can’t provide that something better then he can damn well take care of Edwin until he finds it for himself. Or maybe Charles can find him someone suitable, he is (if he says so himself) an excellent wingman.

So overall it’s not an issue, or it shouldn’t be.

But Edwin’s been different since, and that’s hard. If Charles is honest it’s not just the last couple of weeks of moping (and Edwin is moping), Port Townsend and Hell took their toll on Edwin first. Old issues have raised their ugly heads again. Edwin’s not quite as jumpy as Charles remembers him being back when they’d first met, but it’s a close run thing.

Charles himself isn’t thrilled about letting Edwin out of his sight, like Hell might make a grab for him as soon as Charles isn’t there. Not that him being there had stopped it last time. He knows he can’t just follow Edwin everywhere in the way he wants to, he’s (mostly) made his peace with Edwin leaving his line of sight, but he can’t stop worrying about him.

He can tell Edwin misses Niko terribly, they all do but especially Edwin, and, just when he’d seemed to be feeling better about things, now he’s looking like a wet weekend and sniping at Crystal again. Crystal snipes right back at him, and then tells Charles she’s worried about him when Edwin can’t hear her.

She isn’t thrilled when she hears about their Cat King discussion. She has (for some reason he cannot fathom) unaccountably decided she can tolerate the damned moggie. Worse than that, she thinks Charles should.

“Why have you got such a problem with this?” she demands.

“Crystal, the guy’s a creep, Edwin shouldn’t be going anywhere near him.” Why does Charles need to explain this, it’s flipping obvious!

“That is Edwin’s call, not yours,” she insists. “You cannot control him!”

“I’m not trying to!” Charles is wounded by the very idea, of course he isn't trying to control Edwin! “But he doesn’t need some oily fucker trying to get his paws all over him.”

Crystal sighs. “What if Edwin wants his paws all over him? Have you thought about that?”

Charles absolutely has not, and with good reason, it’s ludicrous. “Of course he doesn’t! He’s not like that!”

“Like what? Like a person with a fully functioning libido? ‘Cause let me tell you, Charles, I’ve seen the glances he’s sent the way of various attractive men and, yes, Edwin’s libido is quite clearly fully functioning. And that is a good thing, my god he deserves some fun!”

Charles has never denied that, Edwin deserves everything, but the Cat King cannot be what he actually wants. Can he?

Crystal’s face softens and she gives him that fond look she does sometimes. “Look, I know you want to take care of him. He’s been through...well, Hell, literally, and you don’t want to see him hurt, but you have to let him make his own choices. He’s not slipped off to Port Townsend in a good couple of weeks now, whatever you’ve put in his head it’s certainly worked and all you seemed to have achieved is to make him miserable!”

“I didn’t tell him he couldn’t go, I just asked him to think about things,” Charles says quietly.

“It’s Edwin, what else does he ever do! The boy could do with a little less thinking and a little more slutting around, quite frankly.”

“Crystal!”

“Oh don’t sound so scandalised. Just because he’s from like 1842 doesn’t mean he can’t go get a little freaky.”

“1916.” Charles refuses to address the rest of that.

“Whatever. Go and talk to him, for god’s sake, fix whatever you broke!”

That is a horrible thought, that maybe he’s the reason Edwin looks so down. It’s not like Charles hasn’t tried talking to him in the last couple of weeks, but his partner is even more stubborn than he is and Charles has thus far got absolutely nowhere. It might, he fears, be time to bring out the big guns.

Charles has found over the three decades and counting they’ve spent together that, stubborn as Edwin is, there’s little he’ll refuse Charles when his partner really, really wants something. If he thinks it’s getting to Charles, he’ll always try to be more open. Charles doesn’t push very often, but maybe this is the right time to. Crystal’s gone home and the evening is quiet, no desperate research, no more case notes to write up, no reason Edwin can put him off.

Edwin is in fact curled in that wing-back chair he loves so much, reading a book. Charles takes a moment to study him, readying himself for an approach. Edwin looks calm, but there’s a furrow in his forehead that isn’t his ‘concentrating’ frown but his ‘distressed’ one and his lips are pressed tight in a way that suggests far more tension than his relaxed pose would imply.

Edwin of course looks up to meet his eyes before Charles has to say anything. They always know when they have each other’s attention somehow. Charles doesn’t waste time on prevarication. “What happened, mate? Please.”

It’s the please that does it. It always does. Edwin sighs and sets aside his book. “Very well, Charles, but please do not make an issue out of it. I am quite alright.”

He is obviously anything but, which only becomes more obvious as he starts talking.

As the story of his argument with the Cat King unfolds, Edwin’s face does that awful pinched thing it does when he’s having trouble dealing with something whilst trying to pretend it’s all fine. He’s really bad at pretending to be fine, but he’s so stubborn he does it anyway.

Charles is furious at what he suspects is only the barest outline of what the Cat King might have said to Edwin, but he’s also sick to his stomach hearing about why Whiskers had killed the man whose body they’d encountered at that first meeting. He feels like in one sense at least he may have misjudged Whiskers, because now, far from objecting to the killing, Charles would quite like to dig the chap up and kill him again himself.

He clutches Cally to him and presses his cheek to her soft little head, like he’s trying to protect her. Edwin had filled him in on why she doesn’t talk to them, and Charles is slowly beginning to see why the Cat King might be a bit of an arsehole to humans in general. “What kind of bastard hurts tiny kittens?!” he chokes out.

They have encountered some terrible things in the course of their investigations over the decades, proof that ‘humane’ and ‘human’ have no bloody connection whatsoever. There is something though about the sheer vulnerability of a newborn creature, it’s eyes still closed, being thrown away like piece of rubbish, that completely breaks his heart.

“It is not hard to see why Thomas is not fond of humans, is it?” Edwin says quietly. “Or why he’s no longer very fond of me, if indeed he ever was.”

“Mate, he is very much more than ‘fond’ of you, and I’m sure he was just angry. If he can’t see that you didn’t mean any harm then he’s a prick!” Charles says emphatically.

“I hurt him, Charles.” The hurt in Edwin’s own voice is all too clear. “I made him relive something horrific, and made it clear I suspected him of something terrible.”

Charles is at a loss. “Why do you even like spending time with him? Why do you like him?” Because it is now undeniable that Edwin very much does. All that’s left up for debate is in what way, and Charles is by no means brave enough to ask that just now.

Edwin smiles ruefully. “He is quite amusing, oddly charming, good company. He listens without judgement...or rather he is entertainingly judgemental about the things that do not matter, but never about the things that do.” Edwin takes a careful inhalation, like he has to steady himself to say the next part, and Charles hates that Edwin can feel like that when talking to him of all people. He is talking though, saying things that he’d never have said before Port Townsend. “It is nice to talk to someone like myself. No, that is not quite right,” Edwin corrects himself. “It is not nice, it feels necessary. I needed to talk to someone like myself.”

Charles wants to say ‘he’s nothing like you’, but he can’t, he knows what Edwin means and it’s the first time he falters for an argument about the bloody cat. It is something Whiskers can give Edwin that he can’t. It should make him more jealous, but it just makes him feel a little bizarrely grateful to the arrogant git and more than a little guilty that he might have taken it away from his friend.

Charles thinks he might have screwed up. Badly.

Crystal concurs.

~*~*~*~

Charles has to get Crystal’s cooperation to sort things out. They agree that her distracting Edwin will be entirely unconvincing so, despite the fact he doesn’t really want to leave his partner alone, Charles pretends he’s taking Crystal out and then mirror hops from her flat to the Tongue and Tail.

On arrival he scares Jenny and has to dodge a cleaver (it may not be iron but every instinct he has tells him to dodge the intimidating goth lady with the large knife), apologising profusely as she glares at him.

“What the fuck, learn to announce yourself!” she snaps.

“I’m sorry, Jenny.” Charles dances well out of cleaver range.

“And why are you swinging a cricket bat?!”

“I...need to have a little word with someone.”

Jenny looks like she wants to ask questions, then sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t want to know. Get out, go on!” she shoos him out the shop door and yells, “Tell Crystal to answer her phone!” after him.

“Will do!” Like he wouldn't promise just about anything to the scary lady with the knife, even if he wasn’t bloody fond of her. Really it’s a pity he doesn’t think he could persuade Jenny to come with him. He’s a dab hand with a cricket bat, but he reckons the butcher with her cleaver is probably more intimidating.

Not that he’s meant to be intimidating, he’s just here to make Whiskers see sense and forgive Edwin. If the cricket bat has to be employed in that worthy cause, then so be it.

He’s not gone more than a street before he halts at the sight of a familiar crow perched on a fence ahead of him.

“Monty?!”

The bird caws in response and Charles beams. He looks healthy and free and it’s bloody brilliant. “I would love to stay and chat, Monty, but I have a cat to skin. Wanna join?”

The bird makes a sound Charles takes to be an angry affirmative and settles on the shoulder that he’s not leaning the cricket bat against.

“Alright!” Charles whoops. “Let’s go!”

He fills Monty in on the situation on the way, neatly glossing over the fact that maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of his fault.

~*~*~*~

It’s all quiet when they reach the warehouse but as soon as they step inside a small black and white cat, a large kitten really, runs up excitedly to greet them. However as Charles emerges from the shadows of the entranceway it halts its excited approach.

“Oh, you’re the wrong ghost,” the little cat says petulantly.

“Hi.” Charles tries to smile at the little ball of fluff, even though he’s still sort of furious. “We’re here to see the Cat King?”

“He won’t want to see you.” The cat just shakes its fluffy head sadly.

“He really needs to.”

Monty caws and the little cat looks up at him. “Hello, bird. I don’t think he’ll want to see you either.”

A large, angry-looking tabby, possibly the very same one Edwin had used his magic on all those months ago, trots up to join them. “The fuck’s going on here then? No ghosts allowed!”

“That isn’t what he said!” the black and white cat protests. “It’s just that this is the wrong ghost.”

“They’re all wrong!” the tabby spits.

“The fuck are you two arguing about?” A familiar voice comes floating across the warehouse.

“There’s a ghost here, but...”

Whiskers is beside them before the little black and white fluff-ball can finish his sentence. For a moment Charles thinks the Cat King looks hopeful, before he sees that it’s Charles stood there. Was he hoping for Edwin, is he missing Edwin? Charles supposes he’d better hope that Whiskers was and is, because otherwise he has no idea how he’s going to fix this. For the sake of his best friend in the world he’s going to have to act on the basis that the Cat King is capable of the kind of finer feelings Charles would never have believed of him.

For his own sake the Cat King better prove him right, or Charles has a cricket bat with his name on it.

“What do you want?”

Not a promising opening, but Charles is determined. “I think we need to have a little chat, Whiskers.”

“Oh, get out!” The Cat King doesn’t even bother arguing, just turns and walks away.

“No.” Charles stands his ground. “It’s about Edwin.”

The name brings Whiskers to a standstill, but he doesn’t turn around. “What about Edwin? If he wants to talk to me he knows how to use a mirror.”

“I don’t imagine he does want to talk to you right now, given that apparently the two of you had some stupid row.” Charles marches over to him as the Cat King spins around.

“If you mean he pried into things he had no business prying into, then yes. What, did he send you with some follow up questions? Am I on your fucking case-board now?”

Huh, that’s a thought. Maybe the Cat King should be.

But the man is glaring at him and maybe that’s a thought for another time. “It was my fault,” Charles blurts out. “I put it in his head to ask about the corpse.” Monty caws at him crossly, Charles having left that part out of his explanations. “Yeah, I know, don’t you start!”

Monty pecks him kind of viciously in the side of the head, and Charles is reminded that he’d never exactly been the familiar’s favourite person. “Oi!” he flaps a hand at the crow who takes to his wings, circling Charles and the Cat King and cawing loudly.

“What the fuck even is this?!” The Cat King looks ready to tear his hair out. “It’s like the comic relief in a fucking Shakespeare play, wandering on for a scene to keep the cheap seats amused!”

“Hey!” Charles is trying to help here. Alright, so far it’s not a roaring success. He takes a deep breath and puts down the cricket bat. Monty too seems to be rethinking their strategy and has quieted down and come to perch on a pile of crates.

“We’re here because we’re worried about Edwin. This is all my fault, I brought the whole thing up because, I’m sorry, but a corpse on the floor isn’t what I want to see from someone my best mate’s spending time with. I didn’t know what had happened, I made assumptions, and I was wrong. He told me what you said, don’t be mad at him,” Charles quickly adds. “He’s been moping about and I wasn’t going to leave him like that until I knew what had happened. And he didn’t want me to think badly of you. I’m sorry, and honestly if I were you I think I’d have done exactly the same thing to that piece of shit.”

The Cat King is quieter and more still than Charles had ever imagined he could be. Their only previous meeting he’d exuded the kind of energy that suggested he was rarely still and even more rarely quiet. Then again Charles is no longer completely sure he read him right at all.

“Please, mate,” he tries again. “It’s not his fault.”

Monty gives a soft little caw and the Cat King finally moves just enough to look at the crow. “I should have left you in that damned cage,” he grumbles. There’s no heat in it though and Monty simply ruffles his feathers in a huffy gesture that’s so reminiscent of the boy Charles knew him as that it’s uncanny.

“Look, Chuckles, whatever was or wasn’t said between myself and Edwin is none of your business,” Whiskers hisses. “Am I surprised you’ve been whispering dreadful things about me in his ear? No, of course I’m not. You don’t want him, but you sure as hell aren’t going to share him.”

Ok, maybe he should have just gone straight in with the cricket bat. “Edwin’s not a thing to be ‘shared’ or possessed.”

“No, he isn’t!” Whiskers snaps. “So why the fuck are you so possessive of him that you can’t bear him making friends!”

“I have no problem with him making friends, it’s the part where he lost his mind and made friends with you that bothers me!”

Monty caws loudly and incessantly until both Charles and the Cat King cover their ears and yell for him to shut up. He does, but the moment they try to restart their argument he resumes.

“Ok!” It’s clear that the Cat King can understand Monty. “Message received. Shut up before I eat you!”

“He probably has a point.” Charles doesn’t know what Monty’s saying but he can take a guess. “I came here to apologise and try to patch things up, and I’m doing a piss poor job of it.”

The Cat King looks surprised by the admission. “Well, yes, you are.”

“Look, I don’t know why Edwin likes you, but he does, and I fucked things up and he doesn’t deserve that. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble for you, I was trying to keep him safe. Maybe I crossed a line, I don’t know, but I never meant to hurt him. I wasn’t actually trying to hurt you either,” Charles adds. “And I am so so sorry about those kittens.”

The fire in the golden eyes dampens a little and he’s gifted a rather regal nod. “Thank you.”

A sudden terrible thought crosses Charles’ mind, and he’s never been great at stopping such things from also crossing his lips. “Oh god, they weren’t your kids were they?”

“Weren’t…?” The Cat King looks confused for a moment before he gets what Charles meant. “No! I don’t fuck my cats, Charles!” he shouts, sounding more appalled than angry.

“Ok!” Charles holds up his hands in surrender. How was he supposed to know! He’s not judging, the man is a cat, isn’t he? Is he? What the fuck actually is a Cat King? Maybe now isn’t the time to ask.

Monty is making a wheezing sound that might be the closest thing a bird can mange to a laugh, and the one thing Charles thinks he and Whiskers seem in complete agreement on is it’s bloody annoying.

“Will you shut up!” Whiskers snaps at the crow.

Monty caws something apparently impolite, and Whiskers makes a rude hand gesture in his direction. Maybe bringing Monty wasn’t the best plan, then again he did stop them shouting at each other. At least Charles thinks they’re done shouting at each other.

“So, you won’t be angry with Edwin anymore?” he asks.

“Oh for god’s sake!” he hears Whiskers mutter. The Cat King takes a deep breath and glares at him, but with less ferocity now. “Fine, it’s all your fault, whatever. You may go.”

“But...” It’s not quite the words Charles was looking for.

“Leave.”

“I...”

Whiskers waves a hand, there’s a plume of purple smoke in Charles’ vision, and suddenly both he and Monty are back outside.

Right, seems like the audience is at an end.

“Not sure how much help you were.”

Monty caws derisively, but settles back on Charles’ shoulder for the walk back into town. He has a feeling it would be pointless trying to go back inside.

“I am glad to see you well though.”

Monty fluffs his feathers huffily but doesn’t jab him in head with his beak again, so Charles is calling it a win. Everyone likes him eventually. In time, maybe even Whiskers will.

~*~*~*~

When Charles gets back to London, Crystal is waiting for him eagerly beside her bedroom mirror. “Well? How did it go?”

“Erm...” Charles hesitates, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Bit mixed?”

Crystal raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you beat Thomas up with your cricket bat?”

“No!” Charles realises he is still brandishing the cricket bat in his other hand, and carefully puts it down. “I was pretty calm!”

“Really?” She looks dubious.

“Well, I didn’t hit anything.”

Crystal sighs. “Ok, baby steps. What happened.”

Charles recounts the incident as best he can whilst Crystal looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Well, sounds like it could have gone worse,” she offers kindly at the end, and when Crystal’s being kind he really feels like he’s screwed up.

There’s a leaden weight in his stomach and his father’s voice in his head saying he’s good for nothing. “Messed it all up, didn’t I?”

“No!” she insists, dragging him to sit beside her on the bed. “You got him to hear you out, and I don’t really think you could have expected much more. Sounds like he got the message, what he does with the message is down to him. If anyone’s going to mess it up it’ll be the Cat King.”

“Hmm.” Charles makes a vague noise of agreement, comforted by her presence as much as her words. He lets his head droop tiredly onto her shoulder, wishing he could feel her hair against his cheek.

He takes a moment to screw up some courage before he asks, quietly, almost hoping she won’t hear him, “Am I possessive of Edwin?” He hadn’t told her exactly what the Cat King had said, he can’t without telling her a whole bunch of other things that he really shouldn't, but the words are echoing round in his memory.

She gives a snort of laughter. “Well, obviously.”

“Oh.” It’s not the answer he was hoping for, but at least she’s being honest, not acting like he can’t handle being told how badly he keeps screwing up.

“I mean you're possessive of each other!” she continues. “You're codependent and weird together, and it’s actually kind of sweet. You’re both getting better about it though.”

Is that a good thing? Does Charles want them to be less reliant on each other? What if Edwin just stops needing him?

“Charles, I can hear you thinking, what is it?” Crystal pulls back and turns his face up to hers when he tries not to meet her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing.” Nothing he wants to talk about.

“Charles.”

“I just don’t want to lose him, alright.”

Crystal sighs at him, like he’s said something really dumb. “You won’t. Charles, Edwin adores you, you know that. He’s every bit as devoted to you as you are to him. Hanging out with the Cat King won’t change that. Him finding himself doesn’t mean he’s going to leave you behind.”

Charles wants to believe that so badly. Crystal doesn’t know what went down in Hell though. At least he assumes she doesn’t. He doesn’t think Edwin would have told her, and he certainly isn’t going to betray Edwin’s trust like that. She doesn’t know that he told his best mate he didn’t have the same romantic feelings as him, only to then get over-protective and possessive when Edwin quite sensibly starting spending time with someone who probably does share such feelings. If Whiskers even has feelings.

“You think I’m being daft don’t you?” he sulks.

“Well...yes, but frankly I’m used to that,” she teases. “You and Edwin are a right pair. I don’t know which of you is worse. Thank god you’ve got me to provide some common sense.”

That makes him smile again, because she’s right, they are so lucky to have found her. Crystal’s hand is still on his face and she’s looking at him with such fond irritation now that his smile morphs instinctively into a cheeky grin. “All that and gorgeous too. You look well fit today by the way.”

She’s got a new lipstick on and it makes her lips look well kissable as they twitch in amusement. “You really think these lines work, don’t you?”

“Don’t they though?” He’s pretty sure they do, at least a bit.

Either way it seems like she can feel the same pull he does, she’s drawing infinitesimally closer and Charles can’t not kiss her. They’ve not kissed since Port Townsend but it’s felt like it’s been heading this way for a while and, stressed and emotionally wrung out as he is, he’s not going to miss his moment.

It’s just like before, he can’t feel it exactly but he’s still filled with warmth and love, delighted just to get close to this brilliant, gorgeous young woman. He can feel everything in a different sense.

He chases her lips as she pulls back and she laughs and cups his cheek again, holding him at bay with a playful smile. “I think you have something else to be dealing with.”

Charles groans, she (as ever) is not wrong. Maybe he should clear up one mess before he jumps into another. Not that he thinks they’d be a mess, but he knows there are probably things to talk about and he has a different conversation he needs to have right now.

“You know you have to tell Edwin, right?” she prompts.

“That I went to Port Townsend?” Probably about the kissing too.

“And the dubiously mixed results.”

“Yeah.” Edwin is probably not going to love him getting into a fight with Whiskers.

“Hey, none of that kicked puppy stuff, put the big brown eyes away,” Crystal says sternly. “He’ll understand, and I’m not convinced you messed up as badly as you think you did. It’s up to Edwin now whether he goes and tries to talk things out with his furry friend.”

Charles lets her pull him to his feet and resists the urge to whine that he doesn’t want to go and confess. That’s probably not very attractive. Or very helpful.

“Go on.” She gives him an unexpected peck on the lips that has him grinning again a little bashfully. “You’ll be fine,” she assures him and hustles him back through the mirror.

~*~*~*~

Charles is still grinning when he reaches the office, but sobers up quickly at the sight of his partner sat stiffly at the desk, going over a pile paperwork.

“Is it not a bit late for that, mate?” The clock shows it’s gone ten. Not that late, but Edwin looks weary.

“We do not sleep, Charles. Late is a term with little meaning in this context.”

“Uh huh.” Charles definitely thinks Edwin needs a break, he’s been worse than ever since he stopped going to visit Whiskers.

“Did you have a pleasant evening? I believe you were escorting Crystal to the cinema?”

“We-ell…” Ok, time to ’fess up. “That might have been a cover story.”

Edwin raises an eyebrow, expression wary and unamused.

Charles carefully approaches the desk and perches on the edge. “Can we maybe have a chat, mate?”

“Of course we can talk, Charles.” Edwin puts down his paperwork and folds his hands in front of him attentively. “You may talk to me about anything.”

Oh he thinks this is about Crystal, Charles can tell, and there is stuff he should probably tell him there but on the whole it would be a lot easier if that was all it was. “Right. See, thing is, don’t get cross, but I felt bad about the whole Cat King thing. It was my fault you rowed with him and I wanted to put that right, so I went to visit him.”

Edwin blinks. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

“I just thought, if I explained, you know, it might help.”

“Help?” Edwin asks faintly.

“Yeah. I mean you’d never have gone and asked him about the whole corpse thing if I’d not put you up to it, and I thought he should know that it wasn’t you not trusting him it was me putting stupid ideas in your head.”

Edwin’s expression hardens. “It was not a stupid idea. He had a corpse on the floor, it is not something he should have expected to go unquestioned.”

“Well, maybe not.” Charles isn’t about to be the one defending Whiskers. “But I still feel like I caused trouble for you.”

“Charles,” Edwin sighs out his name. “It was not your fault at all. I handled it poorly and he responded in a boorish manner.”

Charles can believe the latter part, but he doesn’t think Edwin really believes it. He’s just not about to let Charles know how much he’s been beating himself up, because he knows Charles won’t let that go.

“What exactly happened?” Edwin asks, sounding a bit like he’s not sure he wants to know.

The version he gives Edwin is more word for word than the one he gave Crystal. If Edwin does want to go fix things then he’ll want all the information, and he won’t want to be confronted by any surprises, so Charles does his best to leave nothing out. He even tells him about the little black and white cat, which makes Edwin smile softly, and the rude tabby.

Edwin, showing the patience of a saint, listens in silence. His increasingly pained expression the only thing that indicates he’s far from enjoying the tale. He seems to finally lose it when Charles reaches the point where he’d asked if the kittens were Whiskers’ kids, and drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking.

For a moment Charles is worried, then he hears an honest to god giggle. “You asked him what?!” Edwin asks, incredulously.

“I still don’t think it was a stupid question!” Charles protests, relieved at his friend’s smile. “He’s a cat, isn’t he?”

“I do not think it is quite that simple, but fair enough.” Edwin sighs. “Well, thank you Charles, I’m sure that was very well intentioned but it was never your mess to fix.”

“It was though!” There’s still one thing he hasn’t retold. “It was my fault, I stirred up trouble because I was scared of losing you.”

Edwin just looks up at him incredulously. “Why on earth would you be afraid of that happening?”

Charles has to force himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “You’re changing.”

Edwin, to his credit, doesn’t argue. He sits in silence for a moment, clearly thinking things over. “In a sense, yes, perhaps I am.”

He sounds a little uncertain and Charles has to jump in. “It’s not a bad thing, mate. You seem a bit more open, a bit happier with yourself, and that is aces, yeah? I just worry that you won’t need me...” he trails off.

“Charles...” Edwin reaches out and Charles feels a gentle touch on his arm.

Gentleness has always been the thing Charles’ heart can’t handle. He can shrug off violence, give as good as he gets in words and blows, but Edwin looking at him like that has tears prickling at his eyes. “I’m a terrible person because it’s exactly like he said, I don’t love you in the way you wanted but I get arsey when you start showing an interest in someone else!” he bursts out.

Edwin can’t seem to keep the distress out of his voice. “Charles, I do not want you to feel anything. I told you of my own feelings because I wished to be open about them, I did not wish to hide something so important from you.” He squeezes Charles’ arm affectionately. “Listen to me, I never expected you to reciprocate and I certainly do not expect you to feel bad for not sharing my feelings. You are never going to lose me, Charles, our friendship means everything to me.” He waits until Charles has managed a small smile and brought his own hand up to squeeze Edwin’s where it rests on his arm. Then his tone gets more annoyed and snippy as he adds, “And I am not interested in the Cat King! We are friends, and, as I think recent events have proved, hardly even that.”

Charles wants to argue with the last part, Edwin and the Cat King are certainly something and he’s not thoroughly convinced Edwin’s not interested in the damn moggie. There are more important issues at play though. “I know, and you have never made me feel bad about that, not for a moment. I just feel like I haven’t been as supportive of you as I should have been. You like him, at least as a mate, and that should have been good enough for me. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself.”

“Well.” Edwin disentangles their hands and rests his chin on his interlaced fingers contemplatively. “Sometimes. Sometimes I do apparently need you and your cricket bat to come and rescue me. Just like sometimes you need me on hand with a fire spell when you’ve decided to play fetch with a Grim.”

“Oi!” Charles laughs. “I didn’t realise what it was at the time!”

They share a quiet moment before Charles asks, “Are you going to go and talk to him?”

“I do not know.”

“I think maybe you should. I could go with you if you want?”

“That will not be necessary, Charles, thank you. Now may we perhaps leave this matter in the past. I thank you for your concern, and your efforts to resolve things, but I maintain that it was not your fault.”

As Charles opens his mouth to argue, Edwin gives him a look that very clearly says he’s not winning this argument. He nods obediently. “Ok, I’ll drop it.” For now. He still thinks Edwin should go talk to his ‘furry friend’, as Crystal christened him. “There was something else I wanted to tell you actually.”

“Oh?” Edwin looks braced for more news.

“Me and Crystal kissed again.”

He’s pleased to see some of the tension relax from Edwin’s shoulders. “Well, that is not exactly a surprise.”

“I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

Edwin’s eyes widen in concern. “I don’t ever want you feel like you have to!”

“I don’t, clearly, because I just told you like half an hour after it happened!” Charles argues, a little obnoxiously.

Edwin chuckles. “So despite the date being merely a ruse it still managed to be a success?”

“Maybe? It wasn’t a date though,” Charles clarifies. “Dunno if she’d want to go on a date. We didn’t really talk about it.”

“Then I suspect you should do so. And, frankly, she would have to be a simpleton not to wish to go on a date with you.”

There’s something so very fond and deeply admiring in Edwin’s gaze that Charles can feel himself blush a little. This is the side of the changes in Edwin that he can get fully on board with, that greater ease between the two of them, the feeling that Edwin isn’t holding anything back. Also Charles likes being admired, and Edwin’s praise has always meant the world to him.

“Thanks mate.” He wants to add that Whiskers is a fucking lunatic if he doesn’t try to patch things up with Edwin, but he’s not sure Edwin's ready to hear that. Instead he says, “I don’t suppose, if you’re not cross with me...”

“Which I am not.” Edwin smiles.

“And as I really think you should take a break...” This is totally for Edwin’s benefit too.

Edwin gives him an amused look as Charles heads over to the bookshelves.

“Can we read something?” Charles asks. Edwin always says it like that, ‘shall we read’, when they both know it means Edwin will be reading while Charles listens. Charles hands his chosen book over with a small, hopeful smile and the big eyes he knows Edwin finds hard to resist. “Please?”

Edwin’s smile is fond as he takes the collection of detective stories. “Very well. Get comfy.”

Charles curls up at one end of the sofa and looks pathetic until Edwin joins him at the other. Edwin had tried once he’d acquired his new wing-back chair to use that for their reading sessions, but Charles had been having none of it. For starters he can admit he just doesn’t like change. Edwin has always sat beside him to read to him and that’s how Charles likes it. More importantly though he’d felt the physical pulling away that his partner had attempted in the wake of his confession, as though he was worried his touch might be unwelcome or misunderstood. Charles was not having that. He’d not spent decades getting Edwin accustomed to accepting the hugs he so clearly needs only to have all that progress destroyed by his friend’s internalised homophobia (which is what Crystal called it – what Charles had taken from her explanation was that continuing to hug Edwin was important, though he already knew that).

Once Edwin’s sat down Charles plonks his feet in his lap in a manner Edwin pretends to find irritating and their routine follows as it has for more than thirty years, ever since Edwin comforted a dying boy in a freezing cold attic.

Nothing makes Charles feel safe and secure quite like this. He thinks his mum read to him when he was very small, before his dad insisted he was old enough to be reading for himself. It’s not like he can’t, but it’s not the same. Edwin tells the stories better than his own brain can, he does the voices, adds little theatrical flourishes with his expressions and hand gestures, and it’s like a proper radio play. More than that though, the last thing his dying brain ever registered was Edwin’s voice, Edwin’s kindness and comfort, he’s never going to tire of hearing it.

Charles drifts in that drowsy, half-awake state that is the closest a ghost can get to real sleep, lulled by the sound of his best friend’s voice and by stories in which the detectives always triumph.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Edwin has finished reading some hours previously, but he and Charles are still sat quietly on the couch, the book limp in his hand, when Crystal walks in the following morning. She smiles at the sight of the two of them and gives Charles a look that Edwin reads as being along the lines of ‘I told you everything would be alright’.

Edwin would be happy to say everything is alright. He feels more relaxed than he has in days, and whilst Charles may have overstepped a bit, and caused goodness knows what further issues with Thomas, his heart was in the right place and the fact he wanted to try to help is very touching. Particularly given his less than cordial feelings towards the Cat King.

Their caseload for the day is not too onerous, the upside of having been so down lately is he has spent every spare moment on work. Thus when Charles suggests at around five o’clock that maybe they could have the rest of the day off, Edwin does not demur. Likely Charles wishes to talk to Crystal, and he does not wish to get in the way of that.

Charles however seems to have other ideas. “I think maybe you should go to Port Townsend. It’s gone 9am there now, perfectly reasonable hour. You should go talk to him.”

Edwin sighs. “I do not care for another row.”

“I don’t think he would either. I think he misses you.”

“I...”

“Go! Trust me!” Charles insists with a reassuring smile.

What is there to say to that, of course he trusts Charles. Charles would not encourage him unless he really did think there was some chance Thomas would want to see him. Granted, Charles has some fairly rose tinted glasses when it come to how he thinks other people should regard Edwin.

After a moment’s consideration, Edwin says, “Will you excuse us, Crystal?” and drags Charles into the cupboard.

“I will make you a deal,” Edwin offers quietly once they are safely hidden away.

Charles’ eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’m listening.”

“I will go and talk to Thomas, if you will talk to Crystal.” God knows what Edwin gets out of either end of this deal, but he cannot allow Charles to let things drift when it is clear how much he likes the girl.

“Well, I mean...” Charles looks unsure. “I will, but...”

“No but,” Edwin interrupts. “Do it.”

“And you’ll actually go and talk to Whiskers?”

“Yes.” God help him.

“Alright then.” Charles holds out his hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

They shake upon it before exiting the cupboard.

Crystal raises an eyebrow. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

Edwin does not. “I am afraid I need to go out. I suggest you and Charles find some way to amuse yourselves for the remains of the day.”

He steps through the mirror before he can change his mind.

~*~*~*~

Edwin doesn’t have a plan exactly. He’s no good with people, he has no idea what to say. He is sorry, but he’s also still hurting and more than a little angry about the things Thomas said, so how this ‘chat’ is supposed to go he hasn’t the foggiest.

If Thomas is even willing to see him, he muses, casting his gaze around the empty warehouse.

Before he can decide whether or not to try and announce himself in some way, Button comes racing up to greet him. “You came back!” The cat purrs ecstatically.

“Hello Button. It is lovely to see you.” Edwin bends to pet him, still looking around distractedly for the feline he’d come to see.

It doesn’t take another moment before there’s a puff of purple smoke and an angry voice in his ear. “Look, in case I wasn’t clear the first time...” Thomas trails off as he realises which ghost is before him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Hello.” Edwin manages, drawing himself upright. Clearly he had underestimated just how unwelcome Charles had managed to make himself. Though, thinking back over some of what he’d relayed of the visit, perhaps that should not be a surprise.

“Hi.” Thomas looks too surprised to say anything further. He also looks endearingly like he’s only just woken up, a little sleepy-eyed and rumple haired. Edwin’s remaining anger at him fades at the sight.

Button makes a happy chirpy noise and rubs round both their ankles. “I said he’d come back.”

“Shush, you.” The Cat King gently nudges the little cat with his foot in a ‘go away’ gesture, and a big fluffy grey cat trots over and herds Button away.

“I thought you were someone else,” Thomas says, stiffly.

Edwin is encouraged by the confirmation that he was not the intended target of Thomas’ shouting. “Charles informed me that he and Monty had called upon you yesterday.”

The man gives a derisive snort. “Yeah, your fan club visited. Not really sure if they were trying to sell me a membership or bar me for life.”

Edwin pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to remind himself that he does in fact love Charles in any number of ways, even if right now he’d sort of like to hit him with his own cricket bat. “I cannot apologise enough.”

Thomas shrugs. “I don’t think you’re actually responsible for either of them.”

“Well, certainly not Monty,” Edwin concedes.

That gets a small huff of amusement. The Cat King looks uncharacteristically awkward for a moment. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve and doesn’t meet Edwin's eyes when he speaks. “Charles said you were moping. Like maybe you wanted to see me again, despite how I behaved?”

“I would hardly be here if I did not.” Edwin takes a moment to savour the smile that draws from the other man. With more humour, he adds, “I do not make a habit of going to places purely to apologise for Charles.”

Thomas grins. “Suppose that would rather fill up your schedule.”

“He meant well,” Edwin says firmly. “I appreciate his visit may not have been welcome, but he was trying to help.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Thomas shakes his head in seeming bewilderment at the phenomenon that is Charles Rowland. “He’s sort of charmingly chaotic, isn’t he. I can appreciate a good bit of drama, and he certainly provided that. He’s an idiot, but he’s an idiot who’s pretty fucking devoted to you, and I might have to allow that his heart is in the right place.”

“He is a lot brighter than people tend to see,” Edwin says. He has watched any number of creatures underestimate Charles to their detriment. “But he is frustratingly impulsive.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. “Less about Charles, more about how you wouldn't have come here if you didn’t still want to see me.”

Edwin’s lips twitch up at one corner. “May I take it that means you wished to see me?”

“Maybe.” Thomas affects nonchalance for only a moment before making a noise of frustration. “Ok, yes. I missed you.” He looks very sulky about it. “You touched a nerve when we last spoke and I might have overreacted.”

“I did not intend to,” Edwin says. “I had no idea I was asking something so hurtful. Which was possibly foolish on my part.”

“Probably,” Thomas agrees.

“I pushed you for information I had no right to, I am sorry about that. It is perhaps hard to leave my detective instincts aside. I should not have interrogated you when it was clear you did not wish to discuss the matter.”

“The ‘matter’ was a corpse, I suppose I can see why you had questions,” Thomas grudgingly allows.

“I could have phrased them better.” There’s a long silence between them broken by a scuffling sound to one side of the warehouse.

Thomas glares in the direction of the noise. “Why don’t we continue this conversation without the audience.” Edwin follows the golden gaze to where there are numerous cats peeping round a stack of crates. “Nosy little fuckers!” Thomas calls over to his fluffy companions. Then he raises a hand. “May I?”

Edwin nods, assuming (correctly) that Thomas intends to transport them to his private chamber. The room is, if possible, messier than last time, the bed an unseasonable mound of blankets, pillows and fluffy throws.

Thomas gestures him to the sofa and takes the seat beside him. “The cats missed you. Not that that excuses them being nosy little fuckers.”

Edwin smiles. “I admit I am surprised. They are very loyal to you, I would not have thought they’d quickly forgive my upsetting you.”

Thomas shrugs. “Little morons think I’ve been grumpy the last couple of weeks, and they’ve got this wild idea that you might put me in a better mood. Also they may be loyal but they treat any hint of anything even vaguely interesting in my life as their favourite soap opera. Nothing worse than being bored when you’re a cat.”

“I am sorry if I have been the cause of your ill-mood of late. I never wished to hurt you, and I am extremely sorry about the kittens.”

“Thank you,” Thomas says quietly.

“I can certainly understand why some idiot leashing a cat a few days later might have been particularly vexing.”

Thomas smiles grimly. “It wasn’t the best timing. There was no comparison in the two incidents though. You were just an arrogant pain. A very handsome one, that helped.” He runs a hand through his rumpled hair. “I owe you an apology, I was angry and I’ve never been good at keeping my temper when I’m upset. I said some dreadful things to you.”

“You did not say much I had not said myself I suppose.”

“That’s a nice way to say I threw your insecurities back in your face after you’d been gracious enough to be open about them.”

Edwin offers a small but hopefully reassuring smile. “Well I would not have put it like that.”

“I was talking shit,” Thomas insists. “I don’t know what you are, I don’t even know if the average ghost is human, let alone something as extraordinary as you.”

Edwin’s breath (that he has to remind himself he does not need) feels like it’s been snatched from his lungs. “I am hardly extraordinary.”

“Yes you are.” For a moment he thinks the Cat King is going to make some kind of ‘kiss and make up’ style suggestion, instead the man looks deadly serious. “I need to tell you something.” It is astounding, and not reassuring, how similar he looks to Charles when confessing to his visit here.

“Alright.”

“I told Esther about you surviving Hell. I was talking shit (again) and she got under my skin, right after she’d beaten my head in, and I taunted her about how stupid she was to think she could take you down with a mushroom when you’d survived Hell.”

“She had just beaten you to death and you were arguing with her about me?” Edwin asks in confusion. “I should have thought there to be more pressing matters upon your mind.”

Thomas shrugs. “I didn’t love what she’d been trying to do.”

“I gathered that from your warning in the forest, which I never thanked you for.”

“No you didn’t, and I’d love to invite you to do so now, but I can't help but feel like you brushed over what I just told you. Or rather what I told that old witch.”

“About my having spent time in Hell? Thomas, everyone knows that. Crystal has made numerous remarks about how often I bring it up. I never thought to even wonder how Esther knew, I had hardly been discreet about it.”

“I was how she knew.”

Thomas feels guilty, Edwin realises. He thinks he’s in some way responsible for what happened. “Well, I thank you for your honesty, but it really does not matter. I was not trying to hide it, it would never have occurred to me to do so. And you know Esther was quite unhinged, if it hadn’t been that table device of hers it would have been something else. Another mushroom, or familiar turned honeypot.”

Thomas snorts. “Who taught you the phrase honeypot?”

“Crystal.” Edwin grimaces, the girl is a menace to his vocabulary, and, fitting or not, it is not a term he would want Monty to hear. “Please do not repeat that remark to Monty. It is Esther I blame for it all, not him. And not you.”

“You are incredible.” Thomas smiles at him softly. “Seventy years of torment and you come out sweet.”

“I am not sweet,” Edwin objects. “Simply not inclined to blame anyone else for what my own idiocy, in being unable to stop ‘banging on about Hell all the time’,” Crystal’s phrasing, but she may have had a point, he thinks, “Would likely have lead to anyway.”

“It’s not idiocy. It’s fucking brave. Being able to talk about that at all is fucking impressive, Edwin.”

“I think it would be more difficult not to talk about it. I spent more time in Hell than as a living person and ghost combined. I have spent roughly 60% of my existence down there. Quite difficult to ignore.”

Thomas is quiet. “Shit.”

“And in a sense I don’t talk about it. I make reference to it, it is not quite the same thing.” There are things he cannot speak about.

“I still think you’re brave. And extraordinary. Also a little arrogant and entitled." He smirks, playfully. "But nobody's perfect. Maybe not even me.”

Edwin huffs a laugh. “Oh so you admit to flaws now, do you?”

“A few. I am in fact an incurable romantic for example.”

“That is certainly a flaw.”

“Hey! Just because you’re all logical and stoic. I bet if you weren’t a ghost you'd be the kind of person who insists they can’t exist,” Thomas teases.

“Well obviously I did not believe in ghosts when I was alive.” That would have been quite irrational.

“See! I’m right. As usual.”

“And you think arrogance is my flaw.” Something in their bickering feels so hopefully light, like they’re both keen to move past the dreadful things they’d said.

They are, neither of them, people who enjoy dwelling upon emotionally difficult things. Both, it seems, inclined to either refuse to speak at all or else to accept an apology and move on without further dissecting their fight. What good after all would that do. It was born of who they both are, Edwin’s inability to let things go clashing with Thomas’ tendency to lash out when hurt. It is a trait of the other man’s that he can well understand.

It’s not quite easy. There’s still something a little forced in Thomas’ bantering, like he’s withdrawn further than usual behind that facade of playful flirtation. Edwin cannot help but hope though that their row has not prematurely ended a friendship that he never felt able to admit to himself meant quite so much until he feared he had lost it.

Wary of once more asking the wrong question, but reminded by Thomas’ reference to his death at Esther’s hands of something he had been pondering on, Edwin decides to risk indulging his curiosity. “Might I ask you something with regards to Esther? Or rather about yourself following her actions?”

“You can ask...”

Edwin smiles internally, of course the trickster is not about to agree to anything without more detail. “When we first met you, your cat form was a large fluffy ginger. However in London recently you were a black shorthair. Does your appearance change with each life? Am I to assume from what you told me once that you have nine of them?”

“Yes, and yes. This is look number four in case you were wondering.”

A puff of violet and suddenly there’s a small black cat beside him, all sleek velvet fur and gracefully curling tail. Edwin’s hands itch to reach out and touch. “It must be disorienting, changing like that.”

“It takes some getting used to. I’m starting to like this one though. Refined and elegant, but still capable of causing a sensation.”

Edwin chuckles. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

The little black cat gives a purr and places a paw deliberately on Edwin’s thigh, telegraphing a move Edwin makes no effort to stop, before climbing fully into the ghost’s lap and curling up.

Perhaps he should stop Thomas, allowing him to sit on his lap is a level of intimacy he is ill-equipped for, but he finds he hasn’t the heart to refuse him in this form. Had he tried it in his, admittedly very handsome, human shape, Edwin would have tipped him on the floor as he had previously threatened to.

“I cannot help feeling this is highly inappropriate.” Edwin objects weakly, largely because he thinks he should. His hand however finds it’s way to pet the velvety soft fur of Thomas’s back.

The only response he gets is a determined purr.

There is another reason, besides indulgence of his desire to feel that soft fur beneath his fingers again, that Edwin allows the encroachment upon his personal space. Thomas communicates very physically. He is a little like Charles in that way and Edwin’s experiences with Charles have taught him that even when a conflict is resolved his partner is never quite easy without some kind of touch, preferably a hug. Thomas is perhaps similar, looking for reassurance of their reconciliation. Edwin cannot refuse that.

“Very well, I will remain for a short while.”

The purring intensifies.

~*~*~*~

A short while spins out to quite to a stretch as they sit quietly together, Edwin stroking and Thomas purring. Everything he has read about the relaxing benefits of stroking an animal seem to be true, he thinks.

Eventually though he has to leave and Thomas obediently stands up, stretches rather adorably, and leaps over to the bed, burrowing amongst the blankets and pillows.

“Are you ready for another nap?” Edwin asks with a smile.

A little black head pokes out from the blankets and golden eyes give a slow, sleepy blink.

Edwin has to work hard to resist reaching out and giving the head a parting stroke. “I hope I will see you again sometime soon.”

It’s not until he’s turned to the mirror, that he hears, “So you’ll come back?”

“I will.”

~*~*~*~

When he returns to the office, Edwin finds Crystal has left for the night. Charles, sprawled on the sofa with Cally perched on his chest, gives him a welcoming smile. “Hiya mate, how did it go?”

Edwin thinks that saying ‘it ended up with him curled up on lap’ might bring the cricket bat back out again. “Well, I believe. We have talked and we are no longer at odds.”

“That’s good.”

“Did you speak to Crystal?”

Charles looks shifty. “Sort of...”

“Sort of? Charles, we had a deal!” Edwin says, indignantly.

“I know! I tried, but she kind of brushed me off.”

“In what way?”

“Well, I told her how much I liked her and, I don’t know.” Charles looks frustrated. “I feel like she thinks I just like her because she can see me or something.”

“That is arrant nonsense!” The girl is an idiot.

“I know!”

“Well, did you not tell her that?”

“I tried, I don’t...” Charles shrugs, as best as he while half lying down and trying not to disturb a cat. “Maybe she’s just not interested. I don’t want to pester her.”

“Hmm. That is a fair point.” Edwin shifts Charles’ feet and sits beside him, leaning over to scratch Cally behind the ear, unable to forget the soft feeling of Thomas’ fur beneath his fingertips. “Still, I do not believe she is not interested in you.”

Charles shrugs again. “It’s fine.”

It is clearly not, but Edwin is at a loss as to how to help. Relationships are very much not his area of expertise. He pats Charles’ ankle sympathetically and offers to read.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Duchess, having left Thomas anticipating his scolding from her for quite some time, eventually shows up when he’s still in bed, which is just rude. Ok, there’s a time difference between here and London, but she’s quite capable of counting back a few hours and realising it’s far too early for visiting in Port Townsend.

Then again, Thomas is kind of in the dog house.

“It’s too early for this,” he growls, clad in black silk pyjamas and a fluffy purple blanket. He hates being woken mid-nap.

She snickers at the sight of him. “Nice look, suits you.”

“Fuck off,” he moans, knowing full well that she won’t do anything of the sort. He collapses onto his throne and summons up a crate for her to sit on.

“Seriously, you and your fucking hipster, urban decay aesthetic.” The crate becomes a large leather armchair in which she lounges comfortably.

Thomas snorts and huddles deeper into his blanket. “Just give me the dressing down you’re here to deliver.”

“What would be the point,” she sighs. “You’re going to do it again no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“Well...” Yes.

“Because you are head over heels for the upright, Edwardian ghost, aren’t you?”

He could deny it, but she’s seen him around Edwin and she’s far from stupid. Thomas buries his head in his hands and groans. “Fuck off!”

Her laugh grates on his nerves.

“Look at you. You act like this tough alley cat, when really you’re just a scruffy stray crying at someone’s back door hoping they’ll take you in.” Her tone is affectionate, and when he looks up to tell her to fuck off for the third time she’s smiling at him. “I think it’s kind of sweet actually. You like him so much you risked starting something with me, which you’d have no hope of winning, just to come and see him.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take it too far amiss.” She may have a read on him, but he knows her too. There’s a bond between them that allows for a little disrespect, a bit of trespass in a good cause, with no worse consequences than her waking him up at stupid o’clock in the morning to scold him.

“I’m a paragon of patience and virtue.” She preens.

He snorts derisively.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I might be able to help with your pathetic little problem. I’m having a little soiree in a fortnight. You can get all dressed up and see if you can’t impress him.”

Thomas’ ears perk up. Metaphorically that is, human ears are sadly inexpressive he’s always thought. “Edwin’s going?”

“I can ask him. I’ll extend an invitation to the Agency.”

“He’s not the party type, he’ll say no.”

“Oh I don’t think he will.” She smirks. “One.” She holds up a finger. “I’m going to tell him you’re coming and I think that’ll tempt him. Two.” She puts up a second finger to make both two, and a rude hand gesture into the bargain. “They’re currently on a case looking into some rogue magic user who they can’t track down. Anyone who’s anyone in supernatural London will be in one place, no way he’ll turn down the opportunity to try to interview my poor guests.”

She’s suspiciously spot on in her assessment. Edwin will be accepting her invite and irritating her guests in no time. “You’ve been spying on him.”

“On them. If that makes you feel better. They operate in my kingdom, and I’ve taken an interest. Don't worry, not your kind of interest. He’s not my type. Besides, I can’t take how pathetic you are over him. So I thought I’d help.”

“And I don’t owe you anything for this?” he asks suspiciously.

Her expression turns a little grudging. “I owe him. No matter his pretty words, I owe him.”

She’s a woman who takes her obligations seriously, and she never likes being in anybody’s debt. Thomas though is a bit dubious about her plan, or at least about what Edwin would think of it. He’s not sure this is the favour the detective would like in return for his assistance to her cats. Granted, he had said he didn’t consider her indebted to him at all. “And you think this is what he’d like? Inviting him to come to a party with me?”

“No,” she laughs. “I think this is what he needs, a little view of what he’s missing out on. If you fail to impress though then that’s really your problem.”

“Excuse me,” he scoffs. “I always impress.”

She looks him over and Thomas feels unusually self-conscious with his fluffy blanket, and even fluffier cat slippers. There are precious few individuals he’d let see him like this.

“Yeah, I can see that,” she drawls. “Maybe leave the blanket at home.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll send you word of whether he’s accepted with your official invite.” She rises to leave and blows him a kiss. “Ta ta, darling.”

“No, hang on, wait!”

She raises a curious eyebrow, and waits for him to explain himself.

Thomas swallows his pride. “They’ve been operating in your city for decades. You must have known about them before any of this.”

“I did,” she acknowledges.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“So, what do you know?”

“Oh dear god,” she dissolves into giggles. “You have got it bad!”

Thomas scowls at her.

She shrugs. “Honestly, there’s not much I can tell you. It’s a big city, a lot happens I don’t see. Though maybe don’t spread that around. It was probably the millennium before I really noticed them. Their agency’s got more successful over time, and I don’t pay that much attention to ghosts. They started taking on bigger cases though and at some point it became clear that a lot of supernatural London had at least heard of them. The agency’s well regarded, and they’ve never got in my way so that’s about all I can tell you up until the last few months.”

Thomas’ ears perk up again at the end. “What can you tell me about the last few months?”

“That not long after they returned from their little trip here, Edwin started offering food to cats in the area around their office building. He’d certainly never done that before. So, welcome development that it was, I did keep an eye on things, asked around. The cats said he seemed sad but kind in a sort of stand-offish way. They liked him, they got to like the other two as well. Though they mostly still don’t speak to the live one.”

“Kind and stand-offish.” Thomas grins. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, if that’s the sort of thing you like, then he’s ideal.” Duchess looks Thomas over curiously. “What happened while they were over here anyway? How did someone that prim and proper catch your wandering eye?”

Thomas isn’t sure he can answer that. “Well you gotta admit he’s handsome.”

She looks sceptical. “Much as I’m sure you appreciate his good looks, that is not what you see in him. A pretty face never holds your attention this long, not even the ones that you can’t get.”

“He’s...” Thomas sighs, trying to put something into words that he’s still getting his own head and heart around. “He’s just got something about him. He’s tough and witty and gives as good as he gets.”

She smiles knowingly. “He plays with you.”

“It’s not just about games.”

“I can see that. Why do you I’m trying to help?” She looks him over and frowns. “You died.”

“Happens.” They’ve both got more than one of that particular t-shirt.

“You have been feckless and selfish for decades, maybe longer.” Duchess has never been one for flattery but that he feels is a little harsh, even if it’s also a little true. Then she gives him a sad smile. “When I saw you in London you looked different, and it’s not just a change of coat. You seem more serious.”

He sticks out his tongue. “Ew.”

“Don’t worry,” she laughs. “You’re still likely feckless and selfish, you’re still very much you. I just wonder if maybe you feel like it’s time to come in from the cold, you mangy old stray.”

Thomas has long preferred to be separate not only from his own kind but from most creatures. Port Townsend suits him perfectly in its splendid isolation. Duchess is solitary in her own fashion but she likes the bustle of life and movement, she likes to get involved. This is part of why she rules one of the world’s greatest cities and he lives in a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. “Maybe,” he sulks. “Don’t get your hopes up. I died as a result of that instinct.”

“Knowing you, I suspect you died because you responded to said instinct with a total lack of common sense.”

Possibly, but he’s not about to admit to that.

She gives him that sad smile once more, and comes close enough to cup his cheek with a warm hand. “Don’t die again. I’m going to miss the weirdo orange fluffball, but I’d like to see this new glow-up of yours given a chance.”

Unable to help himself, Thomas leans into the friendly touch and purrs.

“Look at you.” She chuckles, fondly. “You’re just a lap-cat at heart.”

That hits a little too close to recent literal truth, and when she turns to go he doesn’t stop her this time.

Finally left in peace, Thomas collapses back onto his throne and considers his options. After all he hadn’t said he’d go, she’d just assumed he would.

He never goes to stuff like that. A proper party would be one thing, but this will be diplomacy and politics and networking and that does nothing for him. He tired of all that centuries ago. If Edwin’s there though...that would be an entirely different proposition.

He does wonder if this isn’t a favour to the ghost at all, rather Duchess using Edwin to lure Thomas back into what she would view as more sensible behaviour. Perhaps she’s hoping Edwin can make an honest cat of him. Likely there’s a little of both motivations, plus her undeniable need to meddle, and her very feline need for entertainment. Still, it could work to his advantage. He’s certainly very curious to see Edwin in a social setting.

Thomas snorts, who does he think he’s kidding? Of course he’s going if Edwin is.

He’s not seen his favourite ghost much since they made up, and Thomas managed to push his luck far enough to curl up and snooze on his lap. He can’t remember the last time he did something like that, the last time he felt safe and comfortable enough with someone to. Edwin has been busy with cases since and has only popped in for a few minutes here and there to say hello. It’s pretty sweet actually, he thinks Edwin’s trying to reassure him that he has indeed forgiven Thomas for his harsh words. Edwin’s not said anything about Thomas curling up on his lap. He seemed to like it at the time though. Thomas had felt the tension in Edwin’s legs when he’d first settled on them slowly dissipate as those long, clever fingers stroked and soothed over his head and back.

“You look happy, boss.”

Startled out his reverie, Thomas looks up to see Cornflake staring at him. There is no fucking privacy around here! Can’t a cat daydream in peace? “What do you want?”

“Nothin’! I was just makin’ a observation,” Cornflake grumbles. “You going to some fancy party then?”

Thomas would ask if Cornflake finds it necessary to listen in to every possible conversation, but he already knows the answer. There’ll be more cats lurking around who were also avidly following the whole thing. “Apparently I am.”

“With the ghost?”

“He has a name, Cornflake.”

“He’s got a magic rope too,” Cornflake mutters.

Thomas lets it go. “Well, he may be there. So will a lot of other people.”

“People ya don’t usually like to mix with,” the cat points out, irritatingly.

Thomas conjures up a sardine and extends a hand in offering. “Here, have this and get away. That’s your usual price isn’t it?” he mocks as the cat eagerly helps himself.

Cornflake yowls crossly and stalks off with a parting shot. “Apparently he don’t even need no sardine to draw you in!”

Thomas is too appalled to form an answer, and Cornflake wisely disappears into the shadows. Typical cats, no fucking respect. Thomas grumbles beneath his breath, dresses himself in something more suitable to face the world, and stomps out to raid the nearest coffee shop that can provide him with a beverage that is a good 90% cream and syrup, maybe with some caffeine thrown in.

He’s not gone ten steps before it suddenly occurs to him. “Fuck, I need to find something to wear.”

The giggling cats that scatter under his glare do not improve his mood.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

When the invitation first arrived, delivered by a pretty long-haired tortoiseshell, Edwin was all for declining it.

“We do not have time for parties.”

The tortoiseshell, who is greeting Cally while awaiting a response, looks up at him. “The Duchess suggested that you might want to consider who will be there. She’s heard you’re looking for information on a rogue magic user. If any crowd will have answers, it’s this one.”

“Well...” Edwin considers the merits of the argument but still isn’t keen.

“Plus a number of other cat monarchs will be in attendance, including one with whom you are acquainted. She thought that might be information you’d want.” The cat tilts its head curiously, as if it wants to ask why this was case but is under orders to be polite.

“Did she indeed,” Edwin says. “Well, perhaps if there is a chance to find out something useful we might consider it.” He glances over to Charles and Crystal.

“A party always sounds good to me,” Charles says.

Crystal shrugs. “I get invited to a lot of parties, but one hosted by a Cat Queen would be something new, I’m in.”

“Excellent.” The cat seems to think the matter decided. “You will see the dress code on the invitation. However my mistress is aware that, as ghosts, changing your attire can be tricky, so you two,” she glances between Charles and Edwin, “Don’t need to worry about that.”

Charles looks especially pleased by that news.

Edwin frowns. “We have not definitely said...”

“We’ll be there,” Charles interrupts him.

“Perfect.” The cat is back out the door before Edwin can say anything to stop it.

“Charles!” he exclaims.

“What?” Charles shrugs expressively. “You said it yourself, it’s a chance to maybe get a lead on the case.”

“And who doesn’t love a party?” Crystal puts in.

“I do not particularly love parties, Crystal. I suppose you two do not need me to accompany you though.”

“Oh no,” Charles objects. “You’re the reason she’s invited us, thanks to your kitten rescue! She might take it amiss if you don’t show - and we’ve learnt the hard way about pissing off cat monarchs, haven’t we?” He grins cheekily.

“Very amusing, Charles.” Edwin huffs, thinking that Charles found Thomas’ antics very much less amusing at the time, but he accepts he has lost the argument. Apparently he is going to a party.

~*~*~*~

As the night of the festivities draws near, Edwin finds himself repeatedly wondering if Thomas will be in attendance. Their tortoiseshell messenger had said that he was invited, but that is no guarantee that he will be there. It might be nice to see Thomas in a different setting, Edwin thinks. Though he has no delusions that, with so many other people to entertain him, the Cat King of Port Townsend would be particularly likely to seek out Edwin at an affair such as this anyway.

That however, Edwin tells himself firmly, is entirely beside the point. He is not going in hopes of seeing Thomas, he is going because a good detective does what he must to close a case. Even attending supernatural social events that are very much not his natural milieu.

He’s alone in the office for a rare moment, Charles having gone to safely dispose of some potions ingredients that Edwin had judged past their best. Instead of enjoying his solitude though he is simply getting lost in his own conflicted thoughts, so much so that he’s almost pleased when Crystal interrupts his reverie by barging in with an armful of dresses.

“Right,” she says without preamble. “I do not get how supernatural dress codes work, so which dress do you think? I like the purple, but is it too much?” She holds a glittering ankle length dress up against herself. It is a gauzy confection of electric purple fabric, woven through with subtle metallic needlework to produce the glitter.

“Crystal, it is a party said to be attended by numerous cat monarchs, I suspect being ‘a bit much’ will very much help you to blend in,” Edwin points out.

She huffs at him, but agrees, putting the dresses down on the sofa and rifling through a bag of assorted sparkling adornments.

“The purple is however entirely suitable.” Edwin feels like something more is probably required of him. “I believe you will look lovely in it.”

“Thanks.” She grins. “I scrub up ok.”

She does. Doubtless she will look lovely and Charles will be unable to take his eyes off her. Edwin though refuses to allow himself to be guided by his jealousy. “Speaking of the party, I have been wondering if you were planning to allow Charles to escort you,” he says, in as neutral a tone as he can manage.

“Are you not coming?” She looks cross. “I thought we’d been over this.”

“I will be there,” he assures her, before she can lecture him on getting out more. “I simply meant that perhaps you would be attending on his arm.”

“Like a sparkly accessory?” She holds up for his judgement a tiny bag that appears to be entirely constructed out of sequins.

Edwin pulls a face and shakes his head, the bag is hideous and her shrug suggests she already knows this. She certainly should. “You know full well Charles would never view anyone like that.”

“I do, but I don’t know what you’re getting at.” She squints at a black velvet clutch bag, considering its merits.

Edwin shakes his head again. She’ll put that bag down and promptly lose it, and this party will not be a good place to have her ID stolen. “Charles is...very taken with you. I think he would be delighted to be your partner for the evening.” Probably for rather longer than an evening.

Crystal discards the clutch and digs around for another evening bag amongst the mounds of things she has brought with her. “Charles is a little bit in love with everyone, it’s part of his charm,” she says dismissively.

Edwin cannot hold back a fond smile. “Yes, that is true. But it is different with you.”

Exhaling sharply, Crystal puts down a handful of glittery fabric that might be a bag, a scarf, or possibly a hair accessory. Who knows. “Look, I know what you’re getting at. I assume he told you we, well, might have kissed...once or twice.”

Oh that definitely means more than once or twice, Edwin thinks with a pang.

“But I already feel like a third wheel around here sometimes,” she continues. “I’m not sure making that official would help.”

A few short months ago Edwin would have relished such a response from her. Now he feels awful about how he’d treated her back then. “You are never a third wheel, Crystal,” he says sincerely. “And believe it or not I have no desire for you to feel like one.”

“Thank you, but you two do rather have that whole ‘till-Death-don’t-you-part’ shtick going on.”

Edwin comes to a decision he has been pondering for some time. “I see Charles has not told you.”

“Told me...what?”

Edwin steadies himself. Crystal has grown to be a valued friend and colleague. She has earnt his trust, so it is about time he extended it. “I informed Charles that I had feelings of a romantic nature for him. Obviously he did not reciprocate.”

Crystal finally stops rummaging in the technicoloured, sequinned mass that has eaten their couch. “Ok, first, not obvious. Second, when did this happen? Are you ok?”

“I am perfectly fine, Crystal,” he snaps, unable to help himself. He is not looking for sympathy. “If Hell couldn’t break me, a kind soul like Charles isn’t going to.” Edwin clenches and unclenches his fists, willing himself to be calm. “Actually that was when I told him, when we were escaping Hell.”

Crystal’s eyebrows shoot up. “You certainly have a good sense of dramatic timing.”

He’s not going to get into that. He prefers Thomas’ ‘leave your hang ups with your demons’ response. “I wanted to tell you. Not because of Charles.” Really them both falling for the same ludicrously lovely dead boy feels like nothing in comparison to the need Edwin feels to be honest about himself. “But because I have never actually told you, though I am quite sure you are already aware, of my preference for men. And I did not want you to think that I did not trust you or consider you a friend.”

He has never been afraid of her response but he is still perhaps a little surprised at the warmth of the look she gives him, at the easy acceptance in her, “Can I hug you?”

Edwin still grimaces. “Absolutely not.”

Crystal grins at him. “Fair enough.” Then she groans. “Oh my god, I kissed him right in front of you like hours after you got back from Hell!”

Yes. Yes, she did. “It does not matter,” Edwin assures her, realising as he says it that it really doesn’t. “I want him to be happy. You make him happy.”

She still looks unsure. “It’s not like we’d exactly stand a shot at forever.”

“Nothing is forever, Crystal. Turns out even eternal torment was a bit of a hyperbole.”

She refuses to follow his attempt to steer the conversation in a more light hearted direction. “You’re really brave you know.”

“I do not think it is bravery when you do not have a choice. If anything, I eventually escaped Hell via my inner coward having me run away as fast as possible.”

“No, not because of Hell, though fuck yes the fact you escaped with your senses mostly intact and as not a complete arsehole is fucking impressive. Brave for being honest about everything, about who you are and how you feel. I know it’s not easy for you.”

“I do not wish to feel ashamed any more, thus concealment feels counter-intuitive.” He’s aiming for breezy but it comes out quiet and a little raw.

Crystal stands up but gives him his space, not approaching...yet. “You sure I can’t hug you?”

Edwin pulls a face. “Make it quick.”

When he stiffens up in her embrace it’s at least partly in jest.

She’s barely put her arms around him though when the office door bursts open again and Charles comes barrelling in with all the energy of a Labrador puppy. He is of course delighted by what he sees. “Hey, hug time!” Charles drops his bag on the floor and throws his arms around both of them, sandwiching them together. “Why are we hugging?”

Edwin can’t help but laugh. “Currently because you are not giving either Crystal or I chance to let go.”

“I never get to hug both of you at once.” Charles’ arms tighten around them as he tenses slightly. “You two never hug. What’s going on? Are you both ok?”

Edwin catches Crystal’s eye and is reassured to see she has no intention of repeating their conversation.

“We’re both fine. Edwin’s just slowly learning to love me.” She winks.

“Yes,” Edwin agrees. “I anticipate in another 50 or so years I will find her quite tolerable.”

“He is warming up to you!” Charles finally lets them both go. “Why does the office look like the backstage of a fashion show?”

“Like you have any idea what the backstage of a fashion show looks like.” Crystal returns to sorting through the glittery mess.

“Case of the Cursed Cravat, ’90...what was it?” Charles looks to Edwin.

“Seven.”

Crystal looks unimpressed, though that might be because Charles has started curiously poking through her accessories pile. “A cursed cravat?” she asks.

“Kept strangling people,” Charles explains.

“Right,” Crystal says in her ‘please don’t tell me any more about that’ tone. “Well nothing here is going to strangle anyone unless I get really annoyed.” She takes the sequinned purple bag from Charles’ hands. “We already vetoed that one.”

“Is Edwin helping you pick an outfit?” Charles sounds like a proud parent whose bickering children have suddenly learnt to play nicely.

“He was, yes. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to rock up in something inappropriate. It’s easy for you two!”

“Actually it is not,” Edwin points out, pedantically. “Which is why we are not required to follow the dress code.”

“You could,” Charles suggests. “You’re pretty good at changing your clothes. I’m terrible at it,” he says to Crystal. “Takes me ages and I often lose control and end up back in this. Edwin’s proper good at it though.”

“Thank you, Charles, but it is a lot of work and, as you say, not always easy to maintain. I do not wish to be focused on my clothing when I have work to do.”

“Well, you'd certainly never survive as a woman,” Crystal quips.

“So you’re not changing either?” Charles asks him.

“No.”

Charles looks a little relieved. “Oh. Good. Was a bit worried if you did it’d look like I just wasn’t making an effort.”

That had crossed Edwin’s mind too. Charles hasn’t the patience for outfit changes and he is often uncomfortable in anything new, it takes him a long time to readjust and Edwin knew he would be much more comfortable attending in his usual ensemble. Truthfully he had considered altering his own clothing but he did not want Charles to feel left out. It is not however as though anything he had said to Crystal wasn’t also true, it is easier to remain in what he is comfortable with. He has not changed it at all since the return from Hell.

“Well.” Crystal holds up a bag in each hand - one a deep blue velvet, the other purple leather. “Given you two don’t have to worry about what you’re wearing, how about using the spare brain power to help me pick a bag.”

“That one.” They say in almost perfect unison, both pointing at different bags.

“Thanks guys,” Crystal drawls. “Really helpful.”

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

The invitation was less specific than Edwin would have liked regarding location. Indeed it had taken a moment to realise the location was on it at all. When he had seen the words ‘Crystal Palace’ he had at first simply thought the invite was making it clear that Crystal was included in it. Further perusal though revealed that it was in fact the location.

The area of South London referred to as Crystal Palace is ill-defined, and encompasses parts of five different boroughs. So far, so vague. The football stadium crosses his mind as a potential location, but he judges it to be a less likely option than the park. The small print reading ‘enter via subway’ seals it, Edwin is confident in his deduction. Though the park still seems an odd choice of venue, even with the lingering warm weather.

Edwin first saw the Crystal Palace Subway as a young child, and he has seen it in more recent years in a sad state of neglect. He was vaguely aware of a planned restoration project but he is still taken aback by how it looks when they arrive. Either the works are well advanced or there’s been a little magical help. Probably both, he thinks, taking in the soft lighting (with no obvious source) illuminating Byzantine-style vaulting in soft pinks and oranges and purples. The Subway is beautiful, and he nods approvingly at the choice to forgo any garish decorations in favour of the colourful illumination. This structure needs no help to shine.

Edwin would like to linger, take in the space, but Charles and Crystal are pushing ahead, curious about what’s been done in the park. Nothing, not even the lighting, had been visible from outside the Subway, and Edwin had clearly felt them pass through some kind of magical barrier once they’d been thoroughly vetted by a pair of cats. Whatever lies before them, no one without an invite will ever get any hint of it.

What does lie before them when they reach the park itself stops all three dead in their tracks.

“What is that?” Crystal gasps.

“Woah!” Charles’ eyes are wide and he appears briefly lost for words.

Edwin recovers himself first. With a delighted smile, he sweeps an arm towards the glimmering glass structure ahead of them. “That, Crystal Palace, is the Crystal Palace,” he cannot resist saying.

He doesn’t wait for his friends to ask the inevitable questions; drawn on by desperate curiosity and memories only half recalled, he eagerly approaches the building. “I came here as a child. It was just like this.” He reaches out a hand to the glass and touches something that is both solid and not, almost like a fellow ghost. In sense, he supposes, that’s exactly what this place is.

“What the hell?” Charles comes up beside him, following his example and poking at the glass. “This place doesn’t exist anymore, how are we here? Is this time travel or something?”

Edwin laughs, delight bubbling in his chest at the sight of something so long remembered and so very long lost. It is like a piece of the world he had thought gone forever is suddenly stood before him in all its dated glory. “It is an illusion, a very accomplished one.”

“Why thank you, Edwin.” He turns to see their hostess dressed in an elegant tuxedo, her monochromatic look interrupted only by scarlet lips curled in an indulgent smile.

“You did this?” Edwin suspects, given what little he has worked out of Thomas’ capabilities, that she did not do so herself.

“Well, I had help,” the Duchess admits, smile widening to a cheeky grin that makes her look far less like the powerful supernatural being she doubtless is and more like a young woman enjoying a party. “Welcome to the Crystal Palace.” She gives him a courteous bow, then moves to greet Charles and Crystal with a kiss to the cheek each, leaving Charles grinning a little foolishly.

Edwin though has eyes only for the Palace. “It is remarkable.”

“It’s even better inside,” she promises. “Won’t you come in?”

No matter how perfect, it will not be better inside for him. Nothing could better that split second reveal when, just for an instant, he wasn’t looking at an illusion but at a piece of his own past, as real as the woman now before him. He nods graciously though, still eager to see more. “We would love to.”

The others agree and the three of them follow her inside, observing as they do that the park itself seems bejewelled with fairy lights in a myriad of colours. “You might like to explore the park later,” Duchess says, “But this is the piest de resistance!”

It certainly is as beautiful within as without, though, Edwin notes, a little less faithful to the original. He’s fairly sure that at no point in its history did the crystal fountain run with champagne, or the building have a mirror ball. The Duchess has also left out most of the exhibits and internal planting, in order to give more of a dance floor and circulation space, and there is clearly no way up to the galleries above them, which have a cloudy, insubstantial look that suggests this is not an illusion that will support people climbing on it. Not to mention the subway originally designed to bring people into the Palace had instead deposited them outside of it, doubtless to ensure the ‘wow’ moment of the first view. The overall impression though is still of having stepped into some kind of bizarre time slip. Edwin would prefer it without all the people, but even the glamorous crowd can’t detract too much from its appeal.

“Oh my god!” Crystal grins. “This is amazing!”

“Thank you. I should say you look gorgeous, Crystal. That dress is divine! If you’d like to leave your coat, there’s a cloakroom down that end.” Duchess gestures one way, and then in the opposite direction. “Do help yourself to champagne, but if you prefer something else you’ll find a bar down that way.” Noticing Charles staring wide-eyed at it all, she smiles at him fondly. “Charles, you look so adorable that if you don’t sweep this young lady off her feet I’ll be forced to dance with you myself before too long.”

Charles does not look opposed to that idea, but he glances at Edwin and says, “We’ll just get Crystal’s coat stashed and maybe have a look around first.”

Duchess nods in understanding and gives Edwin a sly look as the others begin to move away. “I don’t think you’ll want for an enthusiastic partner either if you’d like one.”

“I am not much of a dancer,” he excuses himself.

“We’ll see.” She winks at him. “Go and have fun!”

Edwin is not here to have fun. He has allowed the grandeur and nostalgia of the Palace to distract him. He is supposed to be doing his job, using this opportunity to run to earth the rogue magic user who has killed at least three people. All of whom have then ended up in the Agency’s office, unable to move on without justice. It is a troubling case and this is a rare chance to talk to people who normally he might struggle to get near.

Charles and Crystal though clearly want to enjoy the party and Edwin sees no reason to disappoint them. “You two go and dance, I will start asking questions,” he suggests, once they have deposited Crystal’s coat.

“We’re not just going to leave you.” Charles looks appalled. “I can be your wingman. I’ll find you someone aces to dance with!”

Crystal bursts out laughing. “Charles, I think the fact Edwin looks like he’s currently trying to swallow a lemon suggests that while he might have survived Hell he’s unconvinced he’ll make it through your wingmanning skills.”

“Hey! I’m a great wingman!” Charles protests.

“I am sure you are, Charles,” Edwin reassures him. “But I do not wish to dance. Thank you for the offer, it is much appreciated, but I would be very much happier if you left me to explore and took Crystal to the dance floor.”

“You sure?” Crystal asks.

“Positive,” Edwin snaps, wishing they would just go. Before he can chivvy them along however, the Duchess is back with Thomas by her side.

Edwin’s first thought is to remind himself that he is not here to socialise. His second is that the man looks unfairly attractive. The two cat monarchs make a glamorous pair. With the Duchess in her exquisitely cut tuxedo, mirroring the glimpse they’d got of her cat form, and Thomas in a sweeping, asymmetrical black skirt, slit high on one side to reveal black boots and fishnets, they look as though they purposefully coordinated. Perhaps they did.

Thomas’ top is fashioned of fine black lace, so well-fitting that it looks like someone spent hours painting the intricate design across his golden skin. Nothing long-sleeved and high-necked should be able to look so revealing, Edwin’s fairly sure he can see the outline of every last one of Thomas’ toned abdominals. A single glimmering onyx dangles from his ear, sparkling in the light. The only colour is a shimmer of antique gold across his eyelids, emphasising his amber gaze. His dark hair is artistically tousled, like he’s just got out of someone’s bed, and he looks more than a little breathtaking. Even in this room full of weird and wonderful, and often beautiful, creatures, he does rather stand out.

“Look who I found,” Duchess declares, smiling round at the three of them and displaying Thomas like a prize.

Charles looks like he’s about to, only half-playfully, suggest she lose him again, so Edwin intercedes to keep the peace. “Hello, Thomas. It is nice to see you.”

“You too, ghostie. Glad Duchess could drag you from your work.”

“Actually I am here to make some inquiries in relation to a case.” Edwin does not want to directly ask for permission, but he also does not want to simply assume that the Duchess will allow this, despite the words of the cat that had delivered their invite. Cat monarchs can after all be tricky.

“Oh, all work and no play!” Duchess chides.

Edwin can feel his posture stiffen at the laughter in her voice. It’s playful, he thinks, rather than mocking, but he’s never been fond of being laughed at. “I am afraid I am both good at, and comfortable with, dull.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

Edwin refuses to dispute with the woman. He’s reprieved from finding further argument though by Thomas admiring Crystal. “You look stunning, give me a twirl!” he insists.

Crystal, rolling her eyes, does in fact condescend to twirl, probably because she knows exactly how effective it is in the many layers of gauzy fabric.

Thomas gives a quiet whistle, which makes Crystal laugh and Charles look murderous. Edwin can feel a headache brewing. The room is busy and noisy and there are people everywhere. The elation he’d felt upon arrival is wearing extremely thin extremely quickly.

“I still have a few slots free on my dance card,” Thomas mentions casually, having finished admiring Crystal.

“Ah. Well we will not detain you, you must be wanting to find yourself some partners, and I am keen to get a look around.” Of course Thomas will not wish to waste his evening antagonising Charles or talking with Edwin. He is here to enjoy himself and there are likely endless options of people for him to do that with.

“You not looking to fill up your own?” Thomas asks.

“I cannot dance in any modern sense. Besides I have people to interview.”

“Come on,” Duchess sighs, sounding a little frustrated but not forbidding him to interview her guests. “I’ll take pity on you, Thomas.” She leads him away and Edwin thinks once again how well they fit together.

He turns back from the pair of them to find Crystal giving him a look. “Edwin, you do know he was hinting that he wanted to dance with you.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Crystal, he is not the hinting type, and he is not exactly short of options here. Thomas will have no trouble securing an appealing partner.”

“I doubt he’s ever short of options, and yet it’s you he’s always flirting with!” she says.

Charles knows him well enough to see how uncomfortable Edwin is becoming and steps in close. “Do you want to maybe look around outside? It might be less busy.”

“That is not very helpful when I am hoping to interview people, is it.” Edwin clenches his fists and schools his expression. He wants to accepts Charles’ offer, he loves him for making it, but he also knows what he should do. “Anyway, you two were going to dance.”

Charles looks unsure but their own Crystal Palace is every bit as glittering and gorgeous as the one they’re stood in, and Edwin is not surprised when his partner eventually leads her towards the dancing.

~*~*~*~

Edwin manages to question a few people, all of whom are very polite but look like they have no idea what on earth he’s thinking of in disturbing their evening. None of them have anything useful to say, and it’s barely a quarter of an hour before he finds himself watching from the edges of the dance floor. Charles is spinning Crystal, a look of joy on his face that makes Edwin’s soul ache a little bit because it’s not for him. It is one thing to wish for the two of them to be happy, and quite another to witness it.

Looking away, his eyes drift towards a different pair entirely. Thomas is still dancing with the Duchess, and once Edwin has seen them it is hard to take his eyes off them. They really do make a glamorous couple. Each stunning in their own unconventional way. She’s less typically attractive than Thomas, Edwin thinks, handsome rather than pretty, but she’s stylish and graceful with an aura of powerful self-assurance. There’s something panther-like in the way she moves, and indeed the handful of other cat monarchs he has identified as such all look and move like big cats, regal and dangerous in their perfect, sophisticated finery.

Thomas though, Edwin thinks with a smile, doesn’t quite fit their mould. The artlessly rumpled hair, the chunky boots and fishnets beneath the elegant skirt. That charmingly roguish little scar upon his upper lip. He looks like an alley cat amongst them, and Edwin has become unaccountably fond of alley cats in recent months.

“Good evening.”

His soft thoughts are interrupted by the polite greeting, and Edwin looks round to see a youngish blond man in top hat and tails. “Good evening,” he responds, uncertainly.

“Would you like to dance?” The man holds out a hand and Edwin draws back a little.

“No thank you. I am not dancing.”

“Oh come on. I know that longing look out towards the dance floor.” The man grins. “Don't worry, you’re perfectly safe with me.”

The man seems nice enough, his entire demeanour is unthreatening and his smile is friendly, but Edwin is not particularly reassured by strangers who claim he is safe with them. “Thank you, but no.” To forestall any further argument he walks determinedly away, hoping it doesn’t come across as rude.

~*~*~*~

Over the next half an hour Edwin works his way round a good portion of the building, talking to anyone who looks promising, but not really gaining any useful information. He is, he knows, not good at this, people are not his area of expertise. He’s tempted to give up, go outside and escape for a while, when he sees Charles and Crystal negotiating their way back towards him through the throng. Still anxious not to be ruled by his jealousy, Edwin grabs a glass of champagne from the nearby fountain for Crystal and heads to join them.

How he collides with someone Edwin’s not sure, but the room is busy and he isn’t paying enough attention and suddenly the champagne is spilt everywhere as a body bumps up against his own.

“Oh I’m so sorry...hey,” the voice alters in recognition, “It’s you. I didn’t catch your name before.” It is the man in the top hat who had asked him to dance. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, all my fault.”

“That is quite alright.” Edwin manages, with difficultly, to keep the annoyance from his tone. It was after all an accident.

“You ok, mate?” Charles reaches them and frowns in confusion at the spilt wine.

“It was my fault,” the man says. “I crashed into your friend.” He turns back to Edwin. “Let me get you another glass, I’m so sorry.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” Edwin insists. “It wasn’t for me anyway.”

“Well, how about I offer you a dance in recompense?”

The man offers his hand once more and Edwin stiffens further. “No. Thank you.” His tone brooks no argument and the man gives him a disappointed smile and backs away respectfully.

“Think he liked you, mate.” Charles grins at him. Why he had to choose now to be pleased by someone taking an interest in Edwin is one of life’s more irritating mysteries.

Edwin is feeling more and more out of sorts. “Charles, I am not here to socialise. I’m sorry Crystal, the drink was for you.”

Crystal has an odd look on her face which Edwin cannot interpret. “I can go get my own. You ok?”

“Of course I am ok.” Edwin’s not sure what she’s getting at, but refrains from asking.

Charles misses whatever exchange Crystal is trying to have with Edwin and all but bounces in excitement. “We found out something amazing!”

“You have made progress on the case?” Edwin cannot help feeling slightly inadequate that they have apparently managed more success than him without even trying, but progress is progress, no point being churlish about it.

“What?” Charles looks confused for a moment. “No, not that. You know the dinosaurs outside in the park?”

“The dinosaurs,” Edwin says, flatly.

“Yeah, you know the ones.”

Edwin does. He visited them in the park as a child, not knowing then that these statues of how people once believed the prehistoric creatures looked were in fact wildly inaccurate. They are rather charming though and he and Charles have seen them numerous times. He doesn’t quite see why Charles is suddenly so excited. “Of course I do, but what about them?”

“They’re moving!”

“Moving where?”

“No, like there’s some kind of magic and they’re moving!” Charles makes an endearing lolloping movement as though trying to impersonate the stride of a dinosaur. “Like just wandering back and forth a bit from what we heard, but how cool is that!”

“Brills,” Edwin deadpans, loathing himself even as he pours cold water on Charles’ dinosaur parade.

Charles looks crestfallen. “Are you ok, mate?” It is highly unusual for Edwin not to indulge his friend’s enthusiasms, but Edwin is struggling.

“I am fine, really.” He is not, but if he admits it he will not be able to carry on. “Are you and Crystal going to go and see them?”

“Why don’t we all go? You look like you could use a break.”

Charles is right, Edwin absolutely could use a break. How often though is Charles likely to get the opportunity to escort a pretty girl on a romantic stroll to see dinosaurs, which is one of the most Charles dates he can imagine.

“No,” Edwin decides. “You go. I want to keep asking questions.”

“You sure?” Warm brown eyes appeal for him to change his mind, but Edwin is implacable.

“Positive.”

As his friends disappear from view it is as if the blond man was simply waiting for them to depart, so swiftly is he back at Edwin’s side. “Your friends leaving?”

“They have just stepped outside,” Edwin corrects him. “Please, excuse me.”

“What’s the hurry?” The man places a gently restraining hand on his arm. Nothing Edwin couldn't shake off with ease, but it unsettles him enough to prevent him walking away.

“I wanted to speak with some of the guests. My colleagues and I are detectives and I am hoping to gain some leads on a case.” It seems best to make it clear to this man that he is not here to party.

“Oh, how exciting!”

Edwin sighs internally. He should have told the man he was a tax collector, now he has invited further conversation he does not want. “Not especially.” He considers ploughing thorough his list of questions with the man, but he’s reasonably sure he’ll be no help and he does not want to encourage chit chat.

“Come dance and you can tell me all about it.” The man gives him a winning smile, but Edwin is unswayed.

“Thank you, but I am not inclined to dance.” The requests are becoming increasingly tiresome.

However, for the first time that night, fortune chooses to shine on Edwin’s endeavours and there’s a roar of laughter from the dance floor (goodness knows the cause), which distracts the man’s attention sufficiently for Edwin to slip quietly away.

~*~*~*~

It feels like hours go by under the many-coloured lights and the numerous reflections of the giant mirror ball. A check on the time though reveals that Charles and Crystal have barely been gone an hour in their search for magically enhanced dinosaurs and other prehistoric wonders. Edwin wishes he’d gone with them now. He has acquired no useful information and has spent more time than he’d care to admit dodging the man in the top hat, who seems to show up at unexpected moments to accost him, always politely but persistently, about dancing. He’s lost sight of Thomas or the Duchess, and the few other people he knows in the crowd he never sees at anything but a distance.

When Charles and Crystal return they find him tucked in a corner, chatting to a young tabby about how they both agree it is much too busy. Embarrassing as it is to admit that he has utterly failed in his investigations, Edwin is undeniably pleased to see them both.

With Charles chattering happily about dinosaurs, and Crystal single-mindedly searching for canapés, Edwin follows the pair of them to the area near the bar where Crystal is kept happy via a seemingly endless parade of very attractive waiters bearing tray after tray of bite-sized indulgences.

“You should definitely go see the dinosaurs, mate, the plesiosaurs and all them lot are swimming about in the lake!”

“It was pretty cool,” Crystal agrees around a vol-au-vent. “There are little lights floating on the water too, it’s really pretty.”

“Perhaps I will go and look before we leave.” Likely he won’t, it is hardly a priority.

“We can all go,” Charles insists.

“Let me get some more food and have a dance to warm up first,” Crystal protests. “Some of us still feel the cold! It’s getting a bit chilly out there and this dress isn’t built for warmth.”

Edwin tunes out their conversation, happy simply to have them there. His top-hatted pursuer is nowhere in sight, and their corner is relatively quiet compared to the rest of the space. He can feel himself relax a little as the sounds of his friends’ voices wash over him. He is in a beautiful, impossible, building that he had thought he would never see again and he wants, if only for a moment, to enjoy that.

There are numerous cats milling around this end of the building, most hoping for titbits from the canapés, but one in particular catches Edwin’s attention as it meanders by. A majestic Siberian Forest cat with the typically long, silky-looking fur. “What a beautiful cat,” he murmurs, half to himself, too quietly (or so he thinks) to run any risk of being heard.

The ‘cat’ however turns back to look at him before transforming into an equally beautiful young man, tall and slender, with long dark hair framing a very appealing face. Golden eyes meet his in silent amusement.

Edwin could kick himself, he knows there are cat monarchs around, he should have been more careful in what he was saying. “Oh. I am sorry. I thought...”

The man holds up an elegant hand to halt his apology. “Only a fool would quarrel with a sincere compliment, freely given,” he says, soft voice bearing traces of a Russian accent. “Thank you.” He bows gracefully, then sweeps his eyes appreciatively over Edwin. “You are very handsome too. I like your bow tie.”

“Thank you,” Edwin manages faintly as the man gifts him with a fittingly lovely smile and carries on his way, not passing many paces before resuming his cat form.

Thomas, appearing as if from nowhere (making Edwin wonder if he’d been prowling about as a cat himself), is suddenly at his shoulder looking mildly indignant. “If you’re going to start eyeing up other cats, I am going to get jealous,” he says, visibly pouting.

“Don’t see how you have any right to be,” Charles points out.

Thomas looks sulky but mumbles, “Fair enough. At least you’ve got taste. For a guy who spends 90% of his time as a cat living in some snowy wasteland, he does scrub up well.”

“Who is he?” Crystal asks.

“One of the most reclusive of all of us. He’s one of what the rest of us tend to refer to as the ‘Russian Court’, though in reality they’re a group who all hate each other and you rarely find any of them within a 100 mile radius of any of the others.” He turns to Edwin. “Your new crush is decent though, if not the brightest. I can introduce you properly if you like,” he teases. “Though he’s more likely to want you to stroke his cheeks than to dance with him.”

Edwin smiles mischievously, mood unaccountably lightened by the strange cat monarch’s politely flattering admiration, and perhaps also by having Thomas back at his side along with Charles and Crystal. “Perhaps not,” he says, in a regretful tone. “I expect all that hair would be a nightmare to clean off the furniture.”

Thomas and Crystal laugh and Charles rolls his eyes. “What is it with you and cats, mate!”

“As I said,” Thomas repeats, “He has excellent taste. As do the cats.”

“Right.” Crystal brushes crumbs from her hands. “I want to dance for a bit, who’s coming with me?”

Charles happily takes her hand and turns to Edwin, though whether to ask him to excuse them or to join them Edwin doesn’t find out as Thomas puts in his own request first.

“Can I tempt you onto the dance floor, ghostie?”

Edwin smiles and shakes his head. “I am here to work, you enjoy yourself.” He is getting nowhere with work, at this point he’s not completely sure why he is refusing, but the break with his friends has fortified him and he feels comfortable enough to return to his efforts – even if they do prove fruitless.

Thomas looks disappointed but doesn't object when Edwin excuses himself. Charles and Crystal try to persuade him to join them, but that is a temptation far easier to refuse than Thomas is.

Edwin is out of sight of them all when a voice next to him says, laughingly, “Think you dodged a bullet there!”

Edwin turns, exasperated to see the man in the top hat once more. “Excuse me?”

“That guy’s only after one thing.” The man gestures back towards where Thomas had been. “It’s written all over his face, and I’d bet he’s not too fussy how he gets it. You can do so much better than that.”

Edwin suddenly has to remind himself that if he causes a scene he is likely to antagonise his second cat monarch in a year, and this one is very much more powerful than Thomas. Nothing but the desire to not upset London’s Cat Queen by disrupting her party could have held his temper in check. “Do you know the Cat King of Port Townsend personally then?” he asks, icily.

“I don’t need to, sweetheart.” The endearment rankles in a way that Thomas’ never do. “I know the type.”

“I am not sure that you do.” Edwin fights to keep his voice level.

“Aw, come on,” the man wheedles. “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Thank you.” Edwin can feel his posture snap into the haughtily upright pose he has so often been told makes him appear arrogant, and which only Charles ever seems to clock as extreme discomfort. “But I can look out for myself.”

The man grins, undeterred. “That’s fair. You’re clearly too smart to fall for a guy like that. I mean look at you.” He gestures at Edwin’s outfit, and smiles approvingly. “A bit quirky perhaps, but I think we can allow that at a party like this. You’re still within the bounds of appropriate.” There’s a self-satisfied smirk and a moment where the man seems to be inviting Edwin to laugh with him at his own ‘quirky’ dress sense. Edwin remains silent. “And then look at him, that ridiculous skirt,” the man whispers the word like an obscenity. “I mean he’s barely dressed at all, let alone dressed appropriately,” he sneers.

A flush of fury overcomes Edwin, and he grinds out, “I like it.” Eloquence entirely failing him.

The man chuckles indulgently. “Now you’re just being contrary. Of course you don’t really like it. No one decent would.”

The words of the fire spell are burning Edwin’s tongue and he does not trust himself to speak.

“Come on now, one dance. Stop teasing me! It’s rude to make a gentleman keep asking, you know,” the man chides.

Edwin rarely struggles for what to say, words have always been his choice of weapon, be they magical or not, but the sheer effrontery has him all but speechless. A movement from the man to catch at his hand though snaps his brain back into gear.

“I do not require a lecture on manners,” he says, stepping back smartly. “I was taking lessons in etiquette before you were born, and so luckily I can be of assistance to you with regards to the parts you appear have missed or to have misunderstood. No one would have been deemed rude in my day for politely refusing the offer of a dance partner, especially someone who had made it clear that they did not intend to dance at all. However a man who asked the same person repeatedly, despite being refused, would have been considered quite ill-bred. A far worse breach of etiquette than that though is passing comment upon the dress or personal appearance of other guests in a derogatory fashion, as though one were a low-rent gossip columnist but without any of the wit.”

To Edwin’s bewilderment the man laughs. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I like a bit of fire, keeps things interesting. I know you're just trying to rile me. You uptight ones always like playing hard to get.”

“Did you hear a word that I just said?”

“You’ve been on your own all night,” the man sing-songs with a mocking smile. “You’re gonna say yes to me eventually.”

“No, I assure you, I am not.” Edwin is shaking with rage as he walks away. He identifies the nearest person who is not mid-conversation (an elegant looking middle aged woman with eyes an unnatural shade of green) and accosts her determinedly about the case.

The woman is more receptive, and acts more interested, than anyone else so far, which puzzles Edwin as she has very little useful to say on the matter. Then he sees her watching his insistent would-be dance partner until he wanders away, and Edwin realises she thinks he is using speaking with her as an excuse to escape the man. Which is not entirely untrue.

~*~*~*~

As the evening wears on the music changes, becomes a little quieter and calmer, electronic beats giving way to lush strings and tinkling piano. Edwin may be engaged upon a fruitless errand but he is starting to relax again, almost to enjoy himself. The guests are not terribly helpful but they are cordial towards him, and away from unwanted advances he is able to appreciate the beauty of the impossible building and even to think that the colourful lights might be an improvement upon the original design.

He’s lost all sight of Charles and Crystal, but in a way that is almost a help. Much as he enjoyed the compliment from the Russian cat monarch, and much more enjoyed admiring Thomas, there is still a pang at seeing his friends becoming something more to each other. Jealousy is easier to fight down than loneliness. He would have liked Charles to look at him the way he does Crystal, Edwin cannot deny that, but there is also a growing sense that he’d just like somebody to share a moment with, or perhaps even a dance. Which is ridiculous as he has turned down two, very, different men who offered just that. Whilst not even the prospect of closing a case would make him say yes to the man who had insulted Thomas, part of him does wonder why he’d been so quick to turn Thomas himself down. It was after all just a dance.

It is not though, to him. Edwin knows people often make assumptions about him, and he is long past attempting to present some sanitised, idealised version of himself in a forlorn hope of preventing said assumptions. There is a difference though between being intentionally heedless of what people may think of him when going about his daily life, and the unique exposure of stepping out onto a crowded dance floor with another man. He remembers saying to Thomas that while he had come to accept himself, fully coming to terms was going to require more time.

How much time, he now wonders. How long does he have to stand looking on, apparently ‘longingly’, at the metaphorical dance floor? Would it be pleasant to dance with Thomas? It seems a pointless question, as the only logical answer is he’d have to try it in order to know. Which he refused to do.

The music playing now is familiar, in the way of something he’d heard when he was alive. A waltz. Just for a moment he remembers learning to waltz with his sister, whirling her round as she insisted that he dance with her instead of reading his book. She’d been six years older than him, too much of a gap in both age and personality to be particularly close, but suddenly he remembers laughing with her as they danced and it brings a soft smile to his lips. Even at the time he’d never really imagined himself dancing at an actual party of any kind. He does though have opportunities now he could never have had then, if he weren’t too wary to avail himself of them.

Edwin shakes himself free of his introspection and pulls his eyes from where they have strayed to the dance floor. As he turns back to the mingling crowd behind him though he sees a familiar top hat bearing down on him, the man’s expression darkly purposeful, and Edwin knows he doesn’t have it in him to refuse politely one more time.

He seriously contemplates simply setting the man’s hat on fire, but that might cause a scene. He glances around desperately for a more diplomatic option and his eyes light on Thomas, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, sipping champagne and watching the dancers. Perhaps he never did manage to fill up his dance card.

Or perhaps Crystal was right and he was simply hinting he wanted to dance with Edwin when he said that. The anger he’d felt when the other man had insulted Thomas, still running red hot through him, is joined by a deep frustration that he somehow felt he couldn't allow himself something as innocuous as a dance with a handsome man, whose company he is decidedly fond of.

“Bugger this,” Edwin mutters. He needs to be proactive. He knows exactly what he wants and he no longer cares who thinks he’s wrong for it.

He strides over crossly and thrusts out his hand. “I require your assistance.” It is, even by Edwin’s standards, a graceless offer, more of a demand, but Thomas just smiles at him like he’s graciously requested the pleasure of dancing with him as he should have done.

“Anything you need, ghostie.” Thomas discards his glass and places his hand in Edwin’s. “I’m all yours.” Then he smirks irritatingly. “Want me to lead?”

“Certainly not. This I know how to do.” He does. He’d been slightly nervous he’d have forgotten it all, but from the moment he makes his (probably overly formal by today’s standards) bow, muscle memory takes over and it’s the easiest thing in the world to guide Thomas in a playful waltz. It helps that Thomas is a surprisingly good partner, body perfectly in tune with Edwin’s, moving in marvellous synchronicity.

“You are very good at this,” Edwin says, feeling unaccountably shy now the frustrated adrenaline that had driven him to demand Thomas dance with him has worn off. The feeling of the intricate lace as the only thing separating his hand from the warm skin of Thomas’s waist causing him to fight back a blush.

Thomas however seems perfectly comfortable. “So are you, ghostie. You’ve been hiding this talent from me.”

“I have not danced in a very long time. I confess I was a little uncertain I would remember how.”

“Well clearly you had nothing to worry about.”

Edwin basks in Thomas’ warm assurance. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he does at least know how to waltz. It is nice to know he remembers how because he’d never had chance to really put the lessons into practice, to dance with someone more exciting than his sister. He supposes that if he’d lived he never would have. He could not have done this, danced publicly with another man, in 1916.

He almost didn’t do it now. Edwin can’t quite believe that he did, that he is, that there is a stunningly beautiful man in his arms following him around the dance floor with a very pleased smile on his handsome face.

It is an expression apparently mirrored on his own, as Thomas murmurs, “You’re smiling, ghostie.”

Edwin doesn’t bother to argue. “I am enjoying dancing.” He doesn’t add ‘with you’, but knowing Thomas he will assume it anyway.

“So am I.” Thomas certainly looks like he is, his smile is warm and fond and he keeps looking at Edwin with those beautiful golden eyes as though he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. Which is ridiculous and undoubtedly not the case, but at least Edwin hasn’t selfishly dragged him to dance when he did not wish to. Though it’s hard to think of another reason Thomas hadn’t already been dancing, he is very clearly one of the handsomest and most exquisitely dressed men in attendance. If he’d wanted to be on the dance floor he’d certainty not have needed to wait for Edwin’s invitation.

“You look very nice tonight.” Normally he would not wish to stroke Thomas’ absurd ego, but it feels important to say it now. He needs to counteract in some way the objectionable remarks of the other man regarding Thomas’ appearance. He needs to make it clear to the universe, or at least himself, that he could not agree less with the asinine boor.

“Why, thank you.” Thomas flutters his eyelashes teasingly at the compliment. “You’re looking stunning like always.”

“I think you mean that I look like always.” For all the truth there was in his remarks to Crystal about not wanting to spend an evening focussed on his clothes, part of Edwin does think it might have been nice to dress up a bit.

Thomas looks serious however as he fixes him with those intriguing eyes and insists, “I know what I mean, ghostie.”

Thomas’ hand is distractingly warm in his, and Edwin doesn’t trust himself to continue batting the compliment aside. Perhaps if he can accept (or semi-demand) a dance with Thomas, then he can take a compliment from him.

As they continue their progress around the dance floor, an idle fancy crosses his mind, only to take root and refuse to be dismissed. Well, Edwin thinks, he is in the wrong place to be dismissing fanciful notions after all. The entire venue is a fantasy of things long gone, brought into today and tweaked for modern tastes. Why not indulge a little further than he already has?

It is a risk, he wasn’t taught this, but he thinks he can pull it off well enough. Thomas is a very receptive partner, moving in time at the slightest touch, and Edwin thinks he’ll like the drama of it, so as the music comes to the final bars he slows them and Thomas seems to catch on immediately. He makes the dip low, banking on Thomas’ feline balance to help maintain the pose. It is startlingly easy. Their form is probably far from perfect but the move feels graceful and simple, Thomas holding much of his own weight and Edwin able to easily support him.

The man smiles up at him with a look of pure, infectious joy. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” Edwin responds stupidly, holding Thomas in the dip a few moments longer than he probably should while he tries to remember what he was doing.

He’s a little relieved to get them both firmly upright again without incident, and he’s fairly sure his cheeks are tinted more than a little red.

Thomas looks him over as he guides him from the floor and smiles fondly. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”

“I do not...”

“Breathe,” Thomas interrupts. “I know. And you know what I mean.”

“I do. You are quite right, some fresh air would be appreciated.” The room feels more crowded than ever. For a moment while dancing he could almost have forgotten anyone else was there at all, but now the crowd comes flooding back into his consciousness. Edwin hesitates, torn. “I cannot simply leave without telling Charles and Crystal however.”

Thomas conjures up a cat so fast that Edwin’s not sure if he uses magic to do it. “Can you give your mistress a message?”

“Of course.” The cat, a pretty tabby with white socks, waits obediently.

“Tell her to inform Edwin’s friends that he and I have stepped out to look at the park and we’ll be back in a bit.”

The cat gives a soft mew of acknowledgement and is off on its way.

“Will she..?” Edwin is unsure that the Cat Queen of London is likely to appreciate being tasked as a messenger pigeon.

“She’ll tell them.” Thomas grins. “She likes you. You seem to make a habit of making a conquest of Cat Monarchs.”

“I couldn’t possibly comment.” Edwin is still feeling too self-conscious to properly respond to Thomas’ customary teasing.

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

The room feels hot and sticky in a way he cannot literally feel, but there’s a sensory memory of what it is like to be in a crowd and Edwin can feel his fists pressed tightly together. He nods. “Yes. Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Outside, the night is clear and still. Edwin can almost close his eyes and convince himself he can feel the cool air in lungs he no longer has.

“Better?” Thomas asks.

“Much,” Edwin admits. “I do not do well in crowds.”

“I’m not actually thrilled by them myself.”

“Really?” Edwin had never considered it before, but Thomas is certainly not often found in the company of many people.

“I like them well enough sometimes,” Thomas says. “But there’s a reason I don’t attend many of these things. I got bored with all that a long time ago.”

Edwin’s curiosity is piqued. “You do not usually attend?”

“No.”

“Then why did you attend this one?”

Thomas hesitates. He covers it well, but Edwin detects a definite hesitation before he answers. “Duchess asked, and I didn’t think it wise to refuse after the whole trespassing incident. I’m not sorry I came though.” He does not elaborate why.

Instead Thomas makes a gesture with his elbow and looks significantly at Edwin. “If we’re going to promenade are you gonna offer me your arm like a gentleman?”

Edwin huffs but decides why not? If it’s an evening to indulge in things he could not possibly have done had he lived, why not continue? He offers his arm with a wry smile. “Are you going to behave like a gentleman?”

“Oh please, I barely know how to behave at all!” Thomas winks roguishly.

Edwin sighs, wondering what he has let himself in for, but he does not retract his arm as they set off across the grass, following a trail of tiny, many-coloured lights.

Perhaps, Edwin thinks, he has no business critiquing Thomas’ behaviour without offering some redress for his own manners. “I must apologise for the abrupt way in which I asked you to dance.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re sexy when you’re bossy. I like you all dominant and authoritative.” Thomas gives him a sidelong glance from under his long dark lashes. “So could you just not wait to get me in your arms, or was there something else behind that sudden impulse?”

“There was a man,” Edwin will not term him a gentleman, “Who kept asking me to dance. I did not think I could politely refuse one more time, and you were unengaged.”

Thomas looks a little downcast. “Right. Not so much that you wanted to dance with me, as you just needed to get him off your back. Glad I could be of assistance.”

Edwin has, unintentionally, been rude again. “Part of the reason I could not politely refuse one more time,” he attempts to explain, “Was his attitude. He saw you ask me to dance earlier and proceeded to make some remarks...”

“What kind of remarks?” Thomas interrupts, concern for Edwin palpable. “What did he say to you? Do I need to feed him to the cats?” He grimaces. “Is it too soon for that joke?”

“I suspect,” Edwin says, holding back a smile, “That, as the one who was hurt, it is your decision whether or not it is too soon to be flippant about such things, but I am happy to have you clarify that it was a joke.”

“It’s only a joke until you say yes. Then he’s cat food.”

Edwin should not feel so pleased by that. He does not feel in need of saving, but he gets a warm feeling similar to when he saw the destruction at Esther’s house. It’s the same as when Charles swings his cricket bat about in Edwin’s defence. Edwin does not need defending, but it is rather wonderful having people who think you deserve to be defended.

“It wasn’t really what he said about me,” Edwin clarifies. “He was simply rather pushy. He made remarks about you, about what you were wearing being inappropriate...only I don’t think he simply meant ‘inappropriate’...” Edwin finds himself torn in frustration at not having the words to explain what the man was clearly expressing, while having no wish to repeat any of it.

Luckily Thomas does not need an explanation. “Oh, I know exactly what he meant.” He gives a wry smile. “I’ve heard it all before, kitten, it doesn’t bother me.”

“It bothered me.” Edwin frowns, fists clenching and shoulders tense. “So much has changed since I was alive and yet, with all the things that didn’t endure, attitudes like that thrive.”

Thomas places his free hand atop Edwin’s arm, which he is still holding in a very proper fashion, and kneads gently as though to loosen up the muscles. In truth it does dispel a little of the tension. “Not like they used to,” Thomas says quietly. “It may not be all pride and rainbows, but the world is certainly less shitty in that respect than it was when you were alive.”

Edwin nods. He does see the truth of that, but sometimes he does not feel it.

“Do you know who he was?” Thomas asks. “Because Duchess would have no patience for that bullshit. She’d likely fight me for the honour of getting to feed him to her cats.”

Edwin shakes his head. “I was hardly about to ask for his name, I was not seeking to further the acquaintance.” Fury courses through him once more as he recalls the man’s expression when speaking of Thomas. “He was an imbecile,” Edwin finds himself blurting out. “You look wonderful.”

“Aww, you’ll make me blush, kitten.”

“I doubt that.” Edwin smirks. “You are well aware of your own charms.”

“Still nice to hear you admit you’re aware of them.”

Edwin’s need to get the last word nearly does him in, as he has to bite back a retort along the lines of ‘I am not blind!’ Instead he fixes his eyes back on where the coloured lights are leading them and attempts to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Well, that said, I do not wish to give that uncouth cretin any more of my time and attention. I would rather continue our,” he smiles in mild bemusement at the situation, “Promenade.”

“Anything you like,” Thomas says. “So, out of interest, was that the first time you’d danced with a man?”

“Yes, it was.” Edwin feels oddly pleased with himself. He may have gone about it in slightly the wrong way, for slightly the wrong reasons, but it did work out rather well.

Thomas smiles, like he can read his thoughts. “Then I’m honoured.”

He sounds like he means it, which leaves Edwin with no idea of what to say in return. Thomas simply leans in closer, fully linking their arms.

They meander through paths of fairy lights, passing a few other party-goers, but everyone else seems to be headed back towards the Palace. The lake, when they reach it, is all but deserted. Deserted of party-goers anyway.

“The fuck are those things?” Thomas stares out across the lake.

Edwin laughs. “Did the Duchess not tell you about this?”

“Duchess barely tells me anything, she just tells me off,” Thomas sulks, amusingly.

“Charles and Crystal came down here earlier, they said that the statues had been enchanted to move. Though I must admit, even forewarned, they make for quite a confronting sight.”

If seeing the Crystal Palace was like seeing a ghost, then watching these improbable sculptures wandering and swimming about is a little like watching zombies. Edwin would know - Case of the Zombie Bride, 1999, not the best way to close out the millennium but certainly a memorable one. The sculptures have not been made to look like fully living creatures, they look exactly as they always do (complete with various pieces of damage and decay), they are simply statues that now move. The effect is rather uncanny, but actually quite brills. Edwin can see why Charles was so excited by the sight.

There are floating lights on the lake, which the swimming Plesiosaurs and Ichthyosaurs are playing with, nudging them with pointed snouts or batting them with long crocodile-like tails. None of the creatures are fighting each other, or attempting to leave the lake area around the small islands.

Edwin glances toward Thomas to see the man looking more confused than ever. “So this park normally has the world’s weirdest sculpture garden or something..?”

“They are the Crystal Palace dinosaurs! Though obviously they are not all dinosaurs,” Edwin says. “There are also prehistoric mammals, amphibians, and marine reptiles represented.”

“Obviously. Come on, ghostie, you like explaining things! Explain what the fuck I’m looking at! ’Cause, honestly, the fact those things are moving is kinda the least weird thing about them!”

“They are a series of sculptures dating from the 1850s, designed to show people what long-extinct, prehistoric creatures looked like. They were a tourist attraction,” Edwin says. “They still are. When the Crystal Palace was resituated here from it’s original Hyde Park site, the whole park was designed as a commercial amusement. It was even landscaped by Joseph Paxton. Though the Palace and much of the original park landscaping are gone, the dinosaur islands have remained very much the same over time.”

“Huh.” Thomas looks transfixed by the scene before them. “They are deeply weird.”

Edwin supposes he shouldn't really have expected Thomas to take an interest in such oddities just because they fascinate him, but it is disappointing. Thomas shivers suddenly and Edwin thinks perhaps it would be best all round if they turned back, it is likely getting cold.

However there’s a sudden shimmer of purple in the air and then Thomas is left wearing a cosy black fur stole about his shoulders. He sits down on a nearby bench, without, Edwin notes, ever taking his eyes off the statues. Thinking that perhaps he has read the man wrong, Edwin perches beside him. Careful to leave an appropriately decorous gap between them, he is still hyper-aware of the brush of Thomas’ voluminous velvet skirt against his knee as it falls open to bare Thomas’ fishnet-clad thigh.

Thomas though is for once paying him little heed. “Is this really what they looked like?” He squints and tips his head at a 45 degree angle, in a manner so like every confused animal Edwin has ever seen that he cannot help but chuckle.

The other man misunderstands his amusement and protests. “Well I’m not that old, how am I supposed to know!”

“They are not very accurate at all, I am afraid,” Edwin admits. “In fairness to their makers, they did not have the advantage of later finds that made it clearer how these creatures might have looked. They strike me as a good guess for their age. I think they’re brilliant,” he adds quietly.

“They’re pretty fun, I must admit.”

“I loved them as a child.”

“Yeah?” Thomas pulls his attention from the lumbering Megalosaurus and turns to look at Edwin with a grin. “I bet you were a cute kid. Probably knew all their names and what eras they came from even then.”

“I do not really recall. I do not have a lot of specific memories of my life, especially from when I was young. It is more images, impressions. I remember the Crystal Palace and the dinosaurs, and I remember enjoying them very much. I do not even remember who brought me here though. A nanny perhaps. Or possibly my parents, but that seems less likely.” Lost in his reverie Edwin does not notice Thomas sliding closer, until he speaks.

“Duchess was telling me how happy you looked, when you saw the Palace. Think she was quite moved actually.”

Edwin surprises himself by not flinching. He does not like people coming unexpectedly into his personal space, but when Thomas’ voice had alerted him to how close the man was it had not been alarm that had coursed through him. “It is silly I suppose, but for a moment it was like having a piece of my life back.”

Thomas’ gaze is impossibly soft and tender. “That’s not silly, Edwin.”

“One of the things about my time in Hell, that really should pale in comparison with the horrors of the rest and yet does not, is I missed so much.” Edwin tries to explain what he has very rarely said to anyone. “I came back to a world that wasn’t mine anymore. Everyone familiar was gone, and so many things I would have imagined standing for centuries,” he gestures vaguely back towards the Palace, too far away to see through the trees, “Did not last.”

An arm slips around his shoulders and he gives Thomas a sharp look.

“Relax, I’m not putting a move on you. I’m being sympathetic.”

Thomas’ expression is hardly innocent, but Edwin decides to give him the benefit of the doubt and does not pull away.

“Your experience is pretty unique,” Thomas says. “A lot of ghosts struggle seeing the world they knew move on and change over time. You didn’t get any chance to adjust and mourn though, did you.”

“I do not know which is more difficult. I cannot imagine watching everything you once knew change and die by degrees every day.” He has watched Charles have to face that and seen first-hand the pain that it can cause. “But I will admit to feeling bereft when I realised how much I had lost without ever knowing it. I did not know how long I had been in Hell when I got out, time loses any meaning there, but I did not think it could possibly be as long as it had. It felt like a lifetime, but I did not think it had literally been one.”

The arm around his shoulders tightens, and Edwin allows himself to accept the silent sympathy for a long moment. It has been a long night, with very mixed results. He is unaccustomed to allowing people to touch him though, and it doesn’t take long for his shoulders to stiffen under the Cat King’s warm arm.

Thomas must notice him tense up, but he doesn’t call attention to it. He raises his arm from around Edwin's shoulders to point up at the treetops. “Is that a prehistoric bat?”

“What?” Edwin looks up, glad of the distraction, and is slightly awed by the sight of one of the statues in flight. “No, that’s a pterosaur! Or at least it’s what the 1850s thought a pterosaur looked like.”

Almost as though the creature knows it has an audience, the Pterosaur swoops down towards the lake in a swift, graceful motion, like a kingfisher spotting a stickleback.

“Come on.” Thomas stands up. “You still need to tell me exactly what these things all are. Let’s finish this prehistoric nature walk of ours. I want the full tour.”

Edwin is only too happy to oblige.

~*~*~*~

It is very late by the time they head back up towards the Palace. Edwin can already hear Charles’ lecture, and Crystal’s inappropriate comments, when they discover he has been alone in the dark grounds with Thomas for so long.

In truth though, Thomas is closer to acting like a gentleman than he thinks either of them would believe. Perhaps not in any traditional sense; he flirts like other people breath, instinctively and in order to live. He is surprisingly considerate though, since Edwin had tensed under his arm he has not touched him again - aside from brief taps on Edwin’s arm to frantically draw his attention to the giant ground sloth with a ‘seriously, tell me that was never real!’ He listens with apparent interest as Edwin talks, asking often amusing questions and distracting Edwin nicely from his gloomier thoughts on the night. He is a very pleasing companion.

As the Palace comes into view in the distance, glowing beautifully in the dark night, Edwin finds himself saying quietly. “I am glad I went back to Port Townsend that day. I...” he hesitates, unused to expressing himself like this. “I am grateful for your friendship.”

Thomas’ expression is a little unknowable but he smiles. “I’m glad you came back too. I hope you keep coming back. I appreciate your friendship as well, and not just for that pretty face of yours.” He winks. “I had a lovely time this evening, you make for a very dashing partner.”

“You are capable of being somewhat charming yourself.”

“Somewhat?”

Edwin smirks at him. “Overall, I have had a pleasant evening too. Though I entirely failed in my main purpose tonight, which is rather galling.”

“What was that? And why wasn’t it dancing with me?”

Edwin chooses to ignore the latter question. He even more firmly chooses to ignore the part of him that pipes up to say that maybe, given how enjoyable it was, dancing with Thomas should have been his main goal. “There is someone killing people with magic across central London, his victims have been unable to move on without justice. We have been trying to track him down, I had hoped that a gathering like this might produce some useful information. That is why I was interviewing people.”

“You’re after a dodgy magic user.”

“Please do not point out that those are ten a penny! This one is beyond the usual charlatan or hoodlum.”

“Actually what I was going to point out, before you jumped in, was that maybe I can help there.”

Edwin frowns. “How?”

“I had an interesting chat with a rather charming woman I danced with earlier.”

That should not make Edwin feel jealous.

“She talked about an ex-boyfriend whose use of magic had been getting increasingly concerning,” Thomas continues. “And increasingly powerful. She was mostly complaining that with all this power he seemed to be amassing he still couldn’t surprise her with flowers, chocolates and/or the skulls of her enemies, but she did slip in a few worrying details.”

“Such as?” Edwin has his notebook instantly in hand.

“He’d been gathering power with some kind of artefact, might be a book or something, previously used by a witches coven she thought he’d said, and which he seemed to have stolen from a museum.” Thomas grins. “Yeah, I thought that would make you scowl. Never mind him killing people, I bet you have no mercy at all for those who steal from educational institutions!”

“Stop teasing, keep talking,” Edwin instructs, without looking up from his notes.

“Ooh, there’s that dominant streak again.” A sharp look from Edwin makes Thomas adopt a more serious tone and get back to the point. “She said she found a woman’s cardigan at his place, thought he was cheating on her but did also mention that there was blood on it. She also said he had a room with a padlock on the door that he forbade her to go near. I don’t know if he’s your guy, but he certainly sounded like a creep.”

“He might well be worth investigating. Do you have a name?”

“John.” Thomas shrugs. “I know, not much to go on. If it helps she said he was ‘as bland as his name’, at least aside from the messing about with magic. She also mentioned he was based in Soho.”

Edwin’s pen stills. “One of the victims worked in Soho, another was found dead in that vicinity. Was there anything else?”

Thomas turns his palms up in a ‘that’s all I’ve got’ gesture. “Sorry, she wasn’t that interesting so I didn’t ask a lot questions.”

Edwin reminds himself that he does not care whether or not Thomas found the woman interesting.

“Thank you, that may be very helpful. I think we should concentrate our efforts around Soho, the victims all had only very hazy memories of what had happened. I can also cross reference with museum thefts from the last few years and see if there are any likely ones with known suspects.” Edwin is so busy scribbling that Thomas has to steer him around a tree, having apparently forgotten that, as a ghost, he would simply pass straight through it.

“Thank you,” Edwin smiles. “However I would have just phased through. I am being awfully rude I suppose, paying more attention to my notes than to you...”

“No, no, I get it,” Thomas interrupts in a playfully wounded tone. “You’ve got what you wanted, you’ve used me, and now you’ll cast me aside.”

“Yes,” Edwin responds drily. “Of course.”

Before Thomas can continue to perform his mock-offence, a familiar voice, tinged with relief, calls out to them. “There you are!”

“Oh, hello Charles. Crystal.”

Crystal, stood beside Charles and doing something on her phone, rolls her eyes. “He’s been dying to chase after you for the last half hour.” Edwin feels unaccountably grateful to Crystal for preventing this.

“We went to see the dinosaurs,” he explains.

“Yeah, Edwin’s been giving me the full tour.” How, Edwin would like to know, does Thomas manage to make that sound quite so inappropriate?!

Crystal snorts and turns to Charles. “You happy now? He’s fine!”

Charles does not look happy, he and Thomas are eyeing each other in a concerning manner. Edwin steps in before either one of them can make things more difficult than they already are. “I am in fact perfectly fine. I do apologise for losing track of the time. Have you been wanting to get home, Crystal?”

She scoffs. “This is still early compared to a lot of the parties I’ve been to.” Then she yawns and admits, “I am out of practice though. I’ve not danced so much in ages.”

Neither had Edwin, a thought which he can feel bring colour to his cheeks.

“Right, well, best we all say goodnight and head off!” Charles says briskly.

Thomas rolls his eyes at the not-so-subtle dismissal and offers Edwin a graceful bow. “Thank you for your company, Edwin. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He winks, and is gone in a puff of violet smoke.

Edwin will not admit even to himself how sorry he is to see him go. It has been a very pleasant evening, more so than he could have anticipated. A final glance back at the impossible palace though, and Edwin resolves to leave fancies behind him. It is all very well to forget oneself and play pretend for an evening, but it is a fleeting pleasure and one best not overindulged.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

“So, you can dance.” It is three days since the party and Edwin has the impression that Crystal has been waiting for this moment. For Charles to be out following up a lead while she and Edwin conducted their own respective kinds of research back in the office.

Edwin decides that he will humour her. “Not really by today’s standards, but I could once.”

“You seemed to be doing well. So did the Cat King.” She grins at him.

“Yes. He is, unsurprisingly, light on his feet,” Edwin says. “Being a cat.”

Crystal makes a little humming sound and raises her eyebrows; and, honestly, why does she feel the need to express herself like that, why can she not just say things or else be quiet? Edwin shakes his head. “I only asked him to dance in order to escape being asked for the umpteenth time by someone else, who was not apparently keen to accept my demurral.”

“Was some guy harassing you?” Crystal puts her phone down and gives him a concerned look. “Was it that guy in the top hat?”

She really is alarmingly perceptive sometimes. “It was him,” Edwin concedes. “I am not sure I would term it harassment, but I did find him hard to elude.”

“Edwin, ‘won’t take no for an answer’ sounds like classic harassment to me. Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

“Because I am fully capable of handling such things by myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” she says, not rising to his sharp tone. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

Edwin sighs. “I did not need Charles swinging a cricket bat around. I was having enough trouble remaining diplomatic myself, without having to hold someone else back.”

Crystal snorts in what sounds like a burst of dark humour. “Welcome to what every woman becomes all too familiar with, the enteral dilemma of how to politely turn down a dickhead without ‘causing a scene’.”

“Quite.” Edwin doesn’t really know how to respond. “I am very sorry you have had to encounter such men. If you ever require any assistance then I would be happy to help.” He sighs again, realising that that is exactly the offer she was making him. “Perhaps I should have asked you, but I had no wish to interrupt your evening. In the end asking Thomas to dance seemed a good diplomatic solution.”

“The only thing some men understand, another man’s prior claim.”

Edwin grimaces. “Well it was that or setting his hat on fire.”

Crystal snort laughs and looks on him with approval. “That I’d pay to see!”

It’s nice laughing with her. Their friendship is growing easier over time, and if Charles had to fall for a living girl then Edwin can see why it would be this one. Perhaps carried away by the moment, he even admits, “I am glad I was provoked into dancing though, it was pleasant.”

Her eyes are instantly alight with mischief. “Dancing was pleasant, or dancing with Thomas was pleasant?”

Crystal is right, annoyingly so. Of course getting Thomas in his arms was ‘pleasant’, what else was it going to be. He’s not blind and he’s not immune to the man’s many charms. Thomas is gorgeous and extremely appealing, and Edwin has been repressed for a very long time. Of course he enjoyed himself.

The irritating perception makes itself known again, as Crystal seems to intuit his discomfort and gently insists, “You’re allowed to have fun, Edwin.”

“We have work to do.” Conversation over.

Crystal rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone, via which she can apparently access back copies of all the nation’s newspapers – or something like that, she did explain but he’d been intent upon his own research. It does seem simpler than scrolling through endless microfiche reels, but Edwin can’t pretend he understands how it works.

Meanwhile he is ransacking his books for a spell he is sure he has seen somewhere, but cannot remember where, a way to dowse for traces of magic. Not usually a useful spell in a city like London, which Edwin is coming to the conclusion is being largely held together by magic, but if their suspect has been experimenting with large amounts of magical power somewhere within the boundaries of Soho, then it might be possible to get an indication that is actually some use. If Edwin can find the spell.

Crystal is successful before he is. “Hey, come look at this.”

Edwin peers distrustfully at the small bright screen she suddenly waves under his nose. There is an article from a regional newspaper about a break-in at a museum of witchcraft in South West England. He levels her with an unimpressed look. “Any chance of this in a more reasonable format?” He has no idea how she can tolerate reading anything on a screen no more than six by two and half inches in size.

Crystal rolls her eyes but pulls her laptop computer from her bag and opens it up. Within a few minutes they’re both sat on the sofa scrolling through the article. Well, Crystal is in charge of the scrolling.

A minor break-in, local kids blamed, nothing ever proven, very little taken. For a moment Edwin thinks Crystal’s got over-excited by the term ‘witchcraft’, but then he reads a quote from the disgruntled museum manager. “Little buggers didn’t get much, reckon they wanted the takings but I’d banked everything that afternoon so they’d have been sorely disappointed. Went for a lucky dip among the displays, suspect they were after stuff that they could sell...a silver amulet with semi-precious stones, carved goblet, a focussing crystal, and a couple of books. What books?” Edwin says frustratedly, skimming the rest of the article, pleased to see the journalist (who seems to display an unseemly level of amusement at the idea of this theft) asking ‘if they were spell books’. “Minor Arcana Volume VII – oh, I’ve been looking for that one for years!” The next book slightly dampens his enthusiasm. “Transmogrification Vitalem Potestas: From Vital Force to Power Source. Bloody hell.”

“What’s that?” Crystal asks.

“Not a book I’m familiar with, and I don’t think much of the author’s Latin, but that title suggests it is a book on how to use a person’s life-force as raw power. Somebody else’s life-force, naturally.”

“Like Esther was doing to you?”

He represses a shudder. “I suspect not. Esther was getting power from my pain. She didn’t actually want to destroy me, it was in her interests to keep me in existence. Given the ghosts we have encountered, I’d say this book is about intentionally draining someone’s life to steal their ‘energy’ for want of a better word. It is theoretically possible I suppose, human beings are creatures of energy just like ghosts are and energy cannot be destroyed. So you kill the person, the energy remains and if you had some way to capture and store it...well it would go a long way to make up for a limited magical talent, and be absolutely devastating in the hands of a proficient. I think it’s closer to what Esther was doing with those little girls, just with a different end use. I suspect this man isn’t seeking eternal youth, from what Thomas reported the ex-girlfriend saying. He just wants power.”

“You think this is our guy then, whoever robbed this museum?”

“It is a working theory. Let us hope Charles has found something useful. I must get back to researching that spell. It has to be in one of my books.”

Crystal looks around the room with a grim expression. “Oh good, you’ll totally find it by Christmas then!”

Edwin will not admit that she has a point. There is of course no such thing as too many books.

~*~*~*~

A few days later Edwin has found his spell, and Charles has chatted with every ghost in Soho in search of a lead. Crystal has taken the opportunity to complete some important piece of schoolwork that Edwin keeps forgetting is still necessary for her. In truth he can’t help but be impressed that she is keeping up with it all whilst still helping them with cases.

The spell is as dubiously helpful as Edwin had expected, Soho seems as drenched in magic as the rest of London, but there is a definite blip that suggests an unusual focal point on a small side road. It is quiet in the early afternoon when he and Charles conduct their search, but there is a nightclub which suggests the street is livelier after dark. After a quick glance inside, the club itself does not seem a likely source for the magic use. There is however a flat that seems to sit above the club’s storerooms. Either it has good soundproofing or someone's not too worried about sleep.

The flat appears empty (at least no one answers the bell), so Charles heads inside while Edwin keeps watch for the returning occupant. Two minutes later Charles steps back through the door waving some junk mail. “John Daniels,” he says triumphantly.

“Well, John is a common name,” Edwin cautions. “But that is a hopeful sign.”

“I can do you better than that.” Charles smirks. “Got you a present.”

Edwin takes the book eagerly from Charles’ outstretched hand. “Minor Arcana Volume VII! Was the other book there as well? What else did you find?”

“Nothing yet, I’ll go back in now.”

Before he can though, the sound of approaching whistling has them ducking quickly behind some large bins. If the occupant of the flat is their target then he can most likely see ghosts. A man in a baseball cap comes down the quiet street and lets himself into the flat.

“John?” Charles asks.

“Very likely,” Edwin agrees. “Did you get a look at a him?”

“No, couldn't see his face. You?”

“No. We should come back when he is out, look for the other book and anything else that might be in there. Best not to confront him until we know more. He clearly has enough magical power amassed to cause serious harm.”

“I’ll stake the place out. You take your book home and tell Crystal.” Charles pulls a battered old mirror out of the bag of tricks and sets it up against the wall by the bins. I’ll come get you when he’s gone out again.”

“You might be waiting here quite some time!” Edwin warns him.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m good at stake outs.”

It is true, Charles can be surprisingly patient in such scenarios, so Edwin acquiesces and goes to find Crystal.

~*~*~*~

It should, Edwin thinks later, have been simple. Wait until their suspect has left his flat, go in and gather whatever evidence they can about what exactly he has been up to, and then (and this was perhaps the most important part) get out again before he comes back. The plan works up to a point, but only up to a point.

Upon approaching the flat it becomes clear that the nightclub is a successful one. It’s barely 11 and there are already drunks staggering out, many locked in embraces with their companions. Edwin has to dodge around a particularly amorous pair, much to Crystal’s amusement.

“Let’s just get on with this,” he snaps.

“Way ahead of you, mate.” Charles is crouched by the nondescript door, half-hidden in the shadows, picking the lock. One of the disadvantages of bringing Crystal along is they cannot simply waltz in as they usually would. Luckily Charles is a dab hand with a lock-pick.

“Oh well done, Charles!” Edwin says barely a minute later as the door swings quietly open.

The three hurry through, finding themselves at the foot of a steep staircase. Another brief pause at the top for Charles to pick yet another lock, and they’re inside.

As soon as the door of the flat is closed behind them, the noise of the nightclub fades entirely away. Someone has invested in some very good soundproofing. Which might be seen as eminently reasonable if you’re living above a lively nightclub, but still fills Edwin with unease. There’s something about the idea of no one being able to hear what is going on inside the flat that rings alarm bells.

Crystal wrinkles her nose. “It smells really weird in here. Bit like when you’ve been cooking up one of your potions, Edwin.”

Edwin is in general far more more resigned to the loss of much of his physical senses than Charles is, but on occasions like this he can appreciate why they might have been of use. “Where is it coming from, can you tell?”

Crystal wanders about, sniffing like a bloodhound, and pushes open a door that leads into a small kitchen. There’s a dirty pan on the stove with something suspicious and congealed in the bottom. Bundles of dried and fresh herbs, and jars of ingredients Edwin recognises, are scattered across the work surface. The man is certainly not house-proud.

“Guys!” Charles calls them through from another room and they join him by a padlocked door. Just like the woman had told Thomas there was. There is turning out to be a worrying amount of veracity to her tale.

“What’s in there?” Crystal asks, though her tone suggests she isn’t certain she wants to know.

Charles, subtle as ever, pulls a pair of bolt-cutters from his bag and snips through the lock. “Let’s find out.”

It is clear from Crystal’s expression that this room smells very much worse than the kitchen. There are also signs that it has yet further soundproofing. There’s no window, which is odd and suggests this tiny room was originally intended for storage. What inevitably draws the eye though is a small bed with a bare, stained mattress and some manner of restraints at either end.

“Fucking hell.” Crystal’s hand flies to her mouth like she’s feeling slightly queasy.

If Edwin still had a digestive tract, he’d probably be doing the same. “Quite,” he agrees. “I think it is clear we have found our magical murderer.”

Charles is tense beside him. “Bastard,” he grinds out quietly, before bending to pick something up from just underneath the bed. A delicate golden charm bracelet, exactly like the one they’d seen manifested about the wrist of the most recent of the ghosts to approach them for this case. If more proof were needed, that certainly clinches things. Edwin passes Charles a pocket handkerchief and Charles wraps the jewellery carefully inside it and places it in his pocket.

Studiously ignoring the bed, Edwin crosses the room to a small set of shelves. The book with the appalling Latin name is surrounded by items he recognises from the list of museum thefts. It’s instantly clear that most of them (and the surrounding array of crystals and trinkets) have no inherent magical power whatsoever. The ‘bastard’ in question, Edwin strongly suspects, has no real talent for, or understanding of, magic.

Edwin has Charles pack up the book and the other museum items. They might as well return the ones that aren’t dangerous, Thomas was quite right, the very idea of someone stealing from a museum rankles.

That, Edwin realises only far too late, is when they should have left, but Edwin wants to see what else the man is hiding and there should have been no need to rush. Charles had seen Daniels leave in a taxi, dressed for a night on the town, suggesting he would be gone for some time. However, whilst Edwin had taken the time to check for any spells that might be designed to alert the owner to intruders, he was not aware of what Crystal later refers to as a ‘ring doorbell’. Which is a confusing name because most doorbells ring, but this one apparently transmits footage of anyone entering the house to the owner’s mobile telephone and while cameras can’t see ghosts they can most certainly see Crystal.

Edwin is searching through the bookshelves in the living room when the front door suddenly bursts open and a man comes in, pushing a very drunk looking young woman in front of him like a shield. Whatever he’d hoped to do with the element of surprise however is lost when Edwin lets out an astonished and frustrated exclamation upon seeing his face. “You!”

The man gives a huff of recognition at Edwin’s utterance, clearly as surprised as the ghost is. “Well look what the cat dragged in. Yes,” he grimaces, “I saw you letting that Cat King make a conquest of you at the party. I had thought you better than that. Such a shame.”

Edwin doesn’t miss a beat. “I would rather be his conquest than your anything.”

Charles is instantly at his side, cricket bat in hand. “What’s going on? Edwin, do you know this bloke?”

Edwin is not surprised by Charles’ lack of recognition. He had only seen the man for a brief moment at the party after all, and he looks quite different out of his more formal evening wear. Crystal though appears to have no trouble placing him. She sneers. “This is the creep that was harassing Edwin at the party, the one who couldn't understand the word no.”

At her words, Charles’ knuckles turn white on his cricket bat.

“Who are you talking to?” the drunk girl slurs, squinting around the room but clearly unable to see anyone but Crystal.

“Shush dear,” the man, ‘John Daniels’, says dismissively. “This is beyond you.”

Crystal looks furious. “Oh so you have to get people blind drunk to get them to go home with you. Why am I not surprised!”

“Well it’s a pity I didn’t see the alert on my phone showing me your little break-in a bit sooner, then maybe I wouldn’t have needed to bother with this one!” he leers at Crystal.

“ ’m not drunk,” the girl protests, seemingly a good thirty seconds behind everything happening around her.

“Sweetie, you’re plastered and this guy is really bad news.” Crystal reaches out as though to pull the girl away but she’s yanked from her reach.

“Shut up, both of you!” Daniels shakes the girl roughly as though to force her into compliance, but it backfires on him rather swiftly as she gags and abruptly vomits all over his shoes.

It’s awful, Edwin thinks watching the man fuss over the mess, how dreadfully banal evil can be. This man, who has used magic to kill at least three people, and done heaven knows what else besides, is far from a criminal mastermind but rather an inadequate, insecure failure. Like so many bullies, he amasses power to hide from the fact that he is inherently weak. That does not mean Edwin plans to underestimate him again.

“Crystal,” he hisses. “Get her out of here and head back to the agency!”

Thankfully Crystal no longer needs to be told twice in situations such as these. The priority is always to keep the living living. Including Crystal herself. She grabs the young woman and bundles her back through the door towards the stairs before John has finished swearing about the mess.

Charles has closed in on their target, cricket bat at the ready, and Edwin is lining the words of a binding spell up in his head when the man suddenly ducks, grabs something from the nearby desk, and lunges at Charles. Charles shouts as the blow makes contact and Edwin sees a large paperweight in the man’s hand, clearly made out of iron. Before he can intervene though, Charles has the cricket bat up and knocks the paperweight for six across the room with such force that it leaves a hole in the plasterwork.

This is the part when their usual patterns kick in, Charles distracts while Edwin finds an appropriate spell to resolve the issue. Tonight though things feel off, poorly controlled. While Charles is grappling with the man, and Edwin is attempting to cast a binding spell, the world (as it sometimes does) goes sideways. Edwin senses the man casting something, has enough magical instinct by this time to know it is nothing good, and throws himself at Charles, trying to get them both out of the blast of whatever is coming.

The blast turns out to be quite literal, a rain of iron shrapnel flying through the air in their direction and all Edwin can do is cover as much of Charles as he possibly can with his own body. It is not enough. The iron rips into both of them making Charles cry out, and Edwin loses all sense of everything else.

Edwin has been ripped to pieces in every way imaginable, he has been disembowelled, eviscerated, gnawed on like a dog does with a bone, and too many other terrible things to remember. Except he does remember. He remembers them all. None of them compare to hearing Charles in pain.

Charles is whimpering and the only thing going through Edwin’s head is the words of the fire spell.

Crystal, (dear god, the girl does not take instruction!), comes barrelling back through the door just as Mr John Daniels starts screaming. Edwin expects him to do the sensible thing, drop and roll and put himself out. Instead the man panics, which is perhaps not an entirely unreasonable response to being on fire, and runs. As though he can outrun the flames coming from his own clothes.

Edwin however has lost interest, having turned his attention back to Charles, pulling at pieces of iron with his bare hands. He barely even notices the noise of the man falling, or registers that the screaming has stopped.

“Edwin!” Crystal gasps.

“Help me get the iron out of Charles!” If she is going to disobey him and place herself at risk then she might as well be useful.

She drops beside them and instantly starts to help, but gives him a worried look. “You not noticed you’re looking a bit like a porcupine yourself?” she says in strained tone.

Edwin wrenches a piece of iron from his own forearm before returning to picking pieces from Charles. “I will be fine.”

Charles groans and tries to open his eyes. “Mate, let Crys...”

“No!” Edwin is brooking no arguments, he does not care what it takes, what it costs him, he needs the iron out of Charles as quickly as possible.

Charles hasn’t got the energy to fight him, and Crystal seems to share his concern. Though she’s clearly unhappy about the situation.

Thankfully Edwin had managed to interpose himself between Charles and the worst of it all, and he and Crystal work quickly to remove anything he’d been hit with. Edwin ignoring the pain in his hands long enough to then pull most of the remaining pieces from himself.

He can feel one lodged up between his shoulder blades, but his hands hurt too badly to get hold of it and he needs to get Charles and Crystal away from here.

They haul Charles to his feet and Edwin sees smoke coming from the stairs. That idiot must have fallen down them. Edwin hurries to check if the route is passable and finds that the journey down the steep staircase had acted as the drop and roll manoeuvre the man should have performed, leaving a few smoking areas but nothing Crystal cannot get past safely. They do however have a different problem. The man’s neck is at an angle that no one could survive, and there’s only one possible afterlife for the likes of him.

Edwin may have a deal with Death and the Lost & Found, but Hell is no respecter of such things. He drags Charles down the stairs, with Crystal following more carefully, heedless of anything but getting them away. They’re barely around the corner when the red light comes.

Pained and afraid, Edwin does what he always does. Lashing out at Crystal is simply so easy. “What the hell were you thinking?! And where’s that drunk woman you were supposed to be taking care of?”

“I shoved her in a taxi,” she snaps. “She’s fine, she’s not hurt and I wasn’t going to let him hurt you!”

“You could have been killed if that fire had taken hold!” He will not admit how much the idea that the stairs might have been blocked by fire, trapping Crystal in the flat, had alarmed him.

“You two were studded with iron!” she yells at him.

Edwin is in fact still studded with iron, but he doesn’t want to upset Charles, who is looking grey and unsteady, smoke still coming from his wounds. For once he’s not even trying to make peace between the two of them and that is most concerning of all. “We need to get Charles home!” he snaps.

It turns out Crystal was summoning a taxi even as she’d stumbled down the stairs and over the still form at the bottom. Perhaps Edwin will have to concede that her inability to take instruction is no bad thing when she knows how to think on her feet.

In no time they are bundling themselves into a taxi, Edwin being careful to keep his back turned away from the others. Charles is too exhausted to notice the smoke and Crystal is too distracted bribing the taxi driver to break every speed limit possible. It is shocking how fast one can traverse central London at night when you have a driver who knows where all the cameras are and has a sufficient incentive to violate every traffic law available.

When Crystal hands over the large sum of money on their arrival, she places her hand on the man’s wrist and Edwin sees her eyes go white. He doesn’t waste time seeing what tricks she has up her sleeve but hauls Charles out of car and down the alley towards the office. Crystal catches them up as they enter the building and grabs Charles’ other arm, helping Edwin support him as they head for the stairs.

“The driver won’t remember me or where he picked me up. Seemed safest given we left a dead guy behind.”

Yes, Edwin has to admit, the girl can certainly think on her feet. “Nice work, Crystal.”

Her brief smile contains the usual forgiveness for his previous harsh words. Just as his praise contains the apology he is too stubborn and too on edge still to voice.

The journey up to the office is awful. Every step jostles his body and makes him want to cry out. The burning is getting steadily worse and he does not know how long he can stay quiet. He bites his lip and puts one foot in front of the other. What a ridiculous thought, he has stayed quiet through far worse in Hell, he just has to keep moving. Get Charles safely home and then he can ask Crystal for help.

Charles is slowly looking less grey, becoming more obviously aware of his surroundings and trying to help their progress up the stairs. He feels more solid beneath Edwin’s hands, which is a blessed relief. Every sign that Charles is improving works like an analgesic balm to his own pain.

He’s still screaming inside by the time they reach the office door.

Crystal is giving him an odd look, Edwin knows he’s not moving well, but there will be time enough to ask for help once Charles is safely situated on the sofa. He is dreading asking for Crystal’s aid, it will mean Charles will certainly see that something is wrong. Perhaps, he considers, he can excuse himself into the cupboard, or back outside, and deal with it himself. His hands have mostly healed, they are still rather red and quite sore but he thinks he can bear to do it now. His fingers throb at the thought, but it is perhaps for the best. While part of him is crying out to just cry out, ask for help, let someone take care of him, just for a moment, the rest insists the vulnerability will not be worth it.

Besides, he needs Crystal to look after Charles. That is the priority.

As Crystal opens the door however the situation takes on a new complexion. The office is not empty as it should be. Thomas is lounging in Edwin’s wing-back chair, leather jacket draped over the back of it and a book in his hands that is swiftly discarded as he jumps to his feet with a concerned expression.

At the sight of him something hopeful leaps in Edwin’s chest, as though the part that wanted to cry out for help has suddenly identified who it wants to cry out to. The rest of Edwin takes a moment, entirely without his permission, to simply admire the man before him. Thomas always looks nice, but the well-fitting black sleeveless top and deep burgundy trousers are particularly fetching. The top in particular reveals a pair of very nicely toned arms that some traitorous part of Edwin suddenly starts thinking would be very good at helping to keep him upright right about now. He might be getting slightly delirious from the iron. Everything hurts, and yet suddenly he wants to smile.

“Urgh,” Charles grumbles. Even semi-conscious he’s still giving Thomas an irritated look. “Why is he here?”

Crystal shushes him and guides him to the sofa while Edwin turns to Thomas in utter relief.

“Ah good,” he manages quietly, every word costing him, every movement hurting. “Would you mind helping me? You see there’s a piece of shrapnel in my back and I can’t manage it.”

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Thomas floats home from the Crystal Palace party on a cloud of warm affection and champagne bubbles. Or, more accurately, he returns home via his own purple flames. Whatever, it’s his night, he can romanticise it if he wants to, who’s going to stop him. He has after all just nabbed a dance at the ball with his very own handsome prince. Well, maybe not prince, Edwin’s posh but he’s not that posh. Also princes are a terrible idea, Thomas already has his own kingdom to run. This whole Cinderella analogy’s not really working, he has to concede. Also he’s pretty sure if carried to its logical extreme it’d make Duchess his fairy godmother and fuck that shit!

However, like Cinderella, he’d had to settle for little more than a dance. Hell of a dance, mind you. He’s not waltzed like that in decades, and a waltz hasn’t felt that red hot since the days when the activity itself was still considered a little scandalous. The confident way Edwin manoeuvred them around the dance floor, the feel of Edwin’s cool hand on his waist with nothing but the lace of Thomas’ top stopping them being skin to skin, that fucking sexy dip at the end.

It was in fact a dance hotter than many kisses he’s had. Followed by a romantic walk under the stars...complete with dinosaurs. Ok that was weird, but there are few things better than hearing Edwin talk about stuff he finds interesting and Thomas thoroughly enjoyed hearing all about the weird shit Duchess had decided to conjure up as her party trick. Or rather get someone else to conjure up, no way she’d managed that herself!

There had been a moment though, on the bench by the lake, Edwin, soft and vulnerable, speaking freely about his memories of the place with none of his usual spiky defence, allowing Thomas to draw ever closer beside him. The timing was perfect, the stars, the lake, the pretty lights, the...dinosaurs – ok, that bit’s still weird but you work with what you’ve got – and as their eyes had met, just for a moment, Thomas had thought of angling for a kiss. But then the moment had passed, the things Edwin was talking about were too heartbreaking, all the more so for the sober, pragmatic way he spoke of them. Thomas is pretty sure making any kind of move wouldn't have got him anywhere, but he’s even more sure that he’d be feeling a bit shitty right now if it had.

Edwin had, briefly, accepted an arm around his shoulders in comfort, but that was it. Not even the most chaste of kisses to round off their romantic evening. Well at least he didn’t lose a shoe, he likes these boots.

He laughs at his own thoughts, feeling slightly drunk on champagne and romance. Maybe rather more on romance.

~*~*~*~

Thomas is determined to wait for Edwin to come to him this time. Each morning finds him choosing his clothes with even more care than usual, but each evening he suffers the same disappointment of having to accept that his ghost isn’t coming. It is rather like the long months after Edwin originally left Port Townsend, except this time it hasn’t been months, more like a week, and Thomas is already fit to climb the walls wondering when Edwin will deign to visit him again.

With every passing day his willpower to wait the ghost out has diminished and at this point Thomas is ready to just admit that he has a problem, throw caution to the wind, and head for London.

The office is empty when he arrives, which at almost midnight means they’re probably out on a case. Thomas snoops around the shelves for a bit and then curls up in Edwin’s chair. Then he gets up and removes his jacket - his arms look fantastic in this top, why is he hiding them? He grabs a book that looks vaguely interesting and lounges back in the comfy seat. He does not, it turns out, have long to wait.

At first he thinks the footsteps on the stairs outside can’t possibly be them, they sound so heavy and unsteady, and he begins to form slightly wicked plans of vetting the agency’s clients. However his hopes for a little light mischief-making are quickly dashed.

Thomas can see something is very wrong from the moment the door opens. Crystal and Edwin seem to be half carrying Charles, who is a truly alarming shade of grey and looks pretty out of it. Edwin himself has a pained, pinched expression that breaks Thomas’ heart a little to see. He also looks rather off colour, intensely pale and moving in an awkward, jerky fashion nothing like his usual elegant flamboyance.

Then he sees Thomas, and the Cat King is frozen to the spot by the look in those green eyes. The way they seem to light up slightly at the sight of him. Edwin leaves Charles (who is grumbling about Thomas’ presence, despite his unhappy state) to Crystal, and approaches Thomas with an expression veering close on relief.

“Ah good,” the ghost says quietly. “Would you mind helping me? You see there’s a piece of shrapnel in my back and I can’t manage it.”

There’s so much wrong in that request that Thomas’ brain feels like it offlines for a moment. Edwin does not ask for help, not like this. Thomas isn’t sure that the words ‘I can’t manage it’ have ever crossed the ghost’s lips in his presence before. Almost certainly not. Getting past that, the words ‘there’s a piece of shrapnel in my back’ really shouldn’t be uttered quite that casually. Despite the pain he can trace in the lines around Edwin’s eyes, his ghost’s voice is steadier than it has any right to be when saying something like that.

Edwin doesn’t wait for an answer, he knows Thomas will help him. He crosses to his desk, turning around, jacket and jumper disappearing. Lent forward, braced against the antique desk, layers melted away to leave him in his shirt sleeves, Thomas has never seen Edwin in so little. It’s like something right out his fantasies. Apart from one glaringly horrible detail.

There is a large piece of iron protruding from Edwin’s back, right between his shoulder blades. If he were alive it would have been lodged right through his spine and into his heart.

Crystal’s eyes widen as she looks over at them, before carefully moving herself so as to block Charles’ view. How the fuck has Edwin managed to hide this from the pair of them?!

Thomas mentally shakes himself. That’s a question for later, for now he has a ghost in a lot of pain in front of him.

He places a gentle hand on Edwin’s shoulder, both to reassure the ghost and to give himself some leverage, and finally finds his voice. “You want me to count to three, or just...”

“Just do...” Edwin’s words are choked off by a tiny, almost inaudible, whimper as Thomas yanks the damned thing out as quick as he can. It moves like a hot knife through butter and leaves a burnt, smoking wound that turns Thomas’ stomach. How the hell Edwin stays so calm is something he doesn't really want to think about.

“Fuck...Edwin...” his voice emerges as a trembling whisper, the iron disintegrating in a burst of his violet flame.

“Eds? Are you ok?” Charles’ voice from the couch instantly calls his friend's attention away from Thomas.

“I am alright, Charles, do not worry.” There isn’t even the mildest of trembles in Edwin’s tone, nothing to give away the fact there is a smoking hole in his upper back.

Charles though clearly knows Edwin all too well and sounds like he doesn’t trust his reassurances. “Edwin?”

“I’m coming,” Edwin assures him, clearly taking a moment to steady himself.

Before he goes to Charles though, he turns to Thomas and places a cool hand on his bare forearm. “Thank you.” He manages a small smile, though those lines of pain are still clear on his face. “I know it probably looks awful,” he says quietly, “But I will be quite alright.” Then he’s gone, back to Charles, smoke still drifting from the open wound.

If he had any sense, Thomas would note the way the two ghosts reach for each other and see that he’s beaten, that he’s never going to defeat Charles in the competition for Edwin’s time and attention, and certainly not for his heart. Thomas has been frequently informed that he has no sense. So instead he’s stood stock still, savouring the memory of that cool, elegant hand on his bare skin. Edwin touched him, willingly, affectionately, unnecessarily! A touch on the arm from Edwin feels more intimate than a kiss on the mouth from most people he knows.

“Who hurt you?” he manages to growl out, still struggling to understand what the fuck has been going on.

“Oh they’re long gone, mate. Edwin set them on fire.” Charles becomes much friendlier once Edwin is back at his side. He seems to have perked up a little too, which is reassuring.

“You what?” Thomas gapes. His favourite ghostie setting someone on fire is quite the mental image.

“They were hurting Charles.” Edwin still sounds outraged about that.

“They were also clearly hurting you!” Thomas struggles to keep from going over and demanding Edwin let him look at his back and see if he can do anything. The fact he almost certainly can’t do anything is the only reason he’s able to resist.

“That was definitely a secondary concern.” Crystal is in much better shape physically than the ghosts, but there’s a haunted look in her eyes that speaks of someone who badly needs a drink, some food, and a month’s worth of sleep.

“It was the man from the party.” The distaste in Edwin’s voice would be funny if he were talking about anything else. “Your tip was correct by the way, we ran him to ground in Soho. He unfortunately seemed to have something prepared for ghosts, I imagine in case those he had killed came back for revenge.”

“The man from the party? The one who was bothering you?!”

“Indeed. Perhaps I should have let you feed him to the cats.”

Thomas is furious. Why the fuck did he allow Edwin to get him to drop it, he knew from what the ghost had said that the man was an utter shit. He should have spoken to Duchess about him instead of spending the last week in a fog of fucking romance that has done the object of his affections no fucking good at all.

He wants to ask more questions, get to the bottom of what exactly happened, but he’s lost everyone’s attention. Not something he’s used to.

Charles is fussing, trying to see Edwin’s back, and Edwin is insisting he is ‘just fine’ and trying to get Charles to rest. It’s endearing and slightly insane and kind of makes him want to knock their heads together, then maybe hug the pair of them. Right now he’s even happy to see Charles slowly regaining his colour and solidity.

He’s distracted then by Crystal’s hand on his arm, tugging him away. “Come on, they need some time alone to be messily codependent.”

Thomas resists the psychic’s urging, unable to take his attention from Edwin even long enough to tell her ‘no fucking way’.

“Come on,” she insists. “Edwin will be fine. They both will.”

He allows her to pull him aside and hisses, “He’s smoking!”

Crystal looks distinctly unimpressed. “Don’t growl at me, kitty. I have sharp claws too.” She raises her voice and looks over at the ghosts, who are paying them no attention at all. “Guys, Thomas is going to see me home safe.”

That gets Charles’ attention at least. “No way!”

“Excellent,” Edwin responds at almost the same time. “Charles, you need rest! Thomas will look after Crystal.” Green eyes meet his imploringly and there’s no fucking way Thomas can say no now. Fucking ghosts and their fucking pretty eyes!

Moderating his tone and expression, because he can still see the pain in those beautiful eyes, Thomas nods reassuringly. “Of course I will. Are you two going to be alright?”

Edwin gives him a soft smile. “Perfectly so. We just require a little time and rest.”

Crystal kisses Charles on the temple and whispers something in his ear that appears to make him begrudgingly accept Thomas’ role as her chaperone.

“Look after her, Whiskers.”

“Only if you look after yourself,” Thomas shoots back. “You look like shit. Get some rest.”

As soon as Crystal opens the office door, Cally darts in. The little cat takes one look at Charles and Edwin and jumps up on the sofa with them, purring soothingly and nuzzling against their hands and faces, clearly concerned.

That’s what Thomas wants to do. His every instinct is telling him not to leave Edwin’s side, to curl up small and non-threatening against him and attempt to soothe and heal. It is however not his place. Edwin is making no moves to ask him to stay, and Thomas knows he won’t.

Reluctantly, he bids them goodbye, grabs his jacket, and lets Crystal lead him away.

~*~*~*~

Neither of them speaks until they’re outside. Crystal takes a deep breath of the cool night air and pulls her coat close around her. “You don’t actually have to see me home, you know. I can call a cab.”

Thomas looks at the girl, hair a bit frazzled, eyeliner slightly smudged, and exhaustion and adrenaline both radiating off her. “You fancy a drink?”

“What?”

“A drink,” he repeats. “You look like you need one.”

Crystal’s shoulders drop, the tension leaching from her body. “Yes please.”

~*~*~*~

London nightlife hasn’t been something he’s frequented in a long time, but Thomas knows what to look for and where to look for it. He transports them both to a likely area and quickly gets them installed in a booth in a late night bar that is miraculously still serving food.

“Eat something,” he insists.

Crystal does not need telling twice and is shortly settled with a burger, fries and large rum and coke.

Thomas himself is too disconcerted by the evening’s events to eat, but alcohol is going down nicely. Around mouthfuls of burger, Crystal has explained, or at least tried to, what the actual fuck went down. Knowing doesn’t make Thomas feel any better, in fact it makes him feel worse. The idea of Edwin, or even Charles, studded with iron shrapnel is gut-churning, and the fact they were following up a lead he’d provided just makes it worse. And that’s before he gets to the fact that the guy who did this had already upset Edwin sufficiently that Thomas should have fucking dealt with him. But he hadn’t. He’d been caught up in the pleasure of Edwin’s attention, willingly letting the issue drop in order to enjoy some time with his favourite ghost.

Apparently though he’s not the only one feeling guilty. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise Edwin still had a piece of iron sticking out of him,” Crystal mutters, for at least the third time.

“I suspect he’s very good at hiding when he’s hurt. He doesn’t exactly showcase his vulnerabilities.” No doubt that was trained out of Edwin long before Hell got its claws into him.

“If he’d just asked I could have helped,” the girl says frustratedly.

“I’m sure he would have asked, just as soon as he knew Charles didn’t need you anymore.”

They exchange a look of long suffering bemusement. The level of batshit devotion between the two ghosts, sometimes at the cost of their own wellbeing, could drive anyone to drink.

“Are you ok?” he finally thinks to ask. “No injuries you’re concealing?”

“I’m not the suffer in silence type,” she assures him.

“Ah good, something we have in common.” He has never been the strong and silent type. “So, you and Charles?” Edwin hadn’t exactly mentioned that. There had been vague allusions, but in general it had seemed like something he either didn’t want, or maybe just didn’t need, to talk about.

Crystal grins. “Yeah.”

There’s something else though, an uncertainty behind that smile that intrigues him. “What? You look...unsure.”

“I’m sure about him. I think he is about me too, but...”

“But what? That sounds like the ideal.”

“Yeah, until you get to the bit where he’s dead and I’m not. The bit where I’m going age and he isn’t. Time isn’t exactly our friend.”

“Time isn’t anybody’s friend.”

“But most people are at least moving through it together,” she argues. “Kind of hard to think one of you literally has forever, and the other doesn’t.”

“No one’s guaranteed forever. Hell, no one's guaranteed anything. Take it from someone who’s died a few times, you usually don’t hear the bullet. It can, and sometimes does,” for him it did, “All end in a heartbeat on a beautiful summer’s day when you thought you were going to live forever.”

“That’s...grim. You’re not exactly comforting.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m not going to come in with my 9 lives and tell you ageing is a privilege.” He’s not that much of an asshole. “No one should believe that at your age, you're supposed to still feel invincible. What I am going to tell you is life is grossly unfair and wildly unpredictable. Any of us could be gone tomorrow, as those two idiot ghosts came disconcertingly close to proving this evening! But, at the risk of sounding like a motivational poster, that’s what gives today value. Go after what you want, even if you’re not sure life will let you keep it.”

“Is that what you’re doing with Edwin?” she asks, slyly.

“Pretty sure I’m not doing anything with Edwin.” Fantasies do not count.

“Bullshit. You two clearly have some kind of bizarre courtship going on where he doesn’t admit that he wants you and you don’t admit that you have real feelings.”

“Well, appealing as you make that sound, I have to disappoint you there. There is no courtship, Edwin is in love with your beau, and I have plenty of feelings. For example irritation, annoyance and fucking offended.”

Crystal huffs at him. “Jesus, you’re so touchy. Then again so is he. I don’t know if that makes you a good match or a terrible one. Though use of the word ‘beau’ makes you outdated enough for him I guess.”

“Fuck you, I was being ironic.”

“Sure.”

“Urgh, I don’t know if I even want the answer to this but you spend all your time with them. Do you think our favourite ghosties are in love?”

She snorts. “Obviously they’re in love. What kind of love, god only knows. Actually I suspect even god would struggle to stick labels on those two. Thing is it doesn’t even need to be romantic, they’re always going to be the most important person in the world to each other no matter what. Personally, I have enough self-esteem to understand that doesn’t mean Charles is incapable of loving and valuing me.” She smirks at him, evilly. “Though a less self-assured person might struggle, I suppose.”

“Oh very funny. It’s not exactly the same thing. No matter what Charles feels, what Edwin feels is very much romantic.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be interested in anyone else. He’s not stupid, he’s not going to spend his afterlife pining for Charles.” She sighs. “Look he hasn’t said anything, which is the only reason I can say this to you. I won’t betray his confidence, should he ever let me in on it, but I am happy to gossip based on his behaviour. I think he likes you, a lot. I think he fancies you like mad and he doesn’t really know what to do with that. He’s getting there by the looks of the two of you on the dance floor the other night, but I suspect he’s going to need some time. I also suspect you think it’s worth the wait.”

“Should you really be encouraging me?” Thomas can’t hide his smile at her assurances. “I don’t think Charles would approve.”

“I don’t need Charles’ approval. He’s far too protective of Edwin, they’re nuts when it comes to each other, he’d smother him before letting him risk getting hurt. I’m not saying I completely trust you, but it’s pretty clear you do care for Edwin, and it’s also clear that he trusts you, which is really all that matters.”

She starts to signal to the waiter for another round but Thomas grabs her hand and puts it firmly back on the table. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning. Why don’t I see you home safe.”

Crystal gives him that evil little smirk again, and he can very much believe this girl has spent years perfecting being an absolute bitch. Which would endear her to him more if he wasn’t her current target. “You know, I think Edwin would like that whole gentleman schtick, why don’t you try it on him sometime.”

“I could absolutely just leave you to find yourself a cab.” He absolutely won’t, because he told Edwin he’d see her home safe, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Hey, I’m on your side here. Or at least I’m on Edwin’s, and he desperately needs some fun. He smiles more when he’s been to see you.”

He does? Thomas doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t really know what to think about that. A warm feeling blossoms in his chest. “Come on then. If you're on my side I better get you home.”

After safely depositing Crystal in a very swanky apartment, which makes him think he should have made her pay for her own drinks, Thomas detours through Soho for a little light arson before returning to Port Townsend. Something he doesn’t think the Agency has yet got used to is Crystal is human, which means that with modern forensics she leaves traces wherever she goes. The last thing anyone needs is the police finding her DNA at what is going to blatantly look like a crime scene. A few favours from Duchess and likely no one’ll look too hard, but it’s best to be sure they’re not going to find anything even if they do.

Especially if she’s on his side...or at least near enough.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

It takes a good forty eight hours before Edwin and Charles are each ready to let the other out of their sight following the Case of the Mad Magician (working title, Edwin likes the alliteration, Charles isn’t sure it’s quite right yet, and Crystal is voting for Case of the Creepy Abusive Dickhead).

Charles is cross that Edwin got hurt trying to protect him, and Edwin is cross he didn’t manage to protect Charles more efficiently. There are numerous arguments, always ending in a need to reassure each other that they are in fact ok. Crystal mostly leaves them to it and tells them to come see her when they’re out of the ‘joined at hip stage’ of their ‘codependent melodrama’. She does however say it with a smile, which even Edwin feels softens her words sufficiently that he does not bother biting back.

In fact he has sufficiently softened towards Crystal that, once they have informed their clients of the identity and demise of their murderer and thus enabled them to move on to their afterlives, Edwin finds himself suggesting, “You should go and see Crystal, Charles.” It’s been two days, he thinks he can bear to spend a few hours without needing constant reassurance that Charles is in fact alright.

“I think you mean ‘we’ should,” Charles counters. “I wasn’t so out of it I couldn’t tell she was bloody worried about you as well.”

“She is not dating me.” Thank heavens! Edwin might have softened towards her but he can’t think of much worse!

Charles turns a little bashful and shrugs awkwardly. “I mean we still haven’t really put a label on…”

“Pish posh.” Edwin is having none of Charles’ charming self-deprecation. Crystal adores him, it is one of her best features, she at least has taste. “Go and see her.”

“What and leave you...” Charles trails off with an expression that can only be described as suspicious. “Oh hang on! What you mean is you want to go and see Whiskers!”

Edwin is affronted, that is not what he meant. Though it wasn’t as if it hadn’t crossed his mind. “I may take the opportunity to go and thank Thomas for his assistance...”

“Pretty sure you said ‘thank you’ at the time,” Charles interjects.

“...but that is not why I suggested you visit Crystal!” Edwin battles on. “I merely thought you would like to see her, and that she would be worrying about you.”

“Sure, mate. Whiskers definitely didn’t even enter into your thoughts.”

“I did not say that!” Because it would not have been true. Thomas has been very much in his thoughts over the last two days. In every thought he could spare from the overwhelming joy/panic/frustration at their narrow escape and Charles’ swift recovery. He remembers a warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, warm right through his shirt. The feeling cutting through the burning pain of his upper back. That sudden sense of relief and safety, the sense of faith that he had someone to help him. It is incredibly vulnerable, to the point he almost wants to push it all away. But that sense of warmth did not leave him with Thomas’ touch. It had spread from his shoulder to encompass his entire being in a soft glow of care that he has only ever felt from Charles before.

Edwin knows Crystal cares about him, and he knows that a lot of their issues are because he will not really let her in very far. That he is still on some level scared enough of this bright, spiky girl that he cannot allow her to get too close. He thought he would have felt the same about Thomas, but the man has been steadily creeping closer for months now and trusting him felt like more than just a desperate necessity. It felt like something the Cat King had earned.

It seems Edwin’s thoughts may have been more apparent than he would like, because Charles is giving him a look. “I would like to see him,” Edwin admits.

Charles rolls his eyes, but there is a lot of humour in it. “Go on then. I’ll tell Crystal she’ll see you soon.”

Edwin, catching the emphasis, nods. “Of course. Tell her I am very grateful for her assistance the other night. She performed excellently.”

Charles beams at him. “So did you, you know. Still not ok with you getting yourself hurt like that, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only reason we got out of there.”

Edwin can feel his cheeks pink under Charles’ warm admiration. “I am just glad we are both alright and that our clients felt able to move on. I will always do whatever is necessary to keep us safe, Charles. Just like you do.” His partner does not simply wave that bat about for fun.

“Yeah.” Charles’ soft smile sharpens into mischief. “Maybe Whiskers getting to hear what you’re capable of when threatened was no bad thing.”

Edwin scoffs. “Now you are being ridiculous.”

“Just remember, if he ever gets out of line, you do know how to set people on fire.” Edwin chooses not to remind Charles at this juncture that magic does not work on Thomas. “And if you don’t fancy doing that...” Charles’ cricket bat appears in his hand and he brandishes it playfully.

“Do not swing that about in the office!” Edwin laughs.

Charles grins and puts the bat down. “Tell Whiskers I said hi.”

Edwin sighs and shakes his head. “I will do so.”

It takes a little longer before Edwin can usher Charles through the mirror to Crystal’s and travel through it himself to the cannery. It is quiet when he arrives, a few cats lounging around but no sign of their King.

Edwin is about to inquire after Thomas when he’s greeted by the grumpy tabby he had once leashed. “It’s you, is it,” the cat says in a voice that somehow sounds like it smokes 40 a day.

It sounds like a statement rather than a question but Edwin finds himself nodding anyway. It is undeniably him.

“Right.” The cat narrows its eyes at him. “Guess you wanna see the boss.”

“I would very much like to visit your King, yes.” Edwin tries to be polite, the cat does have good reason not to be fond of him. “Is he around?”

“He’s about,” the cat says dismissively. “You been visiting here a lot lately.” He manages to make it sound like an accusation.

“I do not think my visits have been overly frequent.” Edwin attempts to defend himself.

“Yeah, yeah, cut your fancy talk. You keep comin’ back here.”

Well, that is also undeniable. “I do.”

The tabby eyes him suspiciously.

“I do understand that you do not trust me,” Edwin says calmly. “After my behaviour towards you that is to be expected, but I promise you I would not do such a thing again. I hope I have learnt from my time here.”

“It’s Cornflake.”

Edwin blinks at the apparent non sequitur. “I beg your pardon?”

“The name,” the cat growls, “It’s Cornflake.”

Edwin smiles. “It is nice to be properly introduced. Thank you.”

The cat, Cornflake apparently, gives him a strangely gleeful look. “Boss is up in his room, you should use the mirror and go see him. Go on, he won’t mind,” he adds as Edwin hesitates. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

Something about the glint in the cat’s eye makes Edwin feel a little wary, but he does want to see Thomas and the man has made it clear he is welcome to use the other mirror. So he does.

Edwin doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Despite the lateness of the hour, Thomas is sprawled in bed, half-awake, looking like he’s had a very late night. There’s gold glitter dusting his cheeks, possibly fallout from his eyeshadow, and further glitter in his hair that might frankly have come from anywhere. He should look debauched and dissolute. In fact he looks rather stunning and oddly sweet, eyes screwed up against the light, nose wrinkling in displeasure at having been woken by Edwin’s arrival.

“Forgive me,” Edwin apologises as golden eyes meet his own. “The cats...” he trails off, feeling there is hardly an adequate excuse for his intrusion and not wanting to break the delicate truce with Cornflake by blaming him.

“Urgh,” Thomas groans and flings an arm dramatically across his face (which incidentally dislodges the sheet to reveal that he apparently sleeps shirtless). “Bastards.”

Edwin, thoroughly distracted by the amount of skin suddenly on display, desperately wracks his brain for something to say and finds it uncooperative.

His silence causes Thomas to peep out from behind his arm. “You are actually here, aren’t you? I mean I’m pretty sure that catnip was cut with something interesting and...oh ok, that disapproving glare isn’t something my fantasies are likely to cook up. Hello Edwin.”

“Hello.” Edwin risks a step forward, grabs the edge of the sheet between the tips of his fingers and carefully covers Thomas up again, knowing that otherwise conversation is going to be impossible.

Before he can step back again though, Thomas surprises him by grabbing hold of his hand and tugging him closer still until he can rest Edwin’s palm against his forehead.

“What are you…?” Edwin squeaks, much to his own embarrassment.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Thomas mumbles, leaning into the touch, some lines of tension viably dissipating. “You feel wonderful.”

That knocks Edwin’s brain slightly out of gear. He has had cause on multiple occasions to mull over what Thomas feels like to him, he has never considered what he might feel like to Thomas. Cold, presumably.

“What do I feel like to you?” he cannot resist asking.

“Cool. Refreshing.” Thomas’ eyes close with a contented sigh.

Edwin wrinkles his nose. “Is it not rather like touching a corpse?”

Thomas shakes his head, warm skin brushing against Edwin’s palm. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s nothing like that. You feel very soothing.”

“I think you have simply overindulged.”

Thomas’ eyes snap back open. “Well, yes, but what’s that got to do with it.”

Edwin snorts and pulls his hand away.

Thomas makes a sad little noise at the loss, before he sits up and stretches in a very cat-like manner. As he does, the sheet falls away once more to reveal that same exquisitely toned chest and stomach that had distracted Edwin so very badly at their first meeting. It has a similar effect now. Edwin tells himself to look away, but his eyes aren’t currently taking instructions from his brain.

Thomas yawns, looking completely unselfconscious as he climbs out of bed clad only in black silk pyjama pants. Indeed, in his apparently hungover state, it takes him a moment to notice Edwin’s staring. Once he does notice though he gives the most obnoxious smirk, complete with an irritating wink. “My eyes are up here.”

Edwin, feeling his face heat, glares at him furiously. “Would you please put a shirt on.”

Thomas wags a finger playfully. “I warned you if you came up here unannounced you might get an eyeful, and that I wouldn't be apologising for it if you did.”

“I am not asking for an apology, merely for you to put on a shirt,” Edwin reasons, slightly desperately. He can feel the same itch in his fingers he’d had when seeing Thomas in his cat form, that desire to reach out and touch that would be disastrous when Thomas is human shaped.

Thomas sighs. “Fine.” A flash of purple and he’s clad in a long black quilted dressing gown. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you,” Edwin says stiffly. “I apologise.” He can’t quite meet Thomas’ eyes, mortified by his own shameless staring.

“Edwin, if I minded you looking (which I don’t, quite the reverse) I would have put something on a lot quicker. I like being admired, especially by you.” The words are teasing but Thomas’ gaze is gentle, inviting, revealing an underlying sincerity. He really does not mind, takes no issue at all with Edwin’s ungentlemanly ogling of his half-naked body.

It is as though Edwin has been gifted with something he has never had before. Permission to look. To admire. Perhaps even to want. It’s a heady thought that leaves Edwin reeling away in discomfort from how badly he wants to lean into it. How badly affected he is by it all.

“I take it from your current state that you had a rather late night,” he says, a little sniffily.

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Yes mom, I’ve been very bad.”

Edwin huffs.

“Don’t stand there judging me like no part of this is your fault!” Thomas prods him accusingly.

“Excuse me?” Edwin raises a sceptical eyebrow. “How is your delinquent behaviour my fault?”

Gold eyes deal Edwin an unimpressed look. “Delinquent? Really? I went out and had some fun, I wasn’t mugging grandmas.”

“Fine, have it your way. Though if you think your actions were all entirely well-advised then I question why you referred to them as being my ‘fault’.”

“Fucking hell, kitten, did you ever consider that maybe I might have been out getting slightly wasted because you scared the life out of me!” Thomas begins pacing around him as though he doesn’t really want to make eye contact.

“What are you running on about?”

Now stood partly behind Edwin, Thomas places a hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades. Fingers pressing gently, tentatively, as though checking for a wound that he must realise cannot possibly still be there.

Edwin smiles suddenly at the fussing and his voice softens. “That is long healed, I am perfectly fine.” He turns his head to see concern in Thomas’ sleepy gold gaze. It is rather touching. “You were worried about me?”

“You had a piece of iron sticking out your back!” Thomas grumbles, hand still pressing gently on the site of the injury.

“Which you kindly removed for me.” Edwin turns to face him, causing Thomas’ hand to trail across his back to his upper arm where it lingers for a long moment. “I came to thank you for that actually.”

“You thanked me at the time, impeccable manners even when you’re in pain apparently.” Thomas gives him a fondly exasperated look.

Edwin smiles, wryly. “I’ve had worse.”

Thomas pulls a face. “That doesn’t make it better, you realise.”

“It was all fine. Better that it hit me than Charles, thanks to Hell I am able to withstand it. There was no lasting damage. It does not matter.”

“Don’t say that! It fucking does!” Thomas pinches his nose in frustration, or perhaps at a growing headache. “I can understand your logic that you’re better able to walk away from an attack like that than Charles is, I may not like it but I get why you’d want to put yourself between him and flying bits of iron. I will not let you say that it doesn’t matter. It fucking matters Edwin! You fucking matter!”

Taken-aback, Edwin finds himself retreating a step or two from the shouting. It is all too obvious though that Thomas is not angry, but upset. He looks even more upset at Edwin’s retreat, falling silent and giving him a guilty, wounded look. It is hard to know what to say, Edwin is unused to this kind of concern from anyone but Charles. “Charles has already delivered me this lecture, you know.”

“Well good for him. Maybe you’ll have to concede that if Charles and I are in agreement then we’re probably right,” Thomas says pointedly.

“I did not mean to give the impression that I held my existence as something that did not matter. I merely meant that I knew I would recover.”

“No, you gave the impression that your pain was something you felt didn’t matter.”

Edwin is quiet for a moment, allows himself to consider Thomas’ words and answer honestly. “For more than seventy years it did not. That is a hard thing to unlearn.”

Thomas face falls. “Oh, kitten...” he breathes softly.

Slightly overwhelmed by how deeply Thomas seems to be affected by the idea of him being hurt, Edwin changes the subject. “Why do you call me that?” he asks curiously.

“Does it bother you?”

“Not exactly.” Not at all really. “But I do not understand why you do it?”

Thomas smiles. “Because you’re sweet, with razor sharp claws. Trust me there is nothing sharper in the universe than a kitten, except maybe your tongue.”

Edwin huffs. “That is ridiculous.” Amusing though. He remembers the needle sharpness of the kitten he’d rescued from the drain, sharper than the claws of any adult cat he’s been assaulted by – and he’s been assaulted by a few!

“Sweet and spiky, that’s you.” Why that should make Thomas smile so much is a mystery. ‘Spiky’ should not be a compliment, but Thomas makes it sound like one. Like maybe Edwin’s admittedly sharp tongue isn’t as off-putting to him as it is to most. Thomas’ eyes light up suddenly. “You want to come and meet some little ones who’re as spiky as you are?”

He does not wait for an answer, or offer further explanation. In a flash of purple he is fully dressed and the two of them are stood in the warehouse below.

“Come on, come and see!” Thomas grabs Edwin’s wrist and tugs him to the back of the warehouse. In a sheltered corner, right in a warm sunbeam, is a large cat bed containing a mother cat and at least eight kittens, all so entwined with each other that it’s hard to be sure of the number.

Edwin is charmed by the sight. “They are lovely.”

The mother lifts a sleepy head and purrs quietly.

Thomas sits beside the basket and strokes her head. “How are you holding up, Pepper? They letting you get much sleep?”

Pepper gives a throaty chuckle. “Some. I’d say feel free to babysit sometime, but I dread to think what bad habits you’d teach them.”

Thomas gives her a look of mock indignation and strokes the tiny fluffy kittens. They’re old enough that their eyes are open and they’re all very curious about Thomas, clambering over each other to reach his hand.

Edwin watches, enrapt, as Thomas quickly ends up sat cross legged on the concrete floor with a lap-full of kittens, his skirt providing a perfect hammock for them. One has climbed up his arm, snagging his sheer top and scratching his skin, and all Thomas does is smile at the little thing and coo, “Oh, aren’t you the brave one,” clearly utterly delighted.

Then he turns to Edwin, as though he’d almost forgotten he was there and says, “See, sweet and spiky.” He tries to lift the kitten from his shoulder but the tiny creature digs in its claws and refuses to let go. “And impossible to shift if they don’t want to be shifted.”

The mother cat is laughing again, content to leave the care of the kittens to Thomas for a while.

Edwin crouches beside him. “They are certainly very sweet.” They’re not the only thing that’s sweet.

“You can stroke them if you like. Though you’ll need to watch out for their claws,” Pepper warns.

Edwin reaches out and strokes a finger down the back of a little ginger kitten. Thomas beams at him.

It turns out that an afternoon playing with kittens is both supremely soothing and a little dangerous. It takes Edwin’s mind off thoughts of iron shrapnel and murderous bastards and the image of Charles in pain. He suspects that was Thomas’ intention. Edwin has a few unavoidable scratches by the end of it, but considers them a price worth paying to see Thomas so soft and sweet. There is something about how tenderly he treats the young cats that always warms Edwin’s heart.

He returns home with a smile that Charles remarks upon with great suspicion. However Charles has a soft smile of his own that indicates that he will be easily derailed by Edwin asking about Crystal.

It’s painful, hearing the inevitable. That his friends have now in fact ‘put a label’ on what is going on between them. He’d known it was coming, he’d even bloody encouraged it, but there’s still a little pang of loss seeing how happy Charles is to be Crystal’s ‘boyfriend’.

It certainly does away with his own smile, along with Charles’ questions about it. However Edwin is surprised to note that it does not hurt quite so much as he might expect, and that part of his brain is still (no matter how much he tries to discourage it) replaying images from his afternoon with Thomas.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Edwin knows he’s repressed. Thomas jokes about it, Crystal tries to coax him out of it, and Edwin himself generally avoids thinking about it. It is not however as though he is unaware. There is a huge gap between everything he was taught in his short life and the reality of who he is and what he might want.

He has mostly accepted that who he is is immutable, and his view has long hardened to one of if people don’t like that then that is their problem. But what if he doesn’t like that? Given that whatever deity or deities there are out there apparently deemed it fine and dandy to send an innocent soul to Hell, Edwin probably should have stopped caring about the religious nonsense instilled into him in life a very long time ago. The insistent, uncompromising message that boys like him were sinful, disgusting, damned.

Well it had turned out they were right about him being damned, but not for the reason they’d made him think. A reason Edwin had grappled with for over 70 years, wondering if he did deserve to be in Hell. He’d managed, a few months after his escape, to track down a copy of the ritual used to sacrifice him. He had been relieved to find out that whilst there were certain criteria for the sacrifice, being a homosexual was not one of them. He’d have ended up in Hell either way. It is certainly a funny old world where that is a reassuring thought.

It had taken years for Edwin to admit to himself why he’d been looking the ritual up, years to truly accept what he was. He still can’t help but think that it would be easier if he just didn’t have these feelings at all, for men or women. Niko had told him some people were like that, that they just had no romantic interest whatsoever. It sounds like bliss. Doubtless it would turn out to be a case of the grass always looking greener and that everyone has their own issues, but it still sounds more comfortable to him.

Edwin misses Niko fiercely. She always knew what to say, how far to push, how to help him feel more comfortable in himself. Without her he feels lost on the road to self-acceptance that she’d encouraged him down. He is however coming to the conclusion that she would have, ever so gently, suggested that simply being open about himself and confessing to Charles wasn’t an end point in this journey. There is so much he doesn’t know and hasn’t experienced.

He also thinks Niko would have approved of his friendship with Thomas, and likely been overexcited at the idea of Edwin dancing with him. It feels like one last gift of her friendship that it was thoughts of her that had lead him back to Port Townsend and brought Thomas back into his life. He had told her once that no one is ever really gone, and he thinks the part of Niko that lingers on in his heart is responsible for a lot of what has made him happy of late.

He still thinks she’d be gently urging him onwards, though onwards to where he’s not sure. Probably to a point where he does like, and not merely accept, who he is. That logically would involve a little more exploration of a side of himself, and a side of life, that he is still somewhat shy of.

The idea of going to a gay club feels a little like throwing himself in the deep end, but Edwin has a tendency to be fairly ‘all in’ once he has made his mind up on something. If he wishes to know more about people like himself then logically he needs to go to places fellow homosexuals congregate. He has a feeling the phrase ‘fellow homosexuals’ would make Crystal laugh at him, and he resolves to ensure no one gets any hint of what he’s doing.

He knows that, if he asked, Charles and Crystal would happily go with him. Likely Thomas would accompany him pretty eagerly, but that would cast a different complexion to the night which Edwin is not looking for. He likes Thomas, he is undeniably attracted to him, but indulgence of that would likely be a terrible idea. Besides, he thinks this is something he needs to do alone. He is ready to peep out at the world, but it will be at his own pace, on his own terms.

So he waits until Charles and Crystal have gone out for the evening and chooses a club at random, it is not as though he has anyone can he ask for a recommendation. He wants somewhere decidedly human, where no one will see him and he can observe in peace.

It takes three tries to make himself go inside, and when he does it instantly feels like a mistake. It is loud and packed and the music is terrible. There’s a crowded dance floor (no waltzing here) and a busy bar area, plus a series of booths down one wall, all full of people. Edwin lurks in a corner, trying to give himself time to adjust. His brain doesn’t like the noise, or the proximity of so many people, especially after the relative quiet of the street. It takes a few deep breaths and a reminder of why he is here – which is difficult given he has only the vaguest idea of why – before he is ready to make his way around the space. What ‘space’ there is. He has to be careful not to walk through anyone, to do so feels odd for him and sometimes people become unnerved for reasons they can’t articulate. He is not here to spoil anyone’s night but his own.

He is somewhat enamoured of the neon signs above the bar, but it's difficult to stay out of people’s way near there without actually ducking behind the bar itself so he moves back towards the dance floor. The side nearest the booths is quietest (that is an entirely relatively term here) and Edwin manages to find a spot in front of a table whose inhabitants are enjoying a lively drinking game and are unlikely to be moving anytime soon. Finally, Edwin does what he has been avoiding and begins to actually take in his surroundings beyond the noise and bustle.

His eyes instantly fall on a young couple on the dance floor, so completely entwined in one another that is hard to work out whose limbs are whose. A couple in the next booth along are kissing passionately, and two of the people on the table in the booth beside him are holding hands. All of them are men. Edwin is surrounded by male couples dancing, kissing, hugging, and generally enjoying themselves. They all seem relaxed and confident, comfortable in themselves and their bodies, living life freely and openly.

He is surrounded by people like himself, and he feels like (if anyone could actually see him) he’d stick out like a sore thumb. There is something rather wonderful in the scenes around him, though also rather overwhelming, but the entire atmosphere is of somewhere he does not (could not) belong. The noise, the crowds, the glimpse of lives so like and yet so unlike his own, it is all too much.

In his eagerness to escape, Edwin does not waste time using the door.

~*~*~*~

It is a relief to be back outside. Edwin leans heavily against the wall he had all but thrown himself through, needing a moment to readjust away from it all. After a minute there’s a blast of music as the door opens and a middle aged man in a leather jacket steps outside, pulling a lighter from his pocket and heading Edwin’s way.

Edwin scoffs as the man lights a cigarette. “Those things will kill you,” he remarks, not expecting a response.

To his surprise, the man gives him an amused once over. “Well looks like I’ve already outlived you.”

Edwin blinks in astonishment. “You can see me.”

“Saw you walk right through the damn wall. Had to see if my drink had been spiked or if you were just another ghost.” The man looks slightly bewildered. “I’ve been seeing you lot since I came off my motorbike last year. Five months in hospital and then when I got out I thought I was going mad seeing people who weren’t there.”

“Well, let me assure you, you are not mad,” Edwin affirms. “A near death experience can awaken in some people an affinity for the arcane, including the ability to see ghosts.”

“So I gathered,” the man grumbles. “Still not used to it.”

“That is understandable. I did not expect you to be able to see me,” Edwin admits. “Even with modern medicine meaning that more people are surviving near death experiences than ever before, it is still rare to come across people who can.”

“Sounds lonely,” the man says.

“Not at all.” Edwin’s rebuttal is instantaneous. “I have friends. And I admit I value not being seen much of the time.”

“So when did you...” the man gestures vaguely, looking a trifle embarrassed.

“Die?” Edwin suggests, bluntly.

The man looks chagrined. “Sorry, is that an insensitive question to ask a ghost? Not really spoken to many of you.”

“That entirely depends upon the ghost. And to answer your question, 1916.”

“The war?”

“No.” Edwin does not offer any further information.

“Ah, that one’s the insensitive question?”

“How very astute of you.” Edwin cannot help feeling suddenly on the defensive.

“Ok, sheath your claws, mate. I meant no offence.” The man’s expression turns sympathetic. “I imagine things were pretty different back then.”

“Yes.” Obviously they were.

“So what did you make of all that?” The man cocks his head back towards the club. “Didn’t look like your regular haunt, if you'll excuse the terrible pun.”

“I will not, it was in fact terrible. As for the nightclub, I found it loud, and very busy.”

“Not things you enjoy?”

“Not really. Though...” Though, somehow, Edwin’s not sorry he came.

“Go on,” the man encourages, his voice kind.

Edwin composes his thoughts. “You are right, things were very different in 1916. I am not sure this is somewhere I would ever enjoy being, but I think I enjoy knowing that it exists and that other people are enjoying it.”

The man grins at him. “You know there’s a queer bookshop and cafe in Camden, might be more your cup of tea. It’s certainly quieter.”

Edwin pulls out his notebook and writes down the street name the man gives him. “Thank you. Perhaps I will pay it a visit.”

Before he can ask any further questions, a second man exits the club and comes to join the one Edwin has been chatting to. A shared smile makes it clear that they know each other.

The man’s friend is nothing like him. Slender and clean-shaven, where the first man is well built with a beard, and dressed in a snugly fitting vibrant shirt (which despite it’s bright hue does look to be very well-cut and Edwin cannot help but admire good tailoring) with perfectly styled hair. He also clearly does not share his friend’s ability to see Edwin. He shakes his head and plucks the cigarette from his friend’s fingers, admonishing, “Those things will kill you,” tone and accent both reminiscent of Edwin’s own.

“Told you.” Edwin is incapable of not putting in his agreement.

The first man snorts. “Oh hush.”

Edwin realises the two men are not simply friends moments before their lips meet. The kiss is much chaster than some of the ones he’d witnessed inside but it is laced with such affection that it feels more intimate than any of those had.

Edwin still remembers the first time he’d seen two men kiss. It would have been the early 90s and he’d actually stopped in his tracks. He remembers how he’d quickly looked away, the shock and confusion that he’d felt, the fear for the men and, he can admit, the judgement for putting themselves at such risk. He thinks, looking back, that Charles might have momentarily been concerned that his friend embodied rather more of his era’s sensibilities than Charles had previously realised. There had been some careful explanation of changes in the law and the way people thought about things, which Edwin was actually already aware of, and then Charles had said something that would stay with Edwin for decades to come. Something lodged firmly in the back of his mind on the staircase out of Hell, giving him the confidence that Charles would not think less of him for being the way he was.

“I don’t see why people make such a big deal about stuff like that, long as everyone’s happy then that’s aces in my book. I don’t like seeing people take against someone who’s just living their life.”

Edwin remembers nodding, too overcome to say anything in response, and Charles had squeezed his arm and said something about how well Edwin was doing adapting to the modern world – seemingly reassured he hadn’t set up shop with a bigot. Edwin wonders briefly if Charles had had any inkling about the impact of his kind words and his thoroughly decent, loving heart.

He pulls himself from his reverie to see the men have linked hands and appear ready to head back inside. The first man’s eyes flicker over to Edwin as he asks his boyfriend, “You liked that bookshop in Camden, didn’t you?”

“I did.” The other man smiles. “Whatever made you think of that right now?”

The first man gives a nonchalant shrug. “Oh I was just thinking about it. It seemed nice,” he says, pointedly catching Edwin’s eye.

His partner laughs and tugs him back towards the club, light from the street lamp catching on a pair of matching gold rings on their linked hands. “This from the guy who was only there for the cake,” he teases.

“Hey, it was good cake!” Edwin’s acquaintance gives him a wink as he follows his husband (a thought that makes Edwin smile broadly) back inside. Edwin returns a polite nod of thanks. Perhaps a bookshop would be rather more to his taste, he’s certainly tempted to go and find out.

~*~*~*~

Edwin doesn’t visit the bookshop immediately. The Agency caseload is full, and the nightclub has given him plenty to think about. He wishes he had Niko to talk it all through with. He considers talking to Charles, or even Crystal, but the moment is never right and he’s not sure he’d know what to say to either of them.

In the end he finds himself in the forest outside Port Townsend seeking out Monty once more. It takes a while to find him but Edwin suspects that Monty still has some trace of magic from Esther, as he always seems to eventually show up whenever Edwin visits the forest. It is the same this time, after half an hour or so of wandering about, Edwin sees the dark form swooping down from a tree to greet him.

“Hello Monty.”

Monty settles on his shoulder, pressing against Edwin’s neck in his usual affectionate greeting before taking to the air once more.

Then Edwin sees a second crow, hanging back, watching from the tree.

“Is that a friend of yours?” he asks.

Monty flies off to joins the other bird in the tree, snuggling close beside them. They groom his feathers briefly before taking off. Monty returns to Edwin looking smug. If a bird can look smug, which Edwin is starting to believe they can.

“Oh, I see,” he smiles in understanding. “Well you always were handsome.”

Monty quite literally preens.

Edwin thinks of the bedraggled bundle of feathers in a cage, with no one but a bird’s natural predators for company. “It is good to see you happy.” He recalls the Cat King’s wisdom in insisting that Edwin accept Monty for who he was and not who Esther tried to force him into being.

Monty as a crow is a different companion to Monty as a human, but he is no less congenial. It is clear that the wide-eyed, excitable (if also slightly bitchy) personality was all Monty’s own. He always seems keen to hear whatever Edwin has to say, and often makes him laugh with the way he responds.

Progress has been slow, but with careful attention Edwin has learnt to interpret much from Monty’s attitudes and gestures. He can differentiate between a caw of annoyance and one of excitement, and recognise the odd noise that seems to be as close as a crow can come to laughter. They still have to to resort to Edwin asking a lot of yes/no questions at times, but they’re both getting better at conversing with each other.

Now Edwin gratefully pours out everything about his visit to the nightclub, sat crosslegged on the ground, while Monty listens intently. Occasionally he interrupts, trying to ask questions, or get Edwin to clarify something. Though when it becomes clear he’s asking what Edwin was looking for exactly in going, Edwin finds it hard to answer.

“I don’t exactly know why I went. I was curious I think. I suppose since dancing with Thomas...” He’s interrupted at this juncture by a loud and outraged cawing, and he recalls that he never got around to telling Monty much about the party. By the next time he’d seen him, the incident with the iron shrapnel had superseded it in his news. “Ah, yes. I suppose maybe I should tell you about that first.” The crow does not like being left out of the loop.

It takes a long time to bring Monty up to date, but he listens patiently and Edwin finds that he feels better in himself for talking about it. He mostly brushes over the dancing and ‘promenading’ with Thomas at the party in favour of his experiences at the club, finding himself smiling softly as he reaches the end of the story and the encounter with the two men outside. “I believe that they were married. They had matching wedding rings. I...” he trails off, feeling silly at being so happy for two people he does not even know.

Monty though makes a soft noise and nudges him with his head.

“It is nice isn’t it.” Edwin smiles.

Monty flutters up, lands on his arm and sidles down it until he can tap Edwin’s ring finger with his beak.

“Would I want to get married?”

Monty gives their agreed response of affirmation.

Edwin is ready to brush it off with a laugh, he is after all dead, but, remembering that the whole point of being here was that he’d wanted someone to open up to, he gives it some thought. “I do not believe I would,” he concludes. “I think I might one day like to be in some kind of romantic relationship, but, even setting my feelings for Charles aside, I like my afterlife as it is. I think I would want a relationship that would dovetail with that. I do not want to make someone else my daily priority, what I do with the Agency matters to me. It matters very much. I do not want to settle down and play house with someone.”

Monty gives him an indecipherable look. Edwin though can guess at some of the thinking behind it.

“Yes, alright, I have also built a life with Charles that I would not sacrifice for anybody. And I could not love anyone who would want me to. Niko said that all kinds of love were important, that we should not simply prioritise romantic love over all the other kinds. I believe that she was right. The human heart (even if I no longer strictly have one) seems to have no limits on how much love it contains. And I suppose when I was alive the idea of getting married held so many difficult connotations, it felt like a trap from which one would never escape. So whilst I was moved to see those men were married, I think largely I do not see much connection between love and marriage. The one does not require the other.” He continues very quietly, as though confessing a secret. “I would perhaps like to be loved though, in a romantic sense.”

Monty, who has been perched on a nearby log, flutters over to Edwin’s knee and looks up at him sadly. Edwin reaches out and gently strokes his head with a fingertip. “Do not look sad for me, I assure you I am not pining for romance or anything else.”

Monty tilts his head and gets a gleam in his eye. Hopping down from Edwin’s knee, he proceeds to strut up and down, alternating between a strange sort of hiss, like an angry cat, and higher pitched cawing, tail lifted and feathers fluffed. All the while giving Edwin significant looks to see if he understands.

Edwin does not. “What are you doing?”

Monty does not stop and there is, admittedly, something about that strut… “Are you impersonating Thomas?” Edwin laughs.

Monty confirms that he is, making that odd wheezy noise that Edwin has determined is one of amusement.

“What about him?”

Monty gives him a flat look, identifiable across boundaries of language, era, and even species. Edwin can feel his intelligence being questioned, and he huffs in response.

Monty bobs his head at him in a way he’s taken to doing when trying to encourage Edwin to speak. It seems to variously mean ‘go on’, ‘I’m listening’, and ‘I asked you a question, kindly bloody answer it’.

“I do not know what you want me to say.”

Monty spins around as though trying to imitate a waltz.

“Yes, alright, I did enjoy dancing with him.” Edwin’s smile softens. “I enjoyed it very much. As I told you, I only asked him in order to escape someone else but it turned out to be rather wonderful. He is a very good dance partner, and he looked particularly handsome that night.”

Monty is eyeing him suspiciously, and Edwin frowns. “Do not look at me like that. I am not foolish enough to allow a little flirtation to get out of hand. Thomas is handsome and charming, but hardly a good idea.”

Monty makes a sound that is neither negative nor affirmative, and Edwin cannot even guess at what his friend is thinking.

“I am unsure what you are implying, Monty, but I dislike the look in your eye,” Edwin says sharply.

If anything, Monty doubles down on the expression.

Edwin, who had been toying with the idea of dropping in to see Thomas, decides that maybe he will not tell Monty about that. In case he gets any more insane ideas about what Edwin’s thinking of doing with the Cat King! Accordingly, Edwin gives the impression he is heading for the Tongue and Tail to return home, before doubling back towards the harbour.

~*~*~*~

He finds Thomas lounged upon his throne looking beautiful and bored. The Cat King jumps up at Edwin’s arrival and bounds over to him, dressed in another of his many skirts. This one is new to Edwin, a kilt in a heavy looking wool with a tartan pattern in greys so dark it’s only just discernable. Paired with that is a crushed velvet shirt in a deep gold that exactly matches his eyes. Sparkling cat-head cufflinks, and a few fine gold chains layered at his throat, complete the outfit.

Edwin can’t help thinking how well Thomas would have fit in at the nightclub. The only way he would have stood out was by being easily the most attractive man in the room.

“What?” Thomas notices the longer than usual appraisal of his outfit and pouts. “Don’t you like it?” He gives a little spin to better show off.

“You look very nice. I had not meant to imply otherwise, I was merely distracted.”

Thomas smirks. “By how nice I look?”

“Not exactly. I was thinking you would have fit in somewhere I visited lately where I did not fit at all.”

“Oh?” His friend is filled with a typical feline curiosity. “And where have you been?”

Whilst he had resisted asking Thomas to join him at the time, it seems harmless enough to tell him now. It is different to telling Monty, though Thomas is just as quiet while Edwin speaks – interrupting only to move things upstairs “so we can both sit down”. Edwin is fully aware that Thomas could magic up some chairs right there if he cared to, but doesn’t challenge it. He’s very comfortable in the man’s private space these days.

As with all stories, the telling changes according to the audience and Edwin finds himself dwelling less on his happiness at the evidence of the two men’s wedding rings and more on his own feelings of exclusion.

“If you wanted a fun night out you should have called me.” Thomas frowns, looking a little left out.

“I was not looking for a fun night out,” Edwin tries to explain. “I am not sure what I was looking for. But what I found was that, surrounded by people like myself, I still felt entirely out of place. Perhaps I simply do not fit in anywhere. I never fit in whilst I was alive and now I am too far out of my own time to fit anywhere at all.”

“Do you really think all the cerebral introverts got left back in the 1910s? Come on, you’re smarter than that,” Thomas scoffs. “Yes, queer culture includes the kind of fabulously scandalous, and some not so scandalous, clubs that I suspect are not likely to be your thing, but that’s not all it is.” He pauses and frowns, looking thoughtful. “Not that I suppose you’d really know that, because who have you ever had to talk to about this.”

Edwin cannot refute that. For an all too brief time there was Niko, but other than that there has been no one really but Thomas himself.

“So you did the obvious and started your research with the most patently unmissable branch of queer culture short of a Pride parade,” Thomas reasons. “Loud and scandalous tends to draw attention.” His eyebrows quirk in self-aware amusement. “And before you say anything, there is nothing wrong with loud and scandalous but equally there’s nothing wrong with that not being your thing.”

“I was not going to say there was anything wrong with it,” Edwin objects firmly. “However sometimes I confess I am less certain that there is nothing wrong with me. I do not cope well with other people and sometimes I am forced to admit I may be the common denominator there.”

“Oh you’re not the problem, don’t be ridiculous,” Thomas says, dismissively. “You’re completely charming when you want to be, and quite often even when you don’t. Charles ‘doe eyes’ Rowland has nothing on you when you turn on the old fashioned manners.”

Well! Edwin is accustomed to Thomas’ flirting, but there isn’t a trace of it here. It sounds entirely sincere, and almost annoyed that Edwin could think otherwise about himself. Edwin swallows awkwardly but the words leave him with a warm glow of affection, and the reference to his ‘old fashioned manners’ reminds him of having Thomas on his arm in the Crystal Palace park.

Thomas however is in full flow and thankfully does not seem to notice. “You have a low social battery,” he says. “That guy you spoke to sounds like he gave a pretty solid recommendation. You need to go book shopping.” He laughs. “Oh god, I swear your eyes lit up when I said ‘book shopping’!”

Edwin can’t help but chuckle, though he suspects his eyes had perhaps lit up in response to his fond memories of the party. “I do like books. I went and walked past the bookshop actually. It was plastered in rainbows and I did not feel quite ready to find yet another place I did not belong. Truthfully, I am not even fond of rainbows. They’re so aggressively cheerful,” he complains.

Thomas laughs even more. “Oh my god, you are a fucking case! Trust me, trust the nice man you scared half to death in the club - ”

“I did not scare him!” Edwin interjects.

“ - and go. I suspect a bunch of book-nerds interested in queer studies, and where to get the best tea and cake, are exactly the sort of people you need to see. You know why? Because I think what you’re looking for is proof that if you’d been alive today you could have been happy. That any 21^st century Edwin Paynes are going to have an easier life than you did.”

“I...” For a moment Edwin is genuinely lost for words, weighing up Thomas’ assertion. “You may be right.” He’s not sure it’s quite that simple but it is something he had not considered, and which does feel like something he wants now that he has. How and when did this man get to know him so well? He remembers telling Thomas once that it was not always comfortable being seen, being seen by Thomas though doesn’t make him uncomfortable at all. He feels a little bewildered by his insight, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“There’s a more important question, you know, than what 21^st century knock-offs of you are up to,” Thomas insists. “When are you going to allow yourself to be happy?”

There’s a finger suddenly at his lips and Edwin braces himself for a truth spell that never comes. Thomas simply holds his finger there in a shushing gesture. “Don’t answer that, smart-ass, think about it.”

How exactly is he supposed to think at all with a handsome man touching his lips! Edwin’s brain feels like it has shorted out entirely. The slow glide and gentle tug of Thomas’ warm skin as he pulls his finger away does nothing to help with this.

“Now as for rainbows, not everyone can look fabulous in everything, even someone as handsome as you, so how about something a bit closer to your own time.” He extends a hand and a flower appears in his characteristic purple plume. A perfect green carnation.

“That is a little before my time,” Edwin points out. He does not however reject the gift.

Thomas shrugs. “Near enough. It’s like you, old enough to be classic. Aesthetically pleasing without being flashy. Elegant, but a little bit wicked. And certainly not aggressively cheerful.”

He tucks the flower into Edwin’s buttonhole, taking rather longer than he needs to about it. Hands linger, smoothing Edwin’s lapel in an almost sensual caress. “It suits you. Green’s your colour.”

Lips still tingling from Thomas’ touch, Edwin wonders what it might be like to press them against the other man’s. How good it might feel to give in to whatever strange flirtation they have going on, no matter what he’d said to Monty about it being unwise. He thinks though, with whatever tiny part of his brain that is still functioning, that he’s been asked an important question. What will it take to allow himself to be happy? That, as Thomas has said, requires and deserves some thought. So Edwin smiles his thanks for the compliment, doesn’t allow himself to argue with it, and instead asks after the cats and what Thomas has been up to, until he reluctantly has to return home.

The carnation joins the lily under the cloche and Edwin smiles every time he looks at it. He thinks Niko would approve.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Crystal Palace Surname-Von Hoverkraft is an only child, and she’d always liked it that way. She’s not great with other people. She’s good at getting them to like or believe her when she needs them to, psychic powers do tend to help with that, but not so great at the building long-term healthy relationships part.

She has no idea if Edwin was an only child. Probably not, given the time he comes from. He has however spent most of his existence alone, and that means that he is in fact far far worse with people than she is. The two of them are...not always a good combo.

Crystal’s become incredibly fond of Edwin in the last few months. The vulnerability that peeks out from behind the hauteur every now and again is a little heartbreaking; but she still quite often wants to knock his head through something. She can tell the feeling is mutual. She may be an only child, but it feels a little like she’s acquired a brother. A deeply annoying one.

Edwin’s been a bit cagey again lately, like he was when he first started going to visit Thomas. It can’t just be about that this time though, she doesn’t think. Edwin’s learnt that Charles accepts his visits to Thomas with much better grace when he knows about them and, as usual, better communication settled things down between the two of them there. Crystal thinks maybe he’s been somewhere else as well, god only knows where though. He gives excuses like:

“I have been to see Monty. Our communication is getting much better.”

Which may be true, but fuck knows what they’ve been ‘talking’ about to give Edwin that slightly shifty expression. She finds his friendship with Monty kind of sweet, but also kind of hilarious because the image in her head is insane.

Her friend talking to a bird in a forest like a kind of Disney princess. Only, instead of some sweet little bluebird, it’s a crow that spent god knows how long as familiar to a wicked witch. And, instead of some fragile sweet-natured creature in a pretty dress, the ‘princess’ is a young man whose words burn even worse than his fire spells and whose outfit is more dark academia as styled by your grandad. She snorts aloud at the image and Edwin scowls at her from across the office.

He still does that quite a lot.

So yeah, she and Edwin are doing better but there’s still a way to go.

The universe being what it is (that is shitty), she probably shouldn’t be surprised by the way things unfold in the following days. Her control over her powers is still imperfect, and sometimes they get out of hand and she reads something or someone she doesn’t intend to. Of course, just as they’re getting on better, it would have to be Edwin it happens with.

~*~*~*~

It’s been a rough case, a rough week. There was a demon involved, which is neither Crystal nor Edwin’s favourite trauma trigger, and, whilst it all wrapped up relatively straightforwardly, everyone is now a little on edge.

Or rather mostly just Edwin is, and that’s upsetting the atmosphere for everyone else. Crystal suspects that to varying degrees she and Charles both found the episode quite cathartic; nothing like shoving demons back down where they belong. Edwin however just seems jumpy and distracted.

Really, she should have left it there. Left it to Charles, who is the expert Edwin wrangler, and gone home for a soak in the tub. Instead she makes the mistake of trying to be nice.

Edwin’s sat at his desk (technically it’s a shared desk, but Charles never uses it and she wouldn’t dare), shoulders tight, lips pursed, basically looking like he’s sucking on a lemon. The tension is pouring off him and she and Charles have been trying to lighten the mood for what feels like hours, but is probably about 45 minutes. Basically ever since the clients buggered off, happy that their haunting grounds are now demon-free.

Charles is rummaging in the cupboard, probably about to emerge with a Clue board and suggest a game, when Crystal carefully (not carefully enough, she thinks in retrospect) approaches the desk and gives Edwin a sympathetic smile. “That was a lot today.”

He condescends to nod his agreement and she takes that as a good sign.

“You know, if you wanted to talk about things, we’re both here. I know a bit about demon trauma myself.” She rests a hand on his, something he does occasionally allow, and wills him to feel her sincerity. Not in a psychic-mind-control way, just a ‘please let him believe me and accept a bit of empathy for once’ way. Thing is Crystal’s will is a bit...well it can come with consequences.

There’s a moment when everything is fine, Edwin is unbending enough to give her a rueful half smile and Crystal thinks she’s getting through to him. Then she’s in a strange grey/green underworld of fluorescent lighting and grimy shadows and it’s like she’s been dropped into a horror film. There are body parts littering the floor; a monster (there’s no other word she can think of for the obscene creature) in the corner, gnawing on something she doesn’t want to look too closely at; and Edwin curled up as tiny as possible against a wall.

The body parts all look like parts of him.

“Crystal!” Edwin leaps from his chair like he’s been given an electric shock, and gapes at her; the break in contact ending the vision.

“Fuck!” She jumps back herself, knocking into the corner of the desk.

Charles has reappeared, holding a Clue box, and is looking at Edwin in clear concern. “Are you alright, mate?”

No, no Edwin is clearly not alright because Crystal’s just grabbed herself a sneak peek at the horrors he keeps inside his head, and now as he pulls himself back together he looks caught somewhere between rage and astonishment.

“I felt you!” he spits at her.

She assumes he means he felt her messing about in his head, but then sees him grab his hand like it’s been burned. “I… You mean...?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “I felt your hand.” He sounds pretty put out about that.

“What?” Charles looks bewildered.

“That is not to say I did not feel you ferreting about up here as well.” Edwin gestures viscously at his temple.

“What?!” Charles may have temporarily lost the ability to say anything else.

“Ok.” Crystal holds her hands up in the universal ‘don’t shoot me’ pose. “I didn’t mean... I wasn’t trying to…” The enormity of what she’d done, what she’d seen, leaves her without words. “Edwin, I’m sorry.”

He scoffs at her but she’s learning to read him (in a non-psychic sense) and she doesn’t think his doubt is real. He’s just deflecting from the vulnerability of what she saw. If he even knows exactly what that was.

“I didn’t really see...” She gears up for the lie that might spare them both, but Edwin interrupts.

“I know what you saw.”

“Right.” Shit.

Charles is now hovering awkwardly between the two of them, a hand extended towards Edwin but no actual contact being made. Probably because Edwin looks like a startled cat that might scratch the eyes out of anyone who gets too close. She can practically see a flicking tail and hair standing on end. Either he’s spent too much time with Thomas, or they all have.

“Mate...” Charles’ tone is soft and inviting, trying to soothe Edwin’s ruffled nerves.

“I am fine.”

Well that’s a fucking lie, but Crystal thinks it’s best to let him have it.

“I don’t understand what just happened,” Charles appeals.

“Nor do I.” Edwin bites the words out, still sounding furious.

They’re both looking to her for explanations and Crystal doesn’t know either.

The vision part she understands, it doesn’t happen often but sometimes she reads people accidentally. It’s a pretty big fuck up in this case, but she can see how it happened. The physical touch though...

She’d once made a guy feel like a snake was slithering up his leg to the point he’d publicly ripped his pants off in a panic. He’d been asking for it. So technically, yes, she knew she could make people feel things in a physical sense, but she’d not really given it much thought. Especially not as to whether it might work on ghosts.

“I was… I was trying to make you feel my concern, I was trying to make you feel better, I didn't mean to... I wanted to make you...”

Edwin just looks more furious. “I do not need your concern!”

“Mate, please.” Charles’ hand is still extended towards Edwin, and still not daring to make contact. That’s not good. “Can one of you just explain to me what actually happened?”

Edwin can never refuse Charles anything, but when he opens his mouth to answer no words emerge. His lips snap closed again and he turns a baleful eye on her. Yeah he’s fucking pissed, but she thinks he’s giving her a chance to explain herself.

“I lost control of my powers, I wasn’t intending to use them at all!” she insists. “I was just thinking about how much I wanted Edwin to believe that we cared and were here for him...and I accidentally read him. But only for a moment! I’m not sure I understand the part where he could feel me. It didn’t physically feel any different to me, but then I can always feel you guys. I’ve made people physically feel stuff before though, not very nice things usually but that was a long time ago! Point is I knew I could do that, but not to ghosts! And I wasn’t trying to do it at all! It’s been a long day and there’s still a lot I don’t know about how my powers work...”

“Yes, alright, Crystal!” Edwin snaps, cutting off her word vomit. “I accept that you were not doing it on purpose.” And that is practically magnanimous for a pissed off Edwin Payne. The fact he’s neither chucked her out of the office, nor stormed off himself yet, seems like a good sign.

“So, you could feel her hand?” Charles asks in astonishment.

“Yes.” Edwin seems to share Crystal’s thoughts that Charles hasn’t exactly zeroed in on the important part of what happened, but somehow he’s always calmer after pretty much any exchange with Charles and he turns back to her with a little less venom in his eyes. She can practically see how he pulls his feelings back, behind the wall he loves to throw up when things get too emotional, the way he cocks his head to one side, curiosity taking the driving seat. “I have never known a psychic that could make their touch tangible to ghosts, but then we have never encountered a psychic as powerful as you.”

Crystal is slightly distracted because Charles has touched his fingers to the back of her hand, the gesture unbearably hopeful and sweet. If she’d lost control like that with him he’d probably have been delighted, no matter what she’d seen in his thoughts. He desperately misses his human senses. Whilst Edwin looks offended at the very idea someone had touched him that wasn’t Charles, or maybe Thomas. She knows he can feel the Cat King, and she has a feeling Edwin doesn’t mind that in the least.

She puts her other hand atop Charles’ and squeezes. “I think it takes me doing something for it to work.”

“Yeah, of course.” Charles does a terrible job of looking entirely nonchalant about the revelation that maybe there’s a way his girlfriend can touch him so that he can feel it.

Edwin is looking between the two of them and oh god, like things needed making worse. He’s been pretty damn good about the whole her dating his crush thing (and by god ‘crush’ really doesn’t cover it, does it) but she doesn’t need to be psychic to know what’s going through his head right now either. There are certainly intriguing possibilities to the idea that she can make ghosts feel her.

“I am sure you will find the exercise repeatable, no doubt you will gain more control over it with practice. I am not however inclined to be your guinea pig, please never do that again.” There’s an unspoken ‘or else’ that suggests next time he’s going to set her hair on fire.

“I won’t,” she promises. “It was an accident.”

“Yes, I realise that.”

“Mate.” Charles has finally made contact with the startled cat that is Edwin Payne, and is gently rubbing his arm. Edwin’s holding himself very stiffly, but he’s not pulling away so it’s fair to assume Charles knows when it’s safe to touch him.

Which apparently she does not. What a mess.

“I really am sorry,” she tries again.

He manages a nod and his expression eases a little. She doesn’t think that’s at all likely to be the end of it, but she knows there’s no chance he’s going to talk to her. Hopefully Charles can settle him down and fix some of the damage while she goes home and gets some sleep.

~*~*~*~

By the end of the week Crystal’s no longer certain Charles always knows how to approach Edwin though. Ever since she’d confessed to him exactly what she’d seen in Edwin’s head, because Edwin wouldn't even tell Charles that, he’s been desperately trying to get his best mate to talk. Edwin is having none of it. It’s been three awful days and Charles has been left hurt and confused. Crystal wants to knock their heads together.

Thirty years of terrible fucking communication was, apparently, a pattern too entrenched to be broken by whatever mad bonding session they’d had in Hell. They’d both seemed to get better after their time in Port Townsend, but old habits apparently die way harder than they should. Edwin’s in full on emotional retreat, and Charles looks more like a kicked puppy by the day. She’s not particularly surprised when she turns up on Sunday afternoon and finds Charles alone in the office.

“I keep making a mess of things,” he mumbles into her hair as she hugs him tight, after he tells her Edwin has been especially tetchy and has gone out without saying where. To see Thomas would be her guess.

“No. You don’t. I’m the one who messed up and Edwin’s just upset.”

“He won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe he can’t, Charles. Trauma works differently for everyone.” Though god knows Edwin’s got no problem peppering references to his time in Hell into everyday conversation.

Crystal can’t stop thinking about what she’d seen. She’s haunted by a few seconds of what had lasted for over 70 years for Edwin. She’d understood that Hell must bad, like that’s obvious, but she can admit she’d had no real conception of what that meant before. Bad certainly doesn’t cover it. She doesn’t fully understand what she did see and it feels like there are a thousand things she wants to ask, but, fortunately for any hopes she has of rescuing her and Edwin’s friendship, she’s not stupid enough to ask them. At least to ask Edwin.

“When you rescued him the second time, you saw what he went through down there?”

Charles nods cautiously, even now he’s not about to spill Edwin’s secrets. “Something of it, yeah. Pretty much what you said you got a glimpse of. From other stuff he’s said over the years, I don’t think that’s necessarily like all of it. But I think it’s pretty much what happened to him for most of the time he was there.”

“How the fuck did he ever get out the first time?”

Charles gives her a sad smile. “Because he’s more bloody stubborn than Hell itself.”

Crystal laughs. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” She tugs Charles off his usual perch on the desk to come and sit with her on the sofa. “I’m so sorry I caused all this mess.”

“You didn’t mean to. He knows that, you know. He just, I don’t think he knows how to cope with people knowing what happened to him. I shouldn’t have tried to get him to talk.”

“He probably needs to, but maybe he just needs more time.” Or maybe, she thinks, he’s gone off to talk to someone else. Someone a little further removed from it all, someone not dating the person who’d caused the mess to start with. She hopes that’s not why he’s not talking to Charles, the last thing she wants is to be a rift between them. There are other reasons he might choose to talk to Thomas though.

Edwin is clearly interested in the man, if he’d just bloody let himself admit it and go have some fun. Thomas is hot, entertaining, and besotted with Edwin, the boy could do a damn sight worse. She thinks Thomas is good for him actually. All that repression needs balancing out somehow, and the Cat King has proved surprisingly patient. Hopefully, if that is where he’s gone, Thomas can help calm him down a little. She doesn’t think she can bear seeing Charles hurt much longer, and she doesn’t think she can bear it if Edwin won’t forgive her.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Thomas is feeling good about life. Things have been going exceptionally well of late between him and his lovely ghost. They’ve danced, gone on a romantic late night stroll, Edwin’s eyed Thomas up when he’s not wearing much, and, if Thomas is right in his interpretation of Edwin’s latest visit, the ghost is getting more interested in exploring his sexuality in at least one sense. Brush over the part where Thomas had had to pull a chunk of iron out of him, and it’s literally been all flowers and moonlight.

Crystal thinks Edwin likes him, his cats think Edwin likes him (as they keep saying, much to his annoyance), and Edwin himself all but admitted his attraction. With Edwin of course the trick is less working out if he’s interested, that’s bloody obvious, but more whether he’s willing to do anything about it. Crystal may be sure he’s not going spend his afterlife pining for his best mate, but Thomas is less confident about that. Maybe he just has to hope. If Edwin can be brave enough to confess his feelings on the very steps of Hell, then Thomas can risk another rejection.

It’s time for a direct approach, no flirtatious teasing that can be written off as a joke. He can behave for once, no semi-nudity, no aggressively sexual advances, and no complaining if he gets shot down. Next time the feeling’s right, he’s going to ask Edwin for a kiss with all the sincerity he can muster. Given the number of those moments they seem to have shared lately, he doesn’t think he'll have long to wait.

Consequently, next time Edwin hops through the mirror Thomas is giddy with excitement to see him. So much so that it takes him a moment to realise Edwin is...well, not ok might be putting it mildly. From the moment he arrives he begins pacing about, metaphorical fur on end, almost literally hissing.

“I am sorry, I simply had to get away. I was being driven to distraction!” the ghost huffs. He sounds cross, but his body language is closer to fear than anger. “I do not understand why people cannot mind their own business!”

“Hey there, ghostie. Everything ok?” Thomas asks slowly. He’s not seen Edwin in a week and a half (he’s been very restrained) and this is not the reunion he’d been envisaging.

Edwin looks up at Thomas, almost like he’s registering where he is for the first time. His eyes have a hunted look to them and his brow is creased in frustration. “I am sorry. I do not know what I was thinking. I should leave you in peace.” He turns back to the mirror.

Thomas weighs the possible outcomes of just letting Edwin go, decides he doesn’t like any of them, and shakes his head. “Nope. You’re not running off like this.”

The fact that Edwin doesn’t even object to being transported up to Thomas’ private room to prevent him leaving (though granted there’s a mirror right there and Edwin is more than stubborn enough to use it) tells Thomas that he’s really not in a state to be on his own. He barely even stops the pacing.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?” Thomas asks, keeping his tone level and quiet.

“Crystal Palace happened!” Edwin spits, exactly like a feral kitten.

For an awful moment Thomas thinks he’s referring to the party and that he does not share Thomas’ fond memories of that night.

Edwin’s next outburst however makes things a little clearer. Though not much. “And as usual Charles is oblivious to the problems she causes with her unthinking, arrogant, bull in a china shop...”

“Ok.” Thomas takes the risk of interrupting what looks to be a rant that is only going to build steam, and gets a cross glare levelled at him. He’s not backing down though. “You’re going to need to be more specific. I can see you’re upset,” he says placatingly, “But I have no idea what Crystal’s done so...”

“She ferreted around inside my head!” Edwin snaps before Thomas can finish his sentence. “She grabbed herself a front row seat to a performance of my memories of Hell!”

Well shit. Thomas didn’t see that one coming. Partly because it doesn’t really make a lot of sense, he’s absolutely silly for the ghost and he’s got no bloody desire to see the contents of Edwin’s head! He imagines it as giant library of trauma.

Edwin doesn't need other people in his head, Edwin needs people who can drag him out of it.

He’s not offering any further explanations, so Thomas tries to encourage him to carry on. “You’re saying she used her psychic ability to read you? What was she trying to do?” Surely she didn’t actually want a glimpse of his experiences of damnation. It seems so much worse, so much more invasive than a truth spell. He knows the relationship between ghost and psychic has been rocky, but he’s seen Crystal’s concern for Edwin first-hand and he’s having trouble imagining her doing something so cruelly intrusive.

“She did not mean to,” Edwin continues snappishly, still marching back and forth, fists clenched and voice tight. “She was being foolish and lost control. Clearly whatever efforts she has been putting in to master her abilities have been truly lacking.”

“Well, she’s a teenager wielding a lot of power that she has no one to help her learn to use.”

Edwin turns a scornful look on him and Thomas realises that right now rational argument is going to get him nowhere. The look in Edwin’s eyes is absolutely desperate. Whatever Crystal was trying to do is irrelevant right now, what she apparently managed to do was to dredge up and bear witness to Edwin’s trauma in a manner that the ghost is ill-equipped to handle. He looks furious and desperate and incredibly vulnerable...and he’d run here. He’d come to Thomas.

Which is deeply flattering but is yet another thing that doesn’t make sense. He knows Edwin’s become much more comfortable with him, is pretty sure the ghost feels safe with him, but he also knows without a doubt that nothing and no one makes Edwin feel safer than Charles does. Edwin looks on the brink of a breakdown and he has apparently willingly put himself on a different continent to his other half.

“Where’s Charles?”

“I could not - ” Edwin stops pacing, hands running through his hair and gripping so hard it looks like he’s going to pull it out. “I could not...” He does not allow Thomas to touch him when he tries to reach out, shying away like a startled horse. “He kept asking if I was alright, asking about the things she’d seen. It was nothing he had not seen for himself when he rescued me, but all of this seems to have reminded him of the whole experience and he has been attempting to see if I wish to talk about it.”

“That seems like a very kind and well-meant offer.” Though clearly one that’s gone down like a lead balloon.

“Of course it is kind and well-meant, it is Charles!” Edwin looks bereft and suddenly it’s like his legs give out under him and he plonks gracelessly to the floor with his back against the shelves, knees pulled up to his chest. The change in elevation seems to calm him a little, and when he continues his voice is much more steady. “There are things I cannot tell him, things it would do him no good to hear. I do not want to drop such conversational bons mots as the fact that I have been ripped apart so many times I developed a favourite way to die.”

There is a very long silence at that, after all what on earth can be said in response. Edwin’s not looking for sympathy and ‘I’m sorry, that really sucks’ is hardly going to cut it in any case.

Still, whilst there are many aspects of Edwin’s trauma Thomas cannot relate to (repression has never been his problem), this one is different. “Drowning.”

“I beg your pardon?” Edwin just looks confused, like his mind had been a very long way away from Thomas and their exchange.

The Cat King settles on the floor beside him, keeping a respectable distance so as not to scare Edwin off. “Of the ways I have died, drowning was the best by a mile. I mean I wouldn’t say it was ‘euphoric’ like the cliché claims, but it was relatively peaceful.” Relative to being battered to death with an iron cane certainly.

Edwin looks at him with eerily calm curiosity. “Really?” He seems surprised by the choice, perhaps remembering the murdered kittens in the sack.

Now Thomas can’t stop thinking about them too. “I wasn’t trapped in a bag. It was summer, the water was warm and clear, I remember I could look up and still see the sun.” It is a very long time since he has thought of this. What has this ghost done to him that he is willingly reaching back into his own trauma to find some way to connect with him?

Edwin shrugs. Not in dismissal, more an expression that he doesn’t understand Thomas’ choice. “It was not water that I drowned in.”

For all Edwin doesn't seem to acknowledge, or realise, that he’s just dropped some information that is going to live rent free in Thomas’ nightmares, wondering exactly what Edwin might have drowned in in Hell – and it is definitely better not to know, he does look much calmer overall. He’s still looking at Thomas with that endless curiosity of his. “What happens when you die?” he asks suddenly.

“I come back.” Thomas sighs. “It’s not pretty.”

There is the faintest ghost of a smile. “Do you believe me to be squeamish?”

Fair point. Before he can answer though Edwin interrupts. “But perhaps you do not wish to talk about it, in which case please do not.”

“No, it’s ok.” He’ll talk about anything Edwin likes, anything to stop him looking the way he did a few minutes before. “I get reborn in my new cat form, you noticed that changed from life to life, within my own chest cavity – or I suppose technically the chest cavity of my corpse – and I claw my way out.”

Edwin offers a polite grimace. “That is certainly not pretty. I feel I was rather fortunate in comparison. I just came back alongside my corpse. One moment I was in one body, the next it was dead beside me and I was in a new, identical one.”

Thomas has to work really hard to keep his voice soft and calm, when everything in him wants to cry out in sympathy and rage for Edwin’s suffering. “Doesn’t sound much more fortunate. Nothing quite like looking at your own corpse is there?”

“No, there is not.”

Thomas can’t help wondering just how many times his ghost has had to do that. He knows better than to ask more about what happened to Edwin in Hell. His mind though is all too happy to provide limitless ideas that are made all the more terrible by the fact that likely none of them are terrible enough.

He’s still a little lost in his thoughts when Edwin breaks the silence. “A broken neck,” the ghost says, words quiet and unnaturally calm. “It was quick, almost painless. Sometimes, when I knew I wasn’t going to escape, I would try to make it happen, get it over with. I learnt what angle and force was most likely to work, though it was usually impossible to actually enact - demons are not generally cooperative. It worked once or twice though. It was only when I escaped and I had chance to think about things that it occurred to me that by hastening my own death I’d been committing a mortal sin in Hell. Quite the unrepentant sinner.” He gives Thomas a twisted smile.

“Fuck repentance,” Thomas growls, losing his grip on calm. “You were murdered at sixteen years old, you’d done nothing wrong and you have nothing to repent.”

He’s reminded again of the kittens in the river. He may not look it, but Edwin was all but a child when he went to Hell. An innocent victim of cruelty. But, to stretch the metaphor to breaking point, he’d somehow clawed his way out of the bag and survived the river. Of course it’s not only a shit metaphor, it’s also inaccurate; Edwin didn’t survive. Except he did. Ghosts are a headfuck like that. By their very nature they haven’t survived, but their existence proves they did endure.

Edwin looks at him, holding eye contact in a way he’s been unable to do since arriving. Green eyes wide and guileless. Thomas would make some corny reference to windows of the soul, except they’re not because Edwin is no wide-eyed, guileless, innocent. He’s a traumatised survivor who rebuilt a life for himself in death, who found meaning in trying to help other people feel like their lives and deaths mattered in way his own never had. And he’s fucking tough. Even as he’s watching, Edwin is visibly recovering his equilibrium. The green eyes regain their spark, but also their distance. His hands come up to expertly re-tie the bow tie and his jacket manifests as he does so.

In less than a minute he’s back on his feet, posture ramrod straight and expression unreadably neutral. He looks perfectly put together and utterly unapproachable again, like he hasn’t for a while now. Even his gloves have reappeared. The armour’s all back in place. “I apologise for my outburst earlier, it has been a trying few weeks,” the ghost says, politely.

Thomas stands slowly so as not to spook him. “What did I tell you? I like your secret parts, be as messy as you want.”

Edwin doesn’t respond to the flirtatious undertones, simply nods stiffly. “Well, I appreciate you listening to me.” He condescends to unbend just a little and adds, “And I very much appreciate your honesty about your own experiences. I won’t say how sorry I am that you suffered, I am sure we are both aware how little empty sympathy does, but I cannot help feeling responsible for your most recent demise. You were murdered too.”

Oh. Suddenly the change in demeanour looks less like indifference and more like guilt. Interesting. “You’re not responsible for any of it.”

“I do not like that you were hurt because of me.”

“I’m still here. Got a few more lives to spare. Though if you could avoid enraging any more functionally-immortal evil witches, I think we’d all be much happier.”

Edwin tries to return his smile, but the ghost’s attempt is a sad, wan thing that makes Thomas long to hold him. “That is likely true. Charles and I have been trying to be more careful.”

It’s not much more than a month since Thomas was pulling iron out of him, if this is their version of careful then he’s not sure his remaining lives are going to be enough. Now though is not the time for a lecture on caution. Edwin’s voicing of his partner’s name has returned a distressed look to his beautiful face.

“You should talk to him,” Thomas counsels. “You don’t need to give him a potted history of Hell, he’s already seen some of it and I doubt he’s going to pry for details. He just wants to be there for you. Just tell him you’re not feeling good and let him support you.”

Edwin nods. “That is very reasonable. Much more reasonable than I was being.”

“Well, I’m pretty fucking smart.”

Edwin manages a wet sounding laugh, eyes looking bright with unshed tears. “You are actually.”

“I give great hugs too, you know. That’s still on offer...”

He’s expecting to be rebuffed, hoping for a fond smile, fearing that he might push Edwin into a retreat. Edwin though tilts his head to one side and says, “Very well.”

It’s not the most enthusiastic consent he’s ever had, but it’s firmly given and it’s probably amongst the best considered. Thomas finds himself oddly hesitant as he steps nearer and draws the lovely ghost gently into an embrace, but the ghost’s arms tighten around him almost immediately. His head droops to hide his face in Thomas’ shoulder, and it’s clear that Edwin very much did need a hug. Thomas has to fight every instinct he has not to just nuzzle into Edwin’s neck and refuse to ever let go. Instead he lets Edwin decide when the hug is over, loosening his grip when he feels the ghost's breathing settle, and allowing him to step back when he’s ready, but he doesn’t quite resist the impulse to lean up and brush a brief kiss to Edwin’s temple as he does.

The ghost gives him a questioning look, the faintest sparkle of amused reproof in his eyes at the gesture.

Thomas attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Now we’re even.”

“I suppose so.” Edwin smiles at him, slowly, and Thomas thinks that just for a moment there’s a little more colour than usual in the ghostly cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I’ll hug you anytime.” Thomas winks.

“I meant for your kindness in listening to me. And your sound advice. I will speak with Charles.”

Thomas catches at Edwin’s arm as he turns to the mirror, amazed when the ghost lets him. “Come back soon, let me know you’re doing ok.”

Edwin nods. “I would like that.”

It takes every ounce of Thomas’ self-control to let go, to let Edwin go. He stares after him through the mirror, his own reflection looking lost and pathetic. Then he turns and collapses face first onto the bed, emotionally rung out.

God, that was way more intimate than anything Thomas had been thinking of suggesting. He’s not been that open and honest with someone in a very long time, and with bloody good reason. He can’t bring himself to regret it though. Not when his honesty had seemed to help forge a connection that brought Edwin back to himself, and then into Thomas’ arms – however briefly. He rolls onto his back with a pleased sigh at the memory of those ghostly arms encircling him. He thinks he’d have been quite happy to stay like that forever. Which is perhaps a little pathetic, but sue him he’s a romantic!

Not that sharing trauma is his idea of romance.

“Urgh!” He rolls over again, punches a pillow, and curls up, staring at the spot on the floor where Edwin had been sat. If only he could offer something a bit more helpful than some overly obvious advice and a hug. But then, Edwin had seemed pleased enough with that. So maybe he did ok.

After an exhausted nap, Thomas eventually goes back downstairs to the cats crowding around him.

“What’s up with the ghost?”

“Is Edwin alright?”

“What happened?”

They’ve all become way too invested in this not-quite-a-relationship, and understandably quite fond of Edwin. Button in particular, whose heart was claimed from the first time Edwin returned with treats. The rest had taken longer to win over, but his charming ghostie has managed it. Not, Thomas thinks, that Edwin likely knows that. The warehouse cats are strays and many of them have had hard lives that mean they’re not inclined to shower anyone with love and affection, even him. Edwin though with his undemanding, quiet ways, and his constant supply of cat treats, has gained their discrete approval.

“He’s...having a rough time. He left feeling better than he arrived at least.”

“Oh yeah?” Cornflake gives him a lecherous look and Thomas transforms to swipe at him in annoyance.

“Not what I meant, asshole!”

Cornflake growls and retreats in a huff.

Button butts his head against Thomas’. The kid’s getting bigger, he’s likely never going to be a large cat but he’s pretty much full grown even if he does still act like a kitten. “He’ll be ok?” he asks.

Thomas licks his ear fondly. “He will. Maybe be extra nice to him when you next see him.”

Given that Button is at the age where he has a semi-permanent case of the zoomies, it’s just possible Thomas should have been a bit more specific but it’s far too late by the time he thinks of that.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Thomas, it seems, does give good advice. On his return from Port Townsend, Edwin finds Charles waiting for him (thankfully, sans Crystal!) and it takes nothing more than a short, awkward apology to have Charles hugging him and trying to apologise himself. Edwin is careful to make it abundantly clear that nothing Charles had done merited an apology, but that there are things he cannot talk about.

“I do appreciate your support, more than I can say. And I am very sorry I walked out on you. I was feeling overwhelmed and I reacted poorly.”

“Mate, you know you can just say ‘shut up, I don’t want to talk’ and I’ll listen to you, right?”

Edwin does, what he doesn’t know is if he could actually bring himself to tell Charles to ‘shut up’. Too many people ignored Charles when he was alive, too many people ignored Edwin come to that. Edwin is still adapting to the increased emotional openness in his life but, despite the odd row it has brought, he thinks it is worth it.

“I never wanted you to see the things that you did. I never wanted Hell to get anywhere near you.”

“Yeah, you made that clear when you yelled at me for coming to rescue you,” Charles says wryly, the twinkle in his eyes reassuring Edwin that his friend is more amused by that than anything else.

“I maintain it was a deeply foolish undertaking on your part.” Edwin softens. “And I have never been more grateful to anyone in my entire existence, even if I did not know how to show it. But I would rather have stayed down there forever than see you trapped.”

“Didn’t get trapped though, did I? Anyway, I’d rather be trapped with you than leave you there alone.”

“Charles...”

“No. No arguments. I told you, you’re the most important person in the world to me. I hate what happened to you and I will never let it happen again if I can stop it. No version of the story where I don’t come get you, ok?”

Edwin cannot answer that. If he speaks, he will cry. Instead he steps forward and embraces Charles in a fairly desperate hug.

Charles rubs his back soothingly. “I know I pushed things this week. I thought talking might help you, and I just made it worse.”

“You were trying to help,” Edwin mumbles into his friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I was helping.”

Edwin pulls back to look Charles in the eye. “I should have communicated better that the reason I was not speaking about all of that was that I did not feel any need to. And that I really am not able to. I was very grateful that when we first met you never asked questions, I kept expecting you to but you did not. One of the first things I ever told you was that I had escaped Hell, and you never asked questions,” Edwin marvels.

“No,” Charles argues, “The first thing you ever told me was that you wouldn’t hurt me. I didn’t need to ask questions. I knew whatever had happened to you you didn’t deserve it, and I think I had the sense back then to realise you’d talk if you wanted to.”

“I do not think I would have coped very well at all without your kindness and understanding. You helped me put myself back together.”

“Been mucking it all up a bit this week,” Charles says with a rueful expression.

“No, you have been concerned because my behaviour has been somewhat distressed and you wanted to help. You have not mucked anything up, we simply had a miscommunication,” Edwin says firmly.

His partner grins at him. “Gonna have to rethink my opinion of Whiskers, aren’t I?”

Edwin stares in confusion.

“Well that’s where you’ve been, isn’t it?” Charles prompts.

“I have,” Edwin acknowledges, glad that Charles does not sound upset about this. “I think I needed to speak to someone a little less involved...”

“You don’t need to explain, mate. I’m just glad you weren’t on your own. Maybe Whiskers isn’t completely useless.”

Edwin smiles softly. “Certainly not completely.”

~*~*~*~

Things resolved between himself and Charles, life at the Agency calms a little. Crystal is busy with schoolwork and Edwin is relieved not to have to see much of her, though he can feel a renewed rush of jealousy whenever Charles goes to see her. Feelings he thought he had laid to rest around their relationship begin to trouble him once more, and nothing but his regard for Charles would have persuaded him to keep his mouth shut on his current opinion of the girl.

That aside though, Edwin feels better and he attributes that to Thomas. The man has seen him through a number of difficult incidents in recent weeks and Edwin thinks it would be nice to go and visit him under more pleasant conditions. They are friends, and friends should have fun together. Though he is unsure of what they might both agree to be ‘fun’. Perhaps the fact Edwin’s not even 100% sure what he’d want to do, let alone what Thomas might, is linked to the other piece of advice the man had given him.

Edwin has not stopped turning Thomas’ question over and over in his head. When is he going to allow himself to be happy? It feels impossible to answer without first answering various other questions. What would it take to make him happy? What does he want? Perhaps most importantly, why does he struggle so much to answer that?

His instinct is to say things like ‘being left in peace’, ‘people being less generally stupid’, ‘Crystal learning to mind her own business’, but Edwin is aware that, whilst all of those things might improve his existence, they are flippant, surface-level answers intended to deter deeper inquiry. Even if that inquiry is coming from himself.

He cannot help but suspect that the reason he instinctively shies away from what he might want is a lifetime of being told those things were wrong. From the things he never even thought to hide, such as preferring his books to people, to the things he attempted to keep even from himself, such as being altogether too interested in other boys. Nothing he wanted was ever right. It is surely why part of him has been drawn to Thomas from the start, because someone who spoke freely of want and pleasure without shame or apology was as fascinating to Edwin as Thomas claimed the ghost was to him.

His more carnal or even romantic desires do not feel like somewhere he wants to start, and his love of books is something Edwin is already comfortable indulging – if anything, Charles teases him that he indulges it a little too much and that they will sooner or later run out of shelves. Again.

A middle ground then. Something that doesn’t unsettle him to even think of, but which he is perhaps not usually inclined to indulge. Edwin thinks back over the last few months and recalls that he’d wanted, at least a little, to change his clothes for the Crystal Palace party and yet had hesitated to do so. He does not dislike his usual attire, it is smart and appropriate for most settings and he feels comfortable wearing it. He has made little changes over the years though, at first simply through curiosity – testing the bounds of his control over his ghostly form, but later he’d started to experiment a bit because he’d liked it. He has not done that in a while. Not in fact since he’d been dragged to Hell in a green jumper that he was particularly fond of.

Charles had thought he’d worn that jumper for Monty, a not unreasonable assumption under the circumstances but not actually the case. He’d not really worn it for Charles either, gratifying as it had been to hear him opine that Edwin was ‘dressed up nice’.

Usually the more uncomfortable Edwin is the more layers he manifests, it’s not always entirely intentional. In Hell everything was filth and disorder and nothing to protect himself with, nothing to hide behind. The ability to be literally ‘buttoned up’ again had helped, in those early years after his escape, to make him feel something more like himself again. The clothes are a manifestation, made of the same energy he is, they offer no protection against iron or cat scratches, but psychologically they help him to face the world. On that particular day though he’d wanted to remove some of the armour, take down a layer of defences and think about letting someone in. If he was going to attempt to be emotionally open then to him it made some sense to show that. Of course then he’d got dragged back to Hell and since his return the armour has been largely kept in place. Edwin still wants some of that openness though. He’s already started to let his walls down with Thomas, and he wishes to continue.

Edwin feels his clothing changing as he wills it to, but he still looks down to check he’s got it right. Sometimes it is a nuisance not being able to use a mirror in the traditional sense. He smiles as he smooths down the green jumper, pleased with the effort.

Charles, returning from the alley where he’d gone to deposit some food for the cats (he has long since stopped protesting and started joining Edwin in feeding them), looks him over and says, “You going to Port Townsend?”

“Yes. I am actually.” Edwin’s not sure how Charles has deduced this. It is surely not the change of clothes, he does not after all usually alter his dress to go and see Thomas. It is not why he has done it now, at least not entirely. “How did you know that?”

Charles shrugs. “Just a hunch.” There is definitely something he is not saying, but, before Edwin can press, Charles gestures at his outfit. “That jumper really suits you, you know.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Edwin ducks his head, feeling slightly self-conscious, a warm feeling spreading through him with Charles’ admiration. “I have not changed my appearance since...” He finds he doesn’t want to speak of Hell today. “Well, it just felt like time.”

Charles gives him a soft smile. “I think that’s aces, mate.”

It is really no surprise that Edwin fell in love with his best friend. Aside from Charles’ many charms, he is the first person Edwin ever felt truly safe with. He helps Edwin feel much more confident in himself.

Smiling, Edwin lifts his chin. “I will be back later. Have a good evening with Crystal.” He’s still feeling pretty sore towards her, but he tries to be magnanimous for Charles’ sake.

~*~*~*~

Stepping through to the warehouse, Edwin’s met by a voice calling his name and a small black and white blur heading his way. He has barely enough time to identify the blur as Button before the little cat launches himself at him at a truly alarming speed, using his claws to propel himself upwards so that he’s able to push his fluffy little face against Edwin’s cheek.

“Button!” Thomas admonishes from his throne, as Edwin manages to get a safe hold on the small cat.

“You said to be extra nice to Edwin,” Button whines at his King’s cross tone.

Thomas throws up his hands and mutters something that sounds like ‘no fucking filter’ before standing and wandering over, shaking his head. “Being extra nice does not include scratching him to bits,” he says at a more normal volume.

Button looks mortified. It is clear he’d not realised he might hurt Edwin. “Oops.”

“It is quite alright,” Edwin assures him. “Your impressive leap meant that you were able to avoid clawing me too much.” Though sadly not altogether. “Perhaps next time though you might simply indicate you wish for a hug and I might be able to pick you up?”

“Ok.” Button settles in Edwin’s arms like he belongs there.

Thomas looks irritable and for a wild moment Edwin thinks he looks annoyed by the fact Edwin is holding Button. Perhaps he does not like seeing his cats handled like pets? To be safe, Edwin rubs his cheek against Button’s head before setting him gently on the floor. “It is very good to see you, Button.”

“However,” Thomas interjects, “I suspect it wasn’t you he came to see, kid.” He sounds almost jealous, which he surely cannot be.

Edwin, feeling playful and contrary, bends down to pet Button and feed him a treat. Glancing back up at Thomas, he asks, “What makes you think that?”

Thomas actually crosses his arms and looks sulky, but he’s incapable of being cross at anyone looking after his cats. “Fine. I’ll leave you two to it and get back to my busy schedule.”

Button lets out a giggle. “Edwin could come and hunt seagulls with me. I almost caught one the other day!” He looks terribly proud but Thomas shakes his head from out of his eyeline, mouthing ‘nowhere near’.

Edwin smothers a laugh. “I suspect I would not be much good at seagull hunting, I shall leave that to the expert. I did in fact want to see your King, but apparently he is terribly busy so I may need to return home.”

“He’s never too busy for you,” Button pipes up.

“Are you not?” Edwin asks the Cat King with a smile.

Thomas affects boredom. “Well I do have a gap in my schedule as it happens, you’re very lucky to have caught me at a free moment.” He winks. “Though it’s true, I’ll always try to squeeze you in somewhere.”

Button butts Edwin’s hand affectionately and scampers off.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” Thomas checks, as Edwin gets back to his feet. “He’s at the slightly insane, post-kitten stage and he has more energy than sense right now.”

“I am alright. A few scratches, but nothing to worry about. He is extremely sweet.” Edwin raises a bemused eyebrow. “You had told him to be ‘extra nice’ to me?”

“Well...” Thomas shrugs. “He was worried after the glimpse he got of you on your arrival here the other day, and he wanted to help.”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to cause any concern. Actually, that is why I am here. I felt like every time I had seen you lately it had been in rather difficult, and not terribly pleasant, circumstances. I do not wish you to think I only want to see you when I require aid, or someone to listen to my troubles.”

“I don’t think that, Edwin,” Thomas says, his voice soft and reassuringly certain.

“Still. I thought it would make a nice change to spend time together more pleasantly.”

“Well I am all in favour of pleasant.” Thomas’ eyebrows quirk suggestively. “What did you have in mind?”

Ignoring the innuendo, Edwin presses on. “I confess I had not thought of anything in particular. I do not know much about what you like to do, so I felt ill-placed to make suggestions.”

“Oh, I’m very good at suggestions.”

“I think the word you are looking for would be ‘suggestive’, going by your tone.” Edwin levels Thomas with a ‘please be serious’ expression.

“All right, what do you like to do? On the odd occasion you stop working!”

“I do not work all the time!” Edwin had not expected the question to be turned back on him. “I enjoy reading, visiting museums and places of interest, occasionally I accompany Charles to the cinema.” It all sounds like things that might bore Thomas half to death once Edwin says it aloud.

He doesn’t look bored however. “Well, reading’s a bit of a one person hobby in general, but there’s nothing wrong with a good book,” he agrees. “Perhaps you’d like to come upstairs and see my library?”

It’s said in the manner of ‘want to come up and see my etchings’, but Edwin’s ears prick up eagerly at the mention of books. “You have a library?”

“Oh now you’re interested in me!” Thomas rolls his eyes playfully. “Don’t get overexcited, it’s not an actual library, but I do have a collection of volumes upstairs, some of which may interest you.”

“I always enjoy looking at books.”

“I thought you might.” Thomas extends a hand and Edwin slides his fingers across Thomas’ warm palm to take hold. Thomas does not need to be touching him to transport him, Edwin knows, but he sees no reason to argue. Especially with Thomas’ hand so warm and solid in his own.

Upstairs is the usual chaos, the bed unmade and strewn with pillows, sofa half-hidden under a fluffy throw, and there’s underwear on the floor. Presumably Thomas’ - the knot in Edwin’s stomach suggesting ‘hopefully’ - he’s not sure he wants to think about Thomas having someone else up here.

Thomas follows his gaze and kicks the offending item under the bed. “See, I knew you wanted to see my underwear,” he teases.

“I do not appear to have been given a choice, you are rather messy.”

“I prefer the phrase charming deshabille.”

Edwin gives him an amused look. “I’m sure you do.”

“Hey, I’ve seen your office, you have more random crap than I do!”

“But no underwear decorating the floor.”

“Yeah,” Thomas concedes. “That was a disappointment.”

Edwin chuckles and shakes his head. “I thought you had some books to show me?”

Thomas’ collection is eclectic, apparently uncatalogued, and terribly stored - both in the sense that there is no order, with books shoved on shelves seemingly at random, and the sense that Thomas is obviously more reader than bibliophile. The books are battered and stained, some appear to have been left somewhere damp in years past, and many appear to have held down a second job as a coaster. Edwin is slightly appalled.

“You are quite possibly even more careless of books than Crystal is.”

“You sound like maybe you’re still a bit angry with her,” Thomas observes.

“Perhaps.” Edwin is not here to discuss Crystal.

“Did you talk to her and Charles after I saw you last?”

After he’d had his little breakdown, Thomas clearly means. “I spoke to Charles, we had a good chat about things. I know he was trying to help.”

“What about Crystal?” Thomas persists.

Edwin folds his arms a little crossly. “She was not trying to help.”

Thomas looks unconvinced. “Didn’t seem like she was trying to hurt you either.”

“We are fine.”

“Are you?”

“As fine as we ever were.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true, is it?”

“Alright, perhaps not.” Edwin’s arms tighten against his chest. “What she did was invasive and upsetting.”

“And accidental,” Thomas gently insists. “And maybe not the only reason you’re upset with her?”

“I’m sorry?” Edwin does not follow his meaning. “Why else would I be upset with her?” Isn’t what she did quite enough?

Gold eyes fix him with a penetrating look. “You quite sure there isn’t a little bit of sexual jealousy going on here?”

“I beg your pardon!”

Thomas shrugs. “Tell me it wasn’t a little bit easier watching Crystal date Charles when you knew that he couldn’t actually feel her. Now it seems like there’s a good chance he can, that opens a lot of doors...”

“That is disgusting.”

“No,” Thomas says, very firmly. “It’s not.”

For once Thomas has clearly misunderstood him. Edwin does not think the idea of his friends getting to enjoy sex is disgusting, merely disconcerting. The idea that he would be sexually jealous when he has no right to be, however, certainly is. “I mean that you think I would…” He can’t even say it.

“Be as human as the rest of us?” Thomas prompts with a fond smile.

“As previously discussed, no one in this room is exactly human.”

“Look at you deflecting with pedantry.”

“I am not deflecting.”

Thomas actually laughs at him. It’s more in disbelief than in outright mockery but Edwin does not like being laughed at. “Oh sweetheart, even you don’t believe what you’re saying right now.” His voice softens and he sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Edwin with those ludicrously pretty eyes. “Kitten, you don’t have to tell me about it but you should probably at least be honest with yourself about these things.”

Edwin wants to huff and storm out, but he is trying to learn to restrain that instinct. Flouncing off tends to feel good in the moment, but it has rarely helped and often leads to him doing reckless things. Like leashing cats. So instead he tries what Thomas suggests, being honest with himself.

And of course he’s jealous, he already knew that. He’d seen that sweet, desperately hopeful, little touch Charles had given Crystal’s hand, wanting more than anything to feel her, and it had made Edwin feel so alone. It is not even simply that Edwin wants Charles to touch him like that, but that he wants someone to. It is less that he is jealous that Crystal has Charles, more that he is jealous that the two of them have something he does not. Something that he wants. He wants to be wanted. A mad thought dances across his mind, that there are numerous indications that he is in the bedroom of someone who does want him, and for a moment every instinct he has urges him to close the distance between them. To take hold of Thomas and let things go where they will. Instead, common sense takes firm hold of him and he looks away.

He turns back at the feel of a hand gently grasping his. Thomas gives him a rueful smile and squeezes his hand. “It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Looking down at Thomas, Edwin’s thoughts regarding Charles and Crystal slip entirely away. A sharp tug on his hand, he thinks, and Thomas would have him falling into his lap. He’s wearing one of those skirts again and Edwin’s brain supplies the thought of how it might feel to run his hand up beneath it, skim his fingers up Thomas’ muscular thigh.

“You ok?” Thomas asks. “You’re kind of holding on for dear life there.”

Edwin realises his hand has, quite without his consent, taken a very firm grip on Thomas’. Hurriedly, he lets go. “My apologies, I was lost in thought.”

“I don’t mind. You can keep hold of me anytime you like.” The flirtation is the same as ever, but there’s an unusually wistful note to Thomas’ voice.

Edwin pulls himself firmly together. They are supposed to be passing a pleasant few hours with each other. He is not here to work through his issues with Charles, or Crystal. “I am sorry. You were telling me about your books. I would really very much like to hear about them.”

Thomas tilts his head in confusion and Edwin sighs. “Look, you are likely correct, I am jealous and it is making me angry and, whilst Crystal was foolish and careless that is not why I am finding it hard to forgive her. I will make more of an effort, but for now I did not come here to talk about Crystal or Charles. I came to see you.”

Thomas looks away with a strange smile. “Ok, ghostie, let’s not get mushy.”

“I did not...”

“Books!” Thomas leaps to his feet and rubs his hands together, striding determinedly to one of the many sets of shelves. “There’s something over here I think you’ll like.”

He pulls a volume from a dusty shelf (seriously, Edwin is going to buy this man a duster), bound in leather the colour of old blood, with gold embossed lettering so faded he can barely read it. Edwin takes the little book when it’s held out to him and opens it to the title page. It is a first edition spell book of startling rarity, one that he has heard of but never actually seen a copy of.

“Where did you get this?”

“Advantages of having been around for a while. I picked it up when it was brand new. First edition, one (mostly) careful owner.”

“There is a tea stain on the cover.”

“That’s coffee.”

Edwin raises an amused eyebrow at him.

“Ok, I said mostly careful. It’s still legible. That’s all that matters.” Definitely more reader than bibliophile.

Edwin has to sit down on the nearby sofa. “That may be the worst thing I have ever heard you say, but in the interests of our friendship I will try to let it pass.”

Thomas sits across from him on the bed and grins. “Perhaps the book needs a more careful guardian. You want it?”

“What?”

“The book. Would you like it?”

“Thomas, this would be worth a fortune to a collector, I couldn’t...”

“I don’t have a lot of use for money, and for the uses I do have I have more than enough. I also don’t have much use for a spellbook. I’m a creature of magic, not a magic user.”

“You cannot use spells?”

“My magic doesn’t work like that. Human magic is so weird, all your incantations and rituals. What I do is instinctive. It comes from me, not a book.” A flush of purple flame and the book is adorned with a silk bow the same colour as Edwin’s jumper. “You could actually use it.”

“Perhaps,” Edwin says carefully. “I think you may have formed the impression that I am a more accomplished magic user than I actually am though.”

“I’ve seen some of your handiwork, I felt the wards on your office.”

“You mean the ones that clearly don’t keep troublemakers out.” He eyes Thomas significantly.

Thomas gives him what Crystal calls a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, those ones. They’re good. You’re only a few decades into learning, give yourself time and I suspect you’ll have some fairly terrifying power at your impressive control. Take the book, you know you want it.”

“I do.” Edwin smiles. “Thank you, it is exceedingly generous of you.”

Thomas waves him off. “It was just gathering dust here.”

Edwin slowly unties the green ribbon and puts it on the sofa beside him, but its slippery silk causes it to start to slide to the floor. Edwin catches it by one end, pulls it back, and is suddenly astonished to find Thomas’ hand reaching out at lighting speed to slap down the other end of the ribbon as it moves across the cushion. He looks up in confusion and Thomas looks a bit embarrassed and withdraws his hand.

Edwin can feel himself smile a little wickedly and he begins to slowly pull the ribbon towards himself again. He can feel Thomas’s eyes locked onto the movement of the little piece of silk, looking like he’s holding himself back. Then Edwin jerks the ribbon more forcefully and Thomas’ hand shoots out to grab it. Edwin laughs and Thomas groans.

“Ok, I’m a cat, you know this. Don’t tease!” He looks like he had fun though. In fact more purple flames herald his return to his cat form, whereupon he jumps onto the sofa to roll on his back and play with the ribbon.

Edwin grabs hold of his end and holds it up, laughing delightedly as Thomas bats eagerly at it like a kitten. Of course his Cat King likes to play, that should be no surprise. What is more of a surprise is how much Edwin enjoys it himself. They spend a happy few minutes like that, Edwin smiling and laughing more freely than he thinks he has in a long time and Thomas utterly overexcited by the ribbon. Eventually he gets a good hold on it and manages to tug it away from Edwin altogether, looking deeply triumphant.

As soon as the ribbon’s no longer moving though, Thomas loses interest in it and crawls into Edwin’s lap to snuggle against his jumper. “Have I said how much I like this outfit? Not that I don’t miss the bow tie a little bit, but this is a very good look on you.”

“Oh.” Like last time, Edwin finds himself unsure what to say to Thomas climbing onto his lap in this form. “Thank you.” He surrenders to the inevitable and strokes the soft fur.

Thomas purrs.

Edwin realises he could quite happily sit for hours like this, with a purring Cat King warm and soft in his lap. He cannot stop stroking the velvety fur and Thomas certainly doesn’t seem to mind. For once, Edwin sits back and relaxes, the constant whirring of his brain quieted by the near-constant purr.

~*~*~*~

It is much later when Edwin returns home, the hour late in London. Charles is on the couch with Cally asleep on his lap.

“How’s Whiskers?”

Unless Edwin is much mistaken, that particular nickname is sounding a lot more good-natured lately. “He is very well. I asked him to join us for Guy Fawkes night. I hope that is alright?” They always attend the fireworks and whilst he hadn’t intended to invite Thomas the words had rather tumbled out before he could stop them. It seemed a small thanks for the gift of the book.

“Course it is, mate. I asked Crystal by the way.”

“I assumed you would.”

“Mate...”

“I know.” Edwin in sighs. “You wish me to speak with her and bury the hatchet.”

“Long as neither of you buries it in each other’s skull.” Charles gives him a warning look. “She really never meant to hurt you.”

Edwin frowns and Charles ploughs on determinedly before he can interject. “I know she did hurt you. And she knows that too. She knows she saw something she shouldn't have, that you wouldn’t have wanted her to. She’s really upset about it.”

She is upset! Edwin fumes silently at the idea.

“She started crying trying to tell me what she saw,” Charles continues. “It’s a good job none of those pricks who sacrificed you are still around because I think she’d have been arrested for murder by now.”

Edwin finds himself hugging the spell book close to his chest, lost for words. He had never thought that she might be upset for him. “I will speak with her,” he manages.

Charles gives him an encouraging smile. “What’s that you’ve got there?” He points at the book Edwin is still cradling close.

“Oh, it was a gift from Thomas.” Edwin loosens his hold and shows Charles the volume.

“He gave you a book?”

“Yes, it was very generous of him. It is a first edition of an extremely rare spell book, I’ve never even seen a copy before! It was from his own collection. I feel a tad guilty but he insisted that I take it.”

“Well, he certainly knows you.”

“Yes,” Edwin agrees. “I suppose you could say that.”

“You gonna get him something?”

“I feel I should. I haven’t thought what yet though.”

“I reckon he’d like anything that came from you.”

“You have certainly mellowed towards him.”

“He cares about you. And it’s really hard to dislike him because of that. I know I was a bit far gone that night, but he looked proper upset after the whole pulling iron out of you thing.”

“It was undoubtedly an unpleasant task.”

“That’s not why he was upset, you idiot! He cares about you. It’s sweet.” Charles puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Edwin laughs and shakes his head. “On my honour, I won’t breathe a word.” He hugs the book again.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Charles and Edwin seem to have, predictably, hugged it out and be back to their normal codependent lunacy, and Crystal’s delighted by that. Really. Only she’s pretty sure Edwin’s still pissed at her and, guilty as she still feels, it’s beginning to grate.

Ever since her little psychic whoopsie, he’s been cold, distant, refusing to really engage with her. Charles suggested that it’s less that he’s mad and more that he’s upset, and perhaps even humiliated, by what she saw, but the end result is the same. Being around Edwin is currently rather like being around her parents, there’s a constant low-grade hum of disinterest and disconnection. It’s been a week and, in that way guilt so often does, her own feelings have festered into defiant resentment. She made a mistake, does she have to be punished forever for it?

Consequently, when Edwin finally decides he does want to talk to her, she’s not feeling too inclined to listen. Which is a problem. He begins with some crap about things having been tense since the ‘Incident’ (which clearly has a capital letter in his mind, presumably to mark her capital offence), and she’s not really paying enough attention to him as she buts in.

“I’m sorry, it isn’t going to happen again. I promise never to come within touching distance of you if it’ll make you feel better. Anyway, I’ve been experimenting and I think I can control it.” The implications of who she’s been ‘experimenting’ with are obvious, and the stiffening of his already rigid posture makes it clear Edwin hasn’t missed them.

It’s catty and stupid, and she can’t believe she’s said it, but Edwin brings out the worst in her sometimes and her worst is bad. Crystal spent a lot of time around unkind people and learnt to punch first and punch hard, she’s a bitch for the same reason Charles is a people pleaser. They’re both just trying not to get hurt. Again.

Edwin though, whilst certainly closer to her own M.O. than Charles’, is more inclined to a bitchy defence than offence. His favoured response to anyone he doesn’t like is to pretend they don’t exist. Whilst she used to seek people out purely to hurt them, to provoke them, to get a reaction, he just wants to be left alone. And he’ll do pretty much anything to achieve that sometimes. He can be every bit as unkind as she can; whatever warmth there is in Edwin Payne is buried deep and reserved for a select few. Even his temper is cold, calculating. If she’d never seen him truly in distress, (which she has, more than once, and it kills her how vulnerable he can be), she’d think he was nothing but snark and hard edges. That first time she’d watched him unravel though, when he’d burst out that he and Charles hadn’t mattered, their lives, their deaths, she’d been struck by how badly she’d wanted to reach out to him.

Before she can say anything, try to fix the ‘I’ve-been-experimenting-with-the-guy-you’re-in-love-with’ situation, Edwin’s endless curiosity kicks in. He seems able to turn parts of his feelings off at will and view everything like a puzzle, which would be proper psychopath behaviour if she didn’t know it was all a front to stop himself appearing vulnerable – god forbid anyone see him as human! The curiosity’s real though so perhaps she shouldn’t be too surprised when he wants to know how she controls her powers. He asks careful questions, and then the notebook appears, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think this was some kind of bizarre self-soothing thing that he does, but she also can tell it helps so she goes along with it.

She answers him as best she can, skirting round the fact that a fair of amount of experimentation that has taken place thus far involved kissing (which he can probably guess). Their friendship is a delicate balance at the best of times, and this is not the best of times, she’s already rubbed his face in her relationship with Charles indirectly, best not make it directly as well. The memory of Charles’ breathy, vulnerable whisper, ‘You make me feel alive’, warms her heart, and might well break Edwin’s. He has an unfortunate tendency to take Charles’ longing for his human life as a personal rejection, probably because he clearly has zero longing for, or interest in, his own. Also because, for someone so damn arrogant, Edwin has no self-confidence when it comes to believing people actually like him. No wonder Thomas has been getting nowhere fast.

Eventually Edwin’s questions peter out and he puts away his notebook. “Fascinating. Your powers are impressive, and I am glad to hear your control is improving.”

That might be a dig, she’s not sure. The problem with Edwin is sometimes sincere sounds very similar to spiteful to her unpractised ear. If it is a dig though she can let it go, she started it this time.

The next remark is a little harder to let slide. “Meeting you was rather like having a hand grenade thrown into our lives.”

“Thanks.” She scowls. Nothing like being compared to a dangerous explosive.

“That did not sound quite how I intended,” Edwin says with a frown. “I simply meant that you made rather an impact.”

“Destroying everything you’d built?”

“No!” Edwin pinches his nose and takes a deep breath. “If we had not met you we would never have met Niko, or Thomas, or Monty. Becky Aspen would be dead, and the Devlin family destroyed forever with their house.”

“And you wouldn’t have gone to Hell for a second time.” Something else he can blame her for.

His frown deepens. “We cannot know that. Hell could have caught up with me anytime, and there are a number of people culpable for it happening when it did – including myself.” He seems to smooth out his facial expression only with great effort. “I meant that you precipitated a deal of change and, whilst it was difficult at times, I think it was good for both Charles and myself, and indeed for the agency. There is also something else that would never have happened had we not met you, that is that we would have missed the chance to gain your friendship. I am glad we did not.”

She looks at him, open and sincere (if still a little cross), and sees the other him. The terrified boy making himself as small and silent as possible, surrounded by his own body parts, and she knows that’s exactly why he’s so angry about what she saw in his head because those images are never going to leave her.

She also knows he doesn’t want to acknowledge any of that, knows she should take his overtures of renewed friendship and leave things alone, but there’s only so much emotional repression and stiff upper lip she can take. “Can I just say something?”

“Very well.” It’s said in a tone that suggests he doesn’t think he’s going to like it. He’s probably not, but she’s saying it anyway.

“If I could get my hands on the people who hurt you, be they school boys or demons, I would make them regret ever being born.” She can feel her eyes burn with unshed tears as she says it.

To her surprise, and possibly also his own, Edwin reaches out (after a long moment of awkward silence) and takes hold of her hand. “Thank you, but I would far rather that you never encountered any of them. I do however deeply appreciate the sentiment. I am sorry I have been quite so resentful about something I knew to be an accident.” He takes a deep breath and forces out, “I did not ever want you to know about any of that.” He doesn’t need to add that he doesn’t like feeling exposed.

She squeezes his hand before he can let go. “You don’t need to hide anything from me, you know. I’m your friend, and if you want to keep things to yourself then that’s fine but you don’t need to. I won’t like, judge you.”

“Yes you will.” The slightest quirk of his lips is the only clue that he does not entirely mean what he says. He’s uncomfortable and resetting the conversation to their more usual bickering banter, and she’s content to let him. Things feel settled enough for now, and she’s said her piece, if he wants to open up some day then he will.

She grins at him. “Only as much as you judge me.”

The quirk turns into a real smile. “Quite a lot then.” He squeezes her fingers just once before he pulls away. Then, as she’s leaving to go get dinner and change before the firework display, he adds nonchalantly. “By the way, I invited Thomas along this evening.”

Of course he did. Crystal smiles. “That’s great.” Anyone else and she’d ask questions, needle about their relationship status, and crack lewd jokes. She doesn’t think Edwin would respond very well to that. He’s been through enough; he needs the support she promised, not teasing that'll just make him more defensive.

Charles insists that Edwin and Thomas are not currently dating, and she thinks he’s probably right. Edwin’s not acting nearly weird enough. She may not know what Edwin would look like in a relationship but, be it smug elation or shifty denial, she knows there’d be something.

She actually thinks Charles has accepted the likely inevitability of a relationship between Edwin and Thomas before Edwin himself has. Not the way around she thought that would go, but it should hopefully make Edwin’s life easier when the inevitable finally occurs.

~*~*~*~

By the time Thomas is due that evening, Crystal is amused to see that Edwin has done something he never does during the day. He’s got changed. He’s wearing that green jumper again. The one that brings out his eyes and emphasises his slim waist. He’s even got his shirt open at the neck, it’s all practically scandalous! She doesn’t think Edwin notices how when Thomas arrives in their office his eyes go straight to that sliver of pale skin at his throat. The Cat King is all swank and swagger, in a very nice leather jacket she would totally steal if he was her not-boyfriend, but he goes noticeably soft the minute he lays eyes on Edwin.

It is not hard at all to see what Edwin sees in the man. He’s gorgeous and confident and clearly crazy about the ghost. What Thomas sees in Edwin is a little harder for her, but Crystal has a feeling it’s got a lot to do with the way Edwin is with him. Edwin is very much not her thing, but she can see that he is classically quite handsome in that posh-white-boy-from-the-days-of-Empire way. He’s also extremely clever and bitingly funny sometimes. All of that is clearly to Thomas’ liking. As, she thinks, is the work he’s had to put in to get anywhere with Edwin, but unless she’s very much mistaken none of that’s the main draw. Edwin treats Thomas just like he does everyone else, i.e. according to how fond he happens to be feeling at the time. He has no regard for the power the Cat King appears to wield, and he expresses a surprising lack of judgement for the man’s more risqué behaviour. He responds to what Thomas says, and sometimes what he doesn’t say, rather than being fixated on what the Cat King is or what he can do. She thinks Thomas likes that. She certainly suspects it’s not a response he gets often.

“I do like that jumper.” Thomas looks Edwin up and down very obviously. “It really brings out your eyes.”

Charles’ eyes roll toward the Heavens. He may have accepted the inevitable, but only a little grudgingly. Crystal elbows him and gives him a look. She loves him, but she’s not going to let him cause more issues for the two of them because of his crazy protectiveness.

Quite clearly these two have enough issues to be going on with, as Edwin shrugs off Thomas’ admiration like he doesn’t really think it’s anything more than a tease. If she’s any judge though, there’s no teasing going on at all. Just one very smitten Cat King trying his best to woo one very oblivious dead boy. It’s going to be very a long evening.

~*~*~*~

Surprisingly, for two people so set in their ways, the boys don’t have a regular fireworks display they attend. It seems they always go on November 5^th itself (thank god it’s a Sunday this year because they apparently refuse to even contemplate Bonfire Night on any other date) and simply attend whatever is on pretty much anywhere they can mirror hop to on the right day. This year they’re staying in London for her sake, though they have apparently scoped out an office building across the road from the park they’re headed to. The roof is perfectly positioned to provide a fantastic view of the fireworks without any of the crowds, they claim.

Before she can even ask how the hell they think she’s going to get up there, Thomas gallantly offers Crystal his hand to transport her and she takes it just to see if Edwin looks jealous. When the ghosts join them on the roof though, he just looks a little fond. She’s not sure if that’s a good sign for Thomas or a bad one. Edwin was certainly jealous enough of her when it came to Charles. He goes to stand at Thomas’ side however as they cluster at the edge of the roof (which luckily has a low parapet to stop her falling off, or indeed being seen) to wait for the fireworks to begin.

It’s not long before Thomas shivers melodramatically and edges closer to Edwin. “Fuck, it’s cold.”

It’s really not that cold. Plus Crystal’s seen the man change his clothes at will, he could absolutely conjure himself up a warmer coat, but it’s clear he’s angling for Edwin to keep him warm. Which makes no sense, because Edwin is a ghost and has no body heat. The pair of them are actually ridiculous. The proud Cat King is just pathetic, and Edwin ‘I’m smarter than the rest of you put together’ Payne is bloody oblivious.

Instead of taking the opportunity to get closer to the ludicrously handsome, if also slightly ludicrous, man, Edwin frowns and turns to talk to Charles. The two of them step aside and Crystal and Thomas watch in bemusement as Charles digs through his rucksack and Edwin shakes his head at various things until he gets what he wants. It’s a familiar sight.

The Edwardian ghost then strides back over to them and presents Thomas with something green and woollen. “I am not sure it is to your usual standards of fashionable attire, but would this be of any use?” he asks.

Thomas unfolds the item to reveal a knitted scarf in a deep green. The expensive looking wool has some kind of shimmering thread within it that catches the light beautifully. It’s hard to be sure in only the light from the street lamps below, but the colour reminds her of the jumper that Edwin’s wearing. The one that matches his eyes.

“Why do you carry around random clothing items?” Crystal asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It is my latest knitting project.” Edwin says this like it’s all completely obvious and explains everything. It doesn’t.

“You made this?” Well if nothing else that’s certainly got Thomas looking all misty eyed. He’s holding the scarf close, rubbing his thumb across the soft wool.

Edwin nods at him. “Yes, I did.”

The question is did he make it for Thomas, and, if so, was he purposefully giving him something to remind him of the eyes Crystal suspects the Cat King admires a lot. Damn, maybe Edwardian-boy’s got some moves after all.

Thomas is wrapping the scarf reverently about his neck, nuzzling happily into it. Not only has Edwin got moves, apparently they work. “I didn’t know you could knit.” Thomas looks like this is some great talent, rather than Edwin clicking some needles together. Ok, Crystal can’t even begin to understand knitting but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t merit being looked at like you’ve revealed a hitherto unknown ability to set fire to things with your mind. Which, once she thinks about it, Edwin kind of does have that ability...

“I learnt in order to lend greater verisimilitude to the disguise Charles created for me,” Edwin elaborates.

Crystal has to resist rolling her eyes. Six syllables, Edwin, really? Does he go out of his way to find the longest words he could possibly use to express himself?

“It is a way to avoid suspicion while in public,” he explains. “No one pays attention to a middle-aged woman knitting.”

Crystal remembers that particular disguise from their first encounter. It’s true, no one looks twice at a middle-aged woman and her knitting. Thomas looks oddly charmed by the whole idea, and if that’s not a sign of someone who is fucking gone then she doesn’t know what is. She strongly suspects that middle-aged knitters are not Thomas’ thing in general, but she also suspects that anything Edwin does instantly becomes Thomas’ thing.

Edwin still seems oblivious. “Scarves are the easiest thing to make without needing to pay too much attention, we have built up quite the collection as a result. They are no use to us, we do not get cold and a floating scarf might cause some consternation.”

Thomas grins, and Crystal thinks there’s a bit of extra colour in his cheeks. “I love it.”

“Then you are very welcome to it.”

Oh god, they are sickening. It’s cute though, and god knows Edwin deserves some fun. He’s certainly having fun once the show starts. She’d been a little surprised to learn Edwin was such a fan of fireworks, he doesn’t usually like lots of noise, but then he is easily distracted by pretty lights.

Despite years of living in London, Crystal’s still a bit hazy about the whole Guy Fawkes thing. She knows he tried to blow up parliament and got himself burnt at the stake like a witch for his trouble, but that’s about it, so she makes the mistake of asking. Edwin, naturally, is happy to correct her. At length. Apparently he wasn’t burnt at the stake, and nor were witches in Britain.

“Or America,” Thomas puts in.

Edwin beams at that and then suddenly they’re off on a conversation about historical misconceptions of the occult, and she and Charles might as well not be here. Which suits her because it means she gets to slip her arm through Charles’ without worrying she’s going to make things awkward. She also thinks it’s good for Charles to see Edwin and Thomas together like this. He gets to see first-hand that Thomas isn’t making Edwin uncomfortable, or doing anything too untoward, and see how Edwin blossoms in his company. The prickly ghost looking more comfortable than he ever does with anyone other than Charles.

Eventually Thomas conjures up some hot chocolate for himself and Crystal, and Edwin still doesn’t think to point out the man could have conjured up a scarf for himself earlier. Either that or he’s just happy to play Thomas’ game, Crystal really isn’t sure.

Thomas has sidled closer while Edwin was distracted by the fireworks and is now stood incredibly close beside him, head tilting towards Edwin’s shoulder as though he’d like to lean it there but doesn’t want to call attention to himself in case Edwin gets spooked and puts more space between them.

She’s not at all convinced that Edwin would. Things have clearly changed between the two of them. Edwin’s discomfort, evident at Thomas’ first visit to London, is long gone. The attempts to keep some distance that were still present at the Crystal Palace party have likewise disappeared.

Now Edwin’s softer, flirtier, apparently completely comfortable with Thomas getting up in his personal space. Which is fortunate because Thomas clearly can’t resist doing just that. He’s still Edwin, still a little too upright, still employing words of six syllables for no good reason, and still doling out withering looks to all and sundry when he feels they deserve it - even Thomas. He is however starting to look more comfortable with himself than Crystal has ever seen him.

She wonders if he even notices, she also really wants to know what went down by the lake at the party. What was said under the stars on their midnight stroll? Maybe nothing of significance, maybe it’s been a slow progression to get to this point where Edwin is so comfortable he doesn’t even seem aware of it. Either way, it’s really good to see.

She’s pretty damn convinced he’s interested in Thomas, and Thomas is clearly interested in him, and if Edwin were anyone else she’d be pulling him aside and telling him in no uncertain terms to just bloody go for it. But he’s Edwin. He’s been through some unimaginable shit and spent the majority of his long existence drowning his feelings in shame. He deserves to take things at whatever pace he fancies.

Besides, judging by the fact he spends more time looking starry-eyed at Edwin than at the fireworks, Thomas clearly isn’t going anywhere.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Bookshops, Edwin thinks to himself, are definitely more his speed than nightclubs. No surprises there. The problem is that when they are busy he cannot do much more than browse the spines and judge other people’s choices, lest any floating books give rise to (in the current case) another haunted Camden story – with Highgate cemetery within its borders, there’s already quite enough of those around here.

Having finally made it to the book shop/cafe that the kind man at the nightclub had recommended, Edwin is forced to wait for the shop to quiet down for the night in order to properly peruse the books. He does manage to enjoy a quiet hour in late afternoon people-watching first though, the atmosphere of the shop warm and peaceful. From the young girls drinking coffee and sharing slices of luridly coloured rainbow cake, to a group of older people knitting and drinking tea, the cafe is a pleasant, friendly feeling space. It’s not separate to the bookshop, but almost in the middle of it, and for a brief moment Edwin recalls a long forgotten memory of taking tea in the library at home, so many decades ago now that he can remember nothing firmly but that sense of cosy quiet. He has always felt more at home, and more himself, around books.

Whilst he is still an outsider looking in at the lives of those around him, it feels very different to the nightclub. He feels as though, if they could see him, perhaps no one here would think he stood out too much. Edwin watches a young man browse quietly for nearly 45 minutes before heading to the till with a stack of books, the staff never bothering or rushing him, he exchanges a smile with the man on the till when he arrives and is then left to browse in peace. There’s a woman wearing headphones who, when she cannot reach the book she wants, clearly struggles in speaking with the staff, but the young man helping her is patient and kind and opens up the second till so she doesn’t have to join the short queue at the first. The whole atmosphere of the place is welcoming and quiet and Edwin can feel his smile grow wider as he observes everyone.

When the shop closes for the day the staff retreat to a back room for stocktaking and cashing up, leaving Edwin with the shop to himself while the lights are still on. He is rather curious about the books, unsure quite what to expect. At first glance it seems much like any other bookshop, with sections such as Politics and History, Art and New Releases. Though when he looks closer he sees that many of the books on the shelves conform to a theme. Histories and stories of people both like himself, and not. Things he would never once have believed he would see in print in a reputable bookshop serving tea to elderly ladies.

And...oh. Oh! Some of the books are a little...risqué. He seems to have found his way from books on history and politics into a section on rather more intimate matters. Even a relatively innocuous looking one, with a rainbow cover in pastel shades, has a chapter dedicated to...well, things that he’s not going to look at. Or read about, at least this one doesn’t have pictures. Some of the others do. Edwin lingers over a coffee table book, sat atop a nearby display table, filled with scantily clad men in art. It is art, the nearby sign proclaims it is, there are classical statues from antiquity and their neoclassical imitations, oil paintings depicting Gods with suitably godlike physiques, and photographs from twentieth century artists ‘studying the male form’. Or that’s what they call it. A nasty little voice in his head says it’s the kind of filth that has no place in a reputable commercial establishment. He doesn’t like that voice. It sounds like his old schoolmasters, the ones who were more concerned that everybody towed the lines of what they deemed ‘normal’ than they were if their students actually survived their schooldays.

Edwin had caught sight of some similarly suspicious looking tomes on Thomas’ bookshelves, lurid looking romances and suggestive titles. Thomas had skilfully steered Edwin towards the kind of books he was interested in, but he obviously wasn’t hiding any of the ones Edwin might not be.

Thomas never hides anything of that sort, never sees his desires (or Edwin’s come to that) as anything to be ashamed of. He is in fact utterly shameless in the best possible way. Emboldened by the thought, Edwin picks up the art book properly and looks again at the pictures inside. With the shame-filled voice in his head silenced, at least for the moment, it is clear that the book is intended as popular art history. Albeit popular art history focussed very much on the male nude. From paintings of St Sebastian, pierced with arrows, to one of a naked young man climbing out of a swimming pool, the water all vivid blues and swirling lines, it is really rather beautiful.

Engrossed in flipping through the works, Edwin is caught off guard when he hears the staff coming back into the main shop and drops the book in panic. The large volume thuds heavily to the floor and, before he can pick it up, a young man rounds the corner, a woman’s voice calling after him. “What was that?”

“I think one of the books fell off the shelves.” The man points at the offending tome as his colleague comes to join him. “How on earth did that happen?

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” The woman laughs.

“Oh very funny!” The man scoffs, though he still doesn’t look keen to approach and leaves his female colleague to pick up the book.

She grins and shows him the cover, adorned by a painting of a naked young man with his arms tied above his head by scarlet bindings. “Well our ghost has excellent taste.”

Edwin sort of wants to disappear through the floor, and technically he can but it’s usually best not to. Charles once managed to crash down eight floors and into a basement when he became distressed by a case. Besides, if Edwin wants to embody a little more of Thomas’ boldness it is probably easiest to begin here where no one can actually see him.

The woman returns the book to the table and ducks behind the shop counter, coming up holding a set of keys that she tosses over to the young man. “Come on now, home time, let’s not disturb any browsing ghoulies!”

The man scoffs again but he looks a little unsure, especially when she darts ahead of him out of the front door. He hesitates for a moment, looking around warily, gaze passing right through Edwin. “Erm, you’re welcome to read anything you like, just put the books back and please don’t haunt me!” he announces to the room in general.

“I promise,” Edwin agrees solemnly, despite the fact the man can’t hear him. Given his clear nervousness at the idea of a ghost, it is probably best he cannot. Edwin watches him go, looking back over his shoulder as though books might start flying around like something in a horror story. Preposterous, Edwin would never treat books in such a manner. He feels a little bad for causing a fright though and eyes the art book as though it were all its fault.

The permission to browse is appreciated but the staff turned out the lights as they left, meaning Edwin can only read by the light from the street lamps filtering in through the windows. He still lingers a while longer, trying to do just that with a couple of the books without pictures. Pictures have caused enough trouble for now.

In time his focus drifts from the page, across the ocean, to the man he can admit sparked the feelings and discoveries that brought him here. Not a discovery of who he was, that was unnecessary, Edwin has known more than he wished to about his own desires for longer than he’s been dead. Instead it was the incredible (in the truest sense of the term) discovery that the shame he’d carried for so long was something that could be put aside. Sparking the first feelings of maybe wanting to embrace being himself, with everything that entailed.

His brain starts again on trying to answer the question Thomas had asked him, the one Edwin cannot forget - when will he allow himself to be happy?

He has a feeling Thomas would tell him to go back to the books with pictures.

Putting a volume of ‘Queer History’ back in its place on the shelf, Edwin wanders to a different part of the shop. Not to the art books that he thinks Thomas would like, but to a colourful set of shelves that would have had Niko squealing in delight. There is row upon of row of the kind of Mangas she’d loved so much, the ones he’d occasionally sneaked a look at only to discover they lived up to her description as ‘explicit’. He’d hastily abandoned them then, but now he runs his fingers along the shelf and selects one that makes him think of his friend. The spine is adorned in pink and red hearts and the cover art depicts two young men looking rather adoringly at each other. Returning to the patch of street light, Edwin settles cross-legged on the floor and opens the book, remembering what Niko had taught him about the story flowing right to left.

By the time he is halfway through, the narrative (and the pictures to match) have once more become ‘explicit’, but this time, having actually read the story, he sees the truth of the other half of her description of the books. It is in fact rather sweet. It is not entirely to his taste, and he suspects it is about as true to life as the detective comics of his youth that he favours – that is, not very, but he still finds that he enjoys it. It is as though he can feel a bubbly presence reading over his shoulder and squealing over the various romantic scenes, and the thought makes him smile. No one is ever really gone.

~*~*~*~

It is well into the evening by the time Edwin finishes his reading, tidies the books away, and indulges a moment of indecision. He could go home to the office, but Charles is probably at Crystal’s and, with the contents of the bookshop buzzing around inside his head, he’s not sure he could settle to any work. So he slips into the cafe toilet and makes use of the mirror.

On arrival in Port Townsend, Edwin almost crashes into Thomas, who is apparently using the warehouse mirror to admire himself.

Edwin chuckles as Thomas leaps back like a startled cat. “You would never cope as ghost,” he teases.

It takes a moment for the Cat King to understand him, glancing between Edwin and the mirror that doesn’t reflect him. “Are you calling me narcissistic?”

“Well you are rather vain.”

“You enjoy looking at me, why shouldn’t I?” Thomas preens. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your own body you know.”

Edwin is grateful that either he’s becoming more inured to Thomas’ innuendoes or that perhaps he’s just used up his quota of blushes for one day on the books. “You look very nice, and I suspect you do not require a mirror, or me, to tell you that.” Very nice is an understatement. Thomas is clad in a black velvet shirt, the texture reminiscent of his fur, and yet another sinfully tight pair of trousers – these in a deep purple.

He preens even more at the compliment. “I always like hearing that from you. Just because I know I’m pretty doesn’t mean I don’t need to hear it.”

Edwin rolls his eyes with a smile.

“I really don’t know how you manage to always look so put together when you can’t see what you’re doing,” Thomas says, eyes flicking admiringly over Edwin.

“You change outfits without a mirror, I’ve seen you do it. I suppose it is similar. It is not as though I have to dress myself in a traditional manner, the clothes I wear are an externalisation of how I see myself.”

“So really all your clothes are an illusion?” Thomas asks, a gleam in his eyes.

Edwin considers. “I suppose that is one way to look at it. They have no physical reality.”

Thomas smirks, delightedly. “So, you’re just constantly walking around naked?”

“Why is your mind always in the gutter?”

“It’s fun down here.” He grins. “Good view of the stars.”

Edwin did not need to have spent the evening in a queer bookshop to clock that reference.

“Now what have you been up to, other than startling innocent Cat Kings.” Thomas pouts at him.

“Innocent!” Edwin laughs at the absurd notion.

Thomas bats his eyelashes in a move more amusing than convincing.

“I went to that bookshop that was recommended to me,” Edwin says.

Thomas smiles approvingly, though it doesn’t take a moment for his smile to take on a salacious edge. “Oh! Read anything interesting?”

It’s like he can see into Edwin’s thoughts sometimes. Edwin schools his expression into as much neutrality as he can manage with the images from the books still running riot in his head. “There were a number of interesting political texts, amongst other things.” Thomas’ interest perks up at the latter part of his sentence, and Edwin hurries on. “It was a nice place. I felt very much more comfortable there than I did at the nightclub, and I suspect that you were right. I did want to see for myself that any present day Edwin Payne’s might have a better chance at a happy life than I had.”

“Of course I was right. Have you also accepted I was right about a more important issue being when you might let yourself have a better chance at a happy life?”

Edwin opens his mouth to speak and Thomas hastily interrupts. “Don’t you dare answer that by reminding me you aren’t technically living!”

Edwin huffs in amusement. “There is no technically about it. But I have thought on what you said. I do not feel I exactly have an answer, but I will concede it is a good question. I am not unhappy,” he stresses, “Far from it. But I do think I understand what you meant, that perhaps I am often in my own way.”

“You could stand to be a tiny bit less uptight. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very sexy and severe – and can give me that look any day!” Thomas smirks. “But I’m not sure it’s doing you any favours.”

Edwin attempts to smooth whatever ‘look’ he was giving Thomas from his face. “Yes, well, thank you for your opinion.”

“See, you’ve gone all stiff on me.” Thomas runs a hand up Edwin’s ramrod straight back. “And not in the fun way.”

Edwin squirms away from the warm, steady hand that makes it impossible for him to think.

“And the answer you’re looking for is far simpler than your over-active brain realises. You just need to let go a little.”

Edwin is getting ready to embark on a rant about being told to loosen up, but Thomas doesn’t give him room to interject.

“You hold yourself to impossible standards of behaviour and success. You always seem so scared of getting things wrong, of making a mistake. This visiting of queer clubs and bookshops, it all feels a bit like you’re researching how to be yourself. There’s no wrong way to be you, Edwin.”

None of that is what Edwin had expected. It contains a ring of truth that is simultaneously uncomfortable and a little reassuring. “I...” He finds he doesn’t have a response.

Thomas appears to take pity on him. “Alright, lecture over. Anyway, speaking of research, you got any further with that poltergeist case?”

Back on safe ground, Edwin relaxes a little. “We are following up leads, it is looking more hopeful but we are not there yet. I have been considering trying your idea, perhaps a little magic will get its attention long enough for us to open a dialogue.”

After the fireworks display, Thomas had accompanied them all back to the office and had spent the next few hours nosing about, wanting to hear the stories behind the random items in their collection and asking questions about their open cases. He’d even had some helpful suggestions to make regarding this particular tricky poltergeist case that has been confounding them. At least Edwin had thought they might be helpful, Charles had been less convinced.

Even Charles though had smiled broadly when Cally had arrived and run eagerly up to Thomas, mewing excitedly until he picked her up. Charles is devoted to the little cat and he’s happy with anything that makes her happy, even Thomas.

Edwin finds himself smiling at the memory, it was pleasant to see Thomas getting on with his friends.

A hand waves in front of his nose. “You still with me, ghostie?”

“Of course I am,” Edwin snaps, embarrassed that his mind had so clearly wandered. “What are you talking about?”

“You looked pretty lost in thought.”

“Nonsense.” He certainly wasn’t lost in warm thoughts about the man in front of him. The man who says kind things about there being no wrong way for Edwin to be himself, who makes Crystal laugh and Cally light up with joy. The man who is also a centuries old trickster and, fundamentally, a cat. That would be most unwise. “I was just thinking about our case, your suggestions may prove helpful it seems.”

Thomas looks very pleased with himself. “See I reckon I’d make a pretty good detective. You should take me on as a consultant. We could come to some arrangement to make it worth my while.”

“Oh could we? Thank you, but I think I will have to decline your offer.”

“You think I couldn’t solve cases as well as you?”

“Frankly, yes. You are easily distracted, quickly bored, and I have trouble placing cats and ‘legwork’ in the same sentence.”

“But other than that I’m perfect. Sexy, intelligent, tenacious; did I mention sexy?”

Edwin rolls his eyes. “How does being sexy make you a good detective?”

“You tell me.” Thomas smirks at him. “Seems to work for you.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

“I tell you what.” Golden eyes light up with mischief. “Why don’t we have a little fun? A little harmless wager.”

There are no harmless wagers with a trickster and Edwin gives him a stern look, even as his curiosity has him ask, “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“I could prove that I am a good detective by solving a case. If I can do it before you then I win a prize.”

“And what would that be?” Edwin asks, suspicion brewing.

“Nothing extravagant.” Thomas pretends to think for a moment. “How about a kiss.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Huh.” Thomas sounds oddly surprised. “You know I really didn’t think you’d admit it this easily.”

Edwin’s eyes narrow. “Admit what?”

“That I’d obviously win.”

“Do not be ridiculous!” Edwin scoffs.

“Well, if you don’t think I’d win then why would you not take the bet?”

“There is nothing in it for me,” Edwin argues. “What would I get when I inevitably won?”

Thomas grins. “How about: I win, you kiss me; you win, I kiss you. Everyone’s a winner.”

“No.”

“Alright, what do you want then?” he asks.

Edwin thinks, what does he want? “A question.” He has no idea why he’s playing this game, but it is an opportunity to learn something he supposes. “I get to ask you something of my choosing and you answer me honestly.”

“Ooh, what do you want to know?” Thomas leans in conspiratorially.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Edwin gently pushes the man back to a respectable distance, trying to ignore the feeling of the soft velvet over Thomas’ toned chest. “If there are limits you wish to draw then we can discuss that.”

Thomas shakes his head. “I trust you. I don’t think you’d ask anything too terrible.”

Edwin flushes at the memory that he has in fact already done that, wading in with demands to know about the dead man in the throne room from the first time he’d visited. That conversation had not ended well. The fact Thomas apparently trusts him not to do something like that again is both pleasing and a little puzzling. Unless the silly cat is foolish enough to think he’s actually going to win.

Edwin harrumphs scornfully. “You have no chance of successfully dealing with that poltergeist before we do. You know, you have get up pretty early in the morning to beat the Dead Boy Detective Agency, and you are a notorious lie-abed.”

“Well I’m certainly notorious for something to do with lying in bed.” Thomas winks. “Not that it has to be a bed, doesn’t have to be lying down either...”

Edwin is suddenly very glad they are not in Thomas’ bedchamber today. “Yes, thank you, that is enough of that!” Completely unhelpfully, perhaps because he is trying so hard not to think about Thomas in an untoward context, Edwin’s memory suddenly conjures up an image from the Manga. One of the protagonists on their knees before the other, their head blocking the reader from seeing anything too explicit, but the expression on the face of their partner leaving no doubt as to what was occurring and how much pleasure it was occasioning. He struggles to drag his attention back to the conversation and almost misses what Thomas says next.

“Ok, so I solve one of your cases before you and you kiss me, and if not then you get to ask me whatever question you like and I’ll answer it.”

“Fine, fine!” Edwin waves a hand in annoyance, anything to get the irritating man to desist. Preferably without him noticing that Edwin had once again been somewhat distracted.

Thomas holds out a hand and Edwin shakes it firmly. What after all is the harm in humouring him. If Thomas wants to waste his time and dent his pride, who is Edwin to stop him?

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

It is almost a week since the bet and Edwin has still not solved the case of, what Charles has christened, the Petty Poltergeist of Putney (a name which has the dual advantage of alliteration and accuracy). The only reassuring thought is that clearly Thomas hasn’t solved it yet either, in fact he’s seen no evidence that Thomas is even trying. It’s rather disappointing in a way, Edwin enjoys a little healthy competition.

The poltergeist at the heart of the case may be the pettiest spirit of any kind that they have ever encountered, its antics more maliciously childlike than truly dangerous. It likes to smash things, to trip people, to switch similar substances like sugar and salt (thank goodness arsenic is harder to get hold of these days). It is a giant headache for any and all surrounding ghosts and humans, but probably (hopefully) no major risk to anything but property and dignity.

The case had come from the Night Nurse. Apparently the personality at the centre of this whirl of vandalism is a 12 year old boy called Stephen, dead for almost as long as Edwin himself and only recently tracked down when building works in the abandoned Edwardian apartments he’d been haunting apparently tipped him over the edge. His behaviour then tipping any neighbouring spirits over the edge too. Edwin has a feeling that, even if it hadn’t come from the Night Nurse, they’d have ended up taking the case on sooner or later anyway. The local ghosts were not at all impressed by the antics and are unanimous in wanting the spirit gone. Edwin would have more sympathy had the boy not managed to get hold of his pen and launch it from a 4^th floor window two days ago.

Poltergeists are messy, in every sense. There’s usually only a dim trace of personality left, making it hard to make sensible contact and even harder to work out what is causing them to linger here. The same reason the Lost & Found have been unable to claim Stephen is now making it hard for the Agency to find the answer to what might enable him to move on willingly.

Thomas’ suggestion that they get his attention via Edwin doing something flashy with magic had worked to a degree. Somewhere at the heart of that whirlwind of rage remains a young boy who is pretty impressed when Edwin sets things on fire. Which is all well and good but Edwin is running out of different things to burn and the boy only responds with actual sentences, as opposed to yelled and rather childish insults, very occasionally.

Hence why Edwin and Crystal are once again research buddies, Charles having slipped out to replenish some of Edwin’s potions ingredients (used up creating clouds of different coloured smoke in a bid to entertain Stephen). They are poring over the Night Nurse provided file, and it is amazing how little information the Lost and Found actually have to work with – no wonder they’d taken so long to find him and Charles! Alongside that, they have been using Crystal’s internet (as Edwin still chooses to refer to it, because when she’s in a good mood it amuses her and when she’s being grouchy it irritates her – which serves her right) to try and scrape together some idea of the boy’s life and death.

Stephen Price, died aged 12 from measles in 1924. He lived, and indeed died, in the apartment he’s been haunting, with his mother and two sisters. His father had died in the war, Edwin thinks sadly that it’s likely Stephen barely even remembered him. The family had lived in the apartment for a long time after his death, with one of the sisters eventually living there with a female companion until she died in the late 1970s.

The property had then passed to her nephew, who had emigrated to Australia and never seemed to have done anything with it until he was bought out by a property developer in the ’90s. The developer had had ideas of renovating the building, but the company went under before work could begin and the building seemed to lie dormant for a long period. Crystal finds articles dated every few years claiming work was to ‘begin soon’, but it never did. At least not until a few months back.

That was when all the trouble had begun.

“Do you think he was just there in the flat, all those years?” Crystal asks.

Edwin nods. “It seems likely.”

“But why is he still there, his family all left decades ago, what’s he hanging around for? Even if he can’t move on, why did he stay there?”

“Where else should he go?” Seeing Crystal doesn’t understand him, Edwin sets aside his notes momentarily. “Ghosts are complicated, Crystal. Some are very confused, he may not be aware of how long he has been there or how long his family have been gone. He has been left in peace all these years, perhaps the disruption of the building works brought home his situation and the resulting emotional turmoil pushed an already confused and lost soul into full on poltergeist territory. If he is going to cross over then it is likely we will need to bring him back from there, but I do not understand how when we seem unable to make much connection with him.”

“He likes your magic.”

“Yes, though not enough not to throw away my things,” Edwin grumbles.

“Oh my god Edwin,” Crystal groans, “You can get a new pen.”

“I am particular about my pens!”

She snorts. “What are you not particular about?”

“My research partners apparently!” he sniffs.

Crystal rolls her eyes and throws a cushion at him.

They have, since the Incident, relaxed around each other again, and Edwin is not too arrogant to admit that in this case Thomas was absolutely right. He was letting his jealously rule him and in danger of losing his friend over an accident that she had apologised for. He was deeply touched by her desire to avenge him, never mind it was against a bunch of long dead schoolboys who had more than paid for their bullying.

She is however a restless researcher, distracting both herself and him with random conversation. “The fireworks were good the other night.”

“Yes, they were,” he agrees. “It was a pleasant evening.”

“Thomas seemed to like that scarf. Did you make it especially for him?”

“No. It was simply the one I had most recently completed.”

“It was a nice colour. Kind of like that jumper you were wearing.”

“Yes, it is the same colour I suppose.”

“Matches your eyes.”

“I...if you say so.”

“Thomas seemed really taken with it. The colour looked good on him, don’t you think?”

Thomas could make a paper bag look stylish and becoming. “I do not see what that has to do with our case in hand?”

Why does she keep going on about that scarf. Perhaps she would like one too. It would be a nice offering to cement their reconciliation, he thinks. He did openly say that he had made many of them and never used them, perhaps she was hurt he had never thought to offer her one on a cold outing. Yes, he will get some nice wool. Perhaps a variegated one in purple shades, she likes purple and it suits her. It will make an excellent Yuletide gift.

“Oh, just making conversation,” she says, nonchalantly.

“Well we do not have time for that,” Edwin scolds. “Now concentrate, or I shall put you on the cursed rabbit case instead.”

A ghost with a pet rabbit of any kind was a new one to him and Charles, but a cursed one was more than a little far fetched. Apparently it is white and has red eyes, he assumes it is more likely an albino than actually cursed. Either way it is a trivial case that they have no time for until they have resolved this one and Edwin has won his bet with Thomas. No matter how insistent its ghostly friend (a batty elderly ghost in a floppy sun-hat and fur coat) had been when they’d tried to avoid taking her case. In the end it had been Charles’ soft heart that had led to them saying yes. It is however hardly a priority.

What is a priority is winning.

~*~*~*~

They never do find much of note about Stephen Price. From what little there is for Crystal to get a psychic read on though (while Edwin distracts Stephen with some cheap and gaudy conjuring tricks) they do glean hints of his mother not taking the death well. Did he remain behind to watch over his family? Did he see his mother’s grief and refuse to leave her? It is impossible to know.

In the end it is Charles who gets through to him, talking gently and determinedly about the boy’s family, repeating their names over and over. All while Edwin tries to hold back a torrent of flying objects as Stephen tries to throw everything he can at them, the room crackling with electricity.

He misses a projectile and Crystal takes a hit to the side of the head that fells her to her knees. “Crystal?” Charles runs to her side, but his is not the only voice raised in concern.

“Polly?”

Edwin’s head snaps round to see a figure, ill-defined and hazy, much larger than a child, energy crackling around it.

“That was your sister, wasn’t it?” He asks, mostly to call Stephen’s attention away from Charles and Crystal. “Polly?”

Stephen though moves closer to where Charles is helping the psychic to her feet. “Polly?”

They exchange a look and Charles turns to the poltergeist. “She’s not Polly, mate. Your sister’s not here anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.”

“She left.” The voice is unsteady. “They all left.”

“They didn’t mean to leave you. They didn’t realise you were still here,” Charles says.

“Mother knew. She talked to me.”

Edwin wonders briefly if Stephen’s mother had some psychic ability or if it was simply grief that meant she kept talking to her dead son, with no idea that he was actually hearing her. This though is the longest, most coherent exchange any of them have managed with the poltergeist. The fact he has become somewhat corporeal (at least by a ghost’s definition of corporeal) is an excellent sign, poltergeists rarely manifest a visible form.

“She passed away, mate,” Charles says softly. “Decades ago. I guess you stayed to watch over your sisters? You must have been a good brother, keeping an eye on them. But they don’t need that anymore, they’re gone too now.”

“I’m alone.” There’s something heartbreaking in the raw loneliness of that statement.

“Nah mate, I’m right here. Not going to leave you,” Charles instantly assures him. “Why don’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t want you!” A burst of energy has Charles dodging flying debris.

“I know, mate. You want your family, but all of this won’t help you get to them.” Charles stands his ground, allowing the remaining debris to pass through him, his earring swinging rhythmically in the spectral wind.

Crystal, having slunk over to Edwin’s side, elbows him in the ribs. Not that he can feel it, but the principle of the thing still causes him to glare at her. “Do something to cheer him up!” she hisses.

Edwin sighs and conjures a green flame that Stephen had previously seemed to like. It serves its purpose and halts whatever further displays of temper he was going to have as his vague form draws close to it.

“That’s brilliant!”

“Thank you.” Edwin modulates the colours through yellow, red and purple.

“They’re not coming back, are they? Even if I keep the house nice for them,” Stephen suddenly says.

“No. They are not coming back.” Edwin refrains from adding that he has not been keeping the house very nice.

“Oh.” The figure sags in on itself, coalescing more firmly into that of a young boy. The feeling of electricity in the room fades. “I miss them. This isn’t home anymore.”

Charles is at the young boy’s side in an instant, reaching out to pat a trembling shoulder and offer his patented understanding to the angry and lost. It is not long before a glow begins to appear in a corner of the room.

“Someone’s coming to help you,” Charles reassures the boy. “You should go with her.”

“Will I get in trouble for all the mess?”

Edwin looks at the slowly growing blue light and smiles. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll be alright, mate. Nothing to be scared of,” Charles promises.

“We must go.” Edwin hustles Charles towards the entrance. “Goodbye, Stephen.”

As soon as they’re through the door, he and Charles are both running, tumbling down the stairs and out onto the street in time to see the intense blue glow from the upper windows. Their truce with Death does not incline them to stick around and meet her, just in case.

Crystal takes the stairs at a more sedate pace and joins them a minute or so later. “I hope wherever he’s gone, he’s reunited with his family,” she says, wistfully.

“We can only speculate, but it would seem appropriate,” Edwin agrees.

Charles grins, brightly. “I reckon he’s back with them. Job well jobbed.”

It certainly was, and Edwin has won his wager.

~*~*~*~

Edwin returns to the office with the others to file the paperwork. They find the Night Nurse and a jam jar of old coins waiting for them.

“That is from the ghost of an elderly lady who wanted to thank you for returning her rabbit to her yesterday.” The Night Nurse scowls at them. “I thought I had made myself clear that Stephen Price was a priority case!”

“You did, and that is why we have just helped him to pass on, at some risk to ourselves.” Edwin responds primly. “Crystal was injured in the course of doing so in fact.”

“Oh. Well, that’s much better. Well done, boys.” She turns to Crystal and takes hold of her chin in one hand, turning her face to look at the bruise starting to form at her temple. “Hmm, nothing serious, still...” She brings her other hand up to gently touch the bruise, and it fades completely from view.

“Thank you!” Crystal smiles at her.

“Yes, yes, just be more careful.” The Night Nurse turns back to Edwin. “I shall expect the paperwork ASAP then!”

She’s gone before they can answer her. She never spends any longer in the office than she absolutely has to.

Charles fusses over Crystal and Edwin picks up the jar of coins, slightly confused. “Charles did you solve Mrs McGregor’s case while you were out yesterday?”

His partner shakes his head. “No. She’s batty, in’t she? Rabbit was probably never lost to begin with.”

“Likely not.” Edwin is honestly not terribly interested. He just wants to finish the paperwork so he can go to claim his prize. His mind wanders as he fills out the endless forms. There are so many things he would like to know that it’s hard to settle on what one question he will select. He does not want to jeopardise their friendship by asking anything that might make Thomas too uncomfortable, so he immediately sets aside any notion of asking about Thomas’ previous deaths. Likewise he decides he doesn’t need to hear anything about how long Thomas had known Esther and just how much harm she might have caused him.

He would like to know how old Thomas is, but that seems a waste of a question on a minor detail. Centuries at least, he knows that much. ‘What exactly is a Cat King’, seems like a question whose answer will invoke a lot of self-mythologising without ever really telling Edwin very much. He is curious though, he has searched his library and found very little. Like the felines they are, Cat Monarchs slip in and out of the written texts on silent paws, leaving very little information.

By the time he leaves for Port Townsend Edwin still has not quite decided what to ask, but is too eager to wait any longer. He tumbles through the mirror to find the Cat King lounged on his throne, holding court with his cats.

“Edwin! How lovely.” He dismisses the cats and beckons for Edwin to approach the dais. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” His eyes are sparkling with mischief for some reason, but then he has never needed much reason for that.

Edwin’s slow smile mirrors his leisurely approach to the throne. “I am here to proclaim victory and request my prize,” he says, smugly.

“Oh?” Thomas doesn’t seem in the least bit surprised. Clearly he has in fact not even been trying to win. Likely he knew it was futile and did not wish to waste his energy, lazy cat that he is.

“Yes. Stephen Price, once known as the Petty Poltergeist of Putney, has been successfully convinced to move on with Death. And I believe that means you owe me an answer to a question of my choosing.”

“Oh really?” There’s something a little odd in the man’s tone, almost like he’s amused.

“That was the terms of our wager.”

Thomas smiles, sweetly. “But you didn’t win our wager.”

Edwin frowns in confusion. “I just told you, we satisfactorily closed the case this afternoon. If you require proof I can fetch you our paperwork.”

“The poltergeist case. Don’t suppose you’ve heard from a Mrs McGregor about her cursed rabbit?”

“I… Yes, we have, she contacted us to thank us for returning the creature, she even sent payment, but we did not actually…” The penny drops. “You? Why?”

The sweet smile gets wider and more angelic. “To win our little wager.”

“But you did not solve the right case!” Edwin laughs.

Smile taking on a more dangerous edge, Thomas stands and swaggers his way over toward Edwin, leaning in close to speak softly in his ear. “We never specified a case, Edwin. You assumed. The agreement was that I had to solve one of your cases before you did.” He pulls back with a smile now so smug it has to be seen to be believed.

“I...” It takes Edwin a great deal of restraint not to simply stand there with his jaw practically on the floor. Thomas is quite correct. He remembers the wording, remembers that he wasn’t paying sufficient attention. They’d been talking about the Poltergeist case before the bet was made and he had assumed the wager must refer to that case, but they had never actually specified. What on earth had he been thinking, you don’t play games with a trickster. Not unless you want to lose.

Did he want to lose? There’s a thrill of something hot and exciting in his stomach at the idea that he has lost and that now Thomas is, quite understandably, calling in his debt.

“Why don't we take this little situation somewhere more comfortable?” Thomas winks at him, and in a cloud of purple smoke they’re back in the bedroom once more. “That’s better, isn’t it? Didn’t think you’d want an audience.”

Absolutely not, there is quite enough scope for humiliation here without adding in Cornflake laughing at him.

Apparently Edwin’s trepidation at that thought shows on his face, because Thomas’ playfully taunting expression fades to a fond smile. “Oh relax, you don’t have to kiss me. I’m not going to make you do anything, I never would. You know me, fair and consensual.”

The thing is, Edwin wants to. Ever since that first encounter, part of him has been captivated by Thomas. His confidence and beauty, his oddly beguiling ways, the pure sex-appeal the man radiates and revels in. How could anyone not want to kiss him. Edwin has spent far more time thinking about Thomas’ lips than he’d really like to admit.

He wants this, and he is hardly likely to be handed a better opportunity for plausible deniability in the indulgence of his desires. The deal was one kiss, surely there can be no harm in one kiss. It may even get something out his system that is becoming an annoying distraction.

“No. A gentleman pays his gambling debts, no matter what they are,” he insists, enjoying the slight widening of beautiful golden eyes. “I do warn you though, I am thoroughly inexperienced in such things so I doubt you will find it any good.”

“Oh so you’ve not been running round kissing half of London since you got back there?”

“Certainly not,” Edwin says, emphatically. “What do you take me for?”

“Someone who badly needs kissing.”

Edwin scoffs. He expects Thomas to kiss him, but a long, expectant moment proves that he isn’t going to. He’s leaving Edwin to take the initiative. Fair and consensual. If Edwin wants his kiss he’s going to have to claim it.

The problem is he has no idea how to go about kissing someone. How is it supposed to work? His kiss with Monty was over before he’d really got his head around it, so that is no help. He’s seen people kiss though, there is usually another point of contact beside the lips. It feels like maybe he should put his hand somewhere on Thomas, (or maybe that he simply wants to), but where? Face? Neck? Chest? Arm? A hand on someone’s cheek is appealingly romantic, but this is not about romance, that feels too much for the situation. A hand on the back of Thomas’ neck though feels a little too confident, too controlling, Edwin can certainly see the appeal but not when he barely knows what he’s doing. Touching Thomas’ arm is simply too casual, he can touch his arm whenever he likes. That leaves his chest. Thomas is for once wearing a top Edwin cannot see right through, so that seems like a reasonably intimate but not too scandalous option.

Thomas smiles at him, and it’s sweet, and perhaps the tiniest bit unsure, and all the encouragement Edwin needs to step into his personal space, lay a hand softly on his chest just below his left shoulder, and press his lips tentatively to the other man’s.

Thomas responds with a gentle tenderness Edwin was not expecting. He’s not sure exactly what he was expecting, but it probably would have involved Thomas being a little more pushy. He’s not pushy in the least though, he doesn’t crowd Edwin, doesn’t grab hold of him, just moves his lips softly across the ghost’s own. A delicate brush of lips, soft and sweet and a little breathtaking.

Then the kiss is over and Edwin realises he could pull back, step away. He has ‘paid his gambling debt’, but he hasn’t quite got what he wants. Heedless suddenly of how eager he does or doesn’t appear, he dives right back in, silently asking for more, for a kiss perhaps less tender and more intense, and that is exactly what he gets.

Thomas draws him close, with a noise like a growl that lights a fire in the pit of Edwin’s stomach. One hand comes to rest on Edwin’s left hip (not an option he had himself considered, but altogether not unwelcome), while the other slides up into his hair, perfectly placed for Thomas to manoeuvre the ghost as he wants him. He’s still gentle in his own way, coaxing and guiding Edwin until the ghost feels like he’s being given something of a masterclass in kissing. In how to use lips and tongue and teeth to drive another person to distraction. Bloody hell, if this is how a simple kiss can feel, what on earth is all the rest like!

It’s that thought that brings Edwin firmly back down to earth, because he wants to know, he wants to throw caution to the winds and offer himself up, and under no circumstances is that happening. When the kiss ends this time, he steps back.

Thomas looks him over approvingly and lets out a soft little sound, that is both satisfied and thoroughly self-satisfied, as he smirks at him. “You sure you’ve not been running around kissing half of London? I won’t judge!” he teases.

Edwin can feel his face flush with a phantom heat. Torn between the impulse to kiss Thomas again and the urge to make a dash for the mirror, he does neither – merely stands there stupidly, wondering what to say.

“God, you look gorgeous like that,” Thomas murmurs.

“Like what?” Edwin finds his voice, but it sounds quiet and unsteady.

“Cheeks flushed, lips bitten red, hair all out of place. I’ve rumpled you.” Thomas looks incredibly pleased with himself for this.

Edwin’s hands fly to his hair, attempting to settle it back into some kind of order. “Well I hope you will consider my debt paid. I have certainly learned a valuable lesson about gambling with tricksters.”

“Paid in full, ghostie. Does that mean you don’t want to play again?” He trails a teasing finger up Edwin’s arm. “You might win next time.”

Edwin rather thinks that, in one sense, he might have won this time. “I believe that would be unwise,” he manages. It’s hard to think with Thomas touching him, but he doesn’t want him to stop.

“Hmm, maybe,” Thomas assents. “But let me know if you ever change your mind.” He withdraws his touch and Edwin realises he was wrong, it is no easier to think without Thomas touching him right now because his mind is too busy lamenting the loss of contact.

He needs to leave before he says something stupid. Or continues to stand here unable to say anything at all, which feels like a real possibility.

“Well, now that we have...erm, all that sorted out. I should be getting back to the office. The amount of time we had to spend on that poltergeist has put us seriously behind on our caseload.”

Thomas looks amused by how flustered Edwin is. “Well I wouldn’t want to be a distraction, Detective.” He sits himself on the bed, lounging like a femme fatale in film noir - and it does not help at all that Edwin can absolutely imagine Thomas looking delectable in form-fitting black silk, a fur wrap falling from his shoulders, beautiful and a little dangerous.

Edwin realises he’s staring. “Yes, well, erm, we are terribly behind so...” He gestures to the mirror.

“Come back soon?” Those pretty golden eyes can look awfully beseeching when they want to, though it’s not like Edwin wants to say no anyway.

“Very well.” He manages a smile, with a little more confidence. “I will see you soon then.” Edwin hesitates briefly upon the threshold of the mirror. “Oh, by the way,” he tries desperately to sound nonchalant, “You were right about second kisses.” He’s through the mirror before he can say anything else to completely humiliate himself.

At the last moment though Edwin remembers Thomas’ description of him, ‘cheeks flushed, lips bitten red’. He might have smoothed his hair down but he’s certainly not got the control right now to be certain of erasing all the evidence of their activities. The office is not an option. A change in direction takes him instead to the Tongue and Tail and Niko’s quiet, empty room.

There’s a pang of sorrow as he realises he’ll never be able to tell her what just happened, admit that maybe he hadn’t been entirely honest when he’d denied wanting to kiss the Cat King. Which he now has! The idea seems so delightfully absurd that he actually lets out a brief laugh. He kissed the Cat King! He’s more than a little sorry that there’s no one he can tell. Charles would likely have kittens, and he can hardly ask Crystal to keep it from him even if he did have the confidence to confide in her.

There is one person he could talk to though. His thoughts have already drifted ahead of him to the forest as he passes through the door and walks almost directly through Jenny. Who screams, throws a punch that only doesn’t connect because Edwin is not currently tangible, recovers admirably, and glares at him. “You two need to figure out some kind of doorbell or something!”

“I am so sorry, I shan’t trouble you.” Edwin backs away towards the stairs. “I was just...”

“Woah, woah, woah. Stop right there.” She looks him over critically, reminding him again of his flushed cheeks and bitten lips. “What the hell have you been up to?”

Edwin blurts out, “Nothing!”, far too quickly for it to sound the slightest bit believable.

“Uh huh.”

“That is to say...” To say what? Part of him, giddy with want and pleasure, is dying to shout it from the rooftops, but surely he cannot just tell her what he has been doing! There is also the thought though that if he doesn’t explain something to her then she might mention this to Crystal the next time they speak...

“If it helps,” she offers, in a tone that suggests she doesn’t really mind if it does or it doesn’t, “You have a really obvious stubble-rash.”

“I...” Oh, sod it. “I have been kissing someone.” There, he said it! “I apologise for using your mirror, but he lives in Port Townsend and I was heading back to London when it occurred to me that I might look a little...rumpled. So I thought I should put myself back together a bit first. Could you please not mention this to Crystal?”

Jenny sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose in a gesture he recognises from his own repertoire of frustration. She follows it up with a deep breath and a very serious expression. “You know you haven’t done anything wrong, right? Like, this is not 1916. You can kiss anyone you want to, so long as they also want to kiss you.”

There is a small part of him that could almost want to kiss her for saying that. There is an inherent grumpy kindness in Jenny that is rather touching. “I know.” He’s come a long way since he first arrived in this town.

“So what’s with the secrecy?” she asks.

“I know it is not wrong, but it is private. It was just a kiss. We are not in a relationship, nor is there any intention for us to be, so I am not hiding anything of note. I do not want to discuss it with Charles and Crystal just now, and I certainly do not wish to put Crystal in the position of keeping it from Charles. That would not be fair.”

Jenny looks unconvinced. “Do you have anyone to talk to about this stuff?” She holds up a warning finger. “Just to be clear, I am not offering.”

Edwin smiles, he really does enjoy the butcher’s no-nonsense approach to life. “In a way, yes. I was just thinking of going to see Monty, actually.”

“Your friend who turned into a crow?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Jenny looks like she thinks they’re all barking mad. “Well I’m sure he’ll be helpful.”

“I have been endeavouring to learn to understand him,” Edwin explains.

“You’re learning to speak crow?”

“Oh no, as a former familiar, he can understand human speech perfectly well. I am simply learning to interpret his communications.”

Jenny shakes her head. “Right, I’m getting a headache, so off you go. I won’t breathe a word to Crystal.”

“Thank you, Jenny, that is much appreciated.”

He gets as far as the door to the shop (re-opened and looking spotless) before a command of “Wait!” is delivered in a tone that his feet respond to before his brain even has time to consider. He waits obediently as she does something behind the counter.

“Here.” She hands him a small bag of chopped meat. “Crows eat meat, right.”

“Yes they do. That is very kind of you.”

She shrugs. “It needs eating before it spoils. Now go.”

~*~*~*~

Edwin thinks he makes it to the woods without any cats spotting him. He does not want Thomas thinking that he is running around like an excited schoolgirl, looking to tell someone of their kiss. Even if he sort of is. Especially if he sort of is.

He calls out for Monty as he traverses his way through the trees, and it’s not long before an answering caw greets him.

“Monty!” As soon as the crow is perched on a nearby branch, it tumbles out. “I kissed him! Oh dear god, I kissed him!” The reality of that is still settling around him.

“Caw?”

“Who do you think!”

Monty makes the gesture and noise Edwin has come to associate with the Cat King.

“Yes, obviously.” When did it become ‘obviously’?

Edwin sits heavily on the mossy ground, and Monty flutters down to join him. It’s hard to be sure, but Edwin’s getting good at reading Monty’s body language, and if he had to guess he’d say he was amused. The crow gives the little head bob that Edwin recognises as meaning ‘go on, I’m listening’.

“We had made a bet, you see, one in which I would kiss him if he were to win. Yes, don’t look at me in that manner, I am fully aware of how foolish that was. The thing is, now I wonder if I was rather intentionally ignoring that fact at the time. I think maybe I wanted to lose, because I wanted to kiss him with impunity. I think, if I am honest, I have wanted to kiss him for quite some time. This way though, I at least have plausible deniability. I simply fulfilled my part of the wager. No need to further swell his ego, or to incur any awkward conversation on the matter. It is done and need not be referred to again.”

Monty is giving him the look Edwin has become familiar with as his ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ expression.

“Well.” Edwin looks away, momentarily uncomfortable. “Perhaps I am being a little naive to think it likely to go unremarked upon, but...I cannot bring myself to regret it.”

Monty starts cawing loudly and flapping at Edwin in an excited manner. It takes a good few minutes to understand what he is so emphatic about, but it turns out to be that Edwin should not regret enjoying himself. He has a feeling Monty’s phraseology would not have been quite that, but he agrees with Edwin’s eventual surmise readily enough. He also makes the head bob that asks for Edwin to tell him more.

“I am not sure what more there is to tell. It was...very nice,” he finishes primly, making Monty caw indignantly at the lack of details.

Edwin laughs. “Alright, it was very much more than nice! I have never experienced anything like it. The way he held me close to him and...I rather think he growled. Which was rather more...appealing, than one might have expected.” Very much more appealing! “I have never… It felt rather wonderful.” He touches his fingers to his lips in wonder at the memory of sensation. “Only now I am afraid of what else I might want,” he finishes quietly. “I did not want to stop kissing him, and that was not all I wanted.” The wanting had hit him like a damn-burst, everything he had held back for so long no longer content to be ignored. If Thomas had pushed for more, for another kiss, for almost anything, Edwin isn’t sure he would have said no.

He’s a little afraid to look Monty in the eye after that confession but the bird doesn’t look exasperated or repulsed, in fact he still looks amused. “Do you think I am foolish?” Edwin asks, and is answered immediately with a negative.

Monty hops up to perch on Edwin’s knee and cocks his head in a manner he has learnt is an invitation to stroke the sooty feathers. Edwin reaches out with a smile. “Thank you for listening to me. I do not want to tell Charles and Crystal, and it is lovely to have someone to talk to.”

Monty puffs up his feathers proudly and Edwin laughs, happy and carefree. The memory of the kiss a warm embrace. His afterlife, he thinks to himself, is utterly mad. He has just kissed a cat and run to tell his crow friend all about it. It is silly and complicated and right now he just doesn’t care. What comes next is an anxiety for another day.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Thomas wakes slowly, gently floating back to consciousness, unsure for a moment why his nerves feel like they’re buzzing with pleasurable anticipation and hope. Then he remembers. Edwin kissed him, he fucking kissed him! If Thomas closes his eyes he can still feel those deliciously cool lips on his. Fucking bliss!

Nine months on and he’s finally scored a proper kiss, and what a kiss! He knew all that repression was a good sign, the uptight ones are always firecrackers when you get them to let loose. It is officially the longest he has ever waited to kiss someone, and it was worth every minute. He sighs contentedly and hugs a pillow to his chest.

There are, he has to concede, still complications. He’d won himself a kiss via a bet, and there’s little of chance that happening again. Edwin had kissed him because he’d lost, rather than because he’d simply wanted to. He’s not going to let that sour his mood though. Edwin’s fucking stubborn and he has a healthy level of self-respect, he wouldn’t have kissed Thomas if he didn’t want to. Hell, Thomas had expected to let him off. Maybe bargain him into another of those cute little cheek kisses if he was lucky. It was Edwin who’d insisted on fulfilling the terms of their wager, and then some! He’d first brushed the sweetest little kiss to Thomas’ lips, and then apparently decided that wasn’t good enough and dived in like his life depended on it.

No, Edwin had enjoyed himself. He’d more than enjoyed himself! You were right about second kisses. Yes, he most certainly was. So now Thomas just has to come up with another reason to get the ghost to kiss him and show him how good the third can be. It’s nearing Christmas, maybe some strategically placed mistletoe in a few weeks time...

In the meantime though, this calls for celebrations. Fancy food for all! And he knows just the place to go for it.

~*~*~*~

“10lbs of chopped cooked chicken, 10lbs of chopped steak, 5lbs of pork sausages and, ooh throw in a pound of that ham!” He points at the delicious looking joint of meat, covered in golden breadcrumbs. “Finely sliced, please.”

The hot goth lady behind the counter stares at him impassively for a moment before shaking her head and starting on his order.

Right, he has just ordered a shit-ton of meat. “I have a lot of mouths to feed.”

She narrows her eyes at him, recognition dawning. “You’re the guy who feeds the cats.” It’s not an inaccurate description, he supposes.

“And you sell the best meat in town. It’s good to see you open again.”

It is clear flattery is going to get him nowhere with this one. She just gives him a blank look and reaches for a cleaver.

“It’s Thomas, by the way.”

She looks over his giant fur coat and sunglasses. “Hmm, I was going to guess Anna Wintour.”

Feeling playful, he removes the sunglasses and grins at her. Most people don’t see anything unusual, but that unfortunate demon possession has left Ms Jenny Green tuned into the supernatural. He winks a golden cat eye at her. “I’m a friend of Edwin’s.” He refrains from begging to know if Edwin’s mentioned him, but it’s close.

Her face remains impassive, but a note of menace creeps into her voice. “Really?” The cleaver comes down slightly more sharply than he feels it needs to.

This does not feel like it’s going well.

“You know,” she says suddenly, “Edwin confuses me. I don’t know if he’s 16, or old enough to be my great great grandfather, and I’m not even going to hazard a guess at how old you are. Point is, I think he’s been through a lot and I would not like to see him messed around.” The cleaver comes down again, neatly separating the raw meat. Fuck, that thing’s sharp.

Forget shovel talks, he’s apparently getting a cleaver talk and that is so much worse.

“I wouldn’t like to see that either,” Thomas says, as sincerely as he can possibly manage, both because it is true and because he’s slightly concerned about how easily that cleaver could separate him from vital parts of his anatomy.

The butcher looks him dead in the eye as the cleaver comes down again, and it’s like her eyes are boring into his soul. Is she definitely human? Edwin would have mentioned if not, right? Thomas, for possibly the first time in his life (very likely this one at least), holds his tongue. Eventually she blinks (which is a fucking relief quite frankly), her face softening just a fraction as she turns all of her attention back to the meat. The meat she had at no point stopped expertly chopping into neat little pieces. Ok, she’s a whizz with a cleaver, message received loud and clear.

She’s got his order neatly packaged and bagged up in no time, and she hands him a flier with it. “I’m taking Christmas meat orders. You’re planning any more orders this kind of size in December I’ll need this filled out by the 8^th.”

He looks over the form and nods, grateful that he’s not being banished from the shop permanently. “I’ll be sure to get it in on time.”

She shrugs. “No skin off my nose if you don’t.”

How the hell is she still in business? He looks again at the glistening mounds of raw meat behind the glass counter. Oh yeah, because she’s a fucking good butcher as well as a fucking terrible customer service rep.

He hands over a wad of notes, somewhat larger than the sum she’d asked for. “Keep the change.”

She looks sceptically at the money and starts sorting it.

“It’s real, I’m not paying you in leprechaun gold or something. I just don’t have a bank card, or at least not one that actually links to a bank.” She’d have a lot more cause to be suspicious were he ‘paying’ by card.

“Are leprechauns real? No!” she puts up a hand in the universal ‘just fucking stop’ sign. “Don’t answer that. I don’t know why I ask these questions.”

“Good call.” It’s never a good time to get into fucking Leprechauns.

~*~*~*~

It’s not until Thomas is outside that it hits him. Does Jenny know about the kiss? It kind of felt like she knew about the kiss. That seems pretty unlikely though, Edwin’s not super close to her as far as Thomas knows. He’s not sure how likely Edwin is to have told anyone, but he certainly can’t see him confiding in the butcher. No, she can’t know. She can suspect things though, so he’d probably best heed her warning and behave.

She’s really got nothing to worry about on that front though, Edwin’s far more likely to break his heart than the other way round. He’s in way over his head with the ghost. He just wants to ensure he at least gets a side of smooches with his inevitable heartbreak.

~*~*~*~

Back at the warehouse Monty crashes the feast, swooping in to help himself to some chopped steak before coming to sit on the arm of Thomas’ throne.

“Hey, Feathers. Don’t remember inviting you but, sure, help yourself.” Thomas is feeling magnanimous.

Monty stares him dead in the eye while clearly enjoying his stolen snack. There’s something else in that expression though, alongside the cocky disrespect he and Thomas tend to share towards each other. The crow looks...assessing. That’s the only word Thomas can put to that look. Monty is looking at him with all the cogs in that little birdy-brain whirring like crazy. What the fuck is he thinking?!

Why is everybody looking at him like this today? Is ‘I kissed Edwin Payne and it was the best thing ever’ tattooed on his fucking forehead?!

Ok, no, deep breaths, this is insane. Jenny probably threatens everyone that sets foot in her shop and Monty always looks like he’s judging Thomas, that’s not new. He’s letting his imagination run away with him, and not in a fun way.

Could it be that Thomas is feeling self-conscious? That’s so old it’s almost new, he doesn’t do self-conscious. Certainly not over some guy. But Edwin’s not some guy, he’s sassy and sweet and so fucking sexy. Thomas can’t remember the last time he met someone who sparked quite so brightly and determinedly. Even Hell couldn’t extinguish a spark like that. Seven decades of torment, plus change, and Edwin is confident to the point of arrogant (fair enough really when you’ve beaten Hell itself), determined to a fault, and delightfully bent on winning.

Oh the look on his face when he’d thought he had won their little wager had been glorious. That little strut up to the throne, all smug, so certain that he’d been victorious and was going to make the Cat King pay. So fucking sexy. He loves Edwin acting all superior and self-assured…

Fucking hell, he cannot stop daydreaming about that kiss. He’s a whisker away from planning their happily ever after, and it’s got to stop. Edwin has given no indication that that’s what he wants. Plus Monty is sat right there and is still staring at him like he knows something Thomas doesn’t.

“Stop staring!” he snaps, causing the bird to laugh at him.

“So, what’s with the big feast?” Monty asks.

Sometimes, being able to understand him so well is not an advantage. Thomas would like to be able to pretend he didn’t right about now. “No reason. The cats deserved a treat and the butcher had reopened her shop, thought I’d try it out.” He thinks he sounds casual enough. Why the fuck did Monty have to visit today of all days, it really is like everybody knows.

Thomas goes to bed less pleased with himself than he’d woken up. He’s spent the day being paranoid and acting like he could give a single solitary fuck for what anyone else thinks – which he couldn’t! The ghost’s got him thoroughly messed up. At least the cats enjoyed their treat.

Sticking his hand under his pillow he pulls out the scarf Edwin had made, before transforming into his cat form and snuggling down into it. Fuck this shit, he is not going to allow either the world at large (or his own suddenly malfunctioning brain) to kill his joy about what happened between them.

~*~*~*~

Thomas isn’t sure when next to expect Edwin. Going by the charmingly flustered state he’d been in when he’d left, it seems likely to be a week or so before he pulls himself back together well enough for another visit. Thomas can be patient. Tempting as it is to go chasing off to London, he doesn’t want Edwin to feel harassed.

The ghost though lives (metaphorically speaking) to surprise him, and it’s only a few days before he returns.

It’s bitterly cold for November and Thomas is wandering back and forth idly while carrying one of his oldest cats, whose arthritis always flares up in the cold, and enjoying a good gossip with her. His quilted dressing gown is tied at the waist but gaping open across his chest to allow Misty to cuddle close inside, his body heat soothing her aching joints. She feels so light and small in his arms, her long luxurious fur hides how little she really is most of the time. She’s bright and lively though, he’s not worried about her despite her age. The arthritis is the only thing that really troubles her and, as with most old ladies, she spends her time alternately mothering and scolding everyone - including him. Actually, especially him.

He hasn’t told Misty about the kiss, there is not a single one of his cats (not a single cat on the whole fucking planet!) who would keep that to themselves for more than ten minutes and then one of them would inevitably say something ill-advised around the ghost and it would all unravel like some sort of farce. He doesn’t need that. They all know he’s smitten with Edwin though, they clocked that from the start. They mostly think it’s hilarious and there is apparently a betting pool - that he’s not quite sure about the details of and thinks it’s best left that way. They are however cheering him on (even Cornflake, who has just about forgiven Edwin) and Misty has given him several lectures on how he needs to stop pining and tell Edwin how he feels. Which, for the record, he maintains is a terrible idea. Edwin is well aware that Thomas wants him, and pushing that isn’t going to achieve anything but pushing Edwin away.

The balance between waiting for Edwin to make a move, (while acknowledging that Thomas himself can be pushy and blatant and that that has made the ghost uncomfortable at times), with the fact that Edwin hates change and rarely does anything new without some kind of a push, is a headfuck that his cats cannot help with. Nor is he about to ask.

So Thomas is deep in the latest cat gossip, of who the father of Pepper’s kittens is, when the mirror ripples and his favourite ghost steps through.

“Edwin!” Thomas can’t help his smile, even while wishing he’d put a little more thought into his wardrobe today. At least he’s not wearing the fluffy cat slippers. Small mercies.

Edwin gives him a small nod and a slightly awkward ‘hello’. Still a little charmingly flustered it appears.

Misty mews a little hello, largely because she’s lost Thomas’ attention and he’s stopped scratching behind her ears, and Edwin’s eyes are drawn to the half-open dressing gown.

Thomas wonders for a moment if Edwin might be as jealous as Thomas himself had been when seeing him holding Button. Watching the easy way the little cat had snuggled in the ghost’s arms had made his King long to do the same.

Edwin doesn’t look jealous, alas. He looks more distracted by the glimpse of Thomas’ chest than anything, which is gratifying. Thomas is well aware that Edwin likes his body, but there’s little better than when he gets the chance to bask in that admiration.

“I hope I have not come at a bad time?” The ghost drags his eyes back up to Thomas’ face, with a pleasing amount of difficulty.

“Not at all, kitten.”

Before Thomas can say anything further, Misty meows up at him and wriggles to indicate she’d rather not have to witness his relationship up quite this close.

Thomas smiles and wanders over to a relatively sunny corner to put her gently into a soft cat-bed, his magic ensuring it maintains a constant soothing heat. “There you go, little lady.”

She purrs at him and rubs her head against his hand.

When he returns to Edwin the ghost looks concerned, but he waits until they’re in Thomas’ private space to ask, “Is she alright?”

How is this the same ghost that thought nothing of leashing a cat until he’d got what he wanted? Edwin’s affection for the cats always leaves Thomas feeling a little mushy. “She’s ok. The cold weather makes her arthritis flare up, and heat’s always a good remedy. No better way to warm up than a bit of a cuddle.”

Edwin politely ignores that last part. “You are especially fond of her, aren’t you?”

Typical perceptive ghostie, he’s not even seen that much of Misty compared to some of the others. She’s the watch-from-the-shadows type, though Edwin has tempted her out on some of the many occasions when he’s brought treats.

“She’s been with me a long time, she was born in the warehouse more than 17 years ago. Often the ones that are born here I can find a suitable human for them to lodge with when they’re old enough, but some of them just don’t want to go. Button’s made it clear he’s not going anywhere, and Misty was the same. The rest of her brothers and sisters all went out into the town to find suitably doting human servants, but she wanted to stay. She’s a homebody, never goes far, but she’s tough as old boots.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds quietly. “She was the first one to come look after me when Esther killed me. Pretty sure she sees me as a delinquent kitten that needs taking care of.”

Edwin’s expression is so soft and sweet that it’s hard not to just transform and jump into his arms. “Your cats care for you just as you care for them.”

Thomas smiles. “They do. Never trust anyone who tells you cats are fickle and unloving.” He sniffs, distastefully. “They’re probably just a dog person.”

Edwin laughs quietly. “I will remember that.”

How obvious does he have to make it? Come on ghostie, use that fucking ridiculous intellect and open your eyes to the idiot in front of you a whisker away from swearing his undying devotion. Edwin however has begun clenching his fists together in that nervous way he has, suggesting he’s here to say something awkward. His words, and his tone, only confirm that. “I am here because wanted to speak with you about something.”

“Go ahead.” Something in that tone has Thomas gathering his dressing gown more modestly about himself. Doesn’t sound like the ‘something’ is going to encompass Edwin’s admiration of his body.

“It is about what happened the other day.” The way he says it, it really doesn’t sound like it’s about to turn into a confession of undying love or even lust and Thomas can feel his heart drop. “I feel...” He hesitates and, in typical Edwin fashion, restarts without the part where he admits to feeling things. “I would be be very sorry if a silly bet were to cause problems between us. I appreciate it was a light-hearted joke that I perhaps took too far. I do not want things to become awkward between you and I as a result, I value your friendship greatly. I do not wish to lose it. I value you.”

It might not be quite the profession of the kind of love Thomas would like, but fuck if it isn’t a bit wonderful in its own way. Edwin’s darling sincerity never fails to disarm him and his heart aches a little at those words. “I value your friendship too, ghostie, very much.”

He swallows down anything else he might be tempted to say and gives the ghost his most disarming smile. “No awkwardness here.”

Edwin’s smile doesn’t look very much more concrete than his own. “Very good. That is good to hear. I simply wanted to clear that up. I cannot really stay long today, we are in the middle of a particularly puzzling case.” He doesn’t offer to elaborate.

“Right.”

“Right. Well I should be going.”

“You didn’t take anything too far!” Thomas blurts out hastily, before the ghost can disappear on him. Having secured Edwin’s attention, he continues with rather more of his customary flirtatious charm. “You can kiss me anytime you like.” He winks.

Edwin looks unimpressed but, unless Thomas is way off the mark, he also looks a little more comfortable. The repressed idiot can’t possibly think that kiss wasn’t desperately wanted, can he?

Who knows, Edwin is as ever a little unreadable. He’s also back through the mirror before Thomas can do anything so foolish as ask.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

What has he done? It has been eight days and Edwin’s brain is yet to stop replaying the kiss on a seamless loop, like a very much more pleasant version of the Devlin House. Pleasant as the memory might be though, his feelings on the matter are somewhat complicated and it is destroying his concentration.

Seeing Thomas again hadn’t helped at all. Or at least it hadn’t helped with the state of semi-permanent distraction he now lives in. The Cat King is always stunning, he’s a beautiful man with a flare for style and an attitude of pure sex appeal. There is something about seeing him soft and undone though, caring for his cats with his hair tousled and his dressing gown tantalisingly loose. He is a walking temptation!

You can kiss me any time you like.

Edwin’s brain is no longer under his control. It’s got its own ideas. Thomas has always had this effect on him somehow. What on earth is all the rest like is a thought that has haunted him since the kiss, alongside the notion that there is likely a simple way to find out. Thomas has made no secret of the fact that he’d like to tempt Edwin into bed.

You can kiss me any time you like.

That kiss felt like it brought down a damn that’s been holding back all of these thoughts and feelings for a very long time. Now Edwin can’t think about anything else.

You can kiss me any time you like...

“Mate!” Charles’ voice, at almost a shout, interrupts his thoughts, which might be for the best considering where they were headed.

“I’m sorry, what?” Edwin looks up from the desk to see his partner staring at him in amused annoyance.

“You ok? I’ve said your name like three times.”

“Perfectly ok,” Edwin insists. “I was simply...thinking.”

“Oh yeah, about what?”

About nothing he is going to share. “Just some paperwork I need to finish.”

“Uhuh.” Charles sounds doubtful. “You know you’ve been a bit absent this week, mentally I mean. You sure everything’s ok? You and Whiskers haven’t had another row have you?”

“What?! No! Everything is just fine, Charles.”

Charles still doesn’t look convinced, but he does let it drop.

~*~*~*~

Things do not improve, if anything they get worse. Edwin is tormented by thoughts of the kiss, of Thomas in that half-open dressing gown with rumpled bed-hair, of ideas of all the rest. He has spent months being drawn in closer and closer to this bewitching creature and, having been caught in his orbit, he does not even wish to escape. The things he does wish for are...well, they make him think of some of the texts in the Camden bookshop.

He desperately does not want to lose the friendship he and Thomas have built, it means too much to him to risk losing. Thomas though had seemed utterly sincere in saying the kiss had caused no awkwardness, perhaps unsurprisingly given that he had proposed the bet to begin with - but it had crossed Edwin’s mind in his darker moments that it might have all been a joke he had then taken too far.

You can kiss me any time you like.

He flushes at the memory of those words and the seductive little wink that had accompanied them. There was certainly an implication there that Thomas wouldn’t object to something more than kissing. If Edwin does wish to explore all the rest then Thomas would surely be an ideal companion for such things.

The man is gorgeous, seemingly interested in partaking in such activities with Edwin, and certainly experienced enough to know what he’s doing. Most importantly though, Edwin trusts Thomas in a way he could never have predicted back when they’d first met. Were Thomas to make him a similar proposition now (preferably without the element of coercion) Edwin might well take him up on it. The things he had seen in those books seem far less intimidating, and very much more appealing, when his brain pictures them with Thomas.

It is not perhaps what he should want, but he does not much care for should anymore. The thing is, he has found that once you discard one ‘truth’ you were raised with it is very easy to discard all the rest. Accepting that his desires were not deviant, that he wasn’t, had been a slow and difficult process. Having accepted that though, he feels no particular need to hang on to much of the rest of what he was taught. Desire is nothing to be ashamed of, so it follows that a consensual indulgence of that desire should not be either, even if desire is all it is. He does not need declarations of love and devotion, he wants someone he trusts. He wants someone he wants, someone who wants him.

Thomas is a flirt and it has been very clear from the beginning that his interest in Edwin was physical, even if Edwin does truly believe the man now cares for him as a friend. So Thomas’ intentions are probably not entirely honourable. But then it would seem that neither are his own. Does it matter? He’s not sure that it does.

For the first time in months Edwin feels sure of what he wants. Though he’s not entirely sure if he’s brave enough to try for it.

~*~*~*~

A few more days of such thoughts and Edwin finds himself back in the section of the Camden bookshop that had so shocked him last time, determined now to read everything he can get his hands on. Whilst he is certain Thomas has more than enough knowledge for both of them, he has no wish to embarrass himself should he choose to pursue his desires with the man. Besides, he always feels more confident in any situation the more knowledge he has at his command. There is after all no scenario that isn’t improved by prior reading.

This time he takes care to arrive after the shop is closed for the evening, set on serious research. He ignores the manga, the queer politics and the art books, and focuses on the most reputable looking of the books in the ‘Sex and Sexuality’ section.

They are entirely less salacious than he had expected, informative rather than titillating. Whilst they do raise the odd blush, they do not make him uncomfortable in the way he had half-expected that they might. Some of the information is simply not very relevant of course. Sexually transmitted infections are not something he needs to worry about, though he thoroughly approves of the emphasis placed upon safety alongside pleasure in all of the books. It is all so very different to anything he can imagine existing in his own day.

Perhaps though he needs to stop thinking like that. He has not after all simply stood still for 107 years, he is not a relic from history, unearthed from Hell like a preserved bog-body from an archaeological dig. His attachment to the ways of the era he describes as ‘his day’ has caused him nothing but trouble. If he can let go of the guilt and shame that time period drilled into him, then maybe he can just let go altogether. There are elements of the era he holds dear, after all he would likely not have known how to lead Thomas in a waltz had he been born in a much later year - and he would not have missed that for worlds! There is also much to be said for the period’s style and the literature that he loved, but he does not need to associate himself quite so intimately with 1916 in order to appreciate such things. It is not ‘his day’. He is not sixteen anymore, a terrified teenager destined for misery and murder. It is more than time to let go. He may look unchanged, but he is not.

He thinks it may even be time, one day soon, to update his wardrobe as he has his library, to hang onto the pieces he loves and add new things that catch his eye. Laughably, that notion unsettles him more than the idea of going to bed with Thomas does. Which either suggests he is far too neurotic about his appearance, or that he is very much more comfortable with (and desirous of) Thomas than he could ever have conceived only a few short months back. Perhaps it is simply all indicative of the same underlying thing. He is ready for change, even as it unnerves him.

Having finished his perusal of the books, Edwin carefully replaces everything on the shelves just as it was. No need to scare the shop assistant again. That would be poor thanks for the help the shop has provided him.

If he gets slightly distracted by the art book again on the way out, well nobody needs to know that.

~*~*~*~

Fortified by his research, Edwin feels more confident contemplating a physical relationship. Very specifically one with Thomas. The bookshop is not short of pictures of scantily clad beautiful men; but, when allowed to wander, his mind keeps returning to Port Townsend and a round bed with rumpled sheets.

It had begun as a bit of theoretical research, or so he had tried to tell himself. An indulgence that need go no further. He’s not sure at what point it hit him that he can take this as far as he likes, as long as Thomas wants that too – and it seems like he does. His brain does not supply the expected list of reasons for why he cannot indulge himself with the man. It does caution that there is a friendship there he would be heartbroken to lose, but he suspects Thomas is not easily made awkward by a little physical intimacy and as for himself… Well, he’ll just have to deal with any awkwardness that arises, if that is the price of getting what he wants then he thinks he can handle it. It is that or continue to deny himself forever.

Logically there is no actual need for it to be forever, Thomas is not the only man in the world. He is not even the only one Edwin has found himself attracted to. There is something about the events of the past year though, they have not been easy and he can feel a desire in himself sometimes to return to the way things were in January. Just him and Charles in the same existence they’ve had for over thirty years. That though, he thinks Thomas might chide him, is not really desire. It’s fear. Things have been changing, he has been changing, and it is all as unsettling as it is exciting. There’s no going back now but he does not wish to merely remain where he has found himself, halfway to something. No, it makes no sense, it might cause chaos, but he knows what he wants and he is thoroughly sick of pretending otherwise. Thomas is not the only man in the world, but at the moment it is strangely hard to imagine wanting another.

~*~*~*~

Making a decision is one thing. Following it through is something else entirely. Despite arriving in Port Townsend with no particular plan of enacting said decision today, Edwin finds himself jittery and off-kilter. He trips over a cat as he exits the mirror and ends up sat on the floor with the disgruntled Siamese digging her claws into his leg in retaliation.

“Ouch! I am sorry, I did not see you there.”

Claudette hisses at him but does retract her claws and mutters “apology accepted” before sauntering away.

Thomas, lounged on his throne, watches in apparent amusement before leaping down and scampering over on four paws to greet Edwin with an affectionate headbutt. Then he transforms to stand over Edwin, offering a ring-bedecked hand. Also offering a view of a few inches of toned thigh muscles beneath his skirt from this angle.

Edwin takes the hand and hurriedly stands up. “Thank you.”

“You know you don’t have to throw yourself at my feet, though I won’t deny I enjoy it.” Thomas winks at him playfully.

Edwin can feel himself flush and he busies himself brushing down his jacket so that he does not have to meet Thomas’ eyes.

The man graciously does not point out that ghosts do not get dusty. “So, what have you been up to?” he asks.

Every even mildly suggestive image he has seen in every single book in that damned bookshop suddenly floods Edwin’s mind. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I mean nothing unusual.” Edwin makes an effort to collect his senses. “We have had a quiet week for cases, I have been catching up on some reading.” He can barely say that without a blush, considering the kind of reading he has been doing. “What have up you been doing with your time?”

“Napping. Seen a fair bit of Monty. Chased a nest of particularly irritating sprites out of the corner of the warehouse. Been checking no one round here’s leaving their cats out at night in these temperatures.”

“I should hope they are not!”

Thomas smiles grimly. “Don’t worry, this town mostly knows better by now. It’s not often we get serious trouble round here, but it doesn’t do to get complacent. Now what have you really been doing? You look shifty, you’ve got an ‘I’ve been up to something’ expression. I know that look well, I see it in the mirror a lot.”

Edwin considers his options, but they are stood in the open warehouse with goodness knows how many cats listening in so propositioning Thomas (if he is in fact seriously considering that, which it seems that he is) may need to wait for a better time. Even though he looks especially good in the soft black jumper he is wearing, which Edwin is itching to touch and see if it is as soft as it looks. He has discovered that so long as it is an item of clothing Thomas has created with his own magic, then as long as he is wearing it Edwin can feel it. Not as well as he can Thomas himself, but at least as well as he can feel the other cats. Since learning this it has been an increasing struggle not to stroke the man’s clothes, lest he give him the wrong idea.

Though perhaps, given his recent thoughts, it might be the right idea after all...

“Edwin? You still with me?”

Oh god, he has been lost in his thoughts, staring at Thomas. “I apologise, my mind wandered for a moment.” He takes a deep breath. “As to what I have been up to, I...have been thinking about things lately. About my tendency to think of the time in which I was alive as ‘my day’, as though I had never altered since, and I think that I would like to stop thinking of it that way. I have changed, and there are still more things that I find I want to change and to explore.”

“Ooh, and what might those be?”

The note of flirtation is, as usual, unmissable, and if Edwin were feeling braver would make for a serviceable segue into the fantasies that have taken over his brain. Edwin is not feeling braver and as he begins to speak he realises the move from admitting what you desire to asking for it is by no means an easy one.

“Well, you once asked when I would allow myself to be happy, and my first serious thought on the matter was that I needed to give consideration to what might make me happy. Starting small seemed easiest and I decided that, frivolous as it might seem, I would like to perhaps change my clothing more often and try something new.”

Frankly the gleam in Thomas’ eyes could hardly have been more eager had Edwin announced a desire to be taken to bed. “Well, you have come to the right place, ghostie! We’ll have you dressed to kill in no time. Not that your usual look isn’t adorable, it absolutely is, but you need options! Clothes aren’t frivolous, they change how you feel.”

Fantastic, he is apparently in danger of being used in the manner of a paper dress-up doll.

“I...I did not mean...” It’s too late. Edwin is whisked away to the bedroom, but not in a manner he might have hoped. That thought stops him in his tracks, leaving him powerless to prevent Thomas turning him this way and that as he critically eyes up Edwin’s clothing. The thrill of desire at the idea of being whisked away to Thomas’ bedroom for entirely less innocent reasons utterly dwarfs any remaining doubts or insecurities. He had wondered if fantasy would survive reality, if fear would re-emerge to change his mind on what he wants. Apparently not. Though it is also hardly the moment, as Thomas plucks at his jacket in a way that is for once entirely non-sexual.

Edwin looks pointedly towards the mirror. “It is rather difficult to choose something to wear when one has no reflection.” He is not sure he wishes to encourage the way this is going, which feels like it might actually be more daunting than any physical intimacy.

“But you do have me.”

Edwin, puzzled as to Thomas’ meaning, turns to ask and takes a startled step backwards at the sight of his own doppelgänger stood behind him.

Thomas laughs. The golden eyes, that are the only thing that haven’t changed, dancing with amusement.

“That is uncanny.”

“Useful though.” Thomas waves his fingers in the air, poised on the brink of transformation. “I can be anything you like, remember?”

That should be Edwin’s cue to say he likes Thomas best as himself, but any thoughts of an amorous nature that had survived his overthinking have been entirely doused by this particular change of appearance.

Less distracting in one sense, though very much more distracting in another. Seeing himself stood there is more than uncanny, it’s utterly bizarre. The last time Edwin saw himself was in Hell, and before that it had been so long that he’d almost forgotten quite what what his features looked like.

Thomas is bouncing enthusiastically, which looks very odd in this form. “Come on, give me an idea and I’ll find something perfect for you. Or do you just want to let me pick something?” Thomas’ voice emerging from his mouth is equally odd.

“Oh, I am really not...” What the hell has he got himself into. “No. I’ll choose something.” Goodness knows what Thomas might come up with.

The man pouts, which looks utterly ridiculous on Edwin’s face. “I’d be respectful. I’m not going to doll you up in lingerie or something.”

It had not actually occurred to Edwin that he might, and it is not entirely reassuring to learn it has occurred to Thomas. “Well, thank you for that consideration,” Edwin says dryly. “But I believe the point was to find something I might feel comfortable in and wish to wear, so if you insist upon this then I will be doing the choosing.”

“Fine. Choose something.” Thomas positions himself in front of the mirror, apparently awaiting instruction.

Edwin sighs. “I do not even know where to begin.” What has he got himself into.

“Ok,” Thomas says patiently. “Talk me through this. I take it your usual get-up is something you wore in life?”

“Yes.”

“What about that green jumper I like?” A puff of purple and Thomas has shed Edwin’s jacket and tie in favour of said jumper.

Edwin has never seen himself in it, not properly, and he is pleasantly surprised by how it seems to suit him. “No. I never wore that in life. I think I wore something a little similar at some point, I don’t really remember, but I created that from things I had seen rather than what I had worn.”

“So where did you start with this?”

“The colour. I like green and I wanted something a little more...”

“Sexy?”

“That is not what I was thinking, I can assure you!” Edwin protests.

“Might not have been the word you’d have used but I’m willing to bet what you wanted was something that you’d look nice in, that made you look more approachable maybe?”

“That is not not the same thing as sexy.”

“No, but it’s most of the way there. Anyway, point is that when picking an outfit there are two main ways to go. Either browse clothes in a shop, at a fashion show, in a book, anywhere you like, until something takes your fancy, or start with how you want the outfit to make you feel and go from there. If you want to look more casual then lose the ties, if you want to feel dashing and dapper then try a fancy suit.”

“I have always tried to select clothes based on their appropriateness for the occasion.”

“Well that’s clearly where you’ve been going wrong. Clothes should be fun! How do you want to feel?”

“Professional.”

“Office siren?” Thomas’ eyes gleam.

“Absolutely not.” Edwin sighs in defeat. “I like good tailoring.” Let’s see what Thomas does with that.

Nothing too scandalous as it turns out, his doppelgänger’s outfit transforms into a very modern suit. A slender blue tie, a well-cut charcoal jacket that nips him in at waist, smart shirt in a deep green, and long trousers to match the jacket. It is not that it looks bad, but it is not at all what he wants.

“No.” Edwin shakes his head.

“Too modern?”

“Very much so.”

It appears he has given the correct answer. “Thank god, it’s dull as fuck. You need something unique, like you.”

Edwin smiles a little at the compliment. “Then dare I ask what you might recommend?”

Thomas practically vibrates with excitement as he mulls that over for a minute or so. Then the familiar purple flames engulf his clothing and something very different takes shape.

The white shirt is rather eighteenth century, high necked and demure, an emerald pin at the throat, the sleeves long and loose but fitted at the wrists and closed with matching emerald cufflinks. The loose billowy shirt sleeves are contrasted with an extremely form-fitting waistcoat in a deep green brocade, covered in black and gold detailing. The long black trousers, tucked seamlessly into knee-high boots of a rich green leather, just as form-fitting.

Thomas smirks into the mirror. “You look hot.”

Edwin gapes. “I am not sure that is quite me. It is a very nicely put together outfit, however...” However, whilst there is some part of him that wonders if he couldn’t wear it for some special occasion one day, it is not what he had in mind. “The boots and shirt together make me think of pirates.”

From Thomas’ smile, that was the wrong thing to say. He is quickly looking at himself dressed in a billowing white shirt, tight leather trousers tucked into even more piratical black leather boots, a sword hanging at his hip, and (entertainingly) an eyepatch.

“Oh, very funny. Not terribly helpful though.”

Thomas looks very pleased with himself as he peeks out from under the eyepatch and Edwin can’t help but laugh. “Be serious! If you are intent upon helping, then help!”

“Ok, maybe we went a little too vintage inspired before, let’s bring you a little way forward from 1916.”

This time he is clad in a navy three piece suit, the cut early 1920s Edwin thinks. Slim lapels, narrow trousers, a classic silhouette...with a fair bit of added bling. Thomas has added an emerald tie bar and retained the emerald cufflinks, though set in silver now. The pocket watch is a nice touch and he can’t help a smile at spotting the little cat’s head on the silver fob.

“Oh, that is rather nice. Perhaps a little too much jewellery for everyday wear, but I do like the idea of a pocket watch.”

“Nothing wrong with a bit of sparkle!”

“I still feel it is possible to be over-dressed at times.”

“Alright, why don’t we go a little more relaxed.” The outfit transforms again. A soft white linen shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up casually, paired with perfectly tailored trousers in an earthy forest green. It is simple and elegant, not a bit of sparkle in sight.

“Too casual?” Thomas asks.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Edwin is a little taken with it. “It is perhaps not what I would interview clients in, but it might be nice for a night off.”

“I can see you unwinding in this. Why don’t you try it?” Thomas encourages him.

Edwin’s instinct is to say that he’s not going to start changing his outfit for someone else’s entertainment, but that is exactly what Thomas has just been doing for him. It was also rather the point of all this. He focuses hard, walking around Thomas and taking in every detail of how the outfit fits and falls. He’s not tried anything entirely new in a while and he’s gratified to look down at himself and see that it has worked.

“Gorgeous!” Thomas praises him enthusiastically, which is particularly odd coming from a carbon copy of himself.

The praise makes him self-conscious though and Edwin loses his concentration. He can feel his outfit return to his usual. He sighs. “It takes time; the more different the outfit, the longer it takes to master. I will need to practice, I’m afraid.”

Thomas doesn’t look disappointed in the least. “Well time is something you have in abundance, and given how quickly you nailed it that time I’m sure it won’t be long before you have a whole new wardrobe at your command.”

“Perhaps.”

“You could also just start simple,” Thomas suggests. “A different colour scheme perhaps, I presume that would be easier?” A flash of purple fire and Thomas is back in Edwin’s green jumper, only now the jumper is purple and his usual trousers a dark charcoal. He does not like it quite as much as the green, but the purple is nice.

“You are right; the smaller the change, the easier it is. And I do quite like the purple.”

“But not the grey?”

“Not really.”

“How about this?” The trousers change to a deep navy.

“Much better. I would perhaps wear that. Though I still think I might prefer the original green.”

“Fair. It brings out your eyes beautifully.”

“Thank you.”

Thomas smiles softly at him. “Look at you learning to take a compliment. Oh, how far you’ve come,” he teases. The flirtation is rather lacking it’s usual punch though due to his current appearance as Edwin’s twin.

“Have you done using me as your dress-up doll?”

“One last look?”

He looks so hopeful that Edwin can’t say no.

When the purple flames die down this time Thomas appears to have returned to Edwin’s usual outfit, jacket and bow tie in place. It takes Edwin a moment to realise anything is different, then he spots that his trousers have been swapped for a pleated skirt in the same colour and which sits at just the same point below his knees. He likes it a lot more than he might have expected, but he’s not entirely sold on the idea of wearing it. He suspects there are a lot of things looming in the back of his mind that still need to be dealt with before he tries something like that.

Thomas on the other hand twirls enthusiastically before the mirror. “You look cute! I knew you would.”

Edwin decides to be honest. “I do not dislike it, but I do not think I have the confidence to wear it. It also looks a little risky, what it if were to catch on something and get pulled up?”

He’d half expected a crack about his undergarments but instead Thomas looks surprisingly earnest in his consideration of Edwin’s discomfort. “It’s a heavy fabric,” he says, fingering the hem of the skirt, “I don’t think there’s too much risk there. But you do need to feel comfortable in what you wear, if you’re worrying about it then it doesn’t matter how good it looks.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Edwin admits.

“That takes time, kitten. I’ve had centuries to get comfortable in my skin, plus there are distinct advantages to being a cat.” He transforms into the familiar velvety black feline. “You instinctively know you look fabulous in everything and nothing!”

“Well I cannot deny that. I mean as far as your wardrobe goes, I...” Edwin stops himself before he blurts out that he hasn’t seen Thomas in nothing; or worse, that he’d very much like to. He’s fairly sure Thomas would enjoy being told that, but there has to be a less embarrassing way to express desire for someone.

Luckily, Thomas is busy admiring his sleek dark form in the mirror. He purrs loudly at his reflection before returning to human shape, his own this time. “I’m glad you’ve been thinking about what I said. You deserve to be happy, Edwin.”

When Edwin fails to find a response, Thomas tilts his head to one side and narrows his eyes. “You do believe that?”

“I...” Edwin shrugs helplessly. “I suppose perhaps I do.” His brain cannot supply a single good reason why he should not deserve to be happy, which is something of a surprise.

Thomas beams at him. “You have come a long way from the tightly wound ball of tension that waltzed into my throne room ten months ago.”

“Thank you,” Edwin says flatly.

“You’re welcome, kitten.” The smile becomes ever more winsome, until Edwin cannot help but return it.

~*~*~*~

Chapter Text

Edwin does not get much time in the week following his styling session with Thomas to practice changing his clothes, and when he next returns to Port Townsend he’s still in his usual jacket and bow tie. Charles has taken Crystal out somewhere and, whilst he technically had paperwork to get on with, Edwin found himself drawn back through the mirror to the warehouse.

It’s the first weekend of December, and when Thomas takes him up to his room Edwin discovers that Cat Kings, or at least this one, apparently celebrate Christmas. A small tree, draped in sparkling chains of what almost look like diamonds, but which are presumably not, and topped with a little gold crown, is stood in a corner. Strings of beads in a shimmering antique gold are swagged across the shelves and the glass fishing floats that hang from the ceiling are all softly illuminated, the blue, green and amber glass bubbles glowing from within.

Edwin smiles in delight. “Oh, you have Christmas decorations!” Perhaps he should not be surprised, Thomas clearly likes shiny things going by his penchant for jewellery.

“Just a few. I can’t really put them in the main warehouse, the cats go mad and murder them all. They have fun but then inevitably someone eats tinsel and is pooping glitter for a week, which is less festive than it sounds.”

Edwin laughs, nose wrinkling at the slightly unsavoury idea of glittery cat poo. He has never asked whether it is that there is a litter box somewhere, the cats are trained to go outside, or Thomas just uses magic to clean up after them. It is a source of constant relief to him that Cally does not choose to relieve herself indoors.

“We have not put ours up yet. They always went up on Christmas Eve when I was alive, though Charles has persuaded me to enjoy them earlier and earlier over our time together, and I have to concede I think having them up earlier is one of the ways the world has changed for the better. I do rather enjoy them.”

“I thought you might. You like shiny things.”

Edwin is struck by Thomas’ words. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you like me.” He winks.

“I suppose I do.” Edwin smiles.

Thomas is looking especially shiny today, perhaps in tribute to the dawning festive season. His black silk skirt, with it’s myriad tiny pleats, has a lustrous sheen, while his top is fashioned from a fine glittering gold mesh, and his earring is a dangling emerald that sparkles in the light. Add to that his usual array of rings, and he could almost outsparkle the diamond-clad tree. He is, Edwin thinks, even more lovely than the decorations.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Thomas pats the cushion beside him.

Edwin, suspicious of something in the man’s voice, hesitates. It’s then he catches sight of the mistletoe hanging right above the small sofa. He raises an eyebrow and Thomas shrugs. “It was worth a try.” He sighs theatrically. “I suppose we’ll just have to find another way to amuse ourselves. I enjoyed our little dress up game last time, you know if you wanted to try some more looks out I’m happy to be your model.”

“I have not even had adequate time to consider the previous ones, no more clothes!” Edwin laughs, a little sorry the mistletoe was so swiftly dismissed.

He only realises his poor choice of words when he sees the mischievous glint in Thomas’ beautiful eyes. “Well if you insist...” The man raises a hand and Edwin grabs his wrist without thinking. He knows Thomas is teasing, that he’s very unlikely to suddenly strip off, but knowing him it feels like what Crystal describes as a non-zero possibility.

“For goodness sake, you know what I mean!”

“Hey, I was just trying to do what you asked,” Thomas says with a truly ludicrous degree of innocence.

“Oh yes, you’re terribly obliging.” Edwin bites out sarcastically, torn between amusement and frustration and still gripping the man’s wrist.

Thomas draws his attention to this fact. “You wanna hold hands properly, or is this going somewhere kinky?”

Edwin lets go as if burnt. “Oh for heaven’s sake! I believe you have done nothing but tease me since the moment we met.”

Thomas smirks. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. I also trapped you, and taught you a vital lesson about meaningful consent when tying people up.”

“All while being a bloody tease!” Edwin retorts.

His words are met with a raised eyebrow. “I mean this is a bit rich coming from you.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. You flirt right back, you ogle me at will - though only after having been told I don’t mind it (quite the opposite) which is so fucking cute and respectful that it somehow just makes it all worse – and you kissed me like your damned afterlife depended on it, then went right back to not kissing me.” Thomas folds his arms and looks endearingly huffy.

“Well, what if I did wanted to kiss you again?” Edwin blurts out.

Thomas is silent for a moment and when he speaks it is altogether more measured, Edwin would even go as far as to say he sounds wary. “I don’t like hypotheticals, too many unknown variables to them.”

“Yes. Yes, you are quite right.” He is, it is about time for both of them to stop making insinuations and say what they mean. Edwin had meant to dress up for this, to try one of the new outfits Thomas had admired himself-as-Edwin in, but then he rather supposes the point is for the clothes to come off anyway. “I do want to kiss you again, it is not hypothetical at all.”

“Well, I’d have absolutely no problem with that. I don’t think I’ve made a secret of the fact I’d very much like to kiss you again too.” Thomas gestures wildly towards the mistletoe.

“May I then?”

“If you don’t I am going to be deeply disappointed.”

Edwin smiles. “Well, we can’t have that.”

He leans down to capture the man’s lips in a kiss he has been daydreaming about since the first one. It is not quite what he had planned but, once he has his lips on Thomas’ again, there is no going back. His hands tangle in Thomas’ curls, as Thomas’ own settle at Edwin’s thighs, pulling him closer. Edwin, caution tossed to the wind, goes eagerly and places a knee on the sofa beside Thomas in order to balance himself as he leans over the other man. The sensible thing to do might be to break the kiss and either allow Thomas room to stand or for Edwin to move to sit beside him, but Edwin cannot bear to pull away even for a moment and Thomas shows no signs of minding. He tugs at Edwin’s other knee, trying to bring him closer still, until Edwin suddenly thinks he understands what Thomas is angling for him to do. Hoping he hasn’t wildly misjudged things, Edwin abandons any remaining decorum, places one hand on the sofa back for balance, and brings up his other leg so that he is kneeling (slightly precariously) over Thomas’ lap.

There has apparently been no misjudgement as Thomas gently but firmly pulls him down until he’s sat astride muscular thighs, still at the edge of the sofa, still maintaining a gap between their upper bodies, but still impossibly intimate. His hand slides down from Thomas’ hair to his broad shoulders and down to rest upon his chest. Edwin relishes the feel of the thin fabric of Thomas’ sheer top beneath his fingertips, the warmth of Thomas’ skin radiating through. He hears a soft, breathy little moan and is a bit scandalised to realise it came from him. Thomas seems surprised by it too as he, seemingly quite reluctantly, breaks their kiss and smooths his hand through Edwin’s hair, pushing it gently back from where it’s fallen over his forehead, to look him in the eyes.

“Seems like maybe you’re looking for a lot more than just a kiss,” he says, tone completely non-judgemental but still putting Edwin slightly on edge.

“And what if I am?”

Thomas grins at him. “No need to feel defensive, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Who wouldn’t want me?”

Edwin rolls his eyes.

“You know I want you.” He trails his fingers slowly over Edwin’s lapel, like he’s considering pushing the jacket from his shoulders. “Or you certainly should by now. I’m just a touch concerned by the apparent 180 you’ve done here.”

“Hardly a ‘180’, you did point out yourself that I have been expressing increasing interest in you.” Edwin sighs, realising that if he wants this he needs to continue to be honest with Thomas. “I am so tired of denying myself, denying what I want. A century of repression is exhausting, and I can understand that from your perspective this looks like a rather sudden reversal but I can assure you I have given this much thought.” Thomas’ smile gains a particularly satisfied edge at that admission. “I know what I want,” Edwin finishes quietly.

“Do you?” Thomas presses. “I mean more specifically…?”

“I am not ignorant,” Edwin interrupts, the need for honesty now unstoppable. “I have done...research.” Thomas looks intrigued by that but allows Edwin to continue. “But we are both aware that my practical experience is non-existent. I am sure there is much that I do not know, and that there is likely to be a vast gulf between theory and practice, nevertheless I would very much like to move on from theory.”

There’s a long moment of quiet between them, Thomas seemingly thinking over what Edwin has said before he comes to a decision. “Ok, fun as it would undoubtedly be, even I am not going to recommend attempting to throw off a century of repression in one night.”

A warm hand has found it’s way under the back of Edwin’s shirt, (which he’s not really sure how or when Thomas had untucked), and nothing about this feels like a rejection. “Oh, so what would you recommend?”

He’s answered with a devilish grin and, “Do you trust me?”

“I would not be here if I did not.”

The simple honesty seems to confound the man for a moment, before he recovers himself with a wicked smirk. “Well then, I’d recommend you let me strip you naked, get my hands all over you, and give you the best orgasm of your existence.”

Edwin pretends to consider the proposition, which gives him time to recover both his senses and his voice. “I would request an addition to the plan.”

“Oh?” Thomas sounds intrigued.

“I would like to not be the only one unclothed.” That sounds uniquely vulnerable, and also Edwin is certainly not going to miss his chance to see Thomas undressed.

“If that’s your way of saying you want me naked, then don’t worry, that was absolutely part of the plan.”

“Very well then.” Edwin consents. Freely. Eagerly. “I am content to follow your recommendation.”

Thomas reclaims his mouth with another of those exciting growls that had made Edwin’s stomach flutter the first time they’d kissed and slides a hand back into Edwin’s hair, which he has already clearly made a perfect mess of. Not that Edwin could possibly care less about that right now.

Edwin himself is busy with the fact that his presence on Thomas’s lap has rucked up his skirt and it is now oh so tempting, and all too easy, to do what he’s been fantasising about and slide a hand up underneath the skirt to skim up Thomas’s bare thigh. It is possibly the most thrilling thing he’s ever experienced. He very nearly says so, biting back the sentence in time, in favour of more kissing, but not quickly enough that Thomas doesn’t catch him wanting to say something.

“What?” He smiles, pulling back from their kiss, hand dropping to Edwin’s side. “What are you thinking?”

“I...” Edwin shakes his head, how can he say that! “I cannot, it is hardly gentlemanly.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Thomas laughs, but it’s sweet and warm without a trace of mockery. “Please tell me.” Amber eyes are sweetly pleading and impossible to say no to.

“I...” Edwin can feel his face heating in a blush, though his fingers continue to caress Thomas’ leg. “I have wanted for some time to slide my hand beneath one of your skirts.” He cannot believe he gets the sentence out without a stammer.

Thomas groans, eyes dropping closed for a moment and his hands tighten on Edwin’s waist. “God, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Emboldened by Thomas’ encouragement, Edwin raises an eyebrow and shifts his weight to press closer, causing them both to gasp. “Oh I think I’m getting the general idea,” he smirks, evidence of the other man’s enjoyment sparking confidence rather than any uncertainty. The idea of being wanted, intoxicating and joyous.

It’s not long before his jacket is discarded and Edwin is reaching for his tie, feeling almost unable to breathe through its restriction any longer (lack of need for breath totally beside the point), when Thomas objects.

“No, no, no!” Thomas bats his hand away. “Please, I have been dying to tug on that bow tie since the day we met. Let me?”

“If you like.”

“I do like.”

Edwin’s unneeded breath catches as Thomas pulls on one end of the tie, slowly pulling it undone and unravelling it from his throat, before flicking open the tiny buttons at the collar and leaning forward to press a kiss to the sensitive skin revealed.

Things move rather faster after that, and Edwin finds himself down to his underwear on the bed with the intervening period simply a blur of warm touches and desperate kisses. The only part that is truly lodged in his memory is of pushing Thomas’ top over his head to reveal the glorious sight of the man topless, and the joy of finally getting to touch.

Thomas is likewise stripped to his underwear, though his is rather more revealing than Edwin’s and the black silk does little to hide his arousal. The idea that that’s for him is a heady thought, successfully deflecting Edwin from any concerns about the exposure of his own body until a gentle hand traces teasingly where his last item of clothing meets the skin of his waist.

“Can I?” Thomas asks, and it feels like a question, not an assumption that Edwin should allow him to.

Edwin has not been naked in over a century, he barely even remembers what he looks like unclothed and there is a moment of fear that Thomas simply may not find him appealing.

Thomas catches his hesitation. “Want me to go first?” he offers.

Edwin thinks. There is likely no appealing way to wriggle out of long underwear, and whoever goes first the playing field will feel uneven. Also he does not entirely trust his own coordination to deal with either of their undergarments right now. “Can you use your magic to finish undressing us both simultaneously?”

Thomas lifts a hand in readiness and raises a querying eyebrow. “Was that a request?”

Edwin nods decisively.

A theatrical flourish from Thomas and he feels the delicate brush of magic across his lower body, the violet flames feeling like the softest caress.

He had been intending to keep his eyes on Thomas’ face, but a century of self-denial is unravelling fast and Edwin’s eyes have their own ideas as they travel unbidden over Thomas’ body to drink everything in.

For a moment at least he is entirely distracted from his own state of undress by the vision before him. “You are beautiful,” he breathes.

“Thank you. You’re quite the loveliest thing I’ve seen in a very long time.” Thomas reaches out and Edwin expected the hand to land somewhere else entirely but it settles softly on his cheek, thumb stroking soothingly. “You doing ok, kitten?”

Edwin takes a moment to consider. How much of the pronounced rise and fall of his chest is from nerves and how much excitement? Impossible to say, but the hand on his face is grounding and all he can think is how much he wants to be kissed again. So he nods, finds the courage to reach out in return, fingers stroking over Thomas’ hipbone.

Almost as though he can read Edwin’s thoughts, the man draws closer and kisses him until he’s panting, Edwin having forgotten entirely now that he doesn’t need to breathe. Perhaps because he feels more alive than he has in more than a hundred years. There’s a warm hand caressing its way down his back, leaving a shiver of sensation in its wake, lips hot on his throat now, and muscular legs entangling themselves with his, bringing their bodies flush together. The noise that escapes him is not at all dignified, but the satisfied hum he gets in return suggests Thomas likes it, so it’s hard to feel ashamed.

It is probably not considered good form to pause to take notes (also his notebook is in his jacket that went goodness knew where some time ago) but part of Edwin does wish he had chance to accurately record the sounds and feelings. He does not want to forget anything. He has no idea if he will experience something like this again. Then a warm, smooth hand wraps firmly about his erection, and any coherent thought leaves the room. Everything becomes a series of impressions and sensations, dizzying and overwhelming in the best possible way.

Something Edwin had not expected from his chosen partner is the litany of questions Thomas keeps up throughout. Do you like that? You doing ok? Does that feel good? Do you want more? The answer is always yes. Yes, he likes it. Yes, he’s more than ok. Yes, it feels better than good. Yes, he wants so much more than he is even able to articulate. He loves though that Thomas keeps asking the questions, that he wants to be sure.

Edwin feels taken care of. Safe. Desired.

As for the way Thomas’ eyes fall closed on a soft moan when Edwin takes hold of him in turn, the fact that he can make this insanely beautiful and sensual creature react in such a manner is a thrill like no other.

~*~*~*~

In the aftermath Thomas is surprisingly affectionate, nuzzling into Edwin’s neck in a very cat-like manner. He shows no sign of wanting Edwin to leave, or possibly even of letting him leave, as he settles himself down, tucked into the ghost’s side.

It does not take long for Edwin to begin to feel vulnerable and exposed, his body still relaxed but his mind starting to churn. Not with regret, but a vague sense of panic that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now or at what point he can reasonably put his clothes back on. Then something cuts through the noise of his thoughts. A faint vibration against his shoulder where Thomas is using him as a pillow, and a sound he has never heard from him in his human form.

“Are you… You are purring.”

Thomas tenses. “Well, I’m a cat, that’s what happens when we’re happy.”

Oh, Edwin thinks, that makes him feel vulnerable. “It is rather delightful,” he says honestly.

The purring gets louder and Thomas relaxes back against him. “I am delightful.”

It’s ridiculous but it unknots something that had been steadily tangling itself up in Edwin’s stomach. He finds himself bringing a hand up to card through Thomas’ hair, every bit as soft as his fur. “Yes, you are,” he agrees. Delightful might be the perfect word for this man.

Thoughts of what he is supposed to do now disappear in favour of stroking Thomas’ hair as the man’s purrs reverberate through him, softening as he drifts off to sleep. Edwin supposes he really should leave but now that he has Thomas soft and warm in his arms he is in no hurry to let go, and surely it would be rude to depart without saying anything. Never mind the fact that it would likely wake Thomas if he attempted to move.

He is left with nothing to do but lie there and enjoy the sensation of Thomas’ breath tickling his neck, and of the soft curls beneath his hand. He cannot quite believe what he has just done, but overall he finds his only regret is that it is over. There is something about the idea of never getting to see Thomas like this again that causes a sharp pang in his chest.

“What are you thinking?” Thomas, it seems, sleeps like a cat: in short bursts. It has, by Edwin’s reckoning, been no more than two hours at the most when the sleep-roughened voice breaks in on his thoughts and he looks down to see golden eyes peering up at him.

“I...well, actually I was wondering if you would be amenable to repeating this experience?”

Thomas purrs loudly, nuzzling into his neck again and nibbling suggestively on his ear lobe. A hot, slightly rough, tongue traces the shell of his ear and he whispers, “Looking for round two? Sounds good to me,” hands wandering determinedly.

Edwin had not, strictly, been looking for round two, but finds he cannot resist what is being offered.

~*~*~*~

Afterwards Thomas snuggles back into his side, arms wrapped firmly about him and it is with some reluctance that Edwin says, “I should go,” before he winds up being used as a pillow again.

Thomas makes a vague noise of protest and snuggles closer. “Must you?”

Edwin eases himself out of the man’s hold until he’s seated on the edge of the bed, looking around for his clothes. “I think I must.” Thomas looks like he’s about to fall back asleep and Edwin thinks he’s reached his quota of cuddling for the day. If he leaves now it shouldn’t be too late when he gets back to the office. Charles may even still be out, allowing him to dodge any questions.

A grown man pouting at him should just be ridiculous, but on Thomas it is oddly endearing. “Ok,” he says softly, and waves his hand about.

Edwin is pleased to suddenly find himself fully dressed. “Thank you.” Of course he could have manifested his clothes himself, but he doesn’t think he has quite the required presence of mind right now.

As he stands, a hand grasps his. “You’ll come back?” Golden eyes give him a beseeching look.

“Yes,” he responds quietly, conscious that there’s probably a lot more to be said after what has passed between them but that he’s not equipped to deal with that right now.

Thomas squeezes his hand and, impulsively, Edwin bends to brush a kiss over the man’s knuckles in the proper, chivalrous manner he’d been taught so long ago. He’s rewarded with a flush of pink across the Cat King’s cheeks and a slightly bashful smile.

Edwin is smiling too as he steps back through the mirror.

~*~*~*~