Hey, guys. Yet another long wait on this one, but if you've been keeping up to speed on Bloodline you'll already know where I've been channeling all my writing energy. So, in the spirit of Mika and Kurda crossing the finish line of their journey to hell and back, here is my retelling of that first accidental stumble that set this into motion so long ago

And to a lovely, loyal, long-time reader on ffnet I know only as "Guest" — you are amazing and I appreciate you so hard. I always feel so sad when I finish reading your comment and remember I can't send a proper reply right away. Never feel pressured to leave feedback when life comes at you as hard as it's been lately. I wish I could pat you on the head and mix you a strong drink or a hot coffee; I hope this chapter offers a similar effect. I love you. The SVL family loves you. Sending hugs.

Final notes before we get started:

1 - I think it's fairly obvious but all page breaks signal a change in POV.

2 - If you switch to AO3 to read this (roxy_svl) you'll find visual references for your enjoyment :)

Chapter 25: Mika Ver Leth's Night Off

For one groggy second, Mika's world was comfortable and uncomplicated. There were far worse ways to wake up than surrounded by thick blankets, plush pillows, and someone breathing softly beside him. He opened his eyes to the sight of bright golden hair a foot away from his face. The reality check was so sharp it sat him bolt upright in the bed that wasn't his.

FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.

He rolled off the mattress as fast as he could, as if that would somehow distance himself from the smoking wreckage of last night. At least he managed to escape the shared bed without waking Kurda up. Even better, Gracie was still sleeping like a rock over on the couch. Mika figured the gods owed him those small mercies.

He found himself back in front of the bathroom mirror, suppressing the urge to punch the pale face staring back at him through bloodshot eyes.

Well done. Way to fucking go. You have ONE job. Pathetic. You're pathetic.

At bare minimum he found comfort in the conviction that Kurda hadn't heard him losing his fucking mind in the shower last night as his brain tore itself in half. He had no idea how long he'd sat there (yeah, sat) listening to himself cry. His chest and throat still ached from how hard he tried to stop it. But Kurda didn't comment afterwards, so Mika had to assume the water had masked the sound. There was no way Kurda would've let that go without trying to make it his business. And Mika was in no fit state to consider the alternative.

A win is a win. Even in a pyrrhic victory where the collateral is your dignity. Right?

Mika washed his face with warm water to soothe the lingering burn in his eyes, and finished the process with a splash of cold to galvanize himself for the day ahead. To set the tone. To remind himself who the fuck he was.

He got dressed. Black jeans. Black tee. Black leather jacket. He'd actually brought a proper suit specifically for this; it was hanging there in the back of the closet. He'd also known deep down he'd ultimately pass it over for something familiar and comfortable when the time came. He couldn't afford any distractions.

Almost time. One more glance at Gracie. What must it be like to sleep that peacefully? Then his eyes landed on Kurda, who was still sleeping just as soundly as the tiny version of him. His platinum hair was dishevelled, it covered half his face as he lay there in his cocoon of blankets. And apparently he was a starfish sleeper. His slender limbs were sprawled every which way and Mika couldn't help but feel the faint warmth of amusement at the disproportionate amount of bed he took up for someone his size.

Gods, Kurda…

It was getting harder and harder for Mika to convince himself it was all in his head. The second night of the Festival. The moment in the pool. The dancing. The electric surge Mika felt in both their bodies when he touched Kurda's back at the axe range. The bathroom floor last night. The ice. The way he held my heart in his fucking hand. And waking up beside him this morning feeling truly safe for the first time in years. It just kept happening and happening and happening and —

No. Shut it down.

Everything about Kurda was so good. And everything about Mika was so jagged and twisted and fucked to hell. Except for the part of him that Gracie called Dad — but that was a miracle and an anomaly. Kurda deserved to have his golden light reflected back to him. Not eclipsed and swallowed by Mika's darkness. Mika was barely worthy of Kurda's friendship, let alone —

Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. It's not real. He's good to everyone. It's all in your head. You wouldn't deserve it anyway.

He tiptoed back to desk in the corner and scribbled a message on the notepad there. At least he started to.

Kurda —

Sorry about last night.

Then he remembered he already said that multiple times last night, and Kurda had a lot of conflicting and seemingly arbitrary opinions on what did and didn't warrant an apology. Fuck if Mika understood why and where he drew those lines. He crumpled the page, threw it into the wastebasket and tried again.

The end result wasn't great. But it was all he had for now. So having taken that small step towards amends, he headed down to the lobby.

Show up early so they know you want to be there. Words Mika lived by, even though he'd reach a point in his career where meetings didn't start til he arrived — whether he was early, on time, or 20 minutes late with coffee.

How this works is the Sentinel Collective comes to find you when they're ready to get started. Mika didn't like that. But he had plenty of time to secure a hit of espresso and take a seat on one of the luxurious leather chairs in the foyer lounge. There he waited, with no earthly idea who he was waiting on. He didn't like that either.

He did, however, identify her the second she stepped into his line of vision. Even better, he was almost confident he clocked her before she clocked him. She emerged from a corridor and scanned the foyer. How ironic that her subtlety was what gave her away. Didn't take her long to zero in on Mika. She met his eyes from a distance, and her face remained as neutral as his did.

"I assume you're the representative here on behalf of the Neighbors?" She inquired in a low voice as she drew even with him. The Sentinel Collective referred to the vampire clan as Neighbors whenever there was a chance of being overheard. Mika responded with a tight smile and nod.

"Follow me." She said.

Neither spoke as she escorted him out of the foyer and down a long corridor. But in the brief exchange Mika noticed she had an accent that was subtle, elegant, and impossible to place. She was younger than was typical for such a high-profile position. And even the most experienced young person isn't all that experienced in the grand scheme of things. That's just simple math. But she was here, which meant someone somewhere trusted her to get shit handled. So according to deductive reasoning (and his own personal experience) she was almost certainly out to prove herself. He'd been there. He'd done that.

Their destination was a secluded conference room in the west wing of the building. There was a long wooden table within. There was a pitcher of water in the middle and a dark leather briefcase in the corner.

"Sit wherever you'd like."

Mika sat on the middle left side of the table, and she chose a seat directly across from him.

"Welcome." she said. "Thank you for meeting with me."

Mika inclined his head in a slight nod. "Likewise."

"Are you Chok Yamada?"

Mika's mental gears were already whirring as he gauged everything about her. The question confirmed what he'd assumed.

"No. He passed away about a year and a half ago." Said Mika evenly. "This is my first time. And since you asked, I have to assume it's yours too."

"Ah. My condolences. I trust Mr. Yamada has briefed you on what to expect from these meetings?"

Mika noted she sidestepped his implied question, but kept his face passive. "Sire Yamada." He corrected her, testing the waters.

Her face remained every bit as neutral as his. "I'll take that as a yes. And what's your name?"

"My apologies. I can't believe I haven't properly introduced myself. It's nice to meet you." Mika extended his hand to shake hers, presuming the gesture would prompt her to introduce herself first.

She returned his handshake firmly, looking him dead in the eye the whole time.

"Likewise, Mr… ?" Her voice trailed off and pitched in a way that made it blatantly obvious she was expecting him to introduce himself first. Her dark, fine eyebrow arched upwards ever so slightly. She knew exactly what he was doing.

"Do the minor details really matter?" He replied. "You know what I am. You know why I'm here. And I'm ready to get started whenever you are."

She leaned back in her chair as Mika had, but rested her arms on the table and clasped her hands together. If she felt anything other than comfortable, she masked it as seamlessly as Mika did. All things considered, she was impressive. She regarded Mika for a moment, then smiled.

"You were right. This is my first time facilitating a meeting of the Sentinel Collective. Ironically you would have gotten along well with my predecessor. He would've indulged your mind games."

"Are you implying we aren't going to get along?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm telling you directly that he's drinking Mai Tais in a million-dollar condo on the beach right now. He left his role in the Collective to me. And I don't play games. Now, if the idea of sharing your name makes you feel uncomfortable —"

"Of course not. My apologies for the misunderstanding. My name is Mika Ver Leth."

"Thank you. Tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"We'll get to that. But it's still your turn."

Mika kept smiling, but he had to work at it. "All you really need to know about me is that I'm here to work, not to exchange pleasantries."

"Respectfully, Mr. —"

"Sire." Mika cut her off.

She raised an eyebrow, like he was testing her patience. Which he was. On purpose. He didn't actually care what she called him. He's not that much of a dick.

"Subsection 126 of the Sentinel Collective Policies and Procedures state the authority of the clan-appointed Vampire Princes is only applicable to their fellow vampires. Respectfully, Mr. Ver Leth, I am under no obligation to address you by your professional title." she replied without so much as a blink of hesitation. She was confident. Mika had to respect that.

"Fair enough. I apologize for speaking out of turn. But I do wish to know who I'm speaking with."

"Adiya Tahri. My friends call me Adi. But you don't seem interested in friendship."

"You're perceptive. Don't take it personally, though."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Now it's your turn again. What should Adiya Tahri know about Mika Ver Leth?"

"There's not much to know. I drink blood — ethically acquired, of course — and sunlight doesn't agree with me."

"I would certainly hope that's the case. Otherwise I'm in the wrong meeting."

Full disclosure: Mika almost laughed — but Adiya will never know that. He restrained himself, holding her gaze just as firmly as she held his. Her face remained placid. Pleasant, even. Mika unfolded his arms and rested them on the table as he leaned forward slightly.

"My name is Mika Ver Leth. I was born 258 years ago on September 9th, on the coast of the Dutch Republic. My parents were Marius and Reina Ver Leth. The Ver Leths made a fortune in the shipbuilding industry, but as you can see I didn't make the cut for the family business. I've travelled to 69 countries and lived in 13 of them. I'm fluent in English, Dutch, German, Russian, Italian, and French. I've set six swordsmanship score records and I've trained extensively in every form of combat you've ever heard of, plus a few you haven't. I'm six foot three. My eyes are grey. I have too many identifying scars to count, but no underlying medical conditions that have made themselves known to me. Other than being mildly allergic to eggs, pecans, and bees." Mika finished calmly.

And while that was in fact a lot of words, certainly more than Adiya was expecting, none of it was relevant. None of it could be used against him. Except maybe the allergies, but he wasn't worried. She'd need a lot of eggs, pecans, and/or bees to take him out.

She was still looking him directly in the eye. Her gaze hadn't wavered the entire time — but she was nodding slightly, like she hadn't anticipated such a shift.

"My name is Adiya Tahri. I was born on July 31st of 1975 in Morocco. I will not be disclosing the names of my family members, because unlike yours they are still alive. I will disclose that my mother was a diplomat which means I've lived in more countries than you have, in a fraction of the lifespan. I attended Princeton University where I graduated top of my class in 1993. I can speak fluent Arabic, English, Berber, Spanish, French, Japanese, Mandarin, and am currently learning Thai. On weekends I teach self-defence and yoga classes at a women's shelter. And I have a French bulldog named Charles."

Mika nodded along and took it all in stride but if he was being perfectly honest, he hadn't been expecting her to open up any more than she'd expected it from him.

"Would you like to see a photo of him?" She added.

"Yes, please."

(What else was he supposed to say? He's a vampire, not a monster).

Adiya took her wallet out of her pocket and withdrew a small Polaroid from one of the folds, which she set on the table and slid across to Mika to reveal the least practical-looking dog he'd ever seen in his life. Short in stature but wide in face. He had a smugness about him that reminded Mika uncannily of Lovely.

"Quite the specimen." Said Mika. "What do those do?"

"Times have changed since you walked among my world." Adiya chuckled. "Not all dogs are bred for defined purposes these days. Charles doesn't do an awful lot of anything that matters. But he's highly skilled at holding my couch down."

"Fair enough. I suppose that's as good a purpose as any."

"He'd like to think so. Now I have to ask, is it true that vampires keep animal companions called familiars?"

"Not really. A friend of mine has a giant tarantula, though. Does tricks and stuff. Awful creature."

"Wow. Do you have a photo of that?"

"Gods, no. Even if I had a camera, he's so ugly he'd break the thing." Mika deadpanned without hesitation.

His joke took Adiya by surprise; she let out a peal of laughter before seeming to catch herself and pull the mask of seriousness back over her face. Mika felt himself relax ever so slightly. He still didn't want to be here. But if someone had to be here, and that someone had to be him, at least he was in the presence of a kindred spirit.

The now-familiar click of the suite door was enough to pull Kurda from slumber. He didn't immediately open his eyes. Even if Mika had time for a morning chat, it'd be the last thing he'd want. Kurda's supernatural ears tracked Mika's footsteps all the way down the hall to the elevator. Then he was gone.

Kurda didn't bother trying to fall asleep again. It was early, but not that early. He got out of bed and went straight for the suite's automatic coffee maker. They hadn't used it yet since they arrived — Mika favoured the overpriced cafe in the lobby and apparently had deep pockets.

There was a note on the desk beside it; a short paragraph of Mika's tidy handwriting inscribed just below the resort logo.

Kurda -

You're really nice to me. I owe you two (2) vending machine snacks of your choice. And I'm going to remember the ice thing.

Hope you enjoy your day off from me. No one's ever deserved it more.

See you after.

- MVL.

Kurda sighed. And just for a moment he considered sending a reply via their telepathic link.

You don't owe me anything. What ice thing? No idea what you're on about. Good luck at your meeting, though. Not that you need it. Gracie and I can't wait to see you afterwards.

That's what he would have said — had he not thought better if it at the last second. He decided to leave well-enough alone and never speak of last night again — unless Mika brought it up. Which he wouldn't.

Kurda brewed his coffee in silence and turned the television on. It was still on the news channel they'd been watching last night and he left it there.

The madness of the human world caused Kurda no small amount of anxiety. As a career politician, he found himself fascinated by following global affairs when possible. But as a person who'd been a human not so long ago… some of it was hard to watch. His heart was being wrenched in all directions as he watched live footage of a terrible flood on the other side of the world when a semi-familiar conscience reached into his own — Vancha March. Kurda was glad no one was there to witness him flinch in surprise.

VM: What's in General Smahlt's agenda for today?

KS: Nothing of importance.

VM: I've been up all night trying to hunt, but these damned noisy tourists have chased away all the half-decent wildlife. I may have to swallow my pride and endure a cooked meal before I shrivel up. Care to entertain me over breakfast before I find a place to sleep the day away?

KS: I can't promise much by way of entertainment, but my time is yours if you require it. I will say the restaurant with the log sides and green roof has the best breakfast in town.

VM: Excellent. Meet me there.

Kurda got Gracie up, dressed, down to the lobby cafe for breakfast, and finally checked her into daycare for the day. She was greeted by the same level of fanfare that Mika gets when he does… well, just about anything. The only difference between Mika and Gracie is that Kurda feels Gracie deserves it — a joke Kurda would have trouble making out loud if Mika was here.

The weather was cloudy and overcast yet again. With a minute to go before opening, Vancha was waiting outside the restaurant like he was afraid he'd miss his chance to get a seat. He was the only one there.

Vancha greeted Kurda with an exuberant wave and a rough pat on the back. No sooner had they exchanged pleasantries than a staff member unlocked the door. To Vancha's absolute delight, her top was what most would consider low-cut. Vancha winked at her, slipped her a crumpled bill, and asked if she could get him a corner booth. There were still no other patrons in the building beside him and Kurda.

Kurda never knew what to make of Vancha. One minute he could be flirting shamelessly with the waitress; asking for extra bacon because "he brought his own sausage". Kurda couldn't help himself. He mouthed "sorry" to the waitress as she walked away. And the next minute — literally one minute post-sausagegate —

"I hear your diplomacy mission with the vampaneze last year was a smashing success. Congratulations." Said Vancha briskly.

"…Thank you." Kurda replied, praying he didn't look as dumbfounded as he felt. "I was very proud of the progress that was made in such a short amount of time."

"From what I gather, you should be. I've now heard from no less than three Generals that the follow-up conferences you conducted at Council were some of the most convincing they'd ever seen." Vancha continued.

"And they told you that voluntarily?!" Kurda blurted out, momentarily forgetting himself.

Vancha laughed uproariously and slammed his fist on the table.

"Not exactly!" He hooted. "It was like pulling teeth to get them to admit you surpassed their wildest expectations. But they all know better than to lie to me. They meant every word — whether they liked it or not. You're making waves, Smahlt. And you've got my attention."

"Wow. I wish I'd know this breakfast was going to double as a performance review." Kurda chuckled, then kicked himself internally. As if Sire March just wanted to hang out for the sake of hanging out. Come on, Kurda.

Vancha didn't seem phased by Kurda's joke. In fact, his smile widened.

"Much of my time is spent meeting with our clan's Generals." He shrugged. "I came here to check in with Mika about the Collective business, but I was pleasantly surprised to see you accompanied him."

"Oh, I'm not technically here as a General." Kurda clarified quickly. "We just thought the trip would be a good experience for Gracie. Don't worry, Mika hasn't discussed anything high-level with me."

To Kurda's surprise, Vancha waved his hand dismissively.

"Wasn't worried, don't care. Sure, I have my not-so-secret opinions about the Shadow People. But if I wanted to micromanage our ties with them, I wouldn't have handed the job off. Now listen, Smahlt. I'll be blunt. I'm well aware you don't get the recognition you deserve —"

"That's putting it diplomatically." Kurda sighed.

Vancha smiled. There was something in his eyes Kurda couldn't quite identify. Could it be guilt? Vancha and Kurda didn't exactly spend a lot of time together but their individual reputations preceded them. Vancha surely was astute enough to know he exemplified everything about the clan Kurda wanted to change. But did Vancha know how fiercely Kurda respected him in spite of all that?

"I only really have one question for you, Kurda." Said Vancha after finishing his pancake. "At this point in time, you'll know better than anyone. So as a Prince, I ask you now: do you believe they're ready?"

"Do I believe who's ready? And ready for what?" Even as he said it, Kurda realized he knew exactly what Vancha was referring to. Who? The vampaneze. What? Clan unity.

Vancha confirmed the redundancy of Kurda's question by arching a bushy eyebrow, confirming the question was rhetorical. Kurda's mouth went dry. But it wasn't shock or shame that gripped him. No, it was pure electric adrenaline pulsing through his body.

"More than you'd expect." Kurda replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. He paused, but Vancha didn't chime in. He just peered studiously across the table at Kurda, nodding. So Kurda added — "It's unrealistic to expect all of them to be in favour. But that's politics. The vast majority would be more inclined to be with us than against us. Of course compromises would have to be made on both sides. It wouldn't be swift or easy. But I truly believe it's possible. And I know it's better than any alternative."

Vancha studied him carefully for some time."You're not as naive as they tell me." He declared at last.

Kurda surprised himself once again by letting out a bitter chuckle. "I know that too."

"Tonight's your last night here, isn't it? Heading back to the mountain tomorrow?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Not anymore. I'd like you to look into something for me."

TEN HOURS LATER

"You have impeccable taste for someone who lives in a cave." Adiya remarked over a steaming cup of espresso.

Mika rolled his eyes at her. Upon conclusion of their marathon of a meeting, they'd shaken hands and parted ways — only to share a tired laugh as both realized they were heading for the exact same place.

"Tell me the square footage of your urban dwelling space, then circle back to make fun of my cave." Mika replied drily.

"You've got me there."

They enjoyed the rest of their espressos in peace. Adiya wasn't one to force conversation when there was none to be had. She seemed to have a good sense about that kind of thing.

"Thanks for making the trip." Mika told her as he finished his drink and set it down on the marble table in the lobby lounge. "Sorry you had to spend your day with me."

What he wanted to say was, Sorry I was standoffish and irritable for the first four hours, but you have to understand that last time they sent me to talk business with humans, they ended up being the loosest possible definition of the word human. And just to be clear, I am in fact referring to the literal Nazis.

He settled for putting her espresso on his tab. That was easier.

"I'm simply doing my job, as are you. And off the record…" Adiya leaned closer and continued in a stage whisper: "You're more professional than some humans I work with."

"Wow. I'm flattered."

After taking one final sip, she stood up and reached out to shake Mika's hand once more. He automatically got to his feet before shaking her hand. Would've been disrespectful not to — and she'd secured all of his respect and then some.

"Til next time, Sire."

"Mika's fine."

She laughed in exasperation. Mika didn't blame her. "My God, man! Make up your mind!"

"That's my final answer." Mika replied with a wry smile and more than a little guilt.

"Noted. Now remember, my contact number is on the inside of the blue binder if you and yours ever require it."

"Thanks. I don't have a telephone, though."

"Well, I don't have telepathy. So I guess I'll talk to you in ten years."

"I look forwards to it." Mika told her. "I enjoyed working with you. If you're ever looking for a career change —"

"Pass. I'd rather live for ten decades in the sun than ten centuries hiding from it."

"Fair enough. It's not for everyone."

Adiya turned to go, then glanced over her shoulder and shot Mika a final wry smile. "I understand things are complicated with your… thirstier cousins. But I truly hope you heed my warning. While the vast majority of your people keep an impressively low profile, our technology is developing at an unprecedented rate. Your secrets won't be nearly as safe with the general public as they are with the Collective."

Mika stiffened. "I don't know what the solution is. But trust me when I say everyone in my circle is aware the treaty won't last forever."

"I'll leave it in your capable hands, then. Til next time."

She disappeared down the ground floor hallway and Mika made for the elevator that would bring him back to the upper level where the comfort of his suite awaited him. And Gracie.

And Kurda.

Fuck.

Gracie was practically in his arms before he got through there door. She exhaled a disproportionately big sigh for such a small body, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Tough day at work?" Mika asked her seriously.

"Mmhm."

"Yeah. I can only imagine the kind of stress you're under."

Mika hung his jacket and removed his shoes. When he looked up, Kurda was standing at the end of the short hallway between the door and the main suite. Mika had been dreading this: The inevitable raised eyebrows. The look. Last night wasn't the first time Kurda caught a glimpse of what lay beneath Mika's steely facade. But it had been his clearest view yet.

Strangely, there wasn't a trace of vindication to be found on Kurda's face. Not even curiosity. He just looked relieved to see Mika has returned. Happy, even.

Gods, you're so weird. All of this is weird. How did we even get here?

Kurda's lips curved into a weary grin as Mika stepped into his line of vision. "Hey, Sunshine."

"Why am I Sunshine?" Mika heard himself grunt. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Is that the best you can do?"

"I realize it's a little late in the day to throw big words at you, but it's called ironic humour." Said Kurda drily.

"Yeah. It's been a long day."

"Did… did it go alright?" Kurda asked. His apprehension was palpable, but concern seemed to be the dominant emotion. Mika only wished he could write it off as nosiness. It would've been simpler that way. He'd been going out of his way not to look Kurda directly in the eye, but he found himself draw in by the glimmer amidst the blue.

"All I'm allowed to tell you is that it went well. And I know you know I would've said that either way… but I actually mean it." Mika replied quietly, hoping Kurda would believe him.

"Good." Kurda murmured, nodding. "That's all I wanted to know."

"Really? That's it?"

Kurda sighed and ran a hand through his hair, face caught halfway between smile and grimace. "I wouldn't mind knowing how you're doing." He admitted. "But I'll take what I can get."

"I'm good. Honestly. Just tired."

"Well, you can take a break tonight. Gods know you've earned it."

No one can tell Mika the universe doesn't have a sick sense of humour, because there followed sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway, a sharp knock on the door, and an obviously male voice affecting a shrill falsetto.

"Housekeeping!"

"That'll be Sire March here to start the debrief." Mika informed Kurda, trudging to the door to admit his colleague.

Kurda groaned in sympathy. "I'll save you if you want. Just say the word."

Mika ignored him. In Vancha's defence, Mika hadn't exactly objected to debriefing immediately after the Collective meeting. Seemed like a good idea at the time. But now that the moment was upon him, Mika wanted nothing more to do with any of it. At least not tonight.

"Good evening, Sire, General, and Princess." Vancha winked at the three of them. "Long time no see!"

Mika gestured towards the spacious desk in the corner of the suite. Vancha plunked himself down in the wheeled chair and began to spin. Mika sat back down on the edge of his bed and shot Vancha a long-suffering stare.

"I'm ready to get started whenever you are, I guess. All went smoothly and there's nothing critical to report. But I did take extensive notes, as promised." Said Mika.

Vancha stopped spinning and replied with a brisk nod. "Let's go, then. What fresh secrets did you exchange with the Shadow People?"

Mika bristled, and bit his tongue so hard it almost drew blood. Vancha wanted him to snap back. Mika had endless respect and admiration for his colleague but this was one area where they'd never see eye-to-eye. And Vancha would never know how thoroughly he'd gotten into Mika's head last night.

Mika took a deep breath, shot Vancha a brittle smile, and withdrew his binder of notes from his bag. Then he paused, glanced at Kurda, then looked pointedly at the door in hopes Kurda would pick up on the obvious cue. When two Princes sit down to discuss high-level clan affairs, any General with a shred of common sense will make himself scarce unless directed otherwise.

Kurda Smahlt is many things but he's no idiot. He picked up on it, that much was certain. Picked it up and threw it straight out the window.

"Well, isn't this convenient!" Kurda huffed dramatically.

"What's convenient?"

Kurda crossed his arms and hit Mika with a stare so scathing it felt akin to looking in a mirror. "You would double-book yourself tonight. I don't know why I'm so surprised."

Mika narrowed his eyes in return, scrutinizing Kurda. Even for him, this was out of left field. "I don't know why you're so surprised either. Care to enlighten me?"

"It figures you'd pretend not to remember I won the bet, considering tonight is your last chance to settle the score! I just thought you were a man of your word, that's all."

"What bet? What are you talking about?" Mika growled.

Now Kurda was the one gawking incredulously at Mika. As if Mika was too slow on the uptake for his liking.

"Ignorance really isn't your colour. I know you remember giving me your solemn word as a Prince that you'd swallow your pride and try that sushi restaurant you've been side-eyeing all week — if I landed a perfect bullseye on the axe range." Kurda punctuated it with a raise of his eyebrow that was so perfectly pointed, Mika found himself wondering if he really was missing something. But he wasn't. They hadn't made any sort of bet. By the black blood of Harnon Oan, Kurda was a senior General! He knew better than to screw around at a time like this. So why was he screwing around at a time like this?

As Mika glared him down in disbelief, he heard a voice in the back of his own mind whisper with intrigue — Why indeed?

He didn't know where Kurda was going with this. But how much worse could it be than here?

"Ohh." Said Mika slowly, praying to the gods he wouldn't regret caving to this strange impulse. "That bet. I suppose you won fair and square, didn't you?"

Kurda's eyes lit up and he nodded. Mika fought to keep a straight face as he turned back to Vancha who'd been watching the exchange with mild interest.

"My apologies, brother." Mika began, punctuating it with a sigh of defeat. "But a good leader is only worth as much as his word — no matter how trivial. And you know as well as I do our jobs are much easier when our Generals respect us. Kurda's right. I did promise I would hold up my end of the bargain if it came to that, which it did. So…" — he had to swallow before dropping the hammer in defiance of the work ethic hardwired into his brain — "…You and I will have to reschedule. I'm free tomorrow."

"I really am sorry, Sire March. You're welcome to accompany us to Sushi Island." Kurda interjected politely. Mika had to assume that was the final nail in the coffin of whatever he was scheming, because Vancha fake-gagged and shook his head with great gusto.

"If I was meant to eat ocean creatures, I would've been born a shark! Never mind. I'll just stay here and go over the notes myself, if you don't object?"

"I guess I'll allow it." Said Mika.

"Alright, Honey Bee! Let's get you dressed for an outing before Daddy changes his mind." Kurda told Gracie as he carried her to the closet where their jackets hung. "I know you don't want to say goodbye to Sire Uncle Vancha just yet. But he's very busy, you see. Ohh no, don't cry, darling! I'm sure he'll come visit us at the Mountain sometime!"

Two very key things that stuck out to Mika. One:

Kurda was talking at about twice his regular volume. Two: Gracie wasn't crying. She looked mildly annoyed at being ushered away from whatever cartoon she'd been watching, but that was it. Mika didn't even have time to ask Kurda if he was hallucinating. Vancha cleared his throat gruffly and spoke up as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life —

"Well, if I'll be staying in your suite while you're out anyway, I don't see why you don't just leave the little gremlin here with me."

Kurda peeked back around the corner, eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent. Whatever this was, it was premeditated as fuck.

"Oh no, Sire. That's a terribly generous offer but we couldn't possibly take you up on it."

Five minutes later, Mika was giving Vancha a crash course in Gracie Management while Kurda waited at the door, visibly trying to hide his smirk.

"Her sleep schedule is shot to hell and she hasn't eaten a vegetable since we got here. But don't worry about any of that. We'll reset her when we get home." Said Mika, running down his mental list of notes. "All you have to do is watch her watch TV. Hope you like The Wiggles."

"The Wiggles? Sounds intriguing. Are they voluptuous women, per chance?"

"Oh, just wait. You're going to love The Wiggles." Mika replied cryptically. He heard Kurda stifle a snort of amusement behind him, but didn't turn around lest he crack up himself. He launched into his next talking point before Vancha could ask any more questions. "You can order some room service for both of you when she gets hungry. Menu's over there. Don't worry about paying, it'll get charged to the room."

"Good. I don't have any money and I'd rather not trade this shuriken. I quite like it."

"It's fine. They don't take shurikens here anyway. And for the love of the gods, don't order her the fucking lobster. She'll tell you she wants it but there's no way she'll eat it. She just likes the picture. And if she gets bored of the TV, you can take her for a walk."

"Right. Is there a leash or something?"

"No. She's free-range. Her recall is pretty good. But if she ignores you, you'll just have to pick her up and hope she doesn't start screaming 'this man isn't my daddy'. That'd be her idea of a funny joke."

"What about diapers?"

Mika scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. "She's been water-closet-trained for over a year. Totally self-sufficient. You'll just have to hold her up to the sink so she can wash her hands. She can't reach it on her own."

"You make her wash her hands?" Vancha snorted, wrinkling his nose. "It's like you don't want her to have a strong immune system."

"Don't even start."

"Fine. And if she won't go to sleep, can I just… you know?"

"If you sedate my baby with your vampire gas, I'll put you to sleep forever."

"Understandable. Figured it was worth an ask."

Mika rolled his eyes and let out another derisive scoff to really drive the point home, but it was a front and they both knew it. Gracie would be safer than safe with Uncle Vancha in charge.

"Am I missing anything?" Mika asked, glancing at Kurda.

Kurda flashed a grin but caught himself, matching Mika's businesslike seriousness. "You've covered all the major points. I can't think of anything to add."

They said their goodbyes, and off they went.

Mika felt like he was walking through a dream. Not in a good way. Not necessarily in a bad way either. He chalked it up to the perfect storm of contributing factors — lack of sleep, lack of food, surplus of stress. Kurda maintained his aura of mystery as they strolled down the hall. Mika followed his lead and didn't ask any questions til the elevator doors closed around them.

"I would've gone to the sushi restaurant at any point this week if you'd just asked." Mika grunted as they stood side-by-side in the moving cube that was far too small for his liking. "You didn't have to commit low-level espionage the one night I had something else going on."

"Well, you didn't have to play along either. And yet here you are. I was fairly confident you'd head for the escape hatch if one presented itself. Thanks for proving me right." Kurda explained calmly. "Good news for you though — I don't actually care if you come with me."

Mika rounded on him sharply. "Pardon you?!"

Kurda shot him a patronizing smile and Mika had to bite his tongue.

"It's okay, Mika. You don't have to play along anymore." Said Kurda. He spoke slowly, as if trying to explain a complex concept to a small child. "It's your last night away from the Mountain! This is your chance to do whatever you want. So go to the bar! Or ride up and down the Gondola for five hours! Run into the forest and scream! Check into a different room and take a nap! For the first and probably last time in a long time, nobody needs anything from you tonight. And I definitely don't need you to accompany me. All I wanted was to set you free — and now you are."

Oh.

Kurda's ulterior motive wasn't complex at all. And Mika still wouldn't have put it together on his own, ever, in any universe.

The elevator ride to the lobby wasn't long, but Mika spent all of it standing in stunned silence. Kurda shot him a wayward grin and gently elbowed him in the ribs as the doors slid open.

"So, what are you going to do with your big night off?" Kurda prompted. Meanwhile, Mika's brain was still sitting back on the desk.

"Well, you said sushi about fifty times." He replied bluntly once he'd found his voice. "So now I kind of just want sushi."

"What a coincidence. So do I."

They exchanged few words during the walk through the village. Kurda just couldn't believe his improv schtick actually worked. But more shocking was how Mika had chosen to use his fleeting night of freedom.

Gods, you really must be tired.

Kurda wasted no time getting their order started. It had been over a decade since he'd last enjoyed a sushi buffet, and ironically it had been this very place during a long trek to Council.

"Do you want any tempura shrimp?" Kurda asked, peering at Mika over the menu.

Mika's shoulders twitched in a noncommittal shrug. His body language was avoidant. Evasive. As if he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the second time in as many days. Kurda longed to grab his shoulders, give a (gentle) little shake and tell him, try being even half as gentle with yourself as you are with Gracie, I know you could do it if you just tried!

But that would be like trying to reason with the monstrous hammerhead shark featured in the gigantic wall mural beside them. Don't stick your hands where they don't belong, Kurda. It'll end badly for everyone involved.

"I'll just order two servings. I'll eat both if you don't like them." Said Kurda.

Mika shrugged again.

Kurda waited patiently til Mika caught his eye — undoubtedly by accident — and offered, "I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you that the process of handing Gracie off to Vancha for the night was one of the more endearing things I've ever witnessed."

He braced himself for the scoff and the eye-roll. Instead, Mika's eyes brightened and he managed something smile-adjacent. Point to Kurda.

"I promise he'll take great care of her." Said Mika. "He's rough around the edges but he's a Prince for a reason. I trust him with my life."

Kurda shook his head as his point flew over Mika's.

You have no idea, do you?

"I wasn't worried about that. I wasn't even referring to Vancha." He admitted. "Or Gracie, for that matter. I meant you."

There was the scoff and the eye-roll.

"Pardon you?"

"Come on! You giving Vancha his marching orders —" Kurda paused and laughed at himself. "Hah, Marching. Get it?"

Mika cringed. But the corners of his mouth were twitching now. Two points to Kurda.

"Of course I get it. Not your best joke."

"I never claimed to be a court jester." Kurda countered lightly.

"Could've fooled me. You didn't have to break me out of that debrief, you know. I would've been fine." Said Mika.

"I know." Kurda replied.

"But did you know either Vancha or I could have had you written up and put on trial for insubordination?" Mika added, raising an eyebrow. "Luckily for you he's not a rule book stickler. And I…" his voice trailed off.

"I know." Kurda repeated. He automatically reached across the table with the intention of laying his hand on Mika's forearm, but caught himself at the last moment. Mika was absolutely impossible to read. The limb came to rest awkwardly on the table between them.

"So, did Vancha pop the question today?" Mika asked out of nowhere.

Kurda's jaw went slack. It made sense that Mika and Vancha kept in touch about that kind of thing. And it made even more sense that Mika was grasping at a change of subject. Kurda just had no idea what kind of confidentiality level he was supposed to be operating on here.

"It's fine. You're allowed to talk about it." Mika added more gently, seeming to read Kurda's expression. "Vancha mentioned it yesterday. Not that he needs my approval, but I still told him you were the perfect candidate and your schedule was open as far as I was aware."

"I was working up to telling you. Really." Kurda replied, a guilty grin creeping across his face. "I just… I don't know. This will be the second big mission I've taken on in less than two years. It's short notice. And you had a long day."

"Vancha should've given you more time to prepare. But that's on him. Not you." Mika shrugged. His tone was short and clipped, but not resentful. "Besides, you used to travel all the time. It'll be good for you to spend some time away from the mountain. And Council is over so things will be quiet. I'll have plenty of time for Gracie."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Well, yeah. That's never been a secret."

Kurda rolled his eyes, picked up one of his chopsticks and pointed it at Mika like a lance. "If I wasn't such a respectful patron, I'd chuck this at your head."

Mika raised an eyebrow, stonefaced. "I'd be more worried if you were aiming for the table over there."

"Hey! I got a bullseye at the Axe Shack, remember?"

"Right. Sorry. Forgot you're an athlete now. Can I assume you'll sign up for remedial training upon your return to the mountain? I can put in a good word with Vanez to hold a spot for you."

"In your dreams."

"Bold of you to assume you're in my dreams."

By the time the first appetizer arrived, Mika was so damn hungry he swore the shrimp were singing his name like little deep-fried sirens. He didn't even know he liked tempura shrimp. But suddenly the bowl was empty and Kurda was chuckling at him from across the table.

"Usually people don't eat the tails." Kurda remarked before Mika had finished processing the carnage he'd left in his wake. He'd inhaled the entire family of shrimp without blinking. Charna's fucking guts, he hadn't even bothered with the dipping sauce. And he definitely hadn't shared.

"Sure. Now you tell me." Mika snorted. The shrimp had been delicious, but their spindly bodies barely dented in the aching hollowness in his core. He glanced at the empty dish and added — "Sorry."

"It's okay. You needed it more than I did." Said Kurda.

Mika tensed at the implied reminder of how closely Kurda had been watching him all week, monitoring everything down to his food consumption — or lack thereof.

Why did I think this was a good idea? I shouldn't be here with him. What the fuck is wrong with me?

The waiter returned within minutes, bearing plates laden with bundles of intricately arranged rice, seaweed, and miscellaneous sea creatures. Kurda had what looked like a religious experience as he checked it all out, rubbing his hands together as his eyes took on a whole new glow that the artificial indoor lighting could take no credit for.

Mika picked up his pair of chopsticks. He didn't know the proper way to hold them, but Kurda's peal of laughter suggested he wasn't even close.

"The biggest snob I've ever met doesn't know how to use chopsticks? I'm disappointed in you, Mika."

Mika huffed, but let his hand go limp as Kurda made the appropriate adjustments. At least one of them was amused. Once they each had a fresh slice of maki roll cradled neatly between the wooden prongs, Kurda held his out towards Mika.

"Cheers?" He said it like it was a question.

"Cheers." Mika affirmed wearily, bumping Kurda's piece with his own. His piece promptly slipped out of the chopsticks and landed in the dish of soy sauce, splattering the table.

Even the world's steeliest poker face has a limit. As good as it felt to finally eat again, it felt even better to laugh.

"You really don't have to spend your night off with me. Gods know we already see far too much of each other." Kurda reminded Mika as they walked out of the sushi restaurant into a light blanket of freshly fallen snow with full bellies and renewed energy.

"Don't worry, I've had more than enough of you. I'm going to get a strong drink at that bar on the west end of the village with the ugly flashing lights and awful music." Mika replied matter-of-factly.

"Aw, I was going to go there."

"Damn. Sorry for your loss, I guess. See you tomorrow."

Kurda rolled his eyes and fell into step beside Mika. How was he supposed to know they'd both been in the mood for something a little stronger than the bubble tea that came with the sushi bar's dinner buffet?

The prime demographic of this establishment seemed to be university spring breakers with one goal in mind — getting absolutely stupid.

"We must be the oldest people here." Kurda muttered out of the corner of his mouth as they weaved through a sea of dancing, sweating, booze-marinated bodies.

"You think?" Mika snorted.

Kurda elbowed him in the ribs. "You know what I mean!"

"I never know what you mean. When you open your mouth, all I hear is circus music."

"Circus music? Are you sure you're not thinking of Larten?"

That got a laugh out of Mika. Short, sharp, but sweet. "Fine. You win this time. That was a good one."

"Gods, I haven't had a piña colada in decades. I think it might be worth the permanent hearing loss." Kurda practically shouted as he stretched up to his tiptoes in order to get an unobstructed view of the bar over the mosh pit before him. "Where does the line start?"

There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to who the bartenders were choosing to serve. It was almost as if they kept favouring whoever made the biggest show of shoving other patrons out of the way while flashing fistfuls of cash. Surely that couldn't actually be the case. For the love of the gods, this was a civilized establishment, not Vampire Mountain.

Kurda tried a few times to break through the crowd, but these snowboard jocks were ruthless. And huge. On his third attempt, a drunk guy's elbow sent him toppling backwards. The guy probably didn't mean to, and Kurda definitely didn't mean to grab Mika's arm for support. He let go as soon as he regained his balance. But to his surprise, Mika's icy glare was trained on Kurda's oblivious assailant and it was clear he had murder on his mind.

"Don't you dare take a swing at a human or you'll end up on the Shadow Collective's watchlist yourself." Kurda hissed as he stepped between them.

"What are they going to do? Report me to me?"

"Test your luck if you want. But I'd rather get a drink."

"Oh, is that what you want? Could've fooled me. I thought you just liked standing in this corner looking lost. Get behind me."

Kurda barely had time to panic-grab the hem of Mika's black leather jacket to keep from getting swallowed by the crowd as Mika bulldozed his way to the bar. Mika is a tall guy with broad shoulders, but not to the point where he stands out in a crowd. He wasn't the biggest guy in the room, here or at home. But Kurda was confident Mika could be a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter and the world would still scramble to get out of his way. He doesn't need size to command a room. It's the way he carries himself. He knows you're going to move for him, because the alternative is that he'll move you.

Just like that, Kurda was holding a frosted glass with a paper umbrella. And to his great surprise, so was Mika.

"They're so busy, I just asked for two of the same drink." Mika half-yelled over the pounding bass. "You know what that means, right?"

"That Sire Ver Leth likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?" Kurda teased.

Mika wrinkled his nose and side-eyed Kurda with reproach. "It means the next round is going to be whiskey on the rocks. What the fuck are you talking about?"

Funny how Kurda needed to cling to Mika's literal coattails to get himself to the bar in one piece, yet he had no trouble clawing his way up to the DJ stand — without spilling his piña colada — to submit a formal request for some song he simply needed to hear. Or more accurately, a song he felt Mika simply needed to hear.

"If you like piña coladas, and gettin' caught in the rain… If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain —" Kurda belted out as he swayed towards Mika, hand outstretched.

"Pass." Mika grunted, shooing him away.

"Hurr durr, I'm Sire Ver Leth and I hate fun —"

"Really? You want to go there? Fine. Look at me! I'm General Smahlt, I'm a shameless lightweight and I'm going to ride my unicorn straight into world peace!"

"Is that meant to offend me?!" Kurda retorted, still dancing away. "I would think you of all people would be a more competent bully. Perhaps I overestimated the size of your mean streak."

Mika kept both feet planted firmly to the floor."Fuck off. I'm a great bully. My mean streak is enormous."

"Mmm, I don't know. Maybe that was true at one point, but nobody can stay at the top of their game forever."

"You're the —" Mika didn't even have time to finish the sentence. Not that it mattered. Kurda knew what he was going to say, and that he didn't mean it. With neon strobe lights and mischief flashing in his eyes, Kurda downed the rest of his drink like it was water. Then he swiped Mika's out of his hand and finished it too — just in time to belt the chorus:

"If you like makin' love at midnight, in the dunes on the cape, then I'm the love that you've looked for, write to me and escape!"

"How do you always know the words?"

"I listen to the radio when I travel! You should try it sometime."

"If this is what it sounds like, I think I'm good. So when are you heading back to the bar to get me my whiskey on the rocks?"

"As soon as you clear a path for me, Sire."

"How does anyone drink this?!" Kurda gagged. The words came out as a halfway intelligible slur as he remembered whiskey was so very, very vile.

Mika raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. "It helps if you don't slurp it. You look like Gracie with apple juice."

Kurda could feel the judgement radiating off Mika in waves. But it was worth it to see the faint glimmer of amusement making a return to those eyes.

"That's how you drink it!" Kurda protested. He knew he was talking louder than necessary as the dark liquor rushed to his head.

Mika shrugged. "I practice a lot. Not my fault you're not on my level."

Kurda cringed and tried again — this time with a cautious sip. Somehow it was even worse when you took it slow. "Do I have to finish the whole glass before we move to the next round?"

"Normally I'd say yes. Rules are rules. But I can't think of anything worse than watching you make that face for the next hour and a half." Mika tossed his drink back, reached out grabbed Kurda's drink and finished it off just as swiftly. He didn't break eye contact with Kurda the entire time.

"Show-off."

"Green's really not your colour, Smahlt."

"You think I envy you?! Please." Kurda practically cackled. The notion was so laughable, that was simply all he could do. "So you can drink whiskey. How do you do with tequila?"

"Better than you! Don't you remember that night we got drunk on my floor? Or at least the hangover that followed?" Mika snapped back, eyes widening with indignation.

Kurda waved his hand dismissively. "That's Vampire Mountain's attempt at tequila. I mean real tequila."

He didn't even wait for Mika to do the dirty work. This time he grabbed Mika's hand and dragged him through the crowd and back up to the bar, powered by sheer determination and the early stages of a half-decent buzz.

"Oh. So you do know how to throw elbows." Mika remarked. Then he coughed loudly into his hand. It was hard to hear over the boisterous ambience of the crowded room, but it sounded an awful lot like "shitty pacifist".

By sheer luck — or maybe because Kurda was the only man by the bar who didn't attempt to hit on the pretty but frazzled bartender — it was mere minutes before two tequila shots sat in front of them. Accessories included.

"Lick the salt. Take the shot. Suck the lime." Kurda instructed Mika. As he often did, Mika stared back at him with a deadpan gaze of pure exasperation.

"You think I don't know the procedure? I'm just surprised you know the procedure."

"I'm not nearly as innocent as you think I am." Kurda shot back. He liked to think he mirrored Mika's expression of skepticism perfectly, but he'd never know for sure. His best self was well on its way out of the building.

Meanwhile Mika's demeanour shifted, as if Kurda's remark had caught his attention. He straightened up and looked Kurda dead in the eye.

"Let's get one thing straight." Mika paused to lick the back of his hand and sprinkle the salt "There's never been a single moment in my life —" he licked the salt "— where I've been delusional enough to believe — " he took the shot without even blinking "— you're even in the realm of innocence." Finally he sucked on the lime. Only then did he wince and pull a face.

Kurda had never been more relieved to learn there was at least one thing that Mika didn't make seem effortless. And for whatever reason — probably the gods' sick sense of humour, as usual — the very same unflattering expression that twisted Mika's handsome face — shut up, that's the liquor talking — also tugged on Kurda's heartstrings as it passed through.

"Charming." Kurda patronized him with a smirk and a wink. Then he sprinkled his salt, licked it, downed his shot, and sucked his lime in one fluid movement. Straight-faced til the bitter end.

Mika flagged the bartender down again, and soon there were six tequila shots in front of them. Six each. For those not mathematically inclined, that's a total of twelve tequila shots.

"Okay, General Smahlt. You think you can beat me at my own game just because we aren't on my home turf?" Said Mika. He spoke as concisely as ever, but the fires of competition had been stoked behind his swordsteel eyes. "Fine. Show me what you're made of. Don't hold back. Do your worst — after all, that seems to come naturally to you."

Mika would never admit it. Not even on trial or under torture — but human booze was far superior than the stuff they brewed back in Vampire Mountain. It tasted better. It went down easier. Of course it didn't have nearly the same kick, but there's a simple solution to that: just drink more. And when you're armed with a supercharged metabolism it all balances out anyway.

They were about to get cut off. Mika could tell by the way the bartender was eyeing them. The clock had just struck midnight. Mika and Kurda were in far better shape than most of the flailing, slurring, stumbling human patrons that surrounded them, but they'd still put away about 30 tequila shots, two more piña coladas, and three and a half jäger bombs, and gods know how many shots of something called raspberry Sourpuss.

Sidebar: Technically four jägerbombs were ordered, but apparently Kurda draws the line at Redbull because it's just not good for you. The raspberry Sourpuss, however, was all him. Make that make sense.

Naturally, management was monitoring the situation.

Mika was far better at human-passing than many of his colleagues, but it would be his luck to end up on a government watchlist not even a full day after a successful first meeting with the very same organization that made a full-time job out of keeping tabs on that shit. Normally Kurda was even better at human-passing than Mika. But the tequila had loosened his inhibitions tonight — and his limbs. He was dancing messily next to the bar, and he kept eyeing it like he hadn't ruled out climbing up.

"Hey. Let's go over there." Mika suggested, poking him unceremoniously in the ribs and gesturing to the cluster of booths next to the dance floor.

"Gods, finally!" Kurda grinned, grabbed both of Mika's hands, and began pumping them to the beat of the latest hip-hop hit pumping through the speakers. "If you want to go and take a ride with me, we 3-wheeling in the fo' with the gold D's! Oh, why do I live this way? Heeyyy, must be the mon-aaaay!"

"It never fails to amaze me that no matter how loud the music is, you're always louder. Truly unbelievable." Mika snorted as he steered Kurda away from the bar. His voice was dripping in sarcasm but clearly it didn't land. It only served to encourage Kurda's endeavour into karaoke.

"If you wanna go and get high with me, smoke a L in the back of the Benz-E, oh whyyy must I feel this waaay? HEY! Where are we going? I want to dance!"

"First of all, if I don't know what any of that means, you sure as fuck don't. Second of all, we're blending in, remember?" Mika heard the slight slur as he spoke. He wasn't fooling anyone. Not himself, and definitely not Kurda.

"Right, because lurking in the corner is sooo much normaler than dancing at a dance club — what are you laughing at?!"

"If you weren't cut off before, you are now. Normaler isn't even a word."

"Hurr durr, I'm Sire Ver Leth and I invented the dictionary —"

"That's it. You've really done it now." Mika found himself reaching for Kurda's hand without the slightest idea what the plan was beyond that. Kurda took care of that for him, grabbing Mika's hand like a vice and hauling him onto the dance floor. Even with liquid fun coursing through his bloodstream, Mika still stiffened in protest. But he didn't stand a chance at the amount of sheer will stored in Kurda's deceptively lithe body.

"Charna's fucking guts, you already obliterated my dignity once this week. Wasn't that enough?" Mika groaned as Kurda parked them both in the dead centre of the room. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't dance?!"

"Of course you do." Kurda scoffed, carelessly pumping Mika's hands to the beat again. "You dance on tables with Arrow at the Festival!"

"People respond well to relatable leaders." Mika replied through gritted teeth.

"You dance with Gracie!"

"She's emotionally manipulative! I'm on the wrong end of that power imbalance and you damn well know it."

Hazy and unfocused as they were, Kurda's eyes were still alight with smug satisfaction as he grinned up at Mika. "Well, you're dancing now, Sunshine. Explain that one."

Mika shot Kurda the filthiest, most eviscerating glare he could muster. It wasn't exactly his finest work.

"You ready for the mission?" Mika asked loudly after several minutes of letting Kurda work his arms like a puppet.

"Only you would talk about work here." Kurda wrinkled his delicate nose in disdain, and Mika felt a strange warmth in his core. But there were about a thousand sweaty, thrashing bodies in their vicinity. Of course he felt warm. Hot, even. Made perfect sense.

"You dragged me in here against my will." Mika shot back. "I can talk about work if I want. That's only fair."

"You're the boss, I guess. But to answer your question… yes. If I've managed to impress Sire March enough that he's even offered me this in the first place…" Kurda shrugged, but couldn't hide his smile. And there was definitely an added spring to his step as he continued to sway his body with the rhythm. "I don't know. I don't want to get ahead of myself, but I think this could be a big one."

"Vancha's always made a point of keeping an eye out for the underdog. He invited me to be his second on an unprecedented negotiation right after his investiture." Mika recounted. "That was my first taste of fame. Or infamy, I guess. Half the clan said he was too young to be a Prince. That he was a fool to put his trust in someone even less experienced. But we kept the clan from going to war. That shut everyone up. Except for the ones who wanted to go to war, but you can't please everyone."

It wasn't til Mika finished speaking that he realized his body had begun dancing of its own accord to the next song on the DJ's playlist . As if he'd become Kurda's larger, stiffer, more awkward shadow. He quickly reined it in, internally scolding himself — No. We don't do that. Charna's fucking guts, Mika. Get it together.

"I remember that so clearly. I'd just started training to be a General myself." Kurda reminisced with a wry grin. By the grace of the gods, he had his (drunken) pacifist goggles on. He was so into what he was saying he hadn't even noticed Mika's slip. "I already had a huge amount of respect for Sire March for running point on the anti-war efforts. I was really looking forwards to meeting the legendary General Ver Leth who helped him see it through."

Mika exhaled derisively through his nose in amusement, momentarily forgetting the world around them. "Fuck, really? No wonder you hated me! You expected me to be like you. You thought you'd finally meet your match."

Kurda's eyes widened as if offended, and he stopped dancing. As if Mika's version of their shared history was so appalling he simply couldn't carry on. But not appalling enough for him to let go of Mika's hand.

"I never hated you!" Kurda fired back. "And I wasn't naive to think I'd ever meet another vampire like me. But I was right about one thing. I did meet my match the night I met you. It was that roundtable meeting at Council of 1893. You kept talking over me and —"

"Pardon you?! You're the one who kept interrupting me!"

"Look who's talking, hypocrite! Maybe if you'd have let me get a word in edgewise!"

"Maybe you should've waited your turn like everyone else!"

"Gods, Mika. All these years later and you're still doing it! I was going to say you were the only General in that meeting who didn't take at least one cheap shot at my small muscles, or my sexuality, or my beliefs, or my pretty blond hair, or —"

"Why would I pick on any of that?" Mika couldn't help but interject. He scoffed in disgust, shaking his head at the notion. "I don't take cheap shots. I just had no patience for your relentless stream of consciousness about how you viewed all your peers as knuckle-dragging barbarians while you saw you yourself as some kind of enlightened, all-knowing —"

"I don't think of myself like that!" Kurda practically howled, blue-flame eyes blazing hotter than ever.

"I know! I'm trying to explain that the reason you drove me so crazy back then was because you challenged me in ways I didn't know how to handle! And sometimes you still do!"

A few seconds of ringing silence hung between them as Mika's own words echoed in his ears. No doubt he'd caught Kurda off-guard. But it didn't hold a candle to how much Mika had surprised himself. He'd always known there was a reason Kurda got under his skin like no one else ever had. He'd just never put it in words before. Not even in his own mind, much less out fucking loud.

But it was out there now. And Mika was in no frame of mind to form an opinion on how he felt about that.

"Well… that's never been my intention." Kurda answered carefully.

"I know. It's just the way you are."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I'm not."

Mika swallowed once. Twice. His mouth had gone dry. His hands were no longer limp and resistant in Kurda's. Sure, Kurda still had a tight hold on both Mika's appendages — but Mika's fingers had found their way between Kurda's. He opened his mouth to ask Kurda if he'd gone crazy.

"Thanks for saving me tonight. Again." He heard himself say instead. What are you doing? Shut it down!

"It was my pleasure." Kurda said. Drunk as he was, he still spoke with steadfast conviction. "You deserved a few hours to be whoever you are when nobody's looking."

"You're looking." Mika rasped. And why are you looking at me like that, anyway? There's nothing to see here.

"Hey. That wasn't part of my plan! I improvised an elaborate scheme —

"You mean a lie?"

"Call it what you want! I set you free. You chose to follow me."

"Yeah. I did."

"Stupid decision, really." Kurda smirked, running an unassuming hand through the platinum hair that glimmered iridescent under the same artificial strobe lights Mika was certain were deep-frying his eyeballs past the point of no return.

"Tell me about it."

TOO CLOSE. SHUT IT DOWN.

"Can't believe anyone in their right mind put you in charge." Kurda teased as he danced closer. The song had changed again; a slower beat. His hip kept bumping into Mika's. There was no way it wasn't intentional.

It took a sudden sharp sting for Mika to realize he'd been biting his lip, hard. He leaned closer, close enough to feel those rebellious strands of gold tickling his nose as he murmured low into Kurda's ear,

"I can't believe I let you in my mountain with that attitude."

If there was a single thought in Mika's mind, he couldn't hear it over the bass reverberating through his bones, drowning out the voice telling him this was going too far. He could barely even hear Kurda's whispered retort. Didn't matter. He would've recognized those three words anywhere:

"You're the worst."

Maybe it was the half-dozen different kinds of alcohol dissolving Mika's inhibition. Maybe it was the smirk playing on Kurda's lips like a dare. The world ground to a halt as Mika closed his eyes and leaned headlong into the impulse to finally silence that smart mouth with his own.

Faces inches apart, he could smell the raspberry liqueur on Kurda's tongue.

Then he could taste it.

"You're the worst."

It didn't occur to Kurda to do anything other than lean into the kiss. It was several complete heartbeats before he even identified the phenomenon that was unfolding here, and several more to comprehend the scope of it.

Mika's kissing me.

I'm kissing Mika.

This was incomprehensible. And yet as surely as the sun would rise, it had been inevitable. Butterflies — drunken, euphoric butterflies — took flight in Kurda's chest. They'd been walking this fine line for weeks if not months now, parallel to each other. He just never imagined Mika would be the one to cross it first.

I knew you felt it too. I'm not crazy. It's real. It's been real all along.

Kurda didn't even have time to slip his arms up and around Mika's neck before Mika's inhibitions caught up with him. Then that invisible wall shot back up so quickly it sent Kurda reeling backwards too. Mika's frame stiffened. His jaw tensed against Kurda's for a fraction of a second before he pulled away, shaking his head, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal, and whispering "Fuck," under his breath over and over.

Kurda's feet remained fixed to the floor as the world crashed on around him, like a rock in a stream. He was powerless to do anything but stand there slack-jawed as Mika turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes, maybe. Kurda eventually forced himself into action and fled the bar. He wouldn't put it past Mika to flit for the hills and was almost surprised to see he'd opted to sit on a snow-covered bench just outside, hunched over with his face in his hands.

"Gods, there you are." Said Kurda, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Are you okay? You just disappeared!"

His heart sank as Mika looked up, regarding him through wild eyes. For a moment Kurda feared he'd bolt again.

"I…I'm so sorry I did that to you, Kurda." Mika forced out after a moment of visible struggling. His face was ghostly white; a stark contrast to the red blotches Kurda could feel breaking out all across his own face, neck, and chest.

The words Kurda wanted to say — Did that to me? I thought it felt right, I liked it, — all died in the back of his throat, burned away by the acid there.

"It's fine. I'm sorry, too." He croaked instead.

Mika shook his head. He looked like he was in pain. "It's not your fault. I made a mistake. I didn't mean for it to happen. My head's a fucking mess. I was in such a bad place last night…" he hunched over again, pressing his palms against his forehead as if trying to punish the memories within. Mika had never sounded less like Mika. He was rambling in disjointed sentence fragments. Spiralling. "And when the meeting was finally over, I just… I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I drank too much… didn't get enough sleep… crossed a line. Not that there's any excusing it. It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Standing three feet away Kurda could feel the scalding humiliation radiating from Mika like wildfire — and when Mika's voice trailed off, the silence that followed hung over both of them like smoke. If the kiss was a mistake in Mika's iron-barricaded universe, a mistake it was. There was nothing Kurda could do or say that would convince him otherwise.

I see how it is. I see what you really think of me. I see it all so clearly now.

"It's fine, Mika." Kurda repeated, more quietly. "You're right. It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. And it won't happen again."

Mika gave no indication he heard him.