Title: Pockets
Series: Neverwhere
Character/pairing: Preslashy Marquis de Carabas/Richard, Door, Darren, Ingress, Anesthesia
Rating: PG-13
Author's note: Good Enough ficverse returns! Comment_fic: Marquis de Carabas/Richard, playing 'what is in my pocketses'. Yup, filling more of my own prompts.


They'd been sitting about, resting their legs for a moment. The gathering dusk had turned cloudy and dark, erasing the colors into nothing. They'd been Above for a while, then shifted back down. That was how it'd gone, up and down, up and down, with very little rest. The leather on Richard's boots seemed to be going. Maybe he'd be able to find up in Above.

De Carabas looked into his things, sorting and searching. Richard found himself studying the line of his jaw, his shoulder. He'd never really been attracted to boys like that, but then he'd never met a man like the Marquis. He'd always been attracted to curves and soft hair, so it was a strange feeling to be admiring broad shoulders and a strong jaw. Not entirely bad, just...different.

Which summed up a lot of his life Underground.

The Marquis lifted his head and met Richard's gaze.

"Was there something you needed, Richard?" The Marquis asked, a knowing smile on his face.

"You've been rifling through your pockets for an awful long while," Richard noted.

"Well, I do happen to have quite a few of them," The Marquis said. "As you can see."

"You could play 'what is in my pocketses'," Door piped up, an enigmatic smile on her face.

"That'd be a challenge. I think he could fit whole rat cities in there," Richard said.

"I could," De Carabas said, his voice silky. "Rats are always good luck to have around."

"That's what my father always said," Door said, nodding.

Richard doesn't say that for most of his life, the only thing rats were good for was poisoning. They've saved his life, possibly more than once, but after seeing how disposable Anesthesia was to them, he's started to wonder who the real vermin are.

De Carabas had been keeping close with the trinket he picked up. Like usual, he was keeping mum about it, and well, everything. Richard had to admit that it was hard fancying a man, especially one like the Marquis. He still isn't sure exactly what he's supposed to do. You bought flowers for women, you took the initiative and asked them out, brought them to your parents, took them out. He certainly didn't think De Carabas would care for flowers, unless they were the sort which were medicine or secretly some spring of youth. One could never tell down here.

He certainly couldn't imagine taking the Marquis to see his parents–not that he had parents to take him to any longer.

On the telly, gay men wore high priced fashionable clothes and said things like 'divine' and 'fabulous'. They liked things like musicals and Abba. Richard did none of those things–though he had nothing against fine clothes or the word 'divine' used as a description– which only left him more confused. Sexuality was never something he really thought about, and now, along with his life, he had shifted.

He definitely still liked women. There'd been a very lovely blond at the last market before this thing happened, Marquis had teased him for how long he'd stared. This one hadn't even been a Velvet. But with Marquis, it was different. He was different. He was mysterious and alluring and compelling in ways that just a year ago would've made Richard worried to even share an alley with, let alone a bed.

Not that he was acting on this fancying, mind you. Right now he was going to find Anesthesia and Ingress, because finding two girls who had vanished into nothing seemed infinitely more sane than trying to figure out how to work out a love affair with a man who would probably meter out favors for the rest of his life, and take any hint of love as a way for even more favors. He was always the type to work through his troubles, anyways. Had he not been pulled Underground he would've probably thrown himself into work to try and escape how he had Jessica hadn't really been quite right for each other.

Though, truth be told, progress wasn't good. The Marquis seemed to know what he was doing, not that he was sharing any of it with anyone.

But Richard dreamt, and knew. They were alive somewhere. Moving in places far from London Underground.

Places he'd never been before.


The door closed behind them, and he felt the world shift. It was a place between places. Ingress reached out into nothing, feeling herself brush against the nothing.

"Darren?" Anesthesia asked. Her voice echoed in the chamber. He'd said he'd be there in a minute, that he'd had to go find something. He'd even seemed apologetic about it. And now this was a prison, like the last one.

She thought about the places Anesthesia had talked about. She thought about her past, about when her parents were there before everything went like a living nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

She marked a door with her mind, like Door had been trying to teach her before everything went. The nothing parted, and from it came shapes and colors of being.

"You did it again," Anesthesia said proudly. "You're really something, you know that, Ingress?"

They looked into an elaborate court hall. It was so large, with a mirrored floor like that of a chessboard. There were suits of armor, only slightly rusted and tapestries, only slightly fraying. There was a red and gold carpet leading to a small throne, where a man sat, Darren by his side. He was a middle-aged man who she guessed was older than he seemed, with a feline gaze of green eyes, and an aquiline nose. He was all angles, lean and proud looking, she was almost sure she had seen him once before. His thin lips twisting into something like a smile.

"I've been expecting you," he said.