Work Text:
In the aftermath, Alex finally understood why people clung so desperately to habits and routines in the face of chaos. The pilgrims, who had been to hell and back twice over, all stepped back into what had seemed most normal to them, before. Turner went back to his job, Dawes went back to her dissertation, Tripp went back to playing video games, only now he was parked in front of the television at Il Bastone instead of cooped up in his apartment.
And Darlington -
Darlington spent a lot of time on the phone.
“Who is he talking to?” Alex asked, attempting to sound nonchalant and ending up instead in the region of accusatory.
“Real estate agent,” Dawes replied. “Apparently they wanted some absurd down payment to even come and evaluate his parent’s apartment in New York, so he said he was going to pull the my parents just died and I’m a college student card,” she added, with a shrug.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t that just the truth?” she asked, and for a moment, Dawes seemed utterly perplexed.
“I guess, yeah,” she said, finally. “When you put it like that.”
In the hallway, Darlington continued to pace back and forth, his voice barely raising above a low murmur.
“He said he had to go down to sign some papers, but I don’t know about the whole travelling thing,” Dawes said under her breath, as if to match the silence of the house. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Alex refrained from asking her if she meant a demon attack - judging by previous experiences, Darlington could handle them just fine by himself. The image of Anselm dissolving into a squirming heap of maggots flashed before her eyes, and she repressed a shudder. Was Dawes talking about… keeping Darlington in check? Making sure he didn’t go fully horns out on some unsuspecting tourist in Central Park?
She didn’t want to admit it - it felt undignified, so far from her usual perception of Darlington’s calm and composed air - but Dawes had a point. They didn’t know the full extent of Darlington’s powers, the way the demon side of him functioned. For all they knew, it was just the wards of Il Bastone that kept the creature inside of him at bay.
“I’ll go,” she said, before the thought had even fully formed in her mind.
“What?”
“I’ll go with him. To New York.”
“Are you sure that’s a good -” Dawes started, and Alex immediately waved her off.
“Of course not, but maybe it’s the best out of a number of terrible ones. We know I can…” she almost said lasso him like a cowboy, thinking of the whip of blue hellfire that had wrapped itself around his neck on the street just outside the house, before she stopped herself. There were some absurdities that even Alex wasn’t willing to utter.
But Dawes was already nodding, slowly, thoughtfully.
“Best idea out of the terrible ones,” she repeated. “I guess that’s the way we work around here.”
“Sure is,” Alex grinned. And that was that.
-
She didn’t expect any resistance from Darlington - reasonable, logical, measured Darlington - but when she rapped on the door to the Virgil suite, Alex found herself gnawing on her lip, running her lines over and over in her head.
When the door swung open a moment later, she almost jumped, already lost in thought.
“Hey,” she blurted, and Darlington simply stepped aside, letting her in. “I heard you’re taking a little trip. Want some company?”
Darlington furrowed his brow - that beautiful crease between his eyes that she loved, that had set him apart from the demon even when he was trapped in a golden circle back at Black Elm.
“Did Dawes send you to keep me in check?” he asked, face strangely blank. There was no fooling Darlington. Of course not. Alex opened her mouth to launch into a protest, but he simply raised his hand, stopping her before she could delve into explanations. “I understand. I’m not offended, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not that,” she said, taking a seat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, cold and dark today. “We just… There’s so much we don’t know. Better to not take any chances.”
Darlington sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Bold words, coming from you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“But I see your point.”
A beat of silence stretched between them - Darlington lounging by the door in his Lethe sweats and robe, his new favourite get-up, it seemed, and Alex curled up in the chair. Quietly watching each other, waiting for the other to make a move - like two cats circling each other just before they came to blows.
“I’ve never been to New York,” Alex said, finally. A peace offering? A crumb of information, extended in hope for one in return?
Darlington hummed, relaxing against the door frame.
“It’s not my favourite place,” he said, “though of course, it has its high points.”
“Empire State,” Alex supplied, “because-”
“It’s a literal high point,” Darlington sighed, rolling his eyes, but she could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course. I’m regretting this already. We leave the day after tomorrow, Stern, bright and early.”
“We’ll see about early,” was Alex’s only reply.
The choice of transportation was the next problem to tackle. The easiest solution was to take the Metro-North, of course, two hours and change from station to station. Then Alex thought of Darlington’s words from before the second descent - keep salt on you at all times, make sure I don’t leave unescorted - and the image of a crushed train carriage appeared in her mind, a golden demon towering above it, teeth bared.
There was the Mercedes - another image then , Michelle’s hands folded under her cheek, her lips and eyelids blue -
Maybe not.
When she asked, Darlington solved the issue with the same ease he did everything else - by waving his hand at her and stating that he hired a car.
“With a driver?”
“No, just a car. I think that Uber bill would put me into lifelong debt,” he had replied, and Alex had to keep herself from smiling.
“You ever driven in the city before?” she asked, and a look of pure indignation crossed Darlington’s face. Some things never changed.
“Are you questioning my driving skills? I’ll have you know that I passed my test on the first attempt.”
“Of course you did,” Alex replied, throwing up her hands. “But did you know that there’s a secret trick that makes sure that you absolutely won’t fail it?”
“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked, warily, as if he was sure that he was walking into a trap.
“Never taking it,” Alex said, grinning.
“You have a licence,” Darlington sputtered, more statement than question. “Stern. You’ve driven my car several times, tell me you have a licence.”
She did, of course - Len had made sure of it. It had been strangely important to him, though she wasn’t sure why.
“I don’t believe in institutionalised testing,” she said instead. “Learning by doing is the key to true knowledge.”
Darlington bristled.
“I have a feeling I’m being made a fool of,” he said, “and I don’t appreciate it.”
“Better get used to it, Darlington,” Alex said, and slipped out of the Virgil suite before he could offer up any more protest.
-
Dawes fawned over them the entire morning of their departure, pressing a thermos of hot tea into Alex’ hand.
“Check in with the group chat every hour,” she said for what was probably the fifth time in as many minutes.
“No need to worry, Pammie,” Darlington smiled, his endearment with their Oculus clear. “It’s only for a night.”
“And we’re not going that far,” Alex added. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
But Dawes was still hovering in the doorway when they turned to walk towards the iron gate of Il Bastone, her anxiety basically radiating off her in waves. And if she was being honest, Alex didn’t feel too good about leaving the wards behind, either. Every time she spotted Not Hellie, it was like a knife being driven through her heart, over and over. If she never had to see a lock of golden hair again, she would die a happy woman.
Still, it felt strangely like stepping back in time - walking down the street next to Darlington, sliding into the passenger seat of their borrowed car. It felt almost like every other time he’d given her a ride home from a ritual in the Mercedes, walked her to the front door of her dorm. His pale hands on the steering wheel, the muscles in his forearms flexing - well. She’d do her best not to think about that.
“Ready?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance.
“Let’s go,” she replied, and Darlington turned the key in the ignition.
They drove though central New Haven in silence, turned west towards the road that would have taken them to Black Elm, then south. Alex fiddled with the radio, found some Top 40 channel that made Darlington roll his eyes, which gave Alex the everlasting pleasure of telling him off for being the worst kind of snob.
“Everybody can and should appreciate pop music,” she said, and Darlington only shook his head.
Alex watched the city thinning out, giving way to the old, industrial sections that Darlington had taken her through over a year earlier. She could see his eyes wandering the buildings, no doubt rifling though that encyclopaedia of a brain he carried around for their history.
And Alex -
Alex watched Darlington.
The shock of him being there never really seemed to leave her body, no matter how much time they spent in the same house, no matter how many conversations they had over breakfasts and dinners in the dining hall of Il Bastone. She could reach out and touch him whenever she wanted, talk to him in real life, not just in her head. She could listen to his voice, hear him rattle off bits of trivia about New Haven manufacturing, the way he always used to. It seemed completely unreal, still, like she’d stepped into a dream.
“What?” Darlington asked, and Alex realised that he had caught her staring.
“Nothing,” she said, too quickly.
She couldn’t speak out loud the thoughts flooding her brain at the sight of him. The fact that she had missed his sharp, aristocratic profile so terribly, the way his hair fell forward onto his forehead. The shape of his hands. His voice. She had gone to hell to have it all back, and she would do it again and again, just to be able to hear him tell her about the chemical compounds of early 1900’s rubber, or whatever. She would listen to him reading the periodic table, if she had to. It didn’t matter. As long as he was here.
Alex turned up the radio, humming along to something she barely recognised, as they turned onto the highway.
“Have you been to their apartment before?” she asked as the landscape rolled by. She had gotten a fairly good sense of the kinds of people Harper and Daniel Arlington were from the old man’s memories, but she wasn’t sure what else to make small talk about. Hell? The horrific state of the Lethe house? It didn’t seem appropriate, somehow.
“No,” Darlington replied, eyes fixed on the road. “I’ve always stayed away from the city. When I was fourteen, I took the train down, walked around for hours… I even went to their building, but then I just… I don’t know.” He trailed off. “It’s a nice place, though. Very modern.”
Darlington said modern in the same way someone else would spit out the worst kind of curse. Alex couldn’t help but smile.
“We’ll be in and out,” he continued. “I just need to sign some papers, then the city is ours for the taking.”
“You better bring me somewhere nice, Darlington. First impressions and all that.”
“Not if it makes you want to leave New Haven,” he said, and Alex got the distinct sense that it had slipped out without him meaning to.
“Two and a half years left,” she said, stretching her legs out in her seat. “If I make it through.”
“You will,” Darlington said, and Alex was oddly touched by the assuredness of his voice. Did he really believe that? Or was he just being courteous?
Either way. It was good to know that at least someone believed in her, even if her professors, the Yale administration, her mom, and Alex herself had her doubts.
“Thank you,” she said, and Darlington just shrugged, as if such a gift that he had offered was nothing at all.
-
The Arlington’s apartment was a white, open space - the occasional touch of beige from a decorative pillow, of brown from some elegant branch placed in an equally elegant vase.
“My mother is,” Darlington had explained, cut himself off, started again. “My mother was a professor of Renaissance art. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at this place.”
“And your father?”
“Some kind of finance nonsense,” Darlington replied, and Alex couldn’t help but laugh. He pronounced finance with the same distaste as modern - for some reason, it made her immeasurably glad.
He was back, really back.
The real estate agent had met them at the door, a wide smile and firm handshake extended towards Darlington, the holder of his supposedly outrageous down payment.
“And you…” the real estate agent had nodded towards Alex,
“His partner,” she said, sounding a lot more assured than she felt. The building was too nice, the suit of the agent too expensive. It made her skin crawl.
“Of course.”
The suit offered them a tour of the place, but Darlington only shook his head.
“I’ll just sign what needs to be signed,” he said, and the two of them had disappeared into the kitchen, while Alex went snooping around her mentor’s dead parent’s belongings. She strolled down one of the hallways towards what she assumed might be the living room, inspecting the barren walls as if she was at a museum.
In the living room, on top of an otherwise empty mantle stood a couple of framed photos. Alex recognised Harper and Daniel in one of them - a wedding photo, Darlington’s mother in a simple but elegant white dress that trailed behind her down a flight of marble steps, Daniel in a sharply tailored suit.
He looked so much like the younger Daniel, so much like the old man. The same sharp features, the same brown hue of his hair. And speaking of the devil - next to the wedding photo was another, this time with the couple holding the hands of their young son, his cheeks round and red. Alex felt her heart twinge.
You deserved better than this, she thought, sudden anger towards the Arlingtons welling up inside her. She wanted to smash one of the expensive vases, and the picture frame too for good measure. Who could do something like this? Prioritise money and legacy over a living, breathing, child?
She didn’t hear Darlington slide up behind her, didn’t notice him at all until she felt the red-hot touch of his hand against her back.
“Partner, huh?” he asked, barely giving the photos a glance. Keeping his distance, in case the memories would start welling in, the grief and pain and hurt. She knew that game well, played it every day by herself.
Alex just rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, trying to ignore the heat that was slowly creeping up her cheeks.
“In crime,” she said, and Darlington smiled, a small, sad thing.
-
He took her to the Met, afterwards.
Alex asked question after question about the architecture, the art, the trees in the park outside - she had the sense that Darlington knew what she was doing, but he answered them all dutifully nonetheless.
Stay distracted, keep moving - it was the only way out of grief. Just move, like a shark though the currents, and you won’t sink.
They had pizza with the longest cheese-stretches Alex had ever seen at a dingy walk-down (her idea), two drinks each at the hotel bar (his idea), and finally, Darlington stretched, raising his hands above his head.
“Long day,” he said, and Alex could only agree.
He invited her for another drink plucked from the hotel bar in his room, tiny bottles poured into the water glasses by the sink. They sat opposite each other in the armchairs by the window, watching the glitter of the city below, not speaking.
A companionable silence - one that there was no need to fill. His soul had been inside her. She had felt the taste of it. After that, there was no real need for small talk.
When she rose to leave, stating the fact of the late hour and that it was best if they left early tomorrow, Darlington’s hand shot out. His fingers curled around her wrist, like the golden bands that appeared around his own wrists whenever he reached for the demon lurking inside him, carefully kept at bay.
“Stay,” he said, then interrupted himself. “I mean, you can stay if you want to. Empty room,” he said weakly, gesturing towards the hall.
Empty indeed. Was it the weight of visiting his parent’s place, knowing that they would never return? She knew that complicated mix of emotions all too well, even though her own mother was more alive than ever.
Because Alex was no longer there to tear her life to pieces.
She could understand not wanting to be alone with thoughts like that - in truth, Alex didn’t want to be either. But Darlington usually seemed to be fine by himself, never needing anyone or anything else.
Was that the truth, though? The old man’s memories came back to her then, the image of Danny curled under a pile of old coats, his breath a plume of white in the air.
A lonely kid, abandoned by everyone and everything, a young prince locked in a tower.
Without a word, she toed off her boots. She was careful to keep her distance, not to touch - and when they slid underneath the covers, Darlington stayed stiffly at the other side of the bed.
“Thanks,” he said into the still air of the room, and Alex burrowed down deeper in the soft cocoon of the crisp sheets.
“It’s okay,” she said, but the image of Danny in that tower room, the sadness emitting from the body next to her… She wouldn’t be able to get a wink of sleep if she didn’t pierce it like an old balloon.
Alex suddenly shot up again, throwing the sheets back, frantically looking at Darlington.
“What?” he asked, eyes wide and wild. “What’s wrong?”
“Breakfast is included, right?” she said, her voice as earnest as it could possibly be. A distraction, however brief. She would keep coming up with them until Darlington didn’t seem quite so stricken anymore. It was the least she could do.
Darlington tipped his head back and laughed, a clear, pearly thing. Satisfied, Alex laid back down, smiling into the pillow.
-
Morning light filtered through the blinds when she woke, and for a moment, the remnants of a dream was all she could think of.
Clawed fingers digging in against the soft flesh of her stomach, warm lips against the back of her neck. His voice murmuring; I will serve you ‘til the end of days.
But when she opened her eyes, there were no claws digging into her, just a solid, muscular arm slung over her middle, her head resting on the other.
She could hear Darlington’s steady, even breathing behind her, feel his lips against her nape. It made her shiver, which only led to Darlington tightening his hold of her, drawing her in closer towards his body.
It was…
Nice, she decided, trying to ignore the way her heart was probably beating loud enough to wake up Darlington. She closed her eyes again, willing herself to relax in his grasp.
How often had the thought of that night last fall come back to her? How often had she imagined the feeling of his body against hers, his warmth? She had wished so badly for it, knowing it would probably never happen again, unless one of them happened to get drugged at another stupid Halloween party.
Yet, here they were.
She listened to Darlington’s breathing, soaked in his warmth. His long fingers against her stomach, his lips against her skin.
Remember what this feels like , she told herself, and slowly drifted back to sleep.
-
Breakfast was indeed included.
She piled her place high with scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, pain au chocolat, all while Darlington watched, amused glint in his eye, nursing a cup of coffee.
“Are you ready to go, after breakfast?” Alex asked, scooping the last of her eggs up with her fork. “I think Dawes is gonna have a stroke if we don’t come back soon. And I’m like, done with this place, I think. Bad vibes.”
“So New York didn’t charm you more than our New Haven,” Darlington said, smiling slightly. “I’m pleased.”
“No,” Alex said, stuffing a piece of pancake into her mouth - though she knew that the city itself didn’t really matter. If Danny had been a prince in a tower, she was once a solitary wanderer in the desert, looking to find her way home. And she’d found it, finally - in Dawes, Turner, Mercy, Darlington. If they were to suddenly move to the deserts of Nevada, the mountains of Oregon, she would follow. She wanted -
She couldn’t say out loud what she wanted.
Instead she followed Darlington to the reception desk, the parking garage. Watching his dark coat, his confident strides, his hand running through his hair like always.
What she wanted, in the rare moments she allowed herself to want, was Darlington’s warmth curled against her under the sleep-warmed covers. Greedily, she wanted him to hold her through every night, every morning from now on. She wanted it to be a practised habit. She never wanted to get used to it.
And, she thought that maybe, just maybe, Darlington felt the same.
“This place sucks,” she said, stretching out once again in the passenger seat, only half-meaning it. “Let’s go home.”
Darlington smiled at her as he slid into his seat, as beautiful and solemn as always.
“As you wish,” he said. “Let’s go home.”