Chapter Text
Saparata was sure it hadn’t been on purpose. That Fluixon hadn’t meant to come to his island, had no intentions of seeing him even again.
No, he knew exactly what it was, one last desperate attempt, chased, soldiers from the Cass Coalition and Tricolor in close pursuit. Likely Fluixon and Thomas hadn’t even realized what land mass they were approaching, hadn’t thought about it, too caught up in running for their lives to examine the once familiar trees.
Sure, Sap supposed they could be vaguely aware, but you don't have a lot of time to ponder when you’re running for your lives.
They must have been spotted a while ago, Saps thought; they looked ragged, exhausted. Fluixon, who had always kept his appearance clean, tight, and perfectly in place, looked wrong, his cravat gone, leaving his shirt collar loose and open, and the coat had certainly seen better days.
Saparata might have missed it had he been somewhere else. Might have missed the two of them tearing down the beach, running for their lives as they were hunted, shouts coming from their pursuers, some in anger, some in triumph, as their perceived victory slipped closer and closer.
Saps easily could have been inside, fixing up the house he had finally, after months and months, returned to. Instead, he was avoiding the project, which left him here, mere yards away from the treeline. Close enough to hear the arrow that sliced through Thomas, killing him instantly. Close enough to see Flux stutter in his running, turning briefly, then stop, just for a second. Close enough to hear Flux let out a strangled “No!” To see the look on his face, fear, grief, desperation. Emotions he’s never seen Flux have, never heard him express. Expressions Fluixon wouldn’t dare let anyone see on his face. Anger had been the one negative emotion he allowed beyond the mask; anything else had been a weakness.
The stop wasn’t long, and Fluixon didn’t even fully stop, just slowed really, craned his neck back to see that Thomas was well and truly dead. His last supporter, his most loyal man, maybe even his friend, although Sap didn’t think he was really capable of those.
Fluixon hadn’t really stopped running, but it had been enough, and the desperate pounding of feet seemed a little less determined to get away now.
Saps thought then, how easy it would be to run and intercept him, to get in front of him and catch him. The thought wasn’t even fully formed before he felt his feet running.
Fluixon didn’t see him as he leaped out onto the beach. He had craned his head to the side, just for a second, to see how close his pursuers were when he ran full force into Saparata. Sap’s arms came up and grabbed his. Fluixon struggled, instantly, instinctively, and then his eyes met Saps, and realization washed over him.
And Flux went still.
His eyes never left Saparata's. There was no pleading or fear in them, nothing that Saps would expect from a man in his position, just level determination. Like he was trying to see through Saparata’s eyes into his brain, like he could hear his thoughts if he stared hard enough.
So Saps stared back, unwilling to be the one to back down, to look away. Once, maybe, when they were friends, he would have. He would have made some joke to ease the tension and let Fluixon win. But that was a lifetime ago, and he was not that person anymore, neither of them were.
The pounding of feet grew closer and then stopped, in a disorderly half circle. No one spoke for a minute, just hard breathing as everyone caught their breath.
Flux’s hands came up and grabbed the front of Sap’s shirt, hands clinched tight. As if holding onto the fabric would stop them from taking him, stop his inevitable execution.
Saparata had once professed that he would not die until Fluixon had, that he would end the life of Fluixon by any means necessary. But now he had him, his finger digging tightly into his forearms, Fluixon’s body ragged for breath, exhausted and depleted only inches away from Saparata, and the idea of executing him didn’t seem to fit anymore.
Not that Fluixon didn’t deserve it, not that he wanted him alive, but cold state-sponsored execution, or letting this random group of soldiers just kill him here, felt wrong, felt inconclusive.
Sap needed time to think. He knew it should be him who decided Fluixon’s fate. He was sure of that. He could not leave it up to others. But he didn’t know what it should be yet.
“This is my island, I have jurisdiction here, and I will take the fugitive prisoner,” is what came out of his mouth. His eyes scanned the crowd, partly to see if they were challenging him, partly to ignore Flux’s stare boring a hole through him.
Mostly, everyone just looked as confused as Saps felt. Saps was fairly pleased to note that no one looked angry.
“Saps, are you sure?” The person speaking was from the Cass coalition; they’d talked a few times during the time Sap spent there after the war.
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Uhhhm, no, you. . just, you don’t have to, you know?”
Oh, they weren’t worried about him; they were worried for him. That was nice.
“Yeah, I know, I’m sure,” he wasn’t.
The others all looked around, shuffling. It was a bit anti-climactic, all that chasing and adrenaline, just to walk away.
“Is there, uhh,” They were looking at the Saps’ hands, holding onto Fluixon so tight that he was beginning to draw blood at the fingernails. “Anything we can help you with, Saps?”
Right, yeah, he had to move, Fluixon had to move.
“Yeah, could you, um, tie him up maybe?”
He only let go of Fluixon once two people had him by the shoulders, pulling him away from Saprata. Flux didn’t so much let go of Saps’ shirt as he did loosen his hands, so it didn’t rip as he was pulled away.
Saps made the mistake of glancing at him as they did. Fluixon held himself straight and stiff as always, as if, for a brief moment, he hadn’t stopped. But the most notable thing was, even as they jostled him away, he never stopped staring at Saps, never even blinked.
“And uhh, I could use help maybe building a cell or room or something to keep him in, for now.”
“You got it, Saps.”
They began to organize people, as Saps just stood there, mind still reeling, thinking a million things, thinking nothing at all. He could feel Fluixon, somewhere just to the side of his vision, still staring at him as soldiers from Tricolor bound his hands roughly.
Then something clicked in Saps’ head.
“Oh, and if some of you could help me bury Thomas.”
Despite the fact that he was very much not looking, and Flux had been staring at him the entire time, he knew there was something even more intense about it now. Something between anger and gratitude. Saps didn’t want to know, so he didn’t look.
Eventually, he got to work with the rest of them, cutting down trees and sawing wood. It would take a few days, so as evening approached, he broke off from the work party and began to make food.
He hadn’t checked where Fluixon was in all this; he’d been intent on not checking, but if you don’t know where someone is, you’re liable to run into them. Which is how, as he wandered back to the beach, just as afternoon had firmly become evening and was fast approaching night, he saw Fluixon, flanked by the same two guards, hands bound, standing in exactly the same spot. Stiff, chin jutted out as if this was all beneath him, as if he didn’t care at all.
He noticed Saps almost immediately, and once again, he was staring, eyes dark and intense, boring into him, as if he could suss out what Saparata was thinking, was planning for him. Saps snorted a little at the thought. Good luck, he thought, I don’t even know what I’m planning. Maybe Flux would figure it out before he did and tell him, wouldn't that be helpful? He laughed a little to himself as he set up a pot over the fire.
As the day ended, and people set down their tasks, they found themselves around the fire, bowls of stew in their hands. Fluixon had been brought into the circle, forced to sit, and despite his hands being bound together, one of the guards had placed a bowl in them, and so, amusingly, Flux was trying to drink from a bowl of stew while still trying to look above it all, unaffected and regal. Which, given the situation, was incredibly difficult.
When Saparata informed the soldiers that they’d all be camping out on the beach, assuring them that it was perfectly safe and not too cold, the group had, of course, questioned why not in his house. Which in turn forced him to tell them that he had only just started fixing his house, that it was mostly a large meeting room, and the chairs were still full of spikes, and there were blood stains on the floor. Eyes had predictably fluttered between him and Fluixon in a variety of emotions as he recounted this to them, but no one pressed the issue.
Saps was assured that Fluixon would be guarded by two guards throughout the night, that they’d take shifts, and that seemed good enough to Saps.
Honestly, he didn’t really think Fluixon could fight off one guard, let alone two. His game had always been manipulation or confusion; it had been conversations and traps, set up ahead of time, based on the idea that he knew information first. Here, with no lackies, no traps, where everyone knew his tongue was poison, he had nothing. No, they hardly even needed a guard. Flux was useless; in fact, Fluxion, The Architect, the great conspirator, was practically dead.
Saparata slept peacefully that night.
The next morning, Saps’ mind was working a little better, his thoughts a little clearer. The shock that had manifested itself into a constant sort of white noise the day before was all gone now.
That morning, as he walked down the beach on his way to help cut trees, he passed Thomas’s body, laying face down, blood having long since seeped into the sand, discoloring the beach around him.
Saparata abandoned his task to set off to find a good spot, not too far away, for a grave. Once he found a decent spot, he turned back, gathering a few recruits, and they began to dig.
It took a few hours, and the sun was high in the sky by the time they were done. While digging, they had found a largish rock that Saps deemed good enough for a grave-marker, nothing special, just a rock, better than nothing, he supposed.
They headed back to the body, and a couple of soldiers grabbed what was once Thomas, flipping him over, eyes still wide open in shock, the body slightly bloated and stiff. They grabbed him by the arms and began to pull him towards the grave, out of sight.
Saps felt Flux’s eyes on him. Oh yeah, they were burying his closest companion; he should probably be there, it was the right thing to do. Saps should say something, he should order Flux to come with, or tell the guards to let him, or something. But the longer he stared back, saying something felt more and more impossible, until he simply turned away and began to follow the drag of the body. He felt a little ill at his failure, then he felt a little vindicated; it’s not like Fluixon deserved kindness, then he felt guilty.
Except, the crunch of feet in sand somewhere behind him caused him to turn. Flux must have just followed him, and the guards, following close behind, let him.
It was a silent procession; by the time Saps and Flux got to the gravesite, they had already rolled the body, unceremoniously, into the grave below. Saps picked up a shovel and helped fill in the dirt. No one spoke as the body was buried.
Flux stood silently, eyes on Thomas’s face, and then, slowly, on where the dirt covering Thomas’s face was.
Eventually, as the light of the day began to dim, Sap patted down the top of the soil with his shovel, making it a little less loose, before picking up the rock and placing it into the middle of the now-packed-down earth.
No one had said a word the whole afternoon except quiet little “Here,” as shovels or water were passed between people, or “I’ll be right back” as people took a break. And the occasional hushed “Thanks” between the people burying the body.
The walk back to the camp was equally silent.
In fact, Saps realized that Fluixon hadn’t spoken to him at all, the entire time. He realized the last time Fluixon spoke to him was years ago, when he’d smiled, placed a hand on his shoulder, saying: "You go, don’t worry, we’ll finish up here for you." He hadn’t been there when the trap went off, and he had been notably missing from Saparata’s trial. Saps hadn’t gotten close enough to him in the battle for them to speak. No, they hadn’t spoken since Saps still thought they were friends; they hadn’t spoken since Fluixon betrayed him.
Saps was in a foul mood by the time they reached camp.
A couple of soldiers from the Cass Coalition were making dinner, and the person Saps knew met him towards the edge of the camp.
“We’ve finished constructing a cell; a couple of us spent the last two hours in it trying everything they could think of to get out. I think it will hold, at least overnight. Tomorrow I want to add a few things to it, lava underneath, things like that.”
The thought made Saparata's stomach twist a little, “No, just a normal sturdy cell should be good, thank you so much for your help.
The cell had been built in conjunction with Saps' house. They had seemed nervous to show him, and as they walked through his house, Saps realized why. They hadn’t only added a cell behind the meeting room, they had also removed the drip stone and cleaned the blood stains. His ceiling looked normal, fixed, and the chairs that had been punctured had been replaced. It looked like nothing had ever happened.
He stopped, just by what had been his chair, emotions overwhelming him, some good, some bad, some just weird, as if time could be done over so easily.
“Saps. . .” Whatever they were going to say, Saps cut off with a tight hug, hiding his face and ending the conversation all at once. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, any of it.
The cell looked normal, a little small, a little sparse, but normal. That was fine, he’d add a bed for Flux later.
They all agreed to spend one more night camping on the beach, and, in the morning, Fluixon would go to his cell, and the soldiers would go home and report the situation to their kingdoms.
Chatter was subdued and quiet that night as they ate. A few people brought Saparata up to date on what had happened in the rest of the world in the last month or so he’d been out here alone, updates from home, as well as from the other island.
“Yeah, Luminara is actually doing amazing, epicenter of trade because of their bridge, they probably profit the most off of inter-island trade,” one of the soldiers said offhandedly in the middle of a conversation about trade routes.
Saps snorted a little. He knew Fluixon was listening, sitting silent and listening, and he knew that that probably stung. They were doing better without him, and they were thriving because of all the things he feared and opposed, because of the things he was sure would be their doom. Because he was wrong.
Saps spent the rest of the evening in a great mood.