#Mace fisher | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 7: King Of Wishful Thinking]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, outdoor excursions, Trent being the Hulk, Sunfyre sightings, emotional outbursts, a late-night phone call, a wild traumatic backstory appears! Also I have bronchitis and wrote this while very heavily medicated, in my Aegon Era you could say.

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

When you return from helping to deliver a calf on Mr. Campbell’s reindeer farm, you find Aegon in the vet clinic lobby. He is squaring up with Jennifer; the heap of twenty-dollar bills he stacks on the counter are crisp and uncrumpled, very much unlike his usual currency. He counts until he gets to $300 and then tucks his thin, tattered wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s wearing half of his hair in a man bun again, along with his long-sleeve shirt that’s striped with black and white: night and stars, ink and snow. He startles when he turns to leave and sees you.

“How did you get that?”

“I told you,” Aegon says. “I sold a kidney. The slicing part was unpleasant, but I feel so much lighter now.”

“No, really.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. He seems mostly sober. “I pawned something.”

“Pawned what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“It honestly doesn’t.”

“What do you own that’s worth that much…?” You glance through the window. His green Nova is straddling two spaces in the parking lot, illuminated by dim melancholy streetlights. If it wasn’t the car, what was it? What the hell was it?

Aegon holds his hands open, empty. “You wanted me to pay you back. Now you’re mad that I paid you back. I don’t know how to win with you, Appletini.”

The words themselves are irritated, he should sound irritated; but he just sounds sad. A heavy quilt of silence settles over the lobby. Your gaze is tangled up in his: blue, oceanic, mottled like a bruise. Jen watches from behind the front desk with huge, zooming eyes. She clears her throat to get your attention. Bear mace! she mouths, pointing at your purse.

You shake off your paralysis. “I’m sorry,” you tell Aegon. “Thanks for the money.”

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “Do you want to get a drink or something? Maybe talk…about…things…?”

“No. I’m covered in reindeer placenta.”

“Fine.” He blows by you, yanks open the front door, and is gone before you can take it back.

What’s there to talk about? you think, trying to convince yourself that you made the right decision. He’s still with Kimmie, I’m still with Trent, his time in Juneau is still ticking down towards zero. And yet, as his Nova swerves out of the parking lot, you feel an ache in your bones like a fracture.

“You okay?” Jen asks.

“Yeah. Can I get that $300?”

Confused but ever-compliant, Jen hands you the $300 in twenties.

“Do I have any more appointments this afternoon?”

“No, Ms. Flynn just called to reschedule Hyacinth’s yearly checkup.”

Oh yes, Hyacinth the semi-tamed opossum. Not your favorite client. “Perfect. Let’s close up a little early. I need to go home and scrub the blood out of my hair.”

In the midst of the steam and the pounding rainfall of the shower, you turn it over and over again in your mind: What did he pawn? What did he risk losing to pay me back? Reindeer blood, viscous and lifegiving, turns the soap bubbles dark pink as they are sucked down the drain. It’s not until you step out onto the bathmat and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the fogged mirror—of the foamy white flecks of soap still dappling your throat like pearls—that you remember the gold chain necklace Aegon wore to Thanksgiving dinner.

$300? you think doubtfully. A pawn shop will only loan someone a portion of the value of the item they hold as collateral, rarely more than half. Usually much less. Is that chain worth $600, $800, $1,000? Maybe. If it’s real gold. You don’t want to imagine how Aegon ended up with something like that. There’s no honorable answer. You throw on jeans and a chunky royal blue sweater and head out to your Jeep Cherokee.

There is only one pawn shop in Juneau, which makes things easy. You arrive ten minutes before closing time. Sure enough, store owner Mark Morehouse confirms your hypothesis: a peculiar white-haired out-of-towner showed up earlier today, offered a gold chain, received cash in return.

“But I didn’t give him $300,” Mark says. “I gave him $500.”

“$500?!” you exclaim. “You really think that necklace is worth a grand?”

“A couple grand, more likely. Haven’t gotten a proper appraisal yet.”

“Well…” You count every last cent of cash you have in your purse. The cannister of bear mace clatters as you dig through gum wrappers, pens, tissues, strawberry Creme Savers, crinkled receipts. “I can give you $410 now and a solemn vow to settle the balance later. Plus interest, of course.”

Indisputably, it is a breach of pawn shop ethics to let one customer walk out with another’s collateral before they’ve had adequate opportunity to pay back the loan. But Mark grew up with your parents, just like Dale did, and Heather’s parents, and Joyce’s parents, and half of your vet clinic clients, on and on until Juneau feels less like a city than an inescapably embroiled web. Everybody knows everybody…though not well enough to recognize the face of a killer. You explain to Mark that the white-haired out-of-towner is in fact a friend, and one that you are trying to do a favor for. He gives you the gold chain necklace in exchange for your cash and your word. It’s worth a lot around here. Vince and Debbie are good, honest people; surely their daughter must be too.

“Be careful,” Mark calls after you as you depart. “Until they catch that murderer, you shouldn’t be running around town alone after dark. And you definitely shouldn’t be getting too cozy with strangers.”

“Aegon’s not a stranger,” you say, smiling a little as you linger in the doorway. “Not anymore.”

Once you’re back in your Jeep, you turn on the heat and the interior light and inspect the chain more closely. It definitely feels expensive: heavy, flawless, golden links that are smooth like butter when you thread them between your fingers. On the long rectangular clasp, you find this engraved in artful cursive letters:

Happy birthday, dearest Aegon!

You flip the clasp over. There are three more words on the back, accompanied by—however bizarrely—a tiny praying mantis.

Much love, Helaena

“Helaena?” you say to no one as your Jeep idles outside the pawn shop. “Who the fuck is Helaena?!”

You have no right to be jealous, and yet you can feel the dark green poison of it growing into you like ivy: needling through joints, cracking bones, drinking up rust-scarlet marrow. You hate how much you want him. You hate that so many people on this planet carry pieces of him that you will never know. You shift your Jeep into drive and glide through the night towards his apartment building.

You shouldn’t go up there, you tell yourself as you park under a streetlight. He might be busy. He might not be alone. He might be with Kimmie.

But maybe that’s what part of you is hoping for. Maybe you’re looking for a chance to interrupt them, to stop them, to work up the courage to tell Kimmie the truth. She would listen if you told her, you believe that wholeheartedly; Kimmie has never been malicious, only self-involved, only shallow in a way that can be frustrating but also somehow pure. You always know exactly what Kimmie’s intentions are. She is as clear as still water, as glass.

As it turns out, Aegon is alone in his apartment. When you turn the spare key he gave you in the lock and open the front door, you find him sprawled on the couch and three rum and Cokes deep. He’s watching reruns of the X-Files. He yelps in surprise, flails, rolls onto the floor with a loud thud.

“Hi,” you say. Sunfyre frolics over to greet you, barking gleefully. You stroke his silky amber fur and scratch his ears, admiring the neat faint line of the scar on his muzzle. It was excellent suturing, you have to admit to yourself. It was a job well done.

“Jesus Christ, I thought you might be…” Aegon shakes his head as he lurches to his feet. “Never mind.”

“Kimmie?”

“No. Kimmie wouldn’t break and enter. And she doesn’t have a key.”

You stare at each other across the sparce room, silent except for the X-Files, the clacking of Sunfyre’s nails on the hardwood floor, the swishing of his tail. Then you toss Aegon the necklace. He grabs it out of the air, the shock blatant on his face. “You lied again.”

“About what?” he says, puzzled.

“You are married.”

Aegon remembers the engraving and then chuckles in relief. “Helaena’s not my wife. She’s my sister.”

“Oh.” This is interesting. This is a rare divulgence; you don’t intend to waste it. “Older or younger?”

“Younger.”

“Is Helaena your only sibling?”

“Too many questions.” He holds up the necklace. “Why did you pay to get this back?”

“I decided I didn’t want your money. You don’t seem to have an abundance of it, and I wouldn’t want to deprive you and Sunfyre of anything. Food. Rent. Condoms. Rum and Cokes.”

“That’s very thoughtful. My nonexistent illegitimate children send their regards.” He considers you. “I can’t give you the rest of the $500 yet. I don’t have it on me anymore.”

“Forget about the money. You need it far more than I do.”

He seems to find this amusing, though you aren’t sure why. “That’s fair, I guess.”

“Why do you hate Microsoft so much?”

Aegon is taken aback; he wasn’t expecting that. He finds his footing. “With computers and the internet, there are no more secrets, no more mysteries. I think the world is a more interesting place when you still have room to wonder. You shouldn’t be able to get all the answers to life’s thorniest predicaments from a cold white screen. You should have to go out and find them yourself. You should have to pay sweat and blood for them.”

“How contrarian. Self-righteous, even.”

He smiles. “That’s the Aquarius in me.”

You smile back, unable to help it. “Are you coming tomorrow?” Tomorrow is Saturday, December 11th. Heather has planned a hiking excursion in the Tongass National Forest; it’s forecasted to be unseasonably warm, 40 degrees by noon, practically balmy by Alaskan standards. You’ll have a few hours of daylight to enjoy before sunset around 3 p.m. And since the Juneau Police Department is adamant that no one traverses the trails alone until the Ice Fisher is apprehended…a group outing is both a welcome excuse to socialize and the only sensible option.

“I don’t know.” Aegon is avoidant; he stuffs the chain necklace into his jeans pocket and reties his man bun. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I don’t not want you to go, but I also don’t want you to go. I don’t care, that’s what I mean. I have no preference.”

“Okay…?”

“I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to intrude, so I don’t want to go if you don’t want me there.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want you to go hiking, I’m just saying I also don’t not want you to go hiking.”

He sighs dramatically. “You are being remarkably unhelpful.”

“I’m sure Kimmie would like you to attend,” you jibe.

He throws up his hands, exasperated. “She probably would!”

“She hasn’t mentioned it?”

“Kimmie and I don’t do much…um…talking.”

You frown sullenly at the scuffed, dusty floor. “Awesome.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you and Trent have lots of profound conversations when you hang out,” Aegon snaps. “You talk about science and animals and Ricky Martin and travelling the world and he talks about…what? Commercial fishing? Godzilla?”

“Steak tacos, mostly.”

That’s supposed to be a joke, but no one laughs. You actually wince at it. Aegon swallows noisily. He starts to say something, stops, starts again, gives up. He comes to you and points to your left hand. “Do you mind?”

You offer it freely. He massages your hand until it is supple and relaxed, gently bends and flexes your fingers, and then runs his calloused fingerprints down the lines of your palm as he studies them. You feel it everywhere: a cool tingling that shoots up your forearm, a jolt down your spine, the quickening of your heartbeat, a fresh wave of longing that crashes into you like the ocean against rocks. Why do I still want this? Why can’t I, after everything that’s happened, just learn how to hate him?

Aegon smirks crookedly. “It says you want me to go hiking tomorrow.”

“Who am I to disagree with an illustrious Taco Bell medium?”

Aegon drops your hand. “Is Trent going?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

He nods. “I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Fine.”

You give Sunfyre a parting kiss on the top of his head and turn to go…but your eyes catch on the magnets that clutter Aegon’s refrigerator, the vestiges of cities and experiences and women that he’s collected like seashells from the types of beaches you’ve never been to.

San Diego, you think vaguely, wistfully, looking at the splashing dolphin magnet. That’s where he said his favorite beach is.

“…You alright?” Aegon asks tentatively, following your eyeline.

Not really. Not anymore. You leave without answering him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Truth or dare?” Kimmie asks, grinning from across the flames.

You’re gathered around a crackling campfire, sitting on stumps and felled logs; Trent rolled over an impressively massive one for you and him to share. Aegon is next to Kimmie, Joyce is next to Rob, and Heather is once again lamenting her awkward singleness. There’s snow on the ground, though it’s squishy and melting under the short-lived midday sun. There are hotdogs and marshmallows being roasted on sticks; bags of hotdog buns, graham crackers, and Hershey’s chocolate are passed around in a never-ending rotation. As far as drinks, mostly everyone is sticking to Surge and Snapple. Trent has had a few Heinekens. Aegon is pouring spiced rum from a Captain Morgan bottle into his half-drank cans of Coke. Heather’s battery-powered yellow Sony boombox is playing a Go West cassette tape. Their biggest hit, King Of Wishful Thinking, thrums through the forest of towering pine trees. Sunfyre—wearing a jacket and dog boots so snow doesn’t get impacted between his footpads—romps blissfully around the woods, eating fallen bits of hotdogs and graham crackers whenever the opportunity presents itself.

“Seriously?” Heather says. “Are we twelve years old? We’re not playing truth or dare.”

“Come on, please?” Kimmie presses her palms together as if in prayer, like she’s the patron saint of indecent party games. “It’ll be fun. It’ll be so fun.”

“I’m game,” Trent says.

“Me too!” Rob adds, gnawing on his fourth hotdog.

Joyce bites into a s’more, gooey chocolate-stained marshmallow oozing out from between the graham crackers. “I decline to participate.”

“You can’t decline,” Kimmie pouts. She peers around for inspiration, then spots the creek babbling a few yards away. She announces triumphantly: “You can only surrender!”

Joyce blinks at her. “Explain.”

“If anyone refuses to play, they have to dunk their face in the water for five seconds.”

“But it’s freezing cold!”

“You are a menace to civilized society,” Heather tells Kimmie. “You should be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Right next to Osama bin Laden.”

“Who?” Trent asks.

“He’s behind bombings of U.S. embassies in East Africa,” you explain. “Killed hundreds of people.”

Trent smiles at you proudly, drapes a heavy arm across your shoulders, pulls you in close and kisses your temple. “You’re too fucking smart, you know that?” You giggle dutifully but lean away from him, mortified. Aegon mixes more rum into his Coke can. “She’s so fly. I’m always learning new stuff from her.”

“Oh yeah? Getting some quality anatomy lessons?” Rob teases.

Trent brays out laughter and flips his hair. “Man, I wish. No anatomy lessons yet. But, you know…Christmas is right around the corner…it’s a very romantic time of year…maybe I’ll find her wrapped in a bow under a Christmas tree.”

“Please shut up immediately,” Heather says, disgusted. “You’re my brother. I don’t want to know about your sex life. I barely want to know about your non-sex-related life.” Aegon casts her a rare glance of approval, of gratitude. You can relate; you’re feeling pretty grateful too.

“So we’re playing truth or dare?” Kimmie prompts.

“I’m willing if everyone else is,” you say. Kimmie, ecstatic, leaps out of her seat and sprints around the campfire to hug you before returning to her log.

Aegon slurps on his unorthodox rum and Coke. “Same.”

Joyce groans. “Fine, I guess I’ll play.”

“Okay,” Heather relents. “If it will make you happy, Kimmie, then I’ll mentally transport myself back to the dark days of middle school and play this asinine game with you.”

“Yay!” Kimmie cheers. “Okay, I’ll start.” Her mischievous gaze travels around the circle. You try to appear inconspicuous by focusing your attention on your s’more. “Rob, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he says, sitting up straighter and grinning enthusiastically.

“Go lick a tree.”

You burst out laughing; this really is so middle school.

“A tree?” Rob says, already scoping out the selection.

“Yup. A tree. Any tree.”

Rob stands, plods through the snow to a monstrous pine tree, and takes a long, slow lick of the bark. Everyone applauds his commitment. He returns to sit beside Joyce, who gives him a smile so swift it’s almost imperceivable. Joyce likes to pretend she’s above silliness—and maybe she is most of the time—but she’s still human.

“So you choose the next victim,” Kimmie instructs Rob.

“Okay, let’s see…” He makes a great show of scrutinizing everyone else before coming back to Joyce. “Darling Joyce, truth or dare?”

“If you try to make me lick something, I’ll stab you with your own hotdog stick.”

Rob smiles placidly. “Does that mean you’re choosing dare?”

“Yeah, I’ll choose dare. Only because Heather thinks I wouldn’t.”

“I am shocked,” Heather says, deadpan. “My heart just stopped. Someone resuscitate me.”

Rob thinks, tapping his bearded chin. “Hmm. Okay, Joyce, I dare you to stand on this log and serenade us with the entire Friends theme song.”

“No,” Joyce gasps, horrified.

“She can’t,” Heather says. “She’s allergic to fun and spontaneity.”

“I’ll do it,” Joyce huffs. She balances on top of the log and sings—even managing a few reluctant dance moves—while the rest of you clap at the appropriate moments: “So no one told you life was going to be this way…your job’s a joke, you’re broke, you’re love life’s DOA…”

“Who do you choose, Joyce?” Kimmie asks when the song has ended.

“Heather, obviously.” She is delighted, anticipating revenge. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Heather says primly, winking as she sips her can of Surge.

“You bitch! Who’s allergic to fun now?!”

“So ask me a fun question.”

Joyce sighs in defeat. “What are the five best books you’ve ever read?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I need new reading material…!”

Next, Heather dares Kimmie to get a Sharpie tattoo drawn on her face—producing a black marker from her hiking backpack—though she gives Kimmie the generous courtesy of choosing the artist herself. Kimmie asks Aegon to do it. He sketches a cartoonish little dragon on her right cheek. He’s wearing all black again: black parka, black turtleneck, black jeans, black combat boots. You pet Sunfyre while Aegon draws on Kimmie’s cheek with his right hand, holding her face still with his left. You hate seeing him touch her. The blood burns in your own face, in your throat, in your lungs, all over.

“It’s getting warm by the fire,” you say casually, and start taking off your parka; you still have a turquoise sweater and white thermal T-shirt on underneath.

“Here, let me help you…” Trent reaches over and tugs at your parka, his large hands forceful and intrusive somehow.

“I got it.”

“Just let me—”

“Trent, I got it!” you insist. He lifts his hands away in capitulation. Aegon has stopped drawing Kimmie’s dragon and is watching Trent, who fortunately doesn’t seem very offended. You finish taking off your parka and fold it up neatly, setting it beside you on the log. Sunfyre whimpers until you resume petting him. There is an uncomfortable lull; Joyce assembles another s’more, Heather pretends to inspect her chipping nail polish, the hotdog Rob is roasting catches on fire and he flings it into a snowbank. Aegon looks back to Kimmie and finishes her dragon, tucking the Sharpie absentmindedly into his jeans pocket once he’s done.

“Trent,” Kimmie says. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare, totally!”

“Hmm…” She wordlessly deliberates. “Oh, I know! I dare you to make out with the most beautiful girl here.” She beams, sweetly, innocuously. She thinks she’s giving you a compliment. Aegon’s jaw falls open and he glares at her, furious. Before Kimmie can notice, he clears his face and takes a swig of rum straight from the bottle.

Trent chuckles. “Easiest dare I’ve ever agreed to.” And then he turns towards you.

“Wait, right now?” you say nervously. “In front of everybody?”

“Or Trent can always dunk his face in the creek,” Heather suggests. Joyce nods along.

“Not necessary at all,” Trent replies cheerfully. “Right, babe?”

What can you say?

No, you think abruptly, jarringly. I don’t want him to touch me. I could say no.

But there’s something that stops you from refusing…or, more accurately, several things. Firstly, you can’t really refuse without making it evident to everyone that you are less than smitten with Trent. Secondly, if you’re going to be forced to watch Aegon have his hands all over Kimmie, the least you can do in return is stop pushing Trent’s away. And lastly…

I don’t want to make Trent angry. I don’t know what he’s capable of when he’s angry.

You can’t bring yourself to believe that Trent is a serial killer, his size 12 L.L.Bean boots notwithstanding; in your estimation, he lacks the brutality, the cunningness, the strategic thinking. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of hurting someone. That doesn’t mean you have no reasons to fear him.

“Okay,” you tell Trent, conjuring up a timid smile. “But, like, thirty seconds tops. PG-13, not R.”

“You got it.” He flips his hair off his forehead, grips your face rather roughly, and kisses you. His lips are soft and warm, but ravenously hungry; his tongue pushes into your mouth and explores you like a conqueror. He doesn’t try to feel you up—thank God—but one hand drops down to slink around your waist. You try to act like you’re enjoying this; but when Trent finally pulls away, your expression is palpably ashamed. You chug half a can of Surge to wash him out of you.

“Aww, no, she’s embarrassed!” Kimmie cries. She rushes over and squeezes in beside you on the edge of the log, constricting you in a familiar and theatrical embrace, stroking your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You can’t help but feel better. Kimmie has no boundaries, that’s true, but it’s not universally a bad thing. Aegon takes another swallow of his rum. He looks shellshocked; he looks despondent.

“My turn to pick someone now, right?” Trent says.

“Right,” Kimmie concurs.

“Babe,” he says to you. “Truth or dare?”

“Oh, definitely truth.” Everyone laughs…well, everyone except Aegon. He’s watching you now, chewing the corner of his bottom lip. His eyes are intense, dark, seeking. His wayward lock of white-blond hair rests on his cheek.

Trent asks you: “What is your ultimate fantasy?”

“Stop!” Heather begs her brother. “Stop being so…so…so slutty!”

“He didn’t say sexual fantasy,” Joyce counters. “She could tell us that her ultimate fantasy is moving to Los Angeles and becoming a vet to celebrities. She could work on those tiny purse dogs all day. Maybe she could even meet Ricky Martin.”

“Yeah,” Trent agrees, though perhaps halfheartedly. “Whatever kind of fantasy.”

You ponder this for a while before you speak. “I want to lie on the beach in San Diego, California. I want to hear the waves crashing and feel the sun beating down on me. And I want to throw fish to the sea lions and watch them waddle around, barking like dogs. That’s my fantasy. Oh, and I want to eat like a million tacos. Not Taco Bell tacos, real tacos.”

“Okay, but Ricky Martin would be there too, right?” Rob jokes, eliciting laughter from everyone except Aegon.

“Naked,” Joyce adds.

“Sure.” You smile a little pensively, a little mournfully. “Why not? Ricky Martin can be there too. It’s just a fantasy, after all. It’s not real.”

“Why haven’t you gone there yet, babe?” Trent asks sympathetically, scoring himself several good boyfriend points.

“Well, you know…there’s the vet clinic…and my family…the timing has just never been right.”

“You’ll go to San Diego one day,” Heather promises.

Kimmie nuzzles against you, resting her head on your shoulder. “She hasn’t gone yet because she’s a mature, responsible person, truly the best of us.”

“Because she’s a coward,” Aegon mutters.

Everyone goes quiet and stares at him. Aegon looks stunned, like he hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Sunfyre snorts and canters off into the woods.

“What?” you say.

Aegon shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“No, really. What did you just say?”

Rob tries to broker a peace. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does matter.” Your voice is dark like night, cutting like glass. “You think it’s cowardly to have responsibilities? You think it’s cowardly to care about other people?”

Aegon gulps down more rum and glares at you through the campfire flames. “I think it’s cowardly to blame other people for your lack of a spine, yeah.”

“Aegon!” Kimmie scolds harshly, incredulously.

Trent begins: “Hey, man, not cool—”

“You know what’s really cowardly?” you level at Aegon like the barrel of a gun. “Spending your entire life running away from things—things that are worthwhile, things that you want, things that you are desperate for—because you’re too fucking weak to cope with the possibility of losing them.”

And then you stand, tearing away from Kimmie and Trent when they try to stop you. You flee into the trees, scalding tears brimming in your eyes. Branches rip at you; one carves a shallow gash across your cheek just below your left eye. Snow collapses under your boots.

Faintly, you can hear Aegon saying to the others: “I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll apologize.” And a few moments later, rapidly approaching: “Hey! Stop! Hey!”

“Leave me alone!” you scream over your shoulder. You run until you trip over a gnarled tree root and fall to the ground, sobbing, wet, cold, miserable.

Aegon catches up to you and bends over, gasping for air, his hands on his knees. Even from several feet away, you can smell the rum sweating out of him. “Are you psychotic?! You can’t just run off into the woods by yourself, there’s a killer on the loose!”

“Like you’d care if I got murdered!” you shout up at him. “It’d be the best day of your life, then you’d be free to fuck whoever you want and drink yourself to death without the inconvenience of having to be around me, boring, uptight, accountable, revoltingly cowardly me—!”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid—”

“Why are you even still here?! You could be jetting off to some other city, some other new adventure, you could leave anytime you wanted, so why if you hate me so much are you still here?!”

“Because I’m stuck here now!” he roars.

That doesn’t make any sense. That’s incompatible with absolutely everything about him. “Why?!”

He stands up straight and rubs his face with both hands. He’s calmer now; he’s trying to compose himself. His eyes are glistening, you realize. His cheeks are flushed. “Because of the Ice Fisher.”

“What are you talking about?”

He struggles to get it out. “I can’t leave…you…here…alone…until they catch whoever the killer is.”

You gaze up at him, not understanding. “Why do you care about what happens to me?”

“I think the answer to that is really obvious.”

“No, it’s not, because you don’t like me, you don’t respect me, you don’t want me—”

“I want you all the time,” Aegon says, and the feverish words in your throat vanish. “All the time. I pass out at night wanting you, I wake up hungover wanting you, I want you all the fucking time. I want you in the vet clinic, I want you in the bar, I want you in my apartment, I want you in the middle of the woods, I never for a single solitary goddamn second stop wanting you, and it’s hell, in case you’re wondering. But that’s not good enough for you. So now I’m the idiot. I’m never the one who gets left. I’m the one who leaves people, I’m the one who packs my bags in the middle of the night and catches a flight to the next city, I’m the one who runs away. It’s always me. But I showed you who I am and you couldn’t leave fast enough.”

Oh god, you realize. I can’t stop forgiving him. I can’t stop wanting him. I love him, I love him, I love him. “I wasn’t leaving you, Aegon. I was trying to fix you.”

“I’m not fixable!”

“But why?”

“I’m just not, I never have been, I’m never going to be. I can’t magically transform myself into the person you wish I was. Believe me, I would if I could, but I can’t. And I can’t stay here forever. I’m on a clock, I’m always on a goddamn clock. I’m just hoping they arrest the Ice Fisher before…before…” He trails off, staring vacantly into the wilderness.

“Before what?”

He says nothing. You haul yourself out of the snow and go to him. “Your face…” he whispers, touching the cut just beneath your eye.

“Before what, Aegon?” you ask, you plead. “I want to help you. I want to understand. What are you so afraid of? What is it? What the hell is it?”

He takes several steps away from you, looks down at his boots, stays that way for what feels like forever. “Okay,” he begins at last, his voice shaking.

Oh my god, he’s finally going to tell me. He really is. You brace yourself for the inevitable: he’s married, he’s a father, he’s being pursued by drug lords he’s indebted to, he’s a criminal, he’s a con artist, he’s a killer.

“My dad was the first investor in Microsoft.”

Your mind goes blank like a chalkboard wiped clean. “Microsoft…the…the company that’s worth $600 billion…?”

“Yeah. That one.” He gestures randomly. “My dad is a venture capitalist. So he owns equity stakes in a bunch of different businesses. When Bill Gates was just starting out, he and his partners needed money, so my dad invested and they gave him equity in return. A healthy slice of equity, because they weren’t worth anything yet. And so…as the company grew…”

“Wait, you’re a…?” You gawk at him. “You’re a…billionaire?!”

“Not me,” Aegon says. “Them! They’re the billionaires. Not me. I’m just a guy.”

“You are them, Aegon, because you’re the same people, you’re…you’re…”

“No, I’m not, because I left. I left when I was nineteen and I’ve never been back since. That was six years ago. Almost exactly six years ago.”

“You grew up in Miami,” you say, your voice sounding very far away.

“Yeah. Gorgeous mansion on the ocean, boarding schools, yachts, golfing, parties with lobster and prime rib, all of it.”

“And you left…because…?”

“Because I was the oldest son and the heir to the empire, and I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to live in a suit, I didn’t want to stare at a screen all day, I didn’t want to spend my life scheming, counting, networking, grasping. And I was no good at anything. I was an abject failure by any possible metric, and everyone knew it. All I ever wanted to do was work outside where I could see the sun and the stars, drink, get high, play guitar and sing punk rock songs. All I wanted to do was live. So I left. There’s more to it than that—a lot more to it—but now you know where I came from. I’ve never told anybody that. Not once in the last six years.”

“You don’t talk to anyone from Miami? Ever? No letters, postcards, phone calls, nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t ever miss your family?”

He smiles grimly. “I’m glad that you’ve lived the kind of life that makes it next to impossible for you to comprehend why someone would want to run away from home and never look back. Really, I’m genuinely happy for you. But that’s just not my reality.”

The revelation hits you like a fist. “They’re still searching for you.”

Aegon nods. “One of them in particular.”

“Helaena?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t want to tell you that.” He glances at your cut again and shudders. “I don’t know how he’s finding me. But he is. I’ve seen him twice.”

“Twice? Since you left home…?”

“He didn’t see me, but I saw him. From a distance both times. Once in Phoenix, once in San Francisco. Both around the six month mark. If I stay too long in one place, he finds me. And if he ever gets ahold of me, I won’t be able to stop him from dragging me back home. Nothing on earth can stop him when he wants something.”

“How can you be so sure it was him?” you say. “If it was from far away, maybe you were just imagining it…maybe you saw someone who looked kind of like him, and because you’re so afraid of being found you thought it was him, but it wasn’t really—”

“He’s very distinct looking. Very, very distinct looking. There’s no mistaking him.” Aegon picks up a handful of clean snow, takes a small clump of it between his fingers, wipes the length of your cut with it gently, carefully. It soothes the stinging. It cools the roaring blood in your face. “Every year there are less and less people without internet. If someone Googles my last name, my family is the first result that pops up. Articles about my father’s success, my mother’s grace and beauty and philanthropy, the socialite daughter, the degenerate eldest son. One day there will be nowhere left to hide.”

“You never tried to change your name?”

“To legally change my name, I’d have to publish a public announcement so creditors—or anyone else—can come forward and object to it if they have a reason. The media would pick it up. There would be headlines, news commentators, maybe even court hearings. My family would find out, and they would come get me.”

“They’re that determined? They’re that capable?”

“One of them, yes.”

“You can’t stay in Juneau,” you say, your voice splintering like thin ice.

“No, I can’t. Not forever. But hopefully long enough make sure you’ll be safe once I’m gone.”

You look at him. “Do you have any idea who the Ice Fisher could be?”

He shrugs, like if he ignores the possibility he can make it disappear. “Not really. I guess…I guess have one person I’m concerned about. I don’t really think it’s him, I can’t bring myself to believe that, I never thought he was capable of violence before, but now…now…something about him worries me. It keeps me awake at night.” He pauses. “It scares the hell out of me, because he’s so close to you.”

Trent. He means Trent. And I can’t disagree. “I don’t know what to do about him.”

“Don’t make him angry,” Aegon says urgently. “I’m not saying you have to do anything with him that you don’t want to, no, he doesn’t own you, he shouldn’t bully you into anything. I’m just saying to avoid confrontations. And try not to be alone with him.”

“I understand. I won’t make him angry.”

Aegon takes the Sharpie out of his pocket. “Here. Give me your arm.” You do so without any hesitation. He considers your left palm, then decides against it: too noticeable, too easy to get smudged. He pushes your sleeve up to your elbow and writes a phone number across the soft skin of your forearm in black ink. “This is for if he ever tries to do anything that you’re not cool with. Or if you just need to talk. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

He puts the cap on the Sharpie and tucks it away again. Out of the trees appears Sunfyre, panting and jubilant to see you both. He accepts pats and scratches and then heads back towards the campfire. You and Aegon follow him, walking close enough to touch each other but not daring to.

“You’re alive!” Heather rejoices when she sees you. And then she glowers at Aegon. “Get over here. I’m going to gut you like a deer, Greek boy.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “We talked, we’re friends again, everything’s good.”

“Really?” Kimmie asks hopefully.

“Yup,” Aegon says, standing beside her but making no eye contact.

“You better be.” Trent grins, hugs you—lifting you clear off the ground—and then notices where the branch gashed your cheek. “What happened to your face, babe?”

“Just a tree. I ran into it, it’s my fault. I can clean it up when I get home.”

“That’s the great thing about being a doctor,” Trent says brightly. “Even an animal doctor. You can fix almost anything yourself.”

You glance at Aegon, heavy with a steely grey fog like grief. “Yes. Almost anything.”

You ride home the same way you arrived to the hiking expedition, with Trent and Heather; Aegon and Sunfyre leave in Kimmie’s pink Land Cruiser. When you get inside, the first thing you do is write down Aegon’s phone number on a Post-it note and stick it inside the top drawer of your nightstand. You shower, tend to your shallow cut—“not too bad, ladybug,” your dad offers supportively, “not too bad at all”—and help your mom make dinner: reindeer sausage from Mr. Campbell’s farm, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, broccolini, homemade chocolate bread for dessert. Not quite prime rib and lobster, you think dazedly, your mind swimming.

Hours later, as you lay in bed gazing up at your ceiling, you can’t stop hearing what Aegon said, his voice deep and raw and achingly beautiful. I want you all the time. I never for a single solitary goddamn second stop wanting you.

You get out the Post-it note, pick up the phone on top of your nightstand, dial the number for Aegon’s shabby little apartment on the other side of Juneau. He answers almost immediately. He’s very tipsy, but alert.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” you say softly, and only silence follows. You wring the phone’s blue spiral cord between restless fingers. “It’s—”

“I know who it is.” Now you can hear that he’s smiling. “What can I do for you, Appletini?”

“Tell me about San Diego.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” you say. And then again: “Everything.”

And that’s exactly what he does: he paints a vision with his words, he tells you about driving through the Mars-red canyons and peaks of the Laguna Mountains until you crest the top and see the Pacific Ocean, endless and sapphire blue and glittering under sunlight that bakes the shadows from your bones. He tells you about the surfers, the dolphins, the cliffsides, the sea lions, the sailboats, the hot air balloons and kites and parasailers, the historic district of the city that still remembers its origins as a Spanish fort and mission. You can almost see it; you can almost reach out and touch it.

You listen to Aegon until you fall asleep, the phone tumbling out of your grasp and onto the pillow beside you; and even then, your dreams are filled with him.

#aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii

283 notes · View notes