Chapter 10 - Memories, or a lack thereof

Posted on https://books.clockworkcaracal.com/dragons-heart/old-beginnings/ch10 - if you aren't there, this is a pirated copy!

Fang didn't exactly make maneuvering the trolley look easy, but he certainly was making better time than Cyan had ever managed, even with the rain. It wasn't the kind of activity that lent itself well to holding a conversation, though, so the first part of the trip passed in relative quiet.

At the second intersection, while they waited for enough of a break or at least slow-down in the traffic to get through, Cyan glanced sidelong at Fang - only to realize that Fang was doing the same towards him, which startled him into a laugh.

"Hm?" Fang looked at him properly, pretending he hadn't just been looking in what would've been totally convincing if Cyan hadn't just caught him in the act.

"Nothing." He smiled broadly. "Nothing at all."

"Really?" Fang looked less than convinced.

"Watch the road, Fang, or we'll never make it across."

"...Really?" That time, there was no doubtful note to the question, just a sharp challenge with a matching grin. "You want to get across the road, do you?"

"That is the idea," Cyan agreed, suddenly wary. "What are you--"

"Okay, you push for a few minutes." And with that, Fang took one step back, then launched himself forward, up off the handlebar - and directly into traffic.

"Oh my god." Cyan clamped his hands over his eyes as the traffic devolved into screeching tires and honking horns.

As that wasn't met by the sounds of crunching metal, shattering glass, or screams (just loud swears), he peeked through his fingers.

Fang was on the hood of a truck, casually sliding off into the street with an apologetic wave to the driver that Cyan did not believe for an instant. The traffic both ways had ground to a complete halt, with a few drivers going so far as to roll down their windows and shout obscenities at Fang and each other.

A few other pedestrians trying to cross the same street immediately identified the near-accident as an opportunity, stepping down off the sidewalks and weaving their way through the stand-still.

"He's insane," Cyan muttered - but he did want to get across the street, and even if the moment had been the result of Fang taking suicidal risks, it was a perfect opportunity to get across. Trying to pretend he didn't know the crazy person who had just jumped into traffic, he closed the umbrella, sticking it under a strap holding down the crates, and quickly pushed the trolley between the vehicles, making a few uncomfortably sharp turns (because the abruptly-halted trucks weren't even remotely lined up neatly) before finally hoisting it up on the far side.

Debating the situation for a moment as he caught his breath, Cyan decided the best course of action here was keep going. If Fang wanted to catch up, he was totally capable of it, and Cyan didn't want to draw any more attention to himself while still in the business district than he already had.

Than Fang already had. Cyan hadn't done any of it.

Cyan continued towards the edge of the district for a few minutes before a hand appeared on the trolley's handle, accompanied by the rest of Fang.

Cyan turned to him, intent on telling him just how stupid and dangerous that stunt had been, but the angry outburst fizzled out almost instantly. Fang was smiling - grinning, really - with the cheerful self-satisfaction of a large, enthusiastic puppy who'd just successfully fetched a ball.

It reminded him abruptly of another moment, decades back - they'd been trying to catch a bus, but it started pulling away from the stop while they were still some distance away.

Derek - Fang - had suddenly sprinted down the sidewalk, launched himself at the door and slammed a kick into it hard enough that the folding hinge had opened inwards, forcing the bus to slam on its brakes and stop.

Cyan had made it onto the bus, of course, while the driver had verbally laid into Derek, and he vividly remembered the feeling - the exact same mix of being utterly mortified and strangely charmed.

That's right. Cyan found himself smiling back, albeit weakly. This is why I liked him so much.

"Let's save that particular method of crossing the street for special occasions, okay?" Cyan said, the suggestion coming out one part exasperated, one part sardonic, and with an unintended dash of affection.

"If you say so." Fang's cheer was undaunted as he took over the trolley again. "It got us across, though."

Cyan cast an imploring look at the sky. "I'm trying to avoid attention, you know. I would've thought someone in your line of work would understand."

"In my line of work?" Fang raised his eyebrows, looking mischievous. "And what would that be?"

"I assume you'd know that better than me." Cyan returned the look with his best deadpan expression. "Unless you have one of those jobs that's so secret even you don't know what it is."

"Maybe I do. Or maybe I just want you to think I do, because it sounds cool, and you'd never know the difference."

"You're not supposed to tell me you're pretending to be a secret agent," Cyan protested, struggling not to break into a smile.

"Oh yeah? I dunno, my strategy seems to be working pretty well so far. Although..." Fang trailed off, looking thoughtful. "Now that I've told you, you have to swear yourself to secrecy."

"Pff. All right." Cyan placed a hand over his heart, playing up the drama. "I solemnly swear to never reveal your secret identity of not being a secret agent."

"Your discretion is appreciated," Fang replied solemnly, then ruined the moment by sneezing. "Ah, the rain is starting to get to me."

"I told you I could do it," Cyan grumbled. "If you get sick, it's not my fault."

"I won't get sick," Fang reassured him. "... Probably."

They lapsed back into silence for a while, Cyan pulling his own hood tighter against the increasing chill as the sun set with no fanfare and not much notice. The drizzle had grown into a steady light rain, which Cyan was doing his best to protect both himself and Fang from with the one umbrella. The sidewalks had smoothed out as they left the business district, back into the battered but reasonably maintained state he was familiar with, and the easier walk combined with the patter of rain lulled Cyan into an almost meditative calm.

"We know each other, don't we?"

The question caught Cyan by surprise as he looked quickly over. Fang was still focused on steering the trolley; if Cyan had been slightly less confident in his ears, he might've questioned whether the other man had said anything at all.

He mulled over it for a few paces, weighing the possibilities of why Fang had asked against the potential consequences of giving a "wrong" answer.

"You don't sound so certain," he finally replied, carefully.

That got Fang to look at him, at least, with a half-hearted smile. "Complicated relationship with remembering things, remember?"

"Ah." Cyan studied him. "We knew each other," he admits after a moment. "Several decades ago."

"Adrien?"

"That was me." Cyan smiled a little, although it felt strained. "When did you figure it out?"

"I didn't exactly figure it out." Fang paused, and it wasn't clear for a moment if he was thinking through his next words or he was going to just stop there. "But I... remembered some things, later on in the day. After the stalker joke."

"Aha, and hence, the weird face." The information made Cyan feel strangely comforted - he hadn't actually made an enormous mistake and chased off the man he insisted he wasn't interested in. In fact, it sounded as though he'd managed to do almost exactly what he'd been attempting to with the callback - albeit more belatedly than he'd expected.

"It wasn't that weird a face," Fang protested. "...Was it?"

"Not really." Cyan wrinkled his nose. "But 'the mildly distracted and uncomfortable face' doesn't really roll off the tongue, you know?"

Fang coughed, badly disguising a laugh, which quickly turned into another sneeze. "You got me there. On another note, how far until your shop from here?"

"It's not that far, but not exactly close." Cyan looked around, mentally identifying a few landmarks. "At least half an hour, if we keep moving."

"I don't think I've ever looked forward to being inside this much in my life," Fang groaned.

"I did say--"

"I know, I know, you could handle it yourself. But the knowledge I've saved you from this torture is all that's keeping me going." Fang grinned, giving Cyan a wink.

Cyan felt his cheeks flush and took a moment to be glad it was so dark, especially under the umbrella. "Good, because that's all you're going to get out of it."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Oh?" Cyan raised his eyebrows - not that Fang could see that very well, either.

"Pretty sure I'll be getting a cold, too," he laughed. "My crew's going to throw a fit."

"Oh no," Cyan deadpanned, "a cold. How could anyone have seen that coming."

"What, jealous? I can share; a few carefully aimed sneezes--"

"Please don't."

Fang laughed again; despite the context, Cyan found himself grinning as well.

"All right, all right," Fang said, "I'll be good. Let's see how fast I can get out of this rain."

"Hi-yo, Silver, as the saying goes."

Fang immediately picked up the pace, setting off down the street at what Cyan would consider dangerous speeds and sending what few other pedestrians that happened to be on the same sidewalk scattering to the sides with varying levels of swears. Cyan himself was almost pushed to a jog, right at that awkward point where he couldn't keep up at a fast walk and kept having to do little jog-skips every dozen feet or so to close the gap.

Keeping up with Fang and avoiding stepping into puddles took most of his attention, leaving not much left for any further conversation or even musing on the conversation they'd had. One of his lingering questions had been resolved, at least.

Fang had forgotten him, sort of. He'd also remembered him - again, sort of. But it seemed like there was more going on with that than just the unfortunate end to their former relationship and how important (or unimportant) it had been.

It could be some sort of ploy to deflect from the truth. Cyan had been around long enough to know all the ways a person could lie. But... But. All of his instincts, all of his past experience with Fang's personality told him otherwise. Fang might be impulsive, reckless, and unreliable, but lying had never been one of his strengths. It was much more like him to just avoid saying things in the first place.

Cyan was taking a moment's breather as they waited for the traffic light, pondering what it might mean that Fang had admitted to this supposed memory issue - skirting the edges of it, yes, but still bringing it up of his own accord - when he realized they were only a block from the shop.

"Oh! Fang." He tapped the other man on the shoulder. "Turn left after we cross; my place is just around the corner."

Fang muttered something that Cyan couldn't quite make out, but his tone of voice sounded relieved. "Is there a back door?"

"Only to get upstairs. This goes in the back room and there's no way we're going to haul it up and back down two flights of stairs to do that."

"You don't have to convince me." The light changed just then and Fang took off - as fast as one can while pushing a large loading trolley.

Cyan trotted after, keeping close with the umbrella as they quickly covered the last few hundred meters.

"Right here," Cyan called out, stopping to unlock the door.

Fang stopped as well, overshooting the door a little from momentum before backing the trolley up and maneuvering it inside.

Cyan breathed a sigh of relief as he followed the cart in, letting the door swing shut behind him. Inside the shop was relatively warm - and most importantly, dry. "Why couldn't he have picked a drier day," he muttered, peeling off his sodden hoodie as he headed for the back lights.

"I feel like something the cat dragged in." Fang was finger-combing his ponytail, looking damp, bedraggled, and a lot like his own description. "Remind me not to do this again."

"I told you not to do it to begin with," Cyan pointed out, feeling a bit smug and sounding it. "Wait here, I'll go get a couple towels."

"Please. Thanks." Fang smiled crookedly. "I'll be here, dripping on your floor."

"I should make you mop, too," Cyan retorted as he headed into the back office, then quickly up to his rooms.

Five minutes later found Cyan back downstairs, wearing dry clothes and carrying one full-sized towel and two hand towels - the sum total of all the clean towels he had available.

Fang was in fact exactly where he'd left him, standing in the middle of the room and leaning slightly against the handle of the loading cart. He'd removed his jacket, revealing that underneath was a lightweight sleeveless shirt - which was at that moment completely soaked through.

Cyan paused in the doorway, taking a moment to admire the view. The other man was still in amazingly good shape, with the lean muscled build of a runner or gymnast. Although the details that stood out the most were several scars across his arms - some long, some short, and one a jagged streak that looked like it had been an especially nasty wound.

He'd know Fang was almost definitely a lancer, and he knew how dangerous the work could be, but it was a little startling to see the results himself.

It was only that brief moment before Fang noticed him, however, pushing wet strands of hair back from his forehead with a look of relief. "You actually brought towels. I almost thought that was going to be a joke."

"I wouldn't joke about something like that," Cyan protested, and threw one of the hand towels at Fang's face to punctuate the point. "It wouldn't be funny."

"So noted." Fang didn't even bother trying to catch it- at least not with his hands, catching it full on the face instead and going from there to drying out his hair. "I'm not looking forward to going back out there."

Cyan studied him, safe in the knowledge that Fang couldn't see through the towel, and for a brief moment found himself contemplating offering to let him stay the night.

Yeah, no. That wasn't going to happen. But, on the other hand....

"You can stay in here if you want," Cyan said, holding out the other towels and trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Maybe the rain will die down."

"That'd be nice." Fang glanced at him from under the one towel with a smile and took the others. "I might take you up on that, at least until I'm a little warmer, but I don't think it's going to dry up out there any time soon."

"Probably not." Cyan paused, then put a hand on the loading trolley. "I'm going to start unpacking these; make yourself comfortable. Don't worry about getting the chairs wet," he added with a nod towards the seats in question. "They're made to be durable and easily cleaned."

"Thanks. Do you want help?"

Cyan chuckled. "No, I've got this part. I need to tally them into inventory, anyway. You helped plenty."

Fang looked for a moment like he was going to protest, then just smiled again, this time a crooked, self-deprecating expression. "Okay, you got me there."

"Thought so." Cyan took off the securing straps, starting to open the first case, then paused as his stomach reminded him of how late it was. He considered the boxes, then Fang, the latter of which looked back at him. "Do you like pizza?"

Fang paused, a towel half draped over his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Sure, pizza's fine, but I thought.... I mean...."

"I'm hungry," Cyan explained, "and it'd be rude to get dinner for myself and just eat it in front of you without sharing. You can pay for your half," he added, amused, "if it's bugging you."

Fang looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, then ducked his head with a rueful smile. "Yeah, let's do that."

Trying not to smile in response, Cyan brought up his contact list on his wrist display screen, scrolling quickly to his favorite pizza place and tapping to dial - then, after a brief surreptitious glance at his visitor, settled back against the boxes and held his hand up against his ear in the "phone" gesture as the line rang.

"Pete's Pizza, what can I get you?"

"One large pizza, with mushrooms and... pepperoni?" Cyan glanced over at Fang, who was failing at not looking amused and gave him a thumbs up. "Yeah, mushrooms and pepperoni. Delivery to CMY Repairs."

"Heyyy, Cyan! You're eating early tonight. Front or back?"

"Front." Cyan grinned. "I'll be downstairs; tell whoever it is to just bang on the door and I'll come get it."

"Sure thing. Bill the shop?"

"Pay on delivery tonight, I'm splitting."

"That so? Tell 'em hi and eat at Pete's. You'll get your pizza in twenty."

"Make it ten and I'll double the tip."

The pizza arrived less than fifteen minutes later, announced by a loud knock Cyan could hear all the way in the back room. He shoved the security cam he'd been about to note down back into the crate it'd come out of, stretching out his shoulder as he headed back into the front of the shop.

To his surprise - which, in retrospect, shouldn't have been a surprise at all - Fang was already answering the door, talking with the pizza deliverer. And by the time Cyan had made his way around the counter, the pizza was inside and Fang was closing the door.

"Wait," Cyan called out, hurrying over. "I told them I'd pay on delivery, they shouldn't---"

"Don't worry about it." Fang gave him a cheerful smile. "I handled it."

Cyan slowed, stopped, and narrowed his eyes. "... Did you pay for the whole thing?"

"I gave a good tip, too. Where should I put the pizza?"

Cyan put his hands over his face. "Of course you did. On the counter is fine," he answered, then shook his head with a laugh and lowered his hands again. "You really haven't changed at all."

Fang stopped short, halfway through the motion of putting the box down, then slowly lowered it down to the counter. "Maybe," he allowed.

"Oh? You think you have?" Cyan hopped up onto the counter, pulling the pizza over and flipping the box open. Mushrooms and pepperoni, which confirmed it was the right one - not that he got the wrong pizza often, but it happened.

"Maybe," Fang repeated, with a shrug. "It's been a long time."

"It has," Cyan agreed, studying him as he took a bite of pizza.

"What about you?" Fang leaned back against the counter, giving Cyan a look that he couldn't quite place between inquisitive or challenging - a combination that was, in his experience, really hard to pull off.

"Nobody's known me long enough. Go ahead and help yourself," he added, dismissing the question. "It's your pizza, after all."

"I couldn't exactly let you go back on your word."

"Mmhm. So what brings you to Neodelphia?"

Fang made a face around his slice of pizza, taking a moment to finish chewing. "Work."

"Ah, of course." Cyan smirked. "The top secret job you secretly don't have."

"Hey!" Fang laughed. "You promised not to tell anyone."

"Not even you?"

"Especially not me."

Cyan snorted. "All right, all right. I said nothing, it's obviously a perfectly normal job that's you move to a new city."

"Well." Fang hestitated, then took another bite - obviously as a stalling tactic.

Cyan raised his eyebrows and sat back, waiting patiently until he finished. "Well?"

"We haven't moved here, exactly." Fang pushed back bedraggled strands of hair with his pizza-free hand. "It's a temporary thing, just until the job is finished."

Temporary. Cyan took a moment to sort through his unexpectedly strong reaction to that one word, frowning slightly. "How long are you planning to be in town?"

"Hard to say." Fang shrugged. "Depends on when the client is available."

The barely noticeable pause before client was all Cyan needed to identify it as a euphemism. Most likely for target, if his occasional brushes with lancer work were any indication.

"If we're lucky," Fang continued, "we can wrap it up this week and go home."

"This week?" Cyan stared. "You're kidding."

"If we're..." Fang cleared his throat, looked incredibly uncomfortable and keeping his gaze fixed determinedly at the opposite end of the shop instead of at Cyan. "No, that's a pretty good guess. Maybe as long as two weeks, I guess?"

"I... see."

The room fell silent, Cyan focusing on eating his dinner while he frantically tried to sort out his thoughts. There was too much to really get a handle on, but he did manage to settle on one decision.

If Fang was really going to be going back to who-knows-where in as soon as a week, Cyan wasn't going to get another chance. If he didn't press for answers now, it might as well be never.

"I have a question."

Fang glanced over in feigned casualness that might have looked natural to someone else. "What's up?"

"Actually...." Cyan put his almost-finished slice of pizza down decisively. "I have several questions. Starting with: where the hell did you disappear to? And why didn't you tell me??"

"What?" Fang looked startled. "I did what?"

"You disappeared." Cyan leaned forward. "It's not like the war was a surprise! We'd talked about it! And then it showed up in our front yard and you just up and fucking vanished for fifty years. What the hell was---"

Cyan abruptly stopped his interrogation - or tirade, more accurately - as Fang abruptly turned away, striding over to where he'd left his jacket.

"...are you leaving? Right now??"

"Yes." Fang pulled on the jacket, not even looking at him.

"So..." Cyan somehow managed to keep his voice calm. "Instead of telling me why you walked out on me without a single damn word last time, you're going to do it again, right now."

Fang paused, two steps away from the door and still looking the other way. "...I can't answer your questions."

"Is this your complicated relationship with remembering things?"

"Yes."

"Fuck you too. Fine." Cyan slammed the pizza box shut, just to do something. "I can't stop you from walking out. At least I know it's happening this time," he added, letting every ounce of old bitterness into his voice.

The silence stretched out, then Fang's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry." It was barely audible across the room.

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what happened."

Fang shook his head, moving forward again, then hesitating a moment with his hand on the door. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I won't bother you again."

"That's the opposite of what I'm asking, Fang! I get that it's complicated, but--- Oh, dammit." Cyan stopped short as Fang finally stepped out the front door and headed down the sidewalk, into the night-time shadows.

"Well," he said a moment later, to the empty room. "At least I got a free pizza out of this. Shit." Cyan put his face in his hands, the bad joke only making him feel worse. "I completely blew it."