Chapter Text
This was going to be a long fucking flight.
Ethan had been shoving at his carryon–the carpet bag still proving itself useful–trying to cram it into the remaining space in the overhead storage compartment, Karl offering increasingly less helpful suggestions at his side, when the thought had hit him.
He’d forced the carpet bag into place with one last shove, rolled his eyes at Karl’s drawled Knew you could do it, pumpkin , and shuffled down the aisle to his seat, dropping himself into it with a sigh.
Karl took the seat next to his, and Ethan glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
Leaving the hotel that morning, he’d been bracing for the airport to go just as badly as the mall had. Figured it would be worse, considering all the lines, the people rushing, the churn of baggage claim, beeping terminals, endless loop of boarding announcements–
But Karl had seemed fine. Still seemed fine, even with the dawning realization that Karl would never have been on a plane before, and would it be worse, Ethan wondered, being explicitly aware of the metal they were wrapped in as it propelled them across the Atlantic.
So far Karl just looked bored. He’d tipped his head back to read the emergency directions printed above them. His hair had bunched up against the seatback; the corner of his mouth that Ethan could see was tipped up in wry amusement. He seemed to take up a tremendous amount of space there next to Ethan.
There had been one moment, right after they’d checked in and Ethan had beelined them towards what looked like an overly expensive bar just to get them somewhere out of the way, that Karl had tensed up. He’d gone silent; the connection he’d been pouring snide comments through cutting off abruptly.
Ethan had gotten them seated in a booth, back in a dark far corner, but by then Karl was acting like nothing had happened; had merely brushed off Ethan’s inquiries about what was wrong.
He hadn’t opened up the connection again.
Maybe the sunglasses helped, Ethan had thought. Or maybe Karl’d had time to adjust; knew what to expect; had just gotten better at hiding his distress.
He’d been hit with a familiar wave of worry after that, sure that their ID would be flagged somehow, or they’d run into someone with the BSAA and he’d be recognized, or Karl would, or–
And then they’d boarded and nothing had happened. Ethan stared at the seatback in front of him, the screen displaying their flight, static while they waited on the tarmac.
“How the hell long are we waiting here?” Karl muttered at his left. “They’ve got us all on the plane don’t they? The fuck is taking so long?”
“Luggage, probably,” Ethan said, pushing up the window shade. Karl leaned across his lap to look out and Ethan tensed, pressing back against his seat.
Karl’d braced his right hand against the seat next to Ethan’s shoulder, and if Ethan’d thought his presence felt huge before it was impossible now; how close he was, how Ethan could smell the hotel soap on him, covered by a lingering wisp of tobacco and smoke, probably from his jacket–
“Well?” Ethan asked, hating that his voice came out sounding strained. “Are they still loading?”
Karl moved back into his own space, giving Ethan a knowing look from over the top of his sunglasses but only saying, “Still loading. That normal?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said, turning away from him to peer down out of the window just in time to see what he thought might have been their luggage being tossed onto the conveyor. He watched the matching black suitcases trundle up the conveyor and out of sight, realizing as they did that he’d been holding his breath, still expecting someone to pull the luggage at any moment, for airport security to flood on board, the BSAA at their backs–
“Told you it’d be fine,” Karl said–Ethan must have been projecting–and continued poking around in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him. He pulled out the emergency water landing instructions and muttered, “Think I could keep this thing in the air if it was going to crash?”
“I’d rather not find out,” Ethan replied, turning back to the window to watch as the luggage cars were pulled away. Maybe it was fine, he thought, a feeling of relief building the longer they went with nothing happening. A flight attendant was beginning the usual spiel. The seatbelt light was on.
Karl’s hammer was securely stowed in the belly of the plane.
Ethan’d only thought of it the night before, once it was far too late to do anything about it. He’d been packing, consolidating their belongings into the two suitcases, having dumped the remaining food they hadn’t eaten. He’d been looking over the room for anything he’d missed when he’d seen it, leaning up against the wall next to the window.
Karl’s hammer.
Karl’s solid metal hammer that likely weighed a ton and which they’d only barely been able to fit into his car. That hammer.
There is no way we’re getting that on the plane , Ethan had thought, feeling a panic building. Karl hadn’t wanted to leave it before, he wouldn’t want to leave it now.
Maybe they could have it shipped? But it was late, and they wouldn’t have time in the morning, not if they wanted to catch their flight, and would they have even been able to afford to ship it, anyway? How the hell much would something like that cost? And then, where would they even ship it to?
Maybe they could get Chris to hang onto it, to ship it to them once they had a place to stay.
No, fuck that, there’s no way he’d agree to that, he hadn’t even wanted to give Karl a passport, like hell would he agree to babysitting the man’s weapon--
“Ethan,” Karl had said, drawing him out of his thoughts, “What’s the problem?”
So Ethan had told him. Airport security. Metal detectors. The impossibility of them letting Karl bring an obvious weapon on a plane.
Karl had just sat and listened, brows furrowed, but before Ethan had even finished he’d gestured to the hammer, summoning it to hover right in front of him and then, as Ethan trailed off, watching silently, he began to disassemble it.
He watched as it separated into smaller and smaller parts, all of them hovering there in a cloud around Karl where he sat at the foot of the bed, gesturing almost as if he were conducting.
Ethan watched him for some minutes, thinking how convenient that was, before it hit him.
“You mean,” he said slowly, eyes shifting from the swarm of metal bits to Karl’s face, “you could have done this the whole time?”
Karl grunted an affirmation, apparently concentrating.
“So all the time we spent taking apart the back seat of my car, and you could have just done this?”
“Takes too long,” Karl said.
Ethan had sighed, deeply, and then set about working all the smaller metal bits into their luggage.
And it looked like it had done the trick. Their luggage had been processed with no problems, it had made it onto the plane. They had made it onto the plane, which was something he’d had serious doubts about actually happening. The plane was even now taxiing; Karl was back to leaning over Ethan, looking out the window.
He should have taken the fucking aisle seat, Ethan thought.
But then they were in the air, Karl watching for just a while longer while Ethan watched him, unable to really do anything else with him just there in Ethan’s space like that. His profile was striking, from the line of his nose to the scar trailing across it, wrapping around his cheekbone and becoming lost in the fall of his hair.
At this angle Ethan could make out his right eye, could tell that Karl was scanning the wing or the horizon or, soon enough, the clouds.
“Fans,” Karl muttered as if deciding on something, and then, as he was shifting back into his own space, “Bigger than I would have figured.”
He said it like Ethan would know what he was talking about. Ethan glanced out the window, tearing his gaze from the expectant look Karl was giving him to discover: clouds.
“The plane?” he ventured, closing the shade before turning back around.
“Engine,” Karl corrected. “Not like the ones at the factory.”
Ethan had a sudden vivid image of Sturm, the engine screaming, shooting flames.
“No,” he said, “I guess not.”
**
Not even half an hour that they’d been in the air and Ethan’s mind had started wandering, back to Romania, to Mia and Rose, and what Chris was or wasn’t doing to protect them.
He’d had to leave. He knew he’d had to leave, but it was eating away at him, his awareness of the increasing distance between himself and Rose.
The farther he got the less he’d be able to protect her.
Not that you’d be able to protect her much by being there , he thought bitterly, closing his eyes on a sigh.
It would probably always feel like this, Ethan thought. Like he was abandoning her. He knew he wasn’t. Knew this was the only way he could protect her, when he himself was the danger, but he couldn’t stop thinking it all the same.
He wondered how she’d feel, growing up with some distant stranger for a father. Wondered what Mia would tell her, about why they could never meet.
And that was the best case scenario; Mia getting her out, taking her somewhere safe, where she could grow up happy and healthy, even if he never got to know her.
Because he wondered, too, about whether anyone would even try to contact him, if something happened. If the BSAA, or the Connections, or whoever, found them. Found Rose.
He didn’t think that Chris would. Thought that Mia might, if she was able, if she hadn’t been taken too, or if she hadn’t died trying to save Rose.
No , he thought , they’d want her alive, too. They wouldn’t kill her, either of them.
Not at first anyway. Not while they were useful.
He sighed again, a heavy exhale, trying to purge the thought. It wouldn’t help anything catastrophizing, he tried to remind himself. Once they landed, made it to the hotel, he was supposed to make contact with Hound Wolf anyway, and after that, Mia had promised to contact him, whenever it was safe, so he could talk to Rose.
Not that either of them had known when it would be safe.
They were flying in to Atlanta, and from there Chris had suggested they head north, zigzagging for a while, never staying in any place for too long, all the better to lose any potential tails they may have picked up.
It was exhausting, thinking about it. All the hotels, the car rentals, budgeting funds; always looking over his shoulder, worrying about being followed or found out or--
Karl’s hand on his leg, his thigh, fingers sliding down to press against his inseam--
“ Karl ,” he hissed.
“Yes, dear?” Karl said, expression nothing but exaggerated innocence, even as he squeezed, lightly, his thumb stroking across the top of his thigh.
“Stop it,” Ethan said, keeping his voice low.
But Ethan, Karl projected, amusement lacing the words, what about our cover .
His hand was trailing upwards, drawing closer to Ethan’s--
Ethan grabbed his hand, linking their fingers and moving to hold Karl’s hand at a safer distance from his junk, resting their joined hands mid thigh instead.
“ Babe ,” Ethan said, enjoying the brief flicker of surprise before Karl had schooled his features back into something more neutral, “you could have just told me you were afraid of flying.”
Karl stared at him, close enough that Ethan could make out his eyes narrowing behind the tinted lenses. Eventually, his lips stretched in a grin, and he lifted their joined hands, holding Ethan’s gaze as he brought the back of Ethan’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s knuckles.
“You’re so good to me, darling,” he said, his lips moving against Ethan’s skin, his beard lightly scratching.
Ethan was trying so hard to keep his mind blank, to keep his expression neutral despite feeling his ears, his cheeks, going hot, that he almost didn’t notice Karl pulling their hands over into his own lap.
Ethan turned, staring resolutely straight ahead.
At least Karl hadn’t been asking for them to join the mile high club , Ethan thought. He had that to be grateful for, he supposed. But then, that was probably only because Karl didn’t know what it even was.
“What’s the mile high club?” Karl asked at a normal volume, and Ethan thought about pulling the emergency exit open, just letting himself get sucked out of the plane.
He could tell his whole face was beet red, as hot as it felt, and he’d sunk down into his seat, kept trying to yank his hand back but Karl wouldn’t let him.
Karl, who only laughed, projecting, Well? What is it? If it got that reaction out of you it must be good.
At Ethan’s refusal to answer, to even look at him, he leaned over, whispering, “I suppose I could always ask our fellow passengers.”
And Ethan knew he would, too. He’d make a whole fucking scene out of it.
It’s when you fuck in an airplane mid-flight , he thought, annoyance warring with his embarrassment.
Karl was silent for a moment before snickering. “Well,” he said, “I’m up for it if you are, honey.”
It was going to be a long fucking flight.
**
One of Chris’ guys had arranged for a rental car and a hotel near the airport, but even getting to the damn rental place proved ordeal enough, Karl even more tense than he’d been at Bucharest, or even at Amsterdam when they’d stopped for a layover.
How many fucking cameras do they fucking need? he’d replied when Ethan had asked after him, the thought sharp, a needling spear of irritation undercut with anxiety that Karl quickly quashed, leaving Ethan feeling the echo of it right there next to his own worry.
They’d gotten through security alright, nothing had been flagged yet, but he had a tension headache burrowing in at the base of his skull, right behind his eyes, and the press of people all around them wasn’t helping. The packed sky train, the slow moving lines. By the time he got out of the rental place, keys in hand, it felt a bit like he’d spent the past hour on the run from lycans, rather than just slowly working their way from one part of the airport to another.
Once they were in the rental he just sat there for a minute, leaning back in the driver’s seat and staring up at the beige ceiling, not even twitching when Karl reached over to dig his hand into Ethan’s coat pocket to fish out his phone.
“How far is the damn place?” Karl asked. Ethan watched him unlock the phone from the corner of his eye.
“Close,” he muttered, closing his eyes on a sigh. “Pull up the GPS and I’ll get us the hell out of here.”
He’d listened to Karl tapping at his phone, to the robotic voice working through the directions, and wondered if he’d ever be able to shake this dread. The sense that there was always something, someone, right at their heels. That the smallest misstep was all it would take to have everything come crashing in, burying them.
Couldn’t stop thinking it, even once they’d gotten to the hotel.
He’d checked in with Hound Wolf briefly, just as he’d been instructed to do, and been told the same thing Chris had told him before they’d split ways: to keep driving, to keep on the move, to keep their heads down.
He’d been so focused all this time on just getting them here, on getting them out of Romania and farther away from whatever the BSAA had been doing there, that he hadn’t really thought about what they’d do next.
That was up to Karl , he’d thought before, thought again now, pacing the room, unable to shake all the nervous energy despite the jetlag weighing him down. He’d told him as much back at Braşov, for all that Karl seemed to be avoiding the subject. Ethan wondered if he should push it, try to get a real answer, a real direction at least, out of him.
Not that now hardly seemed the time. Karl’d been as tense as Ethan had never seen him, taking to Atlanta as poorly as he had Bucharest, and running on as little sleep as Ethan, possibly less.
Ethan glanced at him as he passed, pacing back towards the bathroom.
Karl was exactly where he’d been when he’d first dropped onto the bed after tossing his luggage in a corner: stretched out on his back, glasses on the pillow next to him, an arm thrown over his eyes. He was still wearing his coat and boots, and didn’t look particularly comfortable, but Ethan could practically feel his exhaustion, even without the telepathy.
So no, now wasn’t really the time to start hounding him about the deal.
Ethan sighed, unable to look away now as he paced back by Karl’s bed. The boots were bothering him.
He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Karl was here just for him, like he’d told Chris. He didn’t know what Karl really wanted, beyond the same things he did, anyway: to avoid the BSAA, to figure out whatever the hell weird shit was going on with the fungal colony thing. Miranda was dead, the other Lords were dead, the village was ash and ruins. Karl had told him he didn’t intend to build another army, and Ethan believed him when he’d said he didn’t need to, not now that Miranda wasn’t an issue. That still left the question of what he did want.
Out , Ethan had imagined, away . He’d been virtually trapped there, in that village, for, fuck, Ethan wasn’t even sure how long it’d been.
He didn’t even know how old Karl was. How old he looked, sure, but Ethan got the impression he was a lot older than that, especially from what he knew of Miranda, of Dimitrescu. It was somehow the complete opposite problem to Eveline, and he’d been intentionally avoiding thinking about that because who the fuck knew what it meant for him.
But Ethan had been serious when he’d argued with Chris about Karl going on a rampage, or whatever the hell Chris was so worried about. It just didn’t make sense with anything he’d seen from him since they’d left the village.
There was the deal, and sure, Ethan could picture any number of unsavory things Karl could ask for, but he didn’t think Karl would . If Karl wanted to hurt people, Ethan included, he’d had plenty of chances. Karl’d told Chris as much himself. He’d even come along with Ethan, willingly put himself in a dangerous fucking position, just so Ethan could, what? Get them some passports? Tell his daughter goodbye?
He’d have been better off splitting with Ethan as soon as they left the village. Considering he didn’t seem particularly interested in cashing in on Ethan’s half of the deal, Ethan wasn’t real sure why he hadn’t. Or why he just continued to stick around, to follow Ethan’s lead.
Unless he just wanted to be there.
Ethan sat down at the foot of Karl’s bed, frowning at his scuffed and worn boots, mud well and truly encrusted in all the crevices, grease staining the laces.
He sighed again, and set to work on the boot closest to him, plucking out the knot the laces had been worked into. Once he had it free he began loosening the laces, tugging them out away from the tongue enough that he could loosen it, too. Got a hand right above the heel, the leather gone soft from wear, and pulled, working the boot off Karl’s foot, trying to jostle him as little as possible.
He got the boot off and leaned over the edge of the bed to set it down, toe facing outwards. He was stretching back up, wondering if he should just get up and move to the other side of the bed when Karl said, “The hell are you doing?”
Ethan looked at him, gaze tripping over the pull of his khakis across his thighs, the rise of his belly, noting finally the slight pull downwards at the corners of his mouth, the arm still covering his eyes.
“I’d think it’d be pretty self explanatory,” Ethan told him, fixing his thoughts firmly on the task at hand.
“ Why the hell are you doing it, then? You really need to fuss over someone that– shit, goddammit– ”
Ethan had dug his thumb into the arch of Karl’s foot, had his other hand around his ankle to keep him from kicking or jerking away.
“I’m doing you a favor, asshole,” he said, relenting a bit when Karl moved his arm to glare down at him and easing up on his grip. “I’m not ‘fussing.’”
“Sure as hell seems like it from where I’m at,” Karl grumbled, watching him with narrowed eyes as he scooted over to Karl’s other boot, already getting to work on the laces.
“You just looked uncomfortable,” Ethan said, irritation spiking at a particularly tight knot. “Don’t tell me you want to sleep in your boots.”
“Who said I was going to?”
Ethan stopped what he was doing to look up at him, hoping his expression conveyed the sheer doubt he was feeling at that statement. Karl hadn’t been asleep when Ethan had started removing his boots–he was sure of it–but he’d looked pretty damn close to it.
“What?” Karl asked, tone halfway to defensive. Doubt apparently conveyed, then.
“Nothing, just–” Ethan wasn’t really sure why it even bothered him that much, except that it was just something you did for someone you cared about, and he, well.
Anyway, Karl was only as exhausted as he was because Ethan kept dragging him all over the place when he hadn’t yet had a chance to get used to big cities.
“Just let me finish getting your damn boots off,” he muttered, looking back down to the boot he still had hold of and starting back in on the laces without waiting for permission. If Karl really wanted him to stop he’d have told him. Or just kicked him.
The knot finally gave and Ethan set to loosening the laces, forcing himself to work at the same pace that he had been previously despite the urge to rush, hyper aware of Karl’s eyes on him, of his own hands on Karl.
He got the boot off, uttering a quick “There” before moving to get up.
Only to be stopped when Karl dropped his left foot onto Ethan’s lap, the heel knocking into his thigh.
“While you’re down there,” Karl said, a glint in his eye that had Ethan tensing, “might as well put yourself to use. Massage out some of these aches.” He smirked, looking all too pleased with himself.
Ethan met his gaze, slowly leaned over the edge of the bed to drop the second boot. It hit the floor with a thud and Ethan straightened, irritation stoked, and wrapped his fingers around Karl’s ankle.
If he was going to make such a big deal about the damn boots and then think he could get back at Ethan by pulling this shit he was real fucking mistaken.
Besides, he’d been doing the whole “sticking to their cover” thing for long enough that Ethan had decided it might be time to give him a taste of his own medicine.
He slid Karl’s sock off, left it there on the bed next to him, and resituated his foot on his lap. Karl was still smirking at him, so Ethan smiled, what he hoped was disarmingly, and said, “Sure thing, babe ,” immediately rewarded by the same flicker of surprise he’d caught before on the plane. He was already getting started, thumbs working up to the ball of Karl’s foot, applying pressure, twisting slightly outwards. Was trying to keep his mind blank of everything save for just being helpful and wouldn’t want your poor feetsies to hurt , which Karl must definitely have picked up on, because he finally dropped the smirk, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.
Ethan looked away from him to focus on what he was doing, working a bit more on the sides and ball of Karl’s foot before moving to the arch. He was trying to think only of the motions he was making, of where he should massage next, and not the fact that Karl was just letting him do this. Allowing Ethan to move his foot around any way he pleased, merely grunting when Ethan would apply too much pressure, or hit a particularly tender spot.
Eventually, Karl shifted, and Ethan glanced up at him, saw him settling back onto the pillow, eyes closed and at least half the tension that had been there previously just bled out of him.
Ethan felt a little spark of pride at that, at having caused it. He adjusted his grip on Karl’s foot, digging in a bit with his thumb and moving up from the heel across the arch, just repeating the motion.
“Damn,” Karl said, drawing Ethan’s attention. He was looking down at Ethan again, the smug look back on his face. “Didn’t expect you to actually–” he cut himself off with a moan, Ethan’s thumb halfway up his arch, digging in with just a bit more pressure. Karl’d arched a bit–shoulders digging down into the mattress–his head dropping back onto the pillow.
Ethan froze; just sat there a beat too long, hands still on Karl’s foot, one grasped loosely around the back of his ankle, fingertips pressed to the thin skin there at his achilles tendon, his mind latching onto the image, the sound, and the awareness filtering in sharp, just how close Karl’s foot was to his–
He cut that thought off before it could go anywhere, glaring at the look Karl fixed him with as he once again lifted his head off the pillow. “That did it for you, huh?” he said, grin toothy.
Ethan let go of Karl’s foot, intending to get up off the bed. Hating that his ears felt hot, that he was embarrassed–
But Karl’s heel was there at his inner thigh, working down between his legs, the ball of his foot pressing right next to Ethan’s dick–
Ethan shoved his foot away, getting up quickly and moving out of Karl’s reach, though so far he was just laying there, watching Ethan with a mock disappointed expression, something edging towards a pout.
“What?” he said, “You’re not going to finish?”
“Ugh,” Ethan told him, emphatic, and dropped down onto the edge of his own bed. Trying to one up Karl the last time had backfired on him too, he should really fucking know better.
“What happened to doing me a favor?” and he was looking at Ethan with faux innocence now, his attempt somewhat ruined by the way he was having to squint against the light, his sunglasses still resting on the pillow next to him.
Ethan felt even more frustrated that he apparently found that endearing. “I don’t think our definitions of that word are really matching up currently.”
And that was a leer–at least all Ethan was feeling was annoyance now. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”
Ethan dropped down on his back so he wouldn’t have to look at Karl anymore. “Just go to bed. You were right, okay? I should have just let you sleep in your damn boots, Jesus .”
Karl snorted, and Ethan could hear him shifting on the mattress. After a moment he said, “Well?”
“Well, what?” Ethan asked, dreading whatever Karl was going to say now.
“Are you going to take off your shoes or do I have to get up and do it for you? Since you look so uncomfortable and all.”
Ethan sighed, deeply, and started toeing off his shoes, unwilling to find out if Karl would follow through or not.
After he’d gotten his shoes off he rolled over to reorient himself on the bed, shoving his face in a pillow just long enough for the need to breathe to start edging toward pressing before he turned to glance at Karl, expecting to find him leering still.
He wasn’t. Was, from the looks of it, actually drifting off. His eyes were heavy lidded as he regarded Ethan, his smirk gone slack, becoming something closer to a smile, something sleepy and far more soft than Ethan could have expected–than he was prepared for.
“Going to bed?” Karl asked and Ethan nodded, his voice sticking in his throat.
With a gesture from Karl the lights went out. There was still enough light making it in through the curtains for Ethan to see, but he turned away, tried to force his thoughts elsewhere other than Karl, tried to let himself give into the damn jetlag and just fall the fuck asleep.
But it was all still there waiting for him. Worry about the BSAA, what they’d spent so long doing in the village, what they’d find there. He’d taken everything he’d found on Rose, but that didn’t mean Miranda hadn’t had more notes stashed away somewhere.
Like they really needed more reason to target Rose.
And what about Karl? Ethan had just seen the one volume of Miranda’s notes on him, but what if she’d had more? What would the BSAA do with those notes if they got a hold of them? He’d learned from Mia and Chris that they were making bioweapons, is that why they’d been looking for the Four Lords? To improve on their design?
What a fucking horrifying thought that was. If they were looking for Rose as a replacement for the megamycete, and then looking to the Four Lords as replacements for their foot soldiers…
That’s Chris’ business , Ethan reminded himself. The BSAA is for Chris to deal with, not you .
He wished he knew more about what Chris was planning. Mia hadn’t said much, but then Chris may not have let her in on much, especially considering his track record with Ethan at the village.
Ethan huffed. Felt dead tired but still couldn’t put the thoughts out of his head. Tried to think about a route they could take instead, once they hit the road, and ended up circling the realization that this was it. That there wasn’t an end goal unless Karl decided to start talking. Just the two of them on the road, stuck in the rental sedan, for the foreseeable future.
What exactly did Chris expect them to do? They apparently had enough money in the account Hound Wolf had set up for them that he wouldn’t need to worry about getting a job, but in the meantime what the hell was he supposed to do? Take Karl to visit every rinky-dink roadside attraction they came across?
An image of Karl standing next to the World’s Largest Ball of Twine looking unimpressed in his shades and the ugly Hawaiian shirt he’d picked out, just like a normal tourist, manifested like a haunting.
And it could happen. He had all the ingredients to make it happen. He was absolutely certain that was not what Chris had in mind, but now he couldn’t think about anything else.
He’d told Karl, back in Bucharest, that they had time, but this really wasn’t what he had meant.