Chapter Text
There was no noise, no specific disturbance Rook could pinpoint that caused them to wake. One moment they dreamed, the next they were slipping slowly into consciousness, opening their eyes to look blearily out into the dark.
Rook sucked a startled breath in through their nose. Frozen like a frightened halla, their brain struggled to process what they were seeing. There was someone sitting at their bedside, close, too close–masculine with long hair–his nose nearly touching theirs. Rook was struck by the scent of coffee and cooking herbs–comforting and familiar amidst their sudden rush of fear.
“Lucanis?” they whispered, confusion and concern coloring their tone. “What time is it? What's happened?”
“Rook!” came an unexpectedly excited response, croaked out in a voice that was not-quite Lucanis's. Rook quickly felt their building worry dissipate into cautious concern.
“Spite,” Rook admonished gently. They noticed, now, the purple glow of the spirit's eyes in the dark. Rook sat up slowly and turned on the bedside lamp. “I thought you and Lucanis came to an agreement about your sleep-walking?”
“We did! I don't leave the lighthouse. Don't get into trouble.”
“Mmhmm.” Rook wiped the sleep from their eyes and nodded along with the explanation. They had the distinct feeling that this agreement was somewhat more strict than Spite was making it sound, and that finding his way into Rook's quarters was not on his list of approved activities. “You should go back to bed, Spite.”
The spirit snarled with displeasure, which might have been frightening had he not also crossed his arms like a petulant child. “The pantry. Is. Boring!” he hissed.
“All right, all right,” Rook sighed quietly. Dealing with a bored spirit in the middle of the night wasn't exactly something they had prepared for. They could, and probably should shoo Spite back into Lucanis's quarters, but what then? Would he just turn around and try to wake up someone else? Or worse, what if he found some actual mischief to get into? Rook rubbed their eyes while they considered their next move. Emmerich had recommended that Lucanis read to Spite, hadn't he?
“All right,” Rook decided, “Spite, I'm going to make you a deal. I'll read you a chapter from my book–”
“YES!” Spite gleefully interrupted. Rook held up their hands and waited for the spirit to settle.
“But, after that chapter you go back to the pantry and let Lucanis get some rest.”
This part of the bargain was met with less enthusiasm, but after some grumbling Spite finally conceded.
“Fine,” he snapped. Then, before they could react, Spite had snatched a book from Rook's bedside table and held it out to them expectantly. Rook squinted at the cover, registered its title, and tried to suppress an embarrassed blush.
“Not this one, Spite,” they said, quickly stashing the copy of The Randy Dowager Quarterly under their pillow. Creators, imagine that conversation the next day:
“I'm so sorry, Lucanis, but I accidentally got Spite hooked on a raunchy serial. Good luck!”
Rook winced. The last thing Lucanis needed was a smut-fueled Spite bouncing around in his head, his poor nerves would never recover.
“Pass me that other book on the table, please?” If Spite noticed Rook's discomfort he didn't acknowledge it, quickly retrieving the second book just as they'd asked. Rook turned their attention to the book in their hands, flipped to the first page, and paused. The weight of another body sank down onto the mattress beside them. Rook lifted their gaze to see Spite watching them intently, waiting surprisingly patiently for them to begin to read.
Well, someone's getting comfortable, Rook thought. Their mouth quirked into an amused smile. The more they interacted with Spite, the more endeared to him they found themselves. He was loud, impulsive, uninhibited; all things that they themselves had been called during their time as a Veil Jumper. No wonder Rook had never felt threatened by the spirit, Spite felt familiar.
“All right, Spite, ready?” Rook asked as they leaned back against their headboard, poised to begin. The mattress shifted beneath them again, and they felt the tickle of a bearded face against their cheek. Spite had shuffled in close and set his chin on their shoulder to better see the pages.
“Ready!” the spirit answered gleefully.
Rook stifled their amused laughter and, still grinning, began to read.
–
Waking tended to be a jarring experience for Lucanis. In the Ossuary, restful sleep had been impossible; he was regularly wrenched from sleep by his jailers, by Spite, by the tortured screams of his fellow prisoners. Even in the Lighthouse, peaceful sleep eluded him. What if Spite sleep walked? Better to avoid sleep at all, as much as he was able.
Now, however, Lucanis found himself slowly, gently, waking. His cot was comfortable beneath him, far more comfortable than he remembered it being.
Somewhere deep within his still-waking mind, his thoughts whispered that something was amiss. Rather than the scent of wooden storage crates and coffee beans…
“Smells like chamomile, and elfroot!” Spite finished his thought.
Lucanis's eyes shot open and he sat upright, his chest squeezed tight with a sudden, leaden, dread. This wasn't the pantry. He was in Rook's quarters, in their bed.
“Spite! What have you done?!” he demanded, trying and failing to stem his rising panic.
He looked to his side, saw Rook sprawled in bed beside him. He couldn't see their face. Maker, if Spite had hurt them, if they had been harmed because he'd allowed himself to trust a demon–
“Rook?” he croaked. The world went utterly still, his heartbeat drumming in his ears as he reached out to grasp Rook's shoulder. He flipped them over onto their back, holding his breath as he did.
Rook's brow wrinkled. Lucanis watched them blink once, twice, before their eyes focused on his.
“Shit, I nodded off,” Rook murmured, and Lucanis felt the tension in his body immediately lessen. They were alive, they appeared uninjured, but–
“Rook, are you all right? Did Spite do anything, did he hurt you?”
“I did NOT!” the demon hissed indignantly, “I LIKE Rook!” Lucanis winced, momentarily overwhelmed by Spite's outburst and his own churning fear. He felt his shaking hands taken into Rook's warm, calloused grasp.
“Lucanis, hey, everything's ok.” Their words were a soft murmur, something solid to cling to. “Nothing bad happened, I'm not hurt, we're all safe.” Lucanis took a steadying breath, focused on Rook's thumbs rubbing calming circles against the backs of his hands.
“I'm sorry,” they continued, “this was my fault. I let Spite stay for a little while, and I didn't make sure you two were back in your quarters before I fell asleep.”
“But why would Spite come here if not to cause trouble?” Lucanis asked, genuinely baffled. Day in and day out Spite pestered him about Rook: Let me talk to Rook! Why didn't we kiss Rook? Why won't you let us touch them! It was maddening having to keep a straight face while the demon threw all of his own suppressed desires at him. Now he was supposed to believe that Spite had come into Rook's bed and not tried anything inappropriate?
“He said he was bored sitting by himself,” Rook explained calmly, “so I offered to read to him for a little bit.” They raised an eyebrow. “Although your end of that deal was that you were supposed to go back to the pantry, Spite,” they admonished, but their words lacked any real bite.
“Lucanis slept! Shouldn't matter where,” the demon sulked. “Besides!” he brightened, “Rook's bed is comfortable, and it has Rook in it! We like being close to Rook.”
“Spite…” Lucanis warned. He dropped Rook's hands. His thoughts were still swimming with his residual fear, the embarrassment of letting Spite wander unsupervised…the shame of not having the courage to come to Rook's bed himself. He needed to walk away, to compose himself.
“Forgive me, we've imposed on your patience long enough,” he said, attempting to stifle Spite's objections as he made to rise. The touch of Rook's fingers made him pause. Their grasp on his hand was loose, easy to escape if he chose to: a request, not a demand.
We.Love.Rook, Spite shouted in his mind, Let.Them.Love.Us.Back!
Lucanis shut his eyes. Of course he loved Rook, but was it safe for them to love him? He took a breath, drawing the comforting scents of chamomile and elfroot into his lungs. He squeezed Rook's fingers, received a playful double squeeze back. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. They deserved someone whole, someone who was more than a weapon, more than an abomination.
NO! Spite snarled in his ear, WE.GOT.OUT. We made.A.Deal!
Lucanis winced against the force of Spite's displeasure. For once, he had to admit, the demon had a point. Rook had freed him from the Ossuary not once, but twice. It would be a disservice to them, to Spite, to himself to retreat back into his cell once again. He had survived so that now, changed as he was, he could live. Lucanis took one more deep, calming breath.
“I–think I need a cup of coffee. Would you care to join me?” Lucanis finally allowed his gaze to meet theirs. Rook's eyes crinkled with joy, a warm smile pulled at their lips. He felt his heart beat faster.
“I'd love to.”