Archive of Our Own

ONE: Before Christmas—The Menace of Christmas Present

Evy’s smuggle-Ardeth-into-London-to-surprise-Jonathan plan was going swimmingly. It was all arranged, and the only thing left to do was wait, when the doorbell rang on a dreary afternoon two days before Christmas.

Evy got up to answer it, leaving Rick and Jonathan in the parlor arguing over what such-and-such part of a gun was called—she suspected Jonathan was purposefully misnaming it to rile Rick—and wondered if somehow Ardeth had been able to come early. She smiled at the thought, and was still smiling when she opened the door, but the smile on her face died a painful death at the sight that met her eyes. The day was abruptly ruined, as was the holiday—and possibly the entire rest of the year and beginning of the next.

A plague had descended, a plague as icy as the December weather. Great Aunt Myrtle—said plague—stood on the doorstep, cousin Horace hovering nervously behind her.

"Oh!" Evy blurted in surprise, fighting her own arm's instinct to slam the door shut again and pretend she'd never opened it. "What are you doing here?"

"Inviting myself to see my great-great nephew, since nobody else is," Great Aunt Myrtle replied, and marched right into the house without another word, brushing past Evy with enough force to make Evy take a step sideways to avoid being plowed over.

"I’m terribly sorry," cousin Horace whispered, wringing his hands. "She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wouldn’t even let me telephone first. I’m dreadfully sorry."

Cousin Horace was a very nervous man, probably because he spent the most time with the old bird out of anyone else in the family, since he was her grandson and she lived with him.

Evy could only motion for him to come in, for once in her life entirely dumbfounded and speechless.

"I really am dreadfully, terribly sorry," Horace whispered again, and shook his head as she offered to take his coat. "I’ll try to get her to leave straight away."

At that moment, Jonathan came scrambling out of the parlor and nearly collided with Horace. Both of them started, stammered apologies, straightened their jackets, and cleared their throats. Oddly, the familial resemblance between them grew stronger with each action.

"What is she doing here?" Jonathan demanded as he rushed for the stairs. "What is she doing here?!"

"I don’t know!" Evy said in a hushed voice. "She said she wanted to see Alex."

"Yes, that’s what she told me," Jonathan replied, alighting the staircase, "and I find it hard to believe. She’s probably come to spy on your parenting techniques."

Evy groaned, knowing Jonathan was probably right. He hurried up the stairs.

"And just where are you going?" She called after him.

He stopped halfway up and looked back at her. "I told her I’d go get Alex, and I left Rick in there with her, talking about guns."

Evy's eyes widened. "Guns?!" She whisper-shouted at him.

"What?" Jonathan asked, a bit frantic. "It’s a safe enough topic, isn’t it?"

"No topic is safe with her!" Evy snapped, waving her arms. "How on earth did guns come up in conversation?"

"Rick is cleaning one of his revolvers—don't you remember?—and she asked him about it." Jonathan waved his arms around. "You know how he is with guns—like you with history! Once someone asks about it, he'll talk of nothing else!"

Evy didn't respond. The shock of seeing her great aunt had apparently scrubbed her mind of any recollection of the moments just before Great Aunt Myrtle had breached the castle walls. Indeed, Rick did have some gun or other meticulously reduced to bits and pieces and spread out all over the coffee table. She raised a hand to her forehead, a headache already throbbing into existence in anticipation of what Great Aunt Myrtle would have to say about that.

"Now," said Jonathan, "I’m going to go upstairs and hide for a little while, and then if she’s still here, you can come upstairs 'looking for me'."

"And then what?" Evy demanded. "Rick comes looking for me?"

Jonathan nodded. "Precisely."

"And then she’ll march up the stairs and have a look through all our rooms!"

"Oh, bloody h—I mean—"

"No, it’s all right, Jonathan," Evy said wearily, "Just this once. Under these pressing circumstances."

Jonathan muttered dirty words all the way up the stairs.

++

When Evy entered the parlor, she found Rick holding up the more-or-less skeleton of his deconstructed pistol and showing it to Great Aunt Myrtle, who sat ensconced in Jonathan's favorite armchair near the fire—Evy rather thought she'd most likely thrown Jonathan out of it.

"Oh, Evelyn." Great Aunt Myrtle spoke as Evy entered the room. "What on earth made you think it was all right for your American to leave his weapons spread about the house in this manner?"

Evy glanced at Rick, who had fallen silent when Myrtle started talking, but looked like he wished he hadn't.

"It's terribly dangerous with a child around. You should know this!" Myrtle tutted and shook her head, and Evy bit back saying that Alex was napping, and that was why Rick had spread his gun out all over the table—and really, the idea, the very idea, that they couldn't keep their own son safe! The gall!

"If your mother were still around," Myrtle continued, "I would certainly have words with her."

"Why?" Rick asked, and Evy bit back the urge to tell him to be quiet. One should never ask Great Aunt Myrtle why.

"Tea, Aunt Myrtle?" Evy asked, cutting off whatever reply had been on the older woman's lips. "Cousin Horace?"

Cousin Horace hovered behind her like a reluctant shadow, clutching his hat in front of his chest like a shield. "I—"

"Tea?!" Great Aunt Myrtle shrieked. "At this hour? Don't be absurd! I should have known that marrying an American would have ruined your sense of decorum—not to mention time! I can only assume that you often have tea at ridiculous hours thanks to him."

Rick rose to his feet. "Hey—"

Evy reached out and grabbed his arm, giving a miniscule shake of her head. As much as she adored the idea of Rick defending himself—defending everyone, really—it just couldn't be done. Not if anyone wanted to have any peace before the new year.

She cleared her throat sharply. "I just wondered, since it was cold out—"

"Very well, bring the tea," Myrtle interrupted her, glancing around the room, her eyes reflecting the firelight like a cat, or more aptly, the devil. "And just where has Jonathan gone off to? Horace, come here...."

As Great Aunt Myrtle hurtled another volley at a different target, Evy pulled Rick out of the parlor and into the kitchen.

"Evy, I can't stand that woman," Rick said as soon as the door shut behind them. "And you know I don't say that lightly."

"I know, darling. Oh, I wish she would leave!" Evy pushed her hair back from her face as she searched for the kettle. "But I'm afraid she won't until her mission is complete."

"And just what is her mission, exactly?" Rick asked warily.

"Aside from driving us all mad and trying to control our lives? To see Alex, or at least that's what she told me as she was barging in the front door."

"What's she gonna do to him? Ask him to recite the kings of England from the dawn of time onward?"

"Probably not, but I'm sure she'll have a few things to say to me."

"I'll shut her up."

"Rick, you can't. I mean, I would so dearly love to see you try, but she'll just lecture me about marrying an American even more."

"What does she have against Americans, anyway?"

"Oh, a little something called the War of Independence—or as she likes to call it, The Rebellion."

"Seriously?" Rick made a face. "Who is she, King George?"

"More like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. However, I don't see how we can possibly get rid of her without letting her meet Alex, so why don't you run along upstairs and help Jonathan get him ready. We'll let her see him, and then send her packing. All right?"

"You sure you want me to leave you alone with her? I don't think that that Cousin Horace of yours is gonna be much help."

"I'll be all right," Evy said, kissing Rick on the cheek. "Thank you for asking."

++

"I demand to see my great-great nephew. Really, Evelyn, I don't see why you didn't throw him a party when he turned a year old. It really is an important milestone, and would have been the perfect opportunity to let your family meet him properly. It would have saved me the trouble of coming here today."

Evy didn't think that explaining that she, Rick, and Jonathan had just wanted a nice, quiet, gathering with Alex as the main focus and certainly not Great Aunt Myrtle, would help matters at all.

"Aunt Myrtle, I really don't see how that's any of your business," she said as she set down the tea tray, knowing that that wouldn't help either.

"Of course it's my business!" The elder woman exclaimed, and Horace blinked rapidly at her increased volume. "He's my twice-greats nephew, of course he's my business!"

Evy might have found the statement touching if had been uttered by anyone other than Great Aunt Myrtle. She hoped Jonathan and Rick would return soon, Alex in hand, to supply a distraction—although she didn't much care for the idea of Alex having to deal with this woman. Fortunately, he was too young to answer any of her questions.

"How do you like your tea, Aunt Myrtle?" She asked.

"If you paid any attention to your extended family, you'd know that."

Evy bent over the teapot and rolled her eyes. Her extended family wasn't all that close—physically or otherwise. They were scattered all over England, Scotland, Ireland, and the continent—even America, although Great Aunt Myrtle rather disliked her American relatives and mostly ignored their existence—and had better things to do than come to the birthday party of a child who was too young to really understand what was happening.

She poured the tea, served it—poor Horace's saucer and cup rattled together—and by that time, mercifully, Rick and Jonathan entered, Alex in Rick's arms, cheeks still flushed from being tucked warmly in for his nap.

"At last," Evy sighed, hurrying over to Rick and taking Alex from him. Just having her husband in the room settled her nerves as much as anyone's nerves could be settled around Great Aunt Myrtle.

Alex rubbed at his eye and stared at Great Aunt Myrtle, who smiled at him, although it was a Great Aunt Myrtle smile, and could hardly be classed amongst such pleasant expressions.

"Here he is, Aunt Myrtle," said Jonathan breathlessly, half-hiding behind Rick.

Cousin Horace rose from the couch, meeting Evy halfway across the room.

"Hello, Alex," he said quietly, moving as if to grasp Alex's hand before thinking differently, "I'm your cousin, Horace."

Alex said nothing, and stared at him. Horace only smiled, remarked that the dear boy must be shy, and returned to his seat.

"Well, he'll certainly not be shy with me," Great Aunt Myrtle proclaimed from her wing-backed throne. She reached out, apparently expecting Evy to place him in her arms.

Evy forced a close-lipped smile and did nothing of the sort. "He doesn't much care for strangers," she said, regretting it as soon as she said it.

Great Aunt Myrtle opened her mouth. "Well," she said, "if you'd invited me to meet him sooner, I wouldn't be a stranger. And really, Evelyn, you should socialize him more—if you want him to have any sort of success in life, he needs to be used to people."

"He's a baby," Rick growled, "not a dog."

"He's just a late bloomer." Jonathan laughed nervously around Rick's shoulder. "Once he's ready to go to school, he'll meet all sorts of people."

Myrtle craned to set her needling little eyes on him. "Jonathan, are you still in that ridiculous archeology business?"

Jonathan gulped, wished he hadn't spoken, and ducked completely behind Rick, who reached back and dragged him out by the sleeve. If Great Aunt Myrtle wanted to set her sites on Jonathan instead of Evy or Alex, Rick would be more than happy to oblige. He loved his brother-in-law, but somebody needed to take the heat off Evy, and since Rick hadn't been given permission to toss the dreadful little woman out on her ass, Jonathan would do just fine.

"Yeah Jonathan," he said, depositing Jonathan next to the coffee table, mere feet from the elderly dragon by the fireplace, "are you still in that archeology business?"

"Well—"

"You know how I feel about archeology," Great Aunt Myrtle said, and Jonathan, only by a small margin, managed not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, I rather do," he said, unable to remain pleasant, "You tell me every time you see me. I really don't see how it's any of your business."

"You're my great-nephew!" She cried, affronted. "Of course it's my business!"

"How?" Said Rick, and Evy poked him on the arm. One should never ask Great Aunt Myrtle how.

++

After about an hour of stilted, and mostly one-sided conversation, Rick stood up.

"Well, you've met him," he said abruptly. "You can go now."

Jonathan's eyes widened, and he and Horace shrank back into the couch. Evy squeezed Alex ever-so-slightly closer to herself, and Great Aunt Myrtle appeared to inflate like a bullfrog, or one of those birds that puffed its feathers out when threatened.

"The nerve!" She exclaimed, and Alex gave her a very dirty look. "This is why I detest Americans—they have absolutely no manners at all!"

"Yeah well, I wouldn't say you've got a whole lotta manners yourself, lady," Rick shot back, levelling a glare on her that put one of Evy's to shame.

Evy shot to her feet, cramming Alex into Rick's arms and intervening before the house burst into flame.

"What Rick meant, Aunt Myrtle, was that it's getting rather late—" she said in a pacifying tone, and Jonathan nodded eagerly "—and we wouldn't want you to trouble yourself any further."

"Or overstay your welcome," Rick muttered only for Evy to hear.

Great Aunt Myrtle rose from her seat, although it did little to increase her height, and announced to the detriment of everyone present—except, perhaps, Cousin Horace—"I intend to stay until the twenty-seventh."

Evy might have refused, sent Great Aunt Myrtle on her way and barred the doors and windows until Ardeth was due to arrive, but the glimmer of hope, or life rather, that flickered in Cousin Horace's eyes at the idea of getting the holiday to himself gave her pause. Yes, Great Aunt Myrtle's presence was ghastly, and would certainly put a damper on things, even Ardeth's visit—perhaps especially Ardeth's visit—but they could sacrifice one Christmas so that Horace might cling to his sanity, couldn't they?

"Excuse us, Aunt Myrtle," she said, reaching out and tugging at Rick's sleeve. She barely got him to move, as he was rooted to the floor with something close to rage. She locked eyes with Jonathan. "We need to speak in private."

Once she got the men into the kitchen, she said, "I think we should let her stay."

"What?!" They both shouted in unison, looked at each other, then back at her, "Why?"

"So that our poor Cousin Horace can have some time to himself."

"Oh hang Cousin Horace," said Jonathan, flopping dramatically into a chair, "I don't want that witch in our house another minute!"

"For once I agree with Jonathan," Rick said.

"Witch!" Said Alex, and they all groaned.

++

The thing was, Great Aunt Myrtle had planned her villainous takeover so meticulously, that upon instruction, Jonathan—braving the cold, and he hated the bloody cold—found in the back of Cousin Horace's car a suitcase. A very heavy one, he realized when he hefted it out of the boot and hobbled back inside, sleet in his hair and ice in his bones. Horace left mere moments after, apparently eager to begin his free holiday.

Jonathan took the suitcase to one of the south-facing rooms—because, Great Aunt Myrtle had said, if you must have such a ridiculously large house, Evelyn, I should at least not be facing north. I'm too old for a north-facing room, you know. So they had obliged, as much to shut her up as because the south-facing rooms were farther from theirs than the northern ones.

Great Aunt Myrtle inspected it, announced that it was 'clean enough', Rick scowled at the slight, and everyone hoped she would retire for the evening. Their hopes were dashed when she asked if there was 'any supper to be had in this place'.

"So, Evelyn," Great Aunt Myrtle said in the dining room, in front of a plate of food she deemed 'edible enough', "do you and your American intend to have any more children?"

Great Aunt Myrtle apparently refused to address Rick by name, or really to address him at all, and seemed entirely set on berating Evy the most.

"I say!" Jonathan exclaimed, outraged, shocked, and mostly trying to keep whatever colorful and well-deserved onslaught brewing on Rick's tongue from spilling forth. "Is that really a question for the dinner table?" Or anywhere, really.

Myrtle shot him a sharp look. "Nephew, I am speaking."

Unfortunately, Jonathan thought.

"And you know how I feel about being interrupted," she continued, "especially by remarks that hold absolutely no bearing at all. Really, Jonathan, you should learn to hold your tongue. I don't know why your parents, God rest them, never taught you better manners."

Jonathan's vision went red and he squeezed the fork in his hand tightly enough that the silver handle dug into his palm. It was one thing for Great Aunt Myrtle to berate him, or even Evy, but he really ruddy hated it when she brought his parents, who couldn't speak up for themselves, into it.

"Perhaps we should hold a seance," he said testily, "and conjure them up so you can speak with them. I'm sure Mother would love to have words with you."

"Jonathan!" Evy hissed from the end of the table.

"At least your sister has some sense," Myrtle remarked, and it was the closest thing to praise anyone had ever heard from her before.

++

When Myrtle did mercifully retire for the evening, Jonathan fell into his favorite armchair—it felt a bit tainted now, since she'd been in it—and proclaimed, "Evy, I am going to die, and it's all your fault."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Evy chided, setting Alex on the rug near Jonathan's feet. The boy immediately set upon Jonathan's shoelaces.

Rick sauntered over to the fireplace and leaned against it. "Somebody's gonna die," he said menacingly, "and it ain't you, Jonathan."

"Humph," Jonathan said, watching Alex.

Evy sighed. "Rick, darling, you can't kill Aunt Myrtle."

"Why not?"

Evy tsked. "I know she's absolutely unbearable, but I won't have you committing murder on someone who would only come back to haunt us just to complain that she wasn't murdered correctly." Evy rose and went to Rick, sliding her arm into his and laying her head on his shoulder. "And besides, I refuse to have you go to prison."

Rick grinned. "Only go to prison if I get caught."

TWO: Christmas Eve—It's Been A Long, Long Time

Jonathan purposefully slept in the next day. It was an incredibly easy thing to do. Normally, he might have been downstairs, being festive and all because it was Christmas Eve, but the knowledge that Great Aunt Myrtle roamed the halls kept him safely ensconced in his blankets. At least until just after noon, when a light knock sounded at his door.

"Jonathan!" Evy's hushed voice slipped through the keyhole. "Jonathan! Why is your door locked? Answer your door!"

Jonathan sighed, considered ignoring her, decided against it, and threw off the covers. Pulling on his robe, he crossed the room and opened the door a crack.

"What is it?"

She stared at him through the small gap, and even just that miniscule glimpse of her face was enough to show she was frazzled.

"You need to make an appearance," she ordered. "You've already missed breakfast and lunch, and Aunt Myrtle is going on and on about how I don't run my house and I allow you to be a layabout, and no wonder your career is in the gutter since you're sleeping all day all the time."

"All the time?!" Jonathan exclaimed incredulously. Why, some days he was up by ten! And why shouldn't a body be allowed a rest, really, if they hadn't any pressing reasons to rise with the sun? "And where does she get off, discussing my career behind my back?”

Evy sighed. "Just get dressed and come on."

"I'll come on, but I'm not getting dressed. If I'm going to disappoint the old hag, I'm going to do it properly!"

++

Jonathan entered the parlor in his robe and slippers, stretched out on the couch and crossed his ankles, intending to go right back to sleep. A nap on the couch would suit him just fine.

"Hey Jonathan," said Rick from somewhere in the room. "Sleep good?"

"Sleep well , you brute, sleep well! " Said the voice of nightmares from her perch in Jonathan's armchair. "But I suppose they don't teach proper grammar in America ."

"I mostly grew up in Egypt, you know," Rick said, choosing that instead of what he wanted to say, which wouldn't have played by Evy's ‘polite language’ rules at all. He loathed Great Aunt Myrtle, but Evy had asked him not to be rude, so he would oblige. But only because she asked.

Great Aunt Myrtle clicked her tongue. "As if Egypt is any better."

"Well, it's hotter, anyway."

"What does that have to do with anything ?"

Rick shrugged. "Nothing."

"And Jonathan, why aren't you dressed ?" Great Aunt Myrtle shrilled. "You shouldn't be lazing about the house in your nightclothes! Were you raised in a barn?"

"I wasn't aware barn animals wore nightclothes, Aunt Myrtle," Jonathan muttered, half-hoping she wouldn't hear, and half-hoping she would.

She did. "Don't talk back to me, nephew. And why have you slept the day away? What kind of an example are you giving your own nephew...."

Her voice became nothing more than a distant droning as Jonathan ignored her entirely and let her useless ramblings lull him back to sleep. Nothing would piss her off more than that.

++

The evening meal went on well enough, considering who was present. The wretch in question began to talk about how she thought Evy's china dishes weren't up to scale, or the table cloth had something wrong with it, or the way some of the rooms in the house were arranged, or something ridiculous that Jonathan tuned out in favor of eating. Evy took it all in stride—this had been her decision after all—and routinely changed the subject.

"See how well Alex eats, Aunt Myrtle."

"Yes, it's a good thing he isn't picky like some children. You'll have to watch out for that. And do make sure you don't feed him too many sweets, it will ruin his teeth as well as his palate."

"Of course, Aunt Myrtle."

"We already knew that," Rick grumbled, and Evy sent him a look that told him to stay calm.

Great Aunt Myrtle ignored him, and went on to something else.

Right after the meal, Jonathan disappeared to the library—because of course the house had a library, no self respecting librarian, historian, bookworm, or Carnahan would purchase a house without one—and stayed there until Evy poked her head in and said, "She's gone to bed."

"Thank God for that."

++

After Alex had been put to bed for the night, Jonathan went searching for Rick to have a good old-fashioned rant about their unsavory houseguest. He didn't particularly want to rant to Evy, who had been the one to open their home to the old nutter, but for the life of him he couldn't find Rick anywhere. He did find Evy, however, in the parlor, frantically dusting the side tables.

"Where has Rick gone?" He asked, lifting a stack of books for her to dust under.

Evy gave him an impatient look. "He'll be back shortly," she said, never slowing in her bustling about, "he's gone to pick up something very important. For Christmas."

"It’s awfully late, isn’t it?" Jonathan glanced at his watch, which told him it was just after ten o’clock. Not awfully late for him, but awfully late for other people.

"Well," said Evy, moving on to straighten cushions, "it's important."

“You said that already.” Jonathan crossed his arms. "Is it a present?"

Evy glanced at him. "You could say that," she said mysteriously.

"What kind of an answer is that?" Jonathan began following her around the room.

"The only kind you’re going to get," she told him, squinting over her shoulder.

"Oh come off it, old mum, why are you being so secretive? If it’s something for Alex, I’m not going to tell him."

"It’s not for Alex."

"Then what—"

The sound of the front door opening cut him off, and Rick’s voice called—though not too loudly, since no one wanted Great Aunt Myrtle to have anything else to complain about—"Honey, we’re home!"

" ‘We’ ?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow, following Evy as she headed for the foyer, "he said ‘we’ . Evy, you haven’t gone and gotten a pony or something have you?" He leaned closer to her and whispered, "Great Aunt Myrtle doesn’t have a twin we don’t know about, does she?"

"Oh Jonathan, don’t even speak it," Evy hissed back, sending a wary glance upstairs to where their beloved great aunt rested in her coffin.

"I’ll speak it if I damn well pl…."

His words fell right out of existence when he stepped into the hall. 

"Oh my God." The sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks.

Rick stood just inside the front door, but that wasn’t what Jonathan could hardly believe. The what—or rather the who —stood beside Rick, smiling brightly enough that the freezing rain outside was driven far, far away, and it suddenly became morning.

"Surprise," Ardeth said, smiling bashfully at Jonathan.

"Happy Christmas, Jonathan!" Evy said, beaming.

"How did you—?" Jonathan's eyes shot from Ardeth to her and back again. "Evy—?"

"You’re not the only one who can write a letter, you know," she said, looking far too smug.

"Aren't you gonna say hello?" Rick asked, shrugging out of his coat and unwinding the scarf from his neck.

"Yes, Jonathan, go and say hello." Evy pushed her brother toward Ardeth, and watched closely. She hadn't forgotten her original plan, despite Great Aunt Myrtle.

"Hello, Jonathan," Ardeth said, his voice velvety smooth in a way that Jonathan had forgotten—or rather, hadn't noticed, and still didn't, obviously. "It is good to see you, my friend."

"Yes, well, the same to you," Jonathan managed to say, and as he spoke he suddenly became very aware of the fact that he was wearing only his pajamas and robe, and he felt rather self-conscious about it. He'd never been wearing so little clothing around Ardeth before, he thought, only to instantly remember two specific times when he had, in fact, been wearing even less clothing around Ardeth—when Ardeth bandaged his arm in the catacombs of Hamunaptra, and when Ardeth came up to his hotel room and re-bandaged his arm in Cairo. And then, of course, there was the morning after Rick and Evy’s wedding, when he'd been wearing a robe and pajamas, and Ardeth had been wearing...a thin, loose tunic.

Jonathan's face grew red at the memories, and his arm felt twitchy. He didn't quite know what to do with himself. It didn't help when Ardeth stepped forward and wrapped him in a wonderfully warm, surprisingly soft embrace.

Evy smiled slyly to herself as she tilted her cheek up to welcome Rick's hello kiss.

"See, darling?" She whispered.

"See what?"

"Them!" She gestured in Ardeth and Jonathan's still-embracing direction.

Rick looked, and shook his head. "They’re just happy to see each other. I’m happy to see Ardeth, too, so does that mean I’ve got something going on with him?"

"Well, no , but—"

"Just leave ‘em alone, Evy."

"Oh fine." She would pick her battles, although she really didn't see how Rick could deny what was right in front of his eyes. "But one day you’ll see that there’s more going on between those two than you think."

Rick looked skeptical, but only said, "M-hm."

Ardeth released Jonathan and stepped back, his eyes trailing over every inch of him, so glad to see him after all this time. Had it really been a year and a half? He hoped that he would never be parted from Jonathan for so long again. It was a false hope, a foolish hope, but still his heart fluttered in his chest, and his breaths still came a bit quicker than perhaps they should have. A part of him tried to worry that he was being too obvious, but that part was easily vanquished. Oh, if Fadia could see him now, she'd never let him live it down.

"How are you, my friend?" He asked, softly.

"Well, surprised at the moment." Jonathan felt completely pulled apart beneath Ardeth's piercing gaze, and he knew his face was very flushed, but hoped everyone would attribute it to how warm the foyer had suddenly become. Ardeth was staring at him like that , and Jonathan couldn't help but stare back, tracing the lines of Ardeth's tattoos with his gaze, and forcing himself to speak in a normal way, as if his heart wasn't lodged in his throat. "When did you and Evy arrange all of this? I say, she's terribly sneaky when she wants to be—and O'Connell, too, apparently."

"Your sister wrote to me in October," Ardeth replied.

"October, you say?" Something dawned on Jonathan, slowly and then all at once. He turned to squint over his shoulder at Evy. "Confound it, Evy!" He exclaimed, "That's when you offered to mail my letter for me. I should have known you had something up your sleeve!"

"For which you're very grateful, I'm sure," she said.

Jonathan opened his mouth, and Ardeth said, "I am."

Evy smiled, knowingly perhaps, as Jonathan cleared his throat and fiddled with the ties of his robe. She crossed the foyer to greet Ardeth properly.

"You're always welcome, you know, Ardeth," she said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze.

"And again, I am very grateful." Ardeth inclined his head, smiling down at her—although, she noticed, he smiled at her very differently than he smiled at Jonathan.

"Well, come on in, Ardeth, and take a load off," Rick said.

He lead them all toward the entrance to the parlor, but as they crossed into the room, Ardeth, who brought up the rear of the group, glanced up—and Jonathan tried not to stare at the column of his throat or the way his glorious black hair framed it, not that it was a problem or anything.

"Hm," Ardeth remarked, "There is a plant in your doorway."

Evy followed Ardeth's gaze—and Jonathan's—and saw that Ardeth had discovered the mistletoe, and Jonathan stared at Ardeth discovering the mistletoe. 

Perfect , she thought, and smiled like a shark. 

"That's mistletoe," she said. "You know about mistletoe, don't you, Ardeth? The tradition and everything, I mean?" She blinked innocently, not awaiting a reply. "Jonathan, why don't you tell him all about the tradition with mistletoe?"

She reached out and pushed Jonathan closer to Ardeth so that they both stood under the incriminating plant.

Jonathan gulped, growing even redder. He felt awfully warm and it was suddenly hard to breathe. His legs felt wobbly, and he sent a desperate sort of glare at Evy, who smirked— smirked , mind you!—and glanced at Ardeth, which proved to be a mistake because Ardeth was looking at him. Jonathan looked up at the mistletoe. He could feel Ardeth's eyes still on him—but what he didn't know was that Ardeth was trying not to stare at the unfastened top button of Jonathan's pajama shirt, and failing miserably.

"Well," Jonathan wheezed, "people hang up mistletoe and people are meant to, well, er, um, kiss under it, you see." His eyes fell to Ardeth again, and got stuck somewhere between Ardeth's intoxicating eyes and his inviting lips—not that Jonathan associated either of those adjectives with any part of Ardeth's face at all—and he forced his eyes somewhere else, anywhere else.

Good God, he was in hell.

He coughed and tugged at the ties of his robe. "For example, if you were a girl and I were the kissing kind, someone would force us to snog under the plant or have bad luck in love forever, or some such nonsense." He laughed nervously and scratched at his ear. "It's all quite mad, really, if you think about it."

Meanwhile, during Jonathan's panicked explanation, Evy noticed Ardeth's face doing some odd things. His eyes absolutely drank Jonathan in while Jonathan looked everywhere but him, then they both stared at each other—which was really nothing new, if Evy's recollections were anything to go by. She nudged Rick while Jonathan and Ardeth stared at each other, and he made a dismissive noise. But then Jonathan brought up Ardeth being a girl, and that was when Ardeth's eyes fell away, and something pulled at his expression, something like disappointment, or something deeper.

Well. As if she were going to let everything go that easily.

"Not to mention," she said cheerily, hardly able to contain her glee, "the pagans saw mistletoe as a symbol of male fertility."

Jonathan's eyes bugged out of his head. Ardeth's gaze became pointedly fixed on the ceiling. Behind her, Rick coughed.

"Did you know that, Jonathan?" She asked sweetly.

"Yes, I did," Jonathan squeaked before escaping the godforsaken mistletoe and glaring at her as he hurried past.

She smiled. "Please have a seat, Ardeth," she said, as he, too, stepped out of the doorway, "and I'm sure you're hungry after your travels. Would you like something to eat?"

"I do not wish to trouble you," he said.

Evy noticed, triumphantly, that his voice sounded a bit strange.

Rick figured anybody's voice would sound a bit strange after what had just happened. Now everybody was thinking about male fertility, which was weird.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!" She assured him, reaching out and catching Rick's arm before he could follow Ardeth to the couch. "Darling, come and help me in the kitchen."

Rick gave her an odd look, then a knowing look, but did as he was told.

Once the kitchen door swung shut behind them, he asked, "Honey, what are you doing?"

"Giving them a moment alone, of course."

"Why?"

"Because there's something going on with them, Rick." She paused. "Or rather, there should be."

Rick sighed. "Evy, don't you think you're muddying the waters a little by engineering situations where they're forced to be alone and bringing up stuff like what the pagans thought about mistletoe?"

Evy didn't acknowledge that last bit, and said, "I'm not forcing them, I'm just giving them what they don't know they want!"

"'What they don't know they want' ?" Rick shook his head. "Evy, this is silly. There's nothing going on between Jonathan and Ardeth."

"Oh, just watch them together and you'll see, Rick." She patted his arm, grinning. "I guarantee it."

Meanwhile, back in the parlor, Jonathan and Ardeth sat in what could only be described as a torturous silence. At least, it was torturous for Jonathan, who couldn't stop thinking about the stupid pagans and their stupid fertile mistletoe. Ardeth, however, appeared quite at ease, sitting all regal and dramatic on the couch.

How does he make even the most mundane things look alluring? Jonathan wondered, before snapping himself out of it and forcing himself to stop staring.

"So, old chap," he forced out, "how was your trip?"

"Uneventful enough," Ardeth replied, smiling and looking tired but content. "Although I must admit, it is far colder and damper here than I am used to."

Jonathan let out a wry chuckle. "You and I'll be huddling in front of the fireplace and forcing Rick to chop us more firewood before it's over, I wager."

He most certainly did not let his mind wander to the idea of Ardeth's arms around him in the dim light of a fire.

"I say," he blurted, because he had to do something, "I won't mind at all having someone else around here who agrees that it's too bloody cold out. Rick always tells me I build the fire up too high."

Ardeth's smile turned painfully fond, and Jonathan nearly tugged at his collar because he had the sudden feeling he was choking.

"Everyone well back home?" He croaked.

"Yes," Ardeth said. He didn't mention Fadia’s ideas about seduction, nor the knowing looks his mother had sent his way. "Fadia and my mother say hello. And so does my aunt."

"Well, hello to them," Jonathan said, and then with a start he recalled his own ghastly relative. "Speaking of aunts, my great aunt is here—remember her from the wedding? Great Aunt Myrtle? That awful old bat?"

Ardeth looked thoughtful. It was a very good look on him, not that Jonathan noticed or anything. "The one who does not like Egypt?"

Jonathan sighed. "That's the one. And that's not even the half of what she doesn't like. But alas, she's here for the holiday, and it's bloody dreadful. Evy's the one who decided to let her stay, because according to her it's the least we could do for our poor cousin who has to put up with the old bird all the time."

"I see," said Ardeth.

"She's a dreadful busybody—always has something to say about everything and everyone under the sun, and probably the sun, too. So just a little warning that once she wakes up tomorrow, she'll have something to say about you, too."

Ardeth looked more amused than he probably should have—in Jonathan's opinion, no one threatened by an encounter with Great Aunt Myrtle should look amused—and nodded. "I shall prepare myself accordingly, my friend."

"As for Alex..." Jonathan continued to ramble, because what else was he supposed to do? Lecture about pagans and mistletoe? He thought not. "...I suppose you'll have to wait and see him in the morning, too, since he's already asleep. He's a wonderful little tyke, he's sure to like you immensely. He doesn't like Great Aunt Myrtle all that much, but then again, he's a rather good judge of character." He paused to breathe. "It's Christmas tomorrow—Alex's second one, if you can believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. Time really does fly, you know, and it just blows my mind. You don't celebrate Christmas, do you?"

Ardeth shook his head, looking even more amused. This time, he was amused by Jonathan's rambling and quite enjoying it. He had missed hearing it. Reading it in a letter just wasn't the same. "No, I do not."

"Well, you'll just have to sit around and watch us, I suppose. Although I wouldn't want you to feel left out."

"I promise, I will not." Ardeth's gaze grew more intense, if that was possible.

"Well. Good." Jonathan shifted in his seat, scrambling for something else to say, wishing, mostly, that he hadn't sat down directly across from Ardeth.

At that moment, Rick entered the room, Evy at his heels, appearing for all the world like she was trying to stop him and failing at it. He set down a tray of tea and biscuits and some of those little sandwiches that Evy was so good at making on the coffee table, and told Ardeth to dig in.

As they ate—and Jonathan felt Ardeth's eyes on him as he drank his tea—Rick carried the conversation, telling Ardeth all about his car, his dislike of Great Aunt Myrtle, bragging about Alex, and asking Ardeth's opinion on various firearms. Evy discussed history, Alex's accomplishments, and how she intended to go back to work soon.

Although she loved visiting with Ardeth, she really did want to leave him alone with Jonathan. But any little hint she dropped on the subject, Rick either ignored or didn't notice. Before she knew it, an hour had passed, and Ardeth stifled a yawn.

"I say," Jonathan remarked, rising to his feet, "you must be absolutely knackered, old chap. We're just dreadful keeping you up like this." He turned to Evy. "I assume you have a room ready for him?"

"As a matter of fact I do," said Evy, feeling smug, "directly across the hall from you."

Jonathan swallowed hard. He should have known.

Rick stood up. "I'll take you, Ardeth," he offered, but Evy shot to her feet.

"Well, actually Rick, I need your help with something. Jonathan can show him up just fine, can't you, Jonathan?"

Jonathan squinted at her. She really was a menace, he thought, on about Ardeth so strangely. Why was she so insistent? But he didn't actually let himself answer that question—after all, Evy was as observant as she was pushy, and if there was something for her to observe...well, Jonathan wasn't going to dig too deeply into that , either.

++

They reached Ardeth's door. The walk up had been an entire ordeal, at least for Jonathan, who found himself frazzled with the presence of the man. A year-and-a-half of being apart and only writing letters had been sufficient enough to make Jonathan forget just how much being near Ardeth threw him off balance. He supposed he was only being this honest with himself because Ardeth's reappearance had come as a shock—a pleasant one, but a shock nonetheless.

The low light in the hallway served only to make Ardeth's cheekbones look better, and to make his eyes more beckoning .

"Well, here we are, old chap," Jonathan said, not sure what to do with his arms. "If you need anything, apparently I'm just across the hall."

Ardeth smiled, in that odd little way that Jonathan might have thought shy if it wasn't Ardeth , and reached out to rest his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "It is very good to see you again, my friend."

Jonathan swallowed hard, the feeling of every one of Ardeth's long fingers burning through the thick material of his robe. He pasted on the most unaffected smile he could manage. "You too, old chap. I'm also thrilled that you didn't pop out of the shadows and scare the willies out of me this time."

"Well." Ardeth's hand withdrew, leaving Jonathan feeling suddenly untethered without it, and his smile turned playful. "The visit is not yet over."

"You're right there," Jonathan replied, and for a moment he considered asking how long Ardeth would be staying, and then decided he didn't want to think about Ardeth leaving. "Perhaps I should put a bell on you."

Ardeth grinned. "And where is the fun in that?"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "So you like scaring me, is that it?"

"Of course not." Ardeth's eyes twinkled mischievously.

Ardeth was teasing him, Jonathan knew that much. It had happened before, but now it was happening in a darkened hall, with Ardeth's always-dark eyes looking endless and hypnotising, his black hair loose around his face. For just half a second, Jonathan had the urge to reach out and take one of those soft-looking raven curls between his fingers. He pushed the urge away, and coughed.

"Well, good night then, old chap."

Ardeth inclined his head, still grinning. "Good night, Jonathan."

As Ardeth entered his room, Jonathan quickly ducked into the relative safety of his own, shutting the door and leaning back against it, heart pounding. Why did Ardeth have to say his name like that?

Bloody hell. Jonathan raked a hand through his hair. He was just being ridiculous. 

He scrounged up his flask and took a good long drink, trying to steady his nerves. Everything was fine. Ardeth was his friend—that was all he was, all he ever would be, and all that Jonathan wanted him to be.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.

THREE: Christmas Day—Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Jonathan slept fitfully—that is, when he slept at all and wasn’t up foolishly rooting around his room—and he was almost glad when, at a very early hour of the morning—five to six, according to his watch on the night table—a light knock sounded on his door, and a hushed "Jonathan!" came through the keyhole.

It was Evy whisper-shouting at him, demanding he unlock the door and let her in, which he promptly did.

"Jonathan," she uttered, hardly louder than a breath, "we’re opening presents and things early so Aunt Myrtle doesn’t ruin it. We’ll have to leave a few, just so she thinks we didn’t exclude her." Fortunately, they’d not set all the gifts under the tree until after the old bat had gone to bed the night before. She wouldn’t suspect a thing.

He nodded. "Right." Had it been any other person on the planet, this sort of scheme would have been cruel, but this was Great Aunt Myrtle they were talking about. Jonathan had ghastly visions of her scolding Evy and ‘her American’ for spoiling Alex by getting him so many presents, and critiquing Jonathan’s knit-work so severely he threw his knitting needles into the Thames.

"Get your robe and come on," Evy said, "Rick and Ardeth are waiting and I’m off to get Alex." She departed hurriedly, not even waiting for him to answer.

Jonathan went back into his room to retrieve his robe, and caught sight of the hastily wrapped package sitting on his desk. It looked awful, like it had been battered around fifty different mail rooms, but then again, he had mostly done it up in the dark.

He grabbed it, and for half a minute contemplated getting fully dressed before deciding against it. Evy would notice and say something, probably ask him why he’d gotten dressed if no one else had, not-so-subtly imply it was because of Ardeth, and then probably say something about mistletoe again.

++

Upon entering the parlor, Jonathan—not that he admitted it—was disappointed to find Ardeth fully dressed and entirely not wearing a thin, loose tunic. Probably because of the cold, Jonathan thought, and wished that he’d gotten dressed after all.

Ardeth, however, was not disappointed. Sitting on the end of the sofa closest to the fire, the heat of the flames brushing against the side of his face, his eyes sought Jonathan as soon as he entered the room, and fixed there. Jonathan looked fresh out of bed, with sleepy eyes and mussed up hair, with a half-open collar and the ties of his house robe hugging his slender waist—Ardeth was breathless as he watched Jonathan set a gift by the tree and cross the room toward him.

Rick rose from where he sat in Jonathan’s favorite armchair and automatically moved to the fire to add another log, a habit that Jonathan had instilled in him by ordering it every time he entered the parlor in the winter. He entirely missed Ardeth’s staring, and Jonathan’s flushing, and the softness in Ardeth’s face—but the sharp admiration in his eyes.

"Good morning, Jonathan," Ardeth greeted across a cup of coffee, his gaze following Jonathan as he made his way across the room.

"Morning, Ardeth." Jonathan forced himself to act naturally and pretend that Ardeth’s gaze wasn’t burning a hole in him as he quickly made his way to his armchair. He plopped into it just as Rick turned away from the fireplace. Jonathan offered his brother-in-law his best impression of an innocent smile, which Rick returned with an annoyed grunt.

"So." Jonathan continued grinning, and crossed one leg over the other as he watched Rick find somewhere else to sit. "What have you two gents been up to while I was getting my beauty sleep?"

Ardeth thought the beauty sleep was working, or rather, that Jonathan didn’t need it at all.

"We’ve been talking about guns," Rick replied, sinking onto the far end of the couch.

"Why am I not surprised?" said Jonathan, shifting to stretch his slippered feet toward the fire. "Any interesting opinions I should know about? Although, I will warn you, it is far too early in the morning for me to have a productive debate with anyone about anything."

"What would you have to debate about guns, anyway?" Rick asked.

"Well, that bigger isn’t always better." Jonathan stifled a yawn. 

Ardeth watched him, taking in his long frame, the way the firelight danced in his eyes and sent shadows playing along the curve of his jaw. 

"You tend to gravitate toward firearms that are frankly just too big to lug around all the time,” Jonathan said.

Rick huffed a laugh. "Beats your little peashooter."

"It’s a derringer, O’Connell, and I won’t have this conversation again." Jonathan ran a hand over his hair, and Ardeth followed the movement, unable to stop himself. "You’re always pestering me about it."

Ardeth allowed his eyes to linger, perhaps longer than he should have, until Jonathan glanced in his direction. He dropped his gaze to the cup in his hands, and made himself say something.

"I was quite fascinated with that pistol, when I first saw it," he remarked, recalling that time during the almost-end-of-the-world, when he’d been held, however briefly, at gunpoint in the Cairo museum. The derringer had looked like a child’s toy, but Jonathan had trained it so solemnly on him while giving his best attempt at a scowl, that Ardeth couldn’t keep a smile from tugging at his lips at the memory. That had been the first moment, oddly enough, that he’d noticed how blue Jonathan’s eyes were, and how soft. Entirely ill-suited for scowling. "I would not mind seeing it again—without you aiming it at me, of course."

"Of course, old chap. But I don’t have it on me at the moment. I don’t usually arm myself to venture down to the parlor, you know. Perhaps I could show it to you later." For some reason, Jonathan felt himself flush. Maybe because what he’d just said sounded a tad suggestive . He'd never been more glad about Evy not being in a room.

Footsteps sounded in the hall and as if summoned, Evy entered, a sleepy Alex in her arms. Jonathan determinedly clamped his mouth shut and hoped he wouldn't say anything incriminating. If she'd been a mere handful of seconds sooner...ugh, he shuddered to think. He could hear her now... 'show him what, again, Jonathan?'

Alex perked up at the sight of his father and reached out his tiny, chubby hands toward him. Rick immediately took Alex into his arms.

"Hey buddy," he cooed, smiling. "There's somebody you need to meet."

As Rick turned toward the rest of the room, Alex spotted Jonathan and grabbed toward him. "Unca Jon-tin!" He cried joyously.

Jonathan melted on the spot, a mere puddle of fondness, and smiled.

Alex bounced in Rick's arms, flailing in Jonathan's direction. Jonathan stood up to take him, and Rick obliged, handing him over to his doting uncle.

Alex patted Jonathan's face gently with his soft little hand. "Jon-tin."

Ardeth chuckled. "You failed to mention in your letter that Alex said Jon-tin specifically."

For some reason this made Jonathan blush. He tried to disguise his expression from Evy, to hide behind Alex because she was, of course, watching this exchange like a hawk. "Well, I didn't think it was all that important how he said it."

"It is very important," Ardeth said, his tone teasing. "This way is much funnier. Perhaps we should all start calling you Jon-tin."

"It might catch on." Rick grinned.

"Don't be ridiculous ." Jonathan rolled his eyes and sank onto the couch beside Ardeth without really thinking about it.

About this time, Alex truly noticed Ardeth. He stared unblinkingly, as children are wont to do, taking in this stranger. He had, of course, been too young, and too asleep, when he'd first met Ardeth to truly remember him, so he studied him with all the scrutiny that a one-year-old could manage. Which was quite a lot.

Ardeth smiled at him, as fond as any uncle, and said, "Hello."

"That's Ardeth." Jonathan spared a hand to point at Ardeth. He used that same hand to pick up one of Alex's and give Ardeth a little wave. "Say 'hello, Ardeth'."

Alex looked at Ardeth some more, and in his one-year-old mind, he decided he liked this man, whoever he was, because Uncle John seemed to like him, and Mummy and Daddy, too, and that was very important.

Alex grinned, his cheeks rosy and plump as any cherub, and reached out his little hands. "Awdet!" He cried before launching himself out of Jonathan's arms and onto Ardeth.

Ardeth laughed—a glorious sound—and caught Alex.

Evy, overcome with motherly affection to the point of forgetting to notice how Jonathan may or may not have been looking at Ardeth, clasped her hands together and smiled. "Oh, he likes you!"

"Of course he likes him," Rick said, reaching out to ruffle Alex's hair, "what's not to like?"

Jonathan couldn't think of a single thing.

Alex patted Ardeth's beard. He found it quite fascinating. He'd never, in his memory, met anyone with a beard before. He also thought it was funny that this man had long hair like Mummy. Uncle John and Daddy didn't have long hair like that. Alex grabbed a fistful of it and yanked on it. It was very nice. He'd like to keep it.

"He is strong like his father," said Ardeth, gently prying Alex's fingers off of him, giving a slight shake of his head as Rick started forward to help.

"That's all Evy, actually," said Jonathan. "From carrying all those books."

"Oh, tosh," Evy clucked.

"Well, it's certainly not you, huh, Jonathan?" Rick teased.

"I'll have you know —"

"Now now, we don't have time for a debate, children," Evy interrupted.

Ardeth bit back a chuckle. Just for Alex to hear, he said, "They are very silly, are they not?"

Alex looked him right in the eye, and seemed to agree.

"All right, there's no telling how long we've got before Aunt Myrtle comes down—" Evy was saying, and Jonathan and Rick both groaned at the mere mention of her "—so we should start with the gifts now."

Festivities moved into motion. There wasn't quite a mountain of presents under the tree, but there were enough, and most of them were for Alex. When Evy had decided which they would open and which they would leave for when Myrtle came down, Ardeth tried to set Alex on the rug in front of his gifts.

But Alex didn't like that. He didn't want to sit on the rug, not even to tear up the pretty boxes and get new things (he knew how that worked now). He wanted to stay with this Awdet person that everyone liked. So he grabbed hold of Awdet's funny clothes and clung to him, making the sound of protest that so often got him his way.

Ardeth chuckled, giving up on the endeavor. "He does not seemed pleased," he said as Alex laid his head on his shoulder, stretching his arms to hug Ardeth's neck. Ardeth smiled softly and patted Alex on the back.

Jonathan wished he hadn't left his camera in the other room.

"Well," said Evy, "I suppose we could do photographs first. Jonathan, where's your camera?"

Jonathan visibly started. "What?"

Evy squinted at him. Obviously, she thought he was startled for Ardeth-related reasons, but in actuality he was startled because she appeared to have read his thoughts. Although, now that she was squinting at him like that, he did tense for Ardeth-related reasons.

"Your camera," she said, "where is it?"

"Oh." Jonathan sank back against the couch, deflating. At least she wasn't suggesting he might want a souvenir of this moment. "I left it in the drawing room somewhere."

When he didn’t move to go get it, Evy tsked and went off in search of it herself. Jonathan watched her go, apprehension licking at his heels. She seemed overly eager for the camera. Or maybe he was just reading into it, being too suspicious. Photographs at Christmastime were fairly standard.

But when Evy returned, the first thing she did was order him and Ardeth in front of the tree. Alex joined them of course, still unwilling to let go of Ardeth.

"Stand closer," she said, and even with the camera blocking her face, Jonathan knew she was smirking. "Move closer."

Jonathan scowled.

Rick rolled his eyes. Evy was fabricating false evidence in her own investigation.

"Jonathan, get closer. Put your arm around him."

"Evy, I think we're close enough," Jonathan blurted desperately, glancing at Rick for aid. All Rick did was shrug. "If we get any closer, I'll have to stand on his feet and he'll have to hold me up!"

Not a bad idea, Evy thought.

"You're both fine," Rick said a bit impatiently. "Take the picture, honey."

++

After photographs, Alex decided he wanted to attack the pretty boxes. And it was while the three O'Connells were immersed in opening their own gifts, that Jonathan took the opportunity to give Ardeth his gift.

He was embarrassed at how sloppily it was wrapped, and he hated how his cheeks burned as he placed the misshapen thing into Ardeth's hands. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Jonathan thought his heart might stop.

Ardeth glanced at the parcel, then at Jonathan. "I have nothing to give to you," he said, looking sheepish.

"Oh, it's fine. You being here is all the gift I need," Jonathan said. His throat closed up as soon as the words left him. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way Ardeth's eyes burned into him. "Besides, this is more just a 'hello' sort of present, I suppose, since you don't celebrate and all that."

"I see." Ardeth couldn't help smiling at him, or perhaps beaming at him would have been the more accurate phrase. Being there was gift enough for him, too, but the fact that Jonathan had thought of him enough to give him something...well, it sent his heart leaping in a thousand foolish ways that he would reprimand himself for later.

He pulled open the little package, and inside he found a knitted scarf of midnight blue. He ran his fingers over it, the intricate pattern a fine, soft texture against his skin. 

He didn't know, of course, that Jonathan had chosen that color months ago because he'd been thinking of Ardeth incessantly at the time, and remembered that exact shade of midnight blue from the time Ardeth had patched his wounds with bits of his own midnight blue robes, years before.

Jonathan's cheeks flared even more, and his chest felt unbearably tight from the soft way that Ardeth gazed at the thing he had made.

"Well," Jonathan huffed out, trying to shatter whatever feeling was lingering in the air between them. A feeling he was imagining, surely. "I don't really know why I thought that sort of scarf would be a good present. It's the sort for cold weather, you know, and it's hot over there in Egypt." He tried to laugh. It didn't work, especially since Ardeth looked up at him with something that could only be called unbridled fondness . "I mean, it does get cooler at night, but I daresay it doesn't get that —"

His voice wobbled because Ardeth reached out and placed a hand on his wrist. A soft touch, an intimate one. They were very nearly holding hands.

"—cold."

"Jonathan."

"Yes?"

"It is perfect." Ardeth's lips curved in one of those shy smiles Jonathan often found directed at him. He still found it hard to believe Ardeth capable of being shy. "Thank you."

"Yes. Well. You're welcome."

Evy saw all of this, and nearly exploded. She should have strung up mistletoe everywhere.

++

Jonathan dreaded the moment Great Aunt Myrtle descended the stairs like a squat, judgemental thundercloud and flooded their lovely Christmas morning with the rains of her scorn.

Unfortunately, the typhoon of negativity arrived all too soon, and Great Aunt Myrtle entered the parlor, stole his armchair, and, after a quick appraisal of the—unbeknownst to her, remaining —gifts under the tree, told Evy that she hoped not all of those parcels were for Alex, as so many presents would spoil him.

Evy only smile-grimaced, and hoped that Rick and Ardeth would return from the kitchen soon. Myrtle was much easier for Evy to deal with when she could exchange long-suffering glances with Rick and smile to herself about how much he wanted to defend them all.

Jonathan's thoughts, as Myrtle prattled on and Alex delightedly toddler-chatted to himself, moved in similar circles as Evy's. Only, they circled around Ardeth, not Rick. Of course, if Jonathan had been aware that he was thinking of Ardeth in the same context that Evy thought of Rick—a familiarity of quiet exchanged glances and unspoken communication, and a pillar of strength and a shield—he would have denied anything of the sort. 

But he wasn't aware, and instead sat begrudgingly on the couch, fought the urge to glare at his relative, and wished that Ardeth would return from the kitchen soon.

When Rick and Ardeth reentered the parlor—they'd gone to get some things for a small, informal breakfast, and Rick had mostly used it as an excuse to actually get to talk to Ardeth without Evy somehow making the whole thing about Jonathan. She meant well, but c'mon—Rick couldn't keep a wince from crossing his face when he spotted Great Aunt Myrtle ensconced in Jonathan's armchair like a tyrannical ruler of old.

Ardeth, meanwhile, smiled, and as he laid the tea tray on the coffee table, he said, "Good morning."

Great Aunt Myrtle eyed him, watching as he sat down beside Jonathan on the couch.

Jonathan felt pinched in all the wrong places. What was Great Aunt Myrtle going to do now? Undoubtedly, she'd launch some sort of interrogation. He dreaded it entirely and wished Ardeth wouldn't have to be subjected to it.

Ardeth watched Myrtle watch him. Her gaze was sharp, stern, penetrating. He wouldn't dream of telling Evelyn it reminded him of hers.

"Well," said Great Aunt Myrtle at last, "you seem a bit familiar, young man."

Ardeth smiled again, even as Jonathan nearly buried his face in his hands at Myrtle's cold tone. The sort of tone that demanded an answer even if she hadn't really asked a question.

"As do you," Ardeth said, entirely not answering Myrtle's unspoken question.

Jonathan swallowed hard. Evy merely began serving, and Rick grinned as he sat down on the rug beside Alex. This might get good.

Myrtle pressed her lips together. "Where have I seen you before?" She demanded.

"Oh, it could have been anywhere. I travel often, and far, you see." Ardeth accepted a steaming cup and saucer from Evy with a smile and nod of thanks.

Jonathan waved off Evy's offer of tea, not trusting himself to hold a cup and saucer without clanking them together, because Great Aunt Myrtle really did resemble a stormcloud at the moment—the sort about to strike something, or someone, by lightning.

"Do you travel often?" Ardeth asked Myrtle.

"I really don't see how that's any of your business," she told him, waspish.

Ardeth gently blew on his tea. "So," he said, "you are Jonathan and Evelyn's aunt. They have told me about you."

Jonathan lurched forward to grab one of the biscuits Rick had brought, just for something to do with his hands. Ardeth was clearly and riskily implying he'd been told unsavory things about Great Aunt Myrtle, and from the look on her face, she didn't miss his meaning.

"Have they?" She eyed first Evy like a snake, then Jonathan.

Tension crackled in the room like Myrtle's metaphorical lightning. Jonathan ate frantically.

"Good things, of course." Ardeth smiled again. "And we met at Rick and Evelyn's wedding, if you recall."

Myrtle squinted at Ardeth. "Oh yes. Now I remember you. You're from Egypt." She spat the name of the country as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. Of course, she extended the same sentiment to America or France or Ireland, but that didn't make Jonathan resent it any less. "I didn't think your people celebrated Christmas."

Rick rolled his eyes, Evy offered Myrtle some tea hoping it might occupy her and keep her from talking. Jonathan grabbed another biscuit.

"We do not," Ardeth said mildly. "But I do not see the harm in spending time with friends, whatever the day may be."

"Humph," said Myrtle. Mercifully, or perhaps not quite mercifully since it was still unpleasant, she began to imbibe tea and refreshments and complain about them.

Jonathan breathed again and stirred sugar into his own cup. It could've gone much worse, he thought.

++

After a large Christmas lunch—Great Aunt Myrtle proclaimed that having a Christmas lunch instead of a Christmas dinner was most irregular, that she'd never heard of such a thing, and it must be the Americans' fault—they gathered in the parlor.

Alex played happily on the carpet with one of his new toys, blissfully ignorant to the tirade that Great Aunt Myrtle began about the clothes some young women were wearing these days. Somehow, she'd come to the conclusion that the Americans were to blame for this as well. Jonathan nearly told her she should perhaps blame the French, since many fashions started in Paris.

Rick, choosing not to dignify any of what she said with a response—mostly because Evy gave him a stern but pleading look—turned to Ardeth.

"Say, how’d you like a tour outside?" He asked. The grounds were hardly sprawling, but a tour of them would get them out of the house and away from Great Aunt Myrtle for a little while.

"I would not be opposed to it," Ardeth replied.

"Oh, well I'm sure Jonathan could show you around," Evy suggested eagerly.

Rick withheld a sigh, mostly, because he knew exactly what she was doing.

Jonathan shot her a look .

"But Jonathan hates the cold," Rick said, hoping to nip the whole thing in the bud.

Evy squinted at him. He squinted back. It was a mostly silent conversation.

"Well, perhaps not, then," said Ardeth, not wanting to put Jonathan out. Although, he had thought that Rick was the one offering to give a tour. He already knew Jonathan disliked the cold. He hardly expected him to go out in it.

"Oh, it’s fine." Evy waved off his concern. "Isn’t it Jonathan?"

Jonathan, feeling a bit off kilter—it was all that eggnog, and the stuff he'd added to the eggnog, and the stuff he had before and after the eggnog—thought for a moment. Great Aunt Myrtle eyed him from the armchair, probably seconds away from telling him that he should suck it up and brave the cold, even if she'd been the one demanding south-facing rooms.

"Well," he said, "I did have quite a lot of the good stuff. A bit of horridly cold air might do me some good." He might hate the cold, but he hated Great Aunt Myrtle’s judgement more.

Before Evy could readily agree, Myrtle remarked that Jonathan did have too much to drink at lunch, and that he should think better of it next time, and that if he had to drink he shouldn't partake so early in the day.

Ardeth bit back the urge to jump to Jonathan’s defense. Barely.

Jonathan rose from the couch and waited until Great Aunt Myrtle could no longer see his face to roll his eyes. She really was, as Rick would say, a piece of work.

Ardeth followed him to the foyer and stood by as Jonathan fetched his coat. He pulled it on, fastening the buttons before glancing up at Ardeth, who looked a bit sheepish.

"What is it?" Jonathan asked, tucking his scarf into his collar.

"Well," Ardeth said, looking even more sheepish still, "I have no coat."

"Oh." Jonathan felt like an idiot. Why hadn't he thought of that? "Well, I’m sure Rick’s got one you could borrow, if you still want to go out." He would have offered one of his own spares, but he rather thought it wouldn't fit. His eyes got stuck on Ardeth’s broad frame. He started toward the parlor, to escape. "I’ll go ask, shall I?"

++

Outside, the sky was a dull, depressing gray, and an icy wind whipped against their faces. The ghastly weather hadn't the decency to even snow for a proper white Christmas, so the biting cold was all for nothing. Jonathan made sure to complain about the unfairness of this at length, to distract himself.

Ardeth wore the scarf Jonathan had given him, and that made Jonathan's insides wobble like gelatin. The very thing Jonathan’s own hands had created, now resting against Ardeth’s skin. And he looked ruddy fantastic in Rick’s coat, a garment unlike anything Jonathan had ever seen him in before. He looked better in it than Rick ever had, which was really saying something—although nothing would ever compare to the times Jonathan had seen Ardeth in a simple, loose tunic.

Jonathan's cheeks warmed at the thought, and, desperate to prevent Ardeth seeing the sudden rush of color to his face, he hurried forward, intending to say something about the hedges Rick was always trimming.

He was so desperate that he didn't pay attention to where he was walking, and marched right onto a patch of ice on the paved path.

His feet slipped out from under him.

Before he even had time to flail properly, strong arms caught him. Ardeth's hands were all over him. Jonathan couldn't think straight—he couldn't breathe—even as he told himself that Ardeth's grip on him was only to keep him from cracking his head on the pavement and ruining Christmas.

He hovered there, like a swooned maiden in the arms of a gallant knight, balance only mostly caught. Ardeth's arms were almost completely wrapped around him, his back pressed to Ardeth's chest.

Ardeth's warm breath brushed his ear as he asked, "Are you all right?"

That was a very, very loaded question. Jonathan exhaled shakily, and blamed it on nearly breaking his face. "Right as rain, old chap," he managed to say.

Ardeth released him—quite a difficult thing to do—and watched Jonathan straighten his coat and glare at the pavement beneath their feet. Ardeth imagined he could still feel Jonathan pressed against him, and instantly craved to be near him again, the chill in the air throwing the absence of him into sharp relief.

"Perhaps we should go inside," Ardeth suggested. He was a bit desperate to return to mixed company before he did something he regretted. The flush in Jonathan’s cheeks, their nearness before, Jonathan’s quick breaths…they all pulled him in like a siren’s deadly song. "Before we freeze to death or one of us breaks a leg."

"Good idea," Jonathan agreed with a nod, entirely not mentioning the fact that his face being numb or the chill running up his spine had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.

++

By the time Ardeth and Jonathan made it back in the house, Evy had taken Alex upstairs for a nap, since the wee tyke was rather tired after getting up so early that morning and effectively celebrating Christmas twice. 

Jonathan didn't understand why his legs had decided to quit working, and he had no choice but to allow Ardeth's hands in places they'd never been before—his waist, his back, good lord his hip—so he wouldn't wobble right to the floor.

Rick, sitting in Jonathan's armchair and making himself not stare Great Aunt Myrtle down, watched as Jonathan flopped all over the couch and Ardeth sat down easily beside him. He didn’t get up to stoke the fire—it was hot enough, and Jonathan would just have to get over it.

Escaping Rick’s notice was the fact that Jonathan and Ardeth were both extremely disheveled and flushed—a different sort of flush than from the cold. Ardeth’s hair was wild around his face, both from the wind and the rescuing-Jonathan-from-the-ice-patch —something that Jonathan very much noticed but pretended not to.

Jonathan’s own hair, he was certain, was ridiculous and his clothes were all askew. And as he sat on the couch, his heart pounding from the ice and other reasons , he could still feel the ghosts of Ardeth’s hands all over him.

Great Aunt Myrtle appraised his flushed cheeks with disapproval.

"This is highly unseemly, nephew," she said. "You shouldn't make such a spectacle of yourself."

Jonathan felt uncomfortably hot, not to mention dizzy, and all he could think about was Ardeth sitting right next to him, looking all windswept and wonderful.

"This is why you need to stop wasting time, Jonathan, and find a wife to set you straight."

All the warm butterflies drained from Jonathan, replaced by cold loathing and discomfort. He made himself not glance at Ardeth, even as he felt very strange and off balance because the idea of having a wife and the idea of Ardeth didn’t belong in the same thought.

"No one can set me straight, Aunt Myrtle," Jonathan muttered, biting back the tirade that he very much wanted to launch, which included a not-so-polite version of telling the old dragon to mind her tongue and keep her little upturned nose out of his confirmed bachelor business.

"Still, I think it would be wise if you did find a wife," Great Aunt Myrtle said, as if she were a great ruler commanding a new law. "It would do wonders for you, I'm sure."

Jonathan looked down to pick at a thread on his sweater. This was entirely not a conversation he wanted to have.

Ardeth watched as Jonathan seemed to shrink into the couch cushions. He could almost sense the next verbal barrage, like the calm before a violent storm. He decided to head it off, unable to stomach even another second of Jonathan’s discomfort.

"Unless he has asked you to play matchmaker for him," he said, using all his willpower to keep his voice level, "I do not see how this is any of your concern."

Jonathan froze and his eyes went wide. Rick grinned from where he sat in Jonathan’s armchair. They both watched Myrtle, who harrumphed and turned her beady little gaze from Jonathan to Ardeth, like a sniper's scope fixing on a new target. Just as Ardeth had intended.

Evy reentered the room just in time to hear her ghastly relative ask,

"Do you have a wife, young man?"

Despite the fact that Jonathan already knew Ardeth did not have a wife, his stomach flipped.

Evy pressed her lips together. "Aunt Myrtle, I really don’t see—"

"Oh, calm down, Evelyn. I’m only making conversation."

"Yes. It is all right." Ardeth spoke, offering Jonathan a mischievous glance.

Evy wavered, unsure, as Ardeth spoke again.

"Truthfully, I have many women…" 

He paused to wink at Jonathan—who thought he might pass away—and turned back to Great Aunt Myrtle, who looked positively aghast. 

"…in my life."

Jonathan snorted. He couldn’t help it—he was flustered, tipsy, and Great Aunt Myrtle looked absolutely scandalised, the word harem practically written across her forehead. Ardeth was, of course, referring to his family, but Great Aunt Myrtle didn’t know that, and Jonathan was uncommonly thrilled that she didn’t.

Rick watched the scene unfold with every ounce of pleasure possible. He couldn’t ruffle her feathers, for Evy’s sake, but at least somebody could.

"So you have… wives ?" Great Aunt Myrtle ventured, sounding rather afraid of the answer.

"No," Ardeth replied, everything about him entirely casual. It was only obvious to those who knew him that he was up to something.

"So you have a wife?" She prodded, sounding tenuously relieved. As if it were any of her business what Ardeth had.

"No."

"But you have many women…?" She prompted, nearing some form of pearl-clutching desperation.

"In my life, yes."

Great Aunt Myrtle frowned. She tapped her finger exactly twice on the arm of her chair. 

Evy opened her mouth, hoping to introduce a new topic of conversation, but Great Aunt Myrtle spoke before she had the chance.

"And just what sorts of relationships do you have with these women?" She asked.

Jonathan’s mouth nearly fell open at the nerve of such a question, Rick raised an eyebrow, and Evy gasped, "Aunt Myrtle!"

But Ardeth’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, and he said vaguely, "It varies."

++

"Your aunt is very...direct," Ardeth remarked, once Great Aunt Myrtle had retreated to her lair for the evening. It was late, late enough that Alex had gone to bed and Jonathan had brought out the scotch.

"I'm terribly sorry about her, Ardeth," Evy said, hands fidgeting in her lap. "She was dreadful to you all day."

Ardeth chuckled. "Worry not. I, too, have an aunt who can keep people on their toes."

"Yes, well, your aunt's manners aren't quite so abysmal," Jonathan said, settling into his armchair, "Even when she did interrogate me."

Ardeth pondered this. "I do seem to recall not giving you an exact translation of her questions," he countered.

Evy watched Jonathan closely. Reminiscence of any kind between him and Ardeth of their alone time together in Egypt quite piqued her interest.

Jonathan shrugged. "I gathered as much. It's much appreciated, but I still like your aunt better." Jonathan sipped his drink, tuning out Evy's studying gaze. "I think her questions come from a better place."

Rick scoffed. "Yeah, Myrtle's something else."

Ardeth looked amused. "I quite enjoyed not answering her questions."

"Yeah, you're pretty good at that, aren't you?" Rick said, grinning impishly. "I love watching you get her all puffed up."

Evy shook her head, despite having enjoyed the spectacle herself.

"He did the same thing at your wedding," Jonathan recalled, "leading her on to have scandalous thoughts about Evy 'picking him up' in Egypt. It was ruddy brilliant, seeing her get all tied up in knots."

Ardeth laughed again. "I remember that."

Reminiscence again , Evy thought, and grinned slyly to herself.

"Of course, you two showed up before she could really get her claws in," Jonathan said. "Good thing, too, because it was all we could do to keep a straight face."

"Really?" Evy asked eagerly.

Jonathan caught the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and didn't answer. Clearly, she was getting ideas again.

FOUR: The Twenty-Sixth—Pardon My French

Jonathan found himself pitted against Ardeth in chess once again. Unfortunately, Great Aunt Myrtle was present to witness his humiliation, overseeing the game as if she intended to referee. Rick had had the luck of escaping upstairs with Alex, and Evy had eagerly likewise escaped to the kitchen to prepare tea.

Jonathan envied them. It was bad enough, he thought, to always lose miserably to Ardeth at chess, but with Great Aunt Myrtle as an audience the experience grew unfathomably worse.

She appraised the pair with her beady eyes, which were more often affixed to Ardeth rather than Jonathan. Jonathan might have been relieved about it if he hadn't felt a bit sorry for the chap. But Ardeth ignored her valiantly, and instead focused his efforts on setting trap after trap for Jonathan's pieces on the board.

Jonathan stayed preoccupied trying not to watch Ardeth deliberate his next move—leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled up revealing absolutely spectacular forearms, fingers stroking his bearded chin—when out of nowhere, Great Aunt Myrtle had the absolute audacity to speak.

"Young man," she said briskly, clearly addressing Ardeth, "What are those markings on your face and hands?"

Ardeth's eyes flicked to Jonathan across the chess table, and a corner of his mouth twitched upward mischievously.

"I believe they are called tattoos," he replied, his tone casually preoccupied as he reached out and moved a piece.

Jonathan snorted and quickly covered it with a cough.

Myrtle tsked soundly. "I know what they’re called , young man. What are they for ?"

"Decoration," Jonathan said before Ardeth had a chance to reply. Their eyes met again and it was only by a miracle that they didn't start giggling like schoolgirls riling their teacher.

Ardeth collected himself enough to say, "Yes, they are for looking at, or reading, depending on which comes easier to you."

Myrtle was hardly satisfied. "What do they say?"

"Words," said Jonathan, barely keeping a straight face.

"Yes, so I would expect," Ardeth said.

"So you don’t know ?" Myrtle demanded, sounding mildly outraged.

"I never said that," Ardeth assured her.

Jonathan bit his lip and moved one of his chess pieces. It didn't matter which one, he just had to look busy and at something besides Ardeth.

"Then what do they say?"

"What do you think they say?" Ardeth asked.

"I couldn’t even begin to guess." Great Aunt Myrtle sniffed. "Something savage, most likely."

Ardeth looked thoughtful. "Well, that depends upon who reads them."

Myrtle frowned. "What?"

"The interpretation of the message depends upon who reads it." Ardeth reached out and moved his knight, capturing Jonathan's last bishop. "Some may think it savage, and others may not."

"Well," she said haughtily, "if I knew what they said, I would certainly give you my opinion on it."

Ardeth's lips twitched. "I would expect nothing else."

Jonathan barely maintained his composure. "It's my turn, yes?" He asked, knowing very well it was.

Ardeth nodded.

Jonathan leaned toward the board. In the corner of his eye, he saw Myrtle impatiently tap-tap the arm of her temporary throne.

"Well?" She demanded. "Are you going to tell me what they say?"

"You can hardly expect me to read my own face," Ardeth said, feigning genuine confusion, as if Jonathan weren't sitting right across from him with a working pair of eyes.

Great Aunt Myrtle pressed her lips together. "Have Jonathan read it then."

"Me?" Jonathan blurted. "What makes you think I can read?" He sputtered for a moment before adding, "Uh, the tattoos, I mean."

His aunt squinted at him. "Can’t you?"

"Well, yes." He swallowed, and decided to belay his answer, just to annoy her. "Mostly. I think. Perhaps not."

"Do as I say , nephew." Great Aunt Myrtle's voice was a bit like a smack round the ear.

Jonathan's courage sank. His eyes met Ardeth's across the table. Ardeth gave a very small dip of the chin. Go ahead, he seemed to say.

Jonathan silently studied the symbols decorating Ardeth's face. He was, shockingly, a bit glad of Great Aunt Myrtle's demanding nature, just a little, just this once, because it gave him an excuse to run his eyes over every glorious curve and angle of Ardeth's face. He reined himself in after a moment and tried to work out what the symbols meant. He really was out of practice.

"So?" Myrtle demanded.

Jonathan blinked and turned his gaze to the chess table. He even leaned back in his chair, appearing very nonchalant. "Very factual. Very concise."

"And what do they say ?"

"Oh." He waved a dismissive hand. "I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details."

He and Ardeth fought not to laugh again.

Myrtle made a peeved-off noise in her throat. "I just don’t understand why you two won’t tell me what they say. It’s as if you’re being purposefully difficult."

Jonathan and Ardeth exchanged a glance, almost losing their composure right then and there.

Myrtle, unfortunately, continued to speak. "And I don’t understand why you would mark your face in that way."

Ardeth glanced at her for the first time since her one-woman inquisition began. "Would you like to understand?" He asked.

Jonathan made a skeptical face. He was quite certain that Great Aunt Myrtle was incapable of understanding anything.

"I’d at least like the chance to try , if you’ll tell me anything," Myrtle said testily.

Ardeth continued to hold her in his gaze—a very direct and unwavering gaze, the type people didn't usually lock her into. "Very well. These markings are a tradition amongst my people, a symbol of our duty to guard against evil."

"And that's what your face says?" She asked. "That it's your duty to fight evil?"

"In short."

She pursed her lips and looked down to smooth her skirt. "Well, they aren’t frivolous , I’ll grant you that."

Jonathan's mouth dropped open before he could stop it. That was the closest he'd ever seen Great Aunt Myrtle come to approval about anything even remotely un-English.

++

"So, how is your study of Arabic going?" Ardeth asked over tea in the afternoon. Alex was down for a nap, and Great Aunt Myrtle, to everyone’s abject relief, had decided to do the same, sparing them her company for a couple of blissful hours. "Well, I hope?"

Jonathan grimaced. "I wouldn’t say well . I’m a bit hopeless, actually. I can read it a little, but the pronunciations…" He shook his head "…I shudder to even think about them."

Ardeth took a sip of tea. "Perhaps I may help?"

"Oh Ardeth, that’s a wonderful idea!" Evy exclaimed, just a bit too eagerly. "Isn’t it, Jonathan?"

When Ardeth bent forward to set his cup on the coffee table, Jonathan shot Evy a nasty look over his back.

Rick watched the exchange and rolled his eyes, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and mild disapproval. Evy really was determined.

"You should go up to the library and show Ardeth what you’ve studied so far," Evy said, pushing even further.

"Myrtle never goes to the library," Rick remarked, providing a reason other than Evy’s schemes for the two men to go upstairs. And besides, he wouldn’t mind a bit of alone time with his wife. "You’ll be safe there."

"Well—" Jonathan nearly leapt up from the couch. "What are we waiting for?"

++

Jonathan kept all of his materials in his room, since Evy usually commandeered the library. She had more claim to it, seeing as her use of it aided in an actual job, but today it was Jonathan's, for various reasons--the more important of which being that the library offered more space...and less intimacy .

Jonathan entered his room, determined to gather everything as quickly as possible. The first thing he did was slam the picture of him and Ardeth facedown on his desk. Definitely didn't need Ardeth to see that .

Ardeth hovered in the doorway, trying to keep his eyes from taking in every inch of Jonathan's room. His curiosity was ridiculous. Why must he stare at the pillow where Jonathan rested his head every night? Fortunately, Jonathan nearly dropped something, and Ardeth moved to help him, the interruption sparing him from the longing that snaked its way around his heart.

Jonathan tried not to freak out about Ardeth being in his room, and was relieved when they set off down the hall. 

He was, he decided, terribly ridiculous.

In the library, they spread out the books and the papers, and got started. Ardeth suggested they begin with pronunciations. Jonathan enjoyed being told 'watch my lips' just a fraction too much, but he pretended like he didn't.

He scribbled down whatever information he thought useful—which was all of it—and didn't realize when he smudged ink across one of his cheeks. It took all of Ardeth's willpower and then some to not reach out to scrub it off, just as an excuse to touch him, to allow his hands to linger.

After the shadows in the room had grown long, Jonathan sighed and slumped against the back of his chair, letting the pen fall from his fingers.

"This is much harder than French," he lamented.

Ardeth looked surprised. "You speak French?"

"Mais bien sûr (but of course)," Jonathan replied, grinning, before adding in English, "although I’m a tad rusty. Haven’t had much practice the last few years, you understand." He shrugged, then added in French: "But I still know a thing or two."

Ardeth smiled. "Très bien. Mais tu sais, je le parle aussi (very good. But you know, I speak it, too)."

"Well." Jonathan’s brain short circuited back to English. Something about French—a romance language, no less—spilling from Ardeth’s lips had that effect. "Well, perhaps we could practice that, too. I didn’t suffer through all those verbs and vowels for nothing, you know."

Ardeth chuckled.

"Où as-tu appris à parler Français? (where did you learn to speak French?)" Jonathan asked.

"Where did you learn?" Ardeth asked in French.

"I asked first," Jonathan protested.

"Hm. Very well." Ardeth grinned, amused, then explained in French that he had learned from books and a friend of his father's, who was from France.

Jonathan only understood about half of what Ardeth had said, but he got the gist of it and nodded.

"Now," said Ardeth, "where did you learn?"

"Boarding school," Jonathan replied in English. He didn't mention where else he'd learned French, the more informal way. "I mostly know how to swear, if I’m being honest."

Ardeth grinned. "I can swear in twelve languages."

"What? Bloody hell, old chap, remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Well, the swearing would be the least of your worries, my friend." Ardeth's grin grew sly as he leaned in a little closer. Jonathan’s breath hitched. "You have not forgotten how I handle a sword, have you?"

Jonathan swallowed hard. "No. Of course not." How could he forget? It was terrifying and magnificent.

Ardeth moved back, looking almost smug. "However, it is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. So why not take up yours again, and we shall suffer through verbs together."

"All right." Jonathan agreed, glad he could speak at all, and glad that verbs could distract him from the fluttering chaos in his chest.

*all French is from Google Translate, which means it's probably a hot mess

FIVE: The Twenty-Seventh—Knight Without Armor

Alex sat on the floor of his playroom, enjoying all the wondrous, imaginative splendor of the wooden Noah's Ark he'd gotten for Christmas. Evy had mostly picked it out for the large variety of animals, and less for the biblical aspect, although she did say that if Noah had been a real person, the discovery of the ark would have been the archeological find of the century. Jonathan rather thought it would've been the find of the millennium, and Rick just wanted to know how they kept the lions and suchlike from eating the other animals.

Alex enjoyed the large variety of animals as well, and through a lot of robe-tugging had demanded 'Awdet' join him in loading the various species onto the ark. Ardeth gladly obliged, and while Evy and Rick were lucky enough to disappear for awhile, Jonathan found himself in the playroom, stuck babysitting Great Aunt Myrtle as she remarked how spoiled Alex was.

Jonathan tuned her out, knowing it was useless to tell her that Alex was merely doted on a healthy amount, and watched as Ardeth picked up one of a pair of camels.

Alex grabbed the other and shouted, "Cam-uh!”

"Yes, very good." Ardeth smiled. "There are many camels in Egypt, where I live."

Alex blinked up at him and appeared for all the world to be listening intently.

"I prefer horses to camels," Ardeth told him, picking up one of the little wooden horses, "they are much less temperamental. Usually."

Alex poked the toy. "Horse!"

"Yes, very good again." Ardeth beamed. He turned to Jonathan. "He is very smart."

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, look at his parents."

"And his uncle," Ardeth said, his smile softening around the edges.

"Well, that remains to be seen," Jonathan responded awkwardly. In comparison with Evy, he hardly thought himself smart. In fact, in terms of age and experience, he rather thought that Alex was already smarter than he was.

Alex stole Ardeth's attention again, and Jonathan watched as Alex held up various little wooden animals, saying 'dis one', demanding that Ardeth name off each one. And Ardeth did, of course.

Jonathan smiled. It suddenly struck him how natural it felt to have Ardeth around, in the house...He tensed and made himself look away. And well, his sputtering thoughts finally settled on how nice a thing it was that Alex had at last been able to meet Ardeth properly. And it was doubly as nice a thing that Alex had taken such a shine to him. But of course Alex liked him, who couldn't?

The answer of 'who couldn't' came when Great Aunt Myrtle opened her mouth, a mouth that led to a brain that didn't like anybody .

"Young man," she said, getting Ardeth's attention. She never said his name, just young man like how Rick was you, the American.

Jonathan barely repressed a groan and pressed a hand to his forehead. Here we go again.

"Yes?" Ardeth asked, all casualness, as if he weren't facing the verbal equivalent of a firing squad.

"Have you any family?" Great Aunt Myrtle demanded, as if the fate of the world depended upon Ardeth's speedy answer.

Ardeth stayed silent for a long moment, taking the time to hand Alex one of the lions before answering. He looked altogether pleased with himself.

Jonathan suppressed a grin.

"Well?" Myrtle poked again.

"The answer to your question is not a simple one," Ardeth replied.

"How so?" She asked, impatient.

"Well, because I have not just any family, I have my family."

Jonathan barely managed to turn his snort into something close to a cough. Myrtle looked quite irritated with such a response, and Jonathan quickly took up his teacup and took a sip to keep from laughing or otherwise drawing attention to himself.

"Have you a large family?" She demanded then.

"Hm." Ardeth feigned thoughtfulness and tapped a finger to his chin. "Once again, I cannot give you a simple answer. You see, my tribe is my family, and then there are those whom I am related to by blood."

Great Aunt Myrtle pressed her lips together, then opened her mouth to speak again. But Ardeth kept talking.

"I have a great aunt who lives in Cairo," he said, accepting a giraffe from Alex, "who also enjoys asking complicated questions, although oftentimes she asks no questions at all, and merely knows what she must through observation."

Jonathan nearly choked on his tea.

Myrtle inflated, but yet again was cut off, by Jonathan this time.

"Does this wisdom run in your family?" He asked, hardly able to keep his voice level.

Ardeth met his eye and quickly looked away again. They barely clung to their composure.

"Yes, it does," he said, "as I am proof."

Myrtle opened her mouth again.

"Yes," Jonathan said, scrambling for something to say, "I—I couldn't help but notice—you're quite tall, you know, old chap. Does that run in your family, too?"

"Well, my mother is very tall. As for the rest of my family, I cannot say the same."

"My late husband wasn't very tall," Myrtle said.

Jonathan glanced at her in surprise. Great Aunt Myrtle, volunteering information? Actually contributing to a conversation? What was this ?

Ardeth smiled. "Was he not?"

"No. He was a very small man," Myrtle told him. "He never seemed to mind, except that he often had to have his trousers tailored, as his legs were very short."

Jonathan still couldn't believe it.

"My sister often laments her smaller stature," Ardeth said.

"Well, I think the world would be rather dull if everyone were the same height," Great Aunt Myrtle proclaimed.

Jonathan's mouth dropped open. This from the woman who once told him that he looked like an overstretched beanpole when he wore stripes that ran up and down.

Ardeth smiled again. "It is not just my family that wisdom runs in, then."

Myrtle looked flattered. "Of course not."

Alex tugged on Ardeth's sleeve. "Awdet!"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Horse," Alex said.

"Oh. Yes. My apologies." Ardeth handed over the horse he'd been holding.

Jonathan sat, stunned. He'd never witnessed Great Aunt Myrtle having a normal conversation before in his life. Nor had he seen her so many times thwarted by one single person. How did Ardeth manage that? How did he turn Great Aunt Myrtle's interrogations on their head without giving her more fuel, like Jonathan always managed to do when he tried to fight back?

It must have been a bloody miracle, Jonathan concluded, or perhaps, verbal chess. And, as Jonathan knew all too well, Ardeth was rather good at chess.

++

Jonathan was enjoying a nice, aimless wander about the house when he heard something that would strike fear into even the bravest men's hearts: The sound of Great Aunt Myrtle's voice echoing off the corridors, searching for him.

He lurched toward the nearest door, launching through it and closing it behind him, trying to keep from making any noise. Once safely inside, he turned and found himself in the library, the shades drawn to keep out the cold, the lights off. Perfect. He could hide here, and perhaps Great Aunt Myrtle wouldn't bother to come this way.

He pressed his ear to the door, barely hearing the sound of muffled voices. Then footsteps neared. He froze. As the footfalls entered the hallway outside, he didn't dare to breathe.

Please don't try this door, he thought desperately. She'd already launched into several tirades that morning about what a layabout he was—although, he had noticed she'd only done it when Ardeth wasn't in the room. Still, considering how often Ardeth was in the room, it was a bit impressive just how much scolding she had managed to get in.

The footsteps marched past and faded.

Jonathan melted against the door, breathing again. Thank God she didn't—

Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He barely stifled a scream as he whirled around. In the near-darkness, the silhouette that met him most certainly wasn't Great Aunt Myrtle.

"Bloody hell, Ardeth!" He whisper-shouted, clutching his chest. "Why are you always doing that to me?"

Ardeth chuckled, sounding thoroughly amused. "I can hardly be at fault for your own lack of awareness."

"Oh please, you’re very much at fault, lurking in the darkness." Jonathan huffed, pushing off the door and brushing past him to flop dramatically into an armchair. He gestured to the rest of the room. "I’m just glad I hadn’t climbed up one of these ruddy ladders before you tried to make my blasted soul leave my body."

Ardeth chuckled again, and Jonathan could more feel him moving closer than see him.

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Jonathan asked. His heart shuddered with anticipation. Anticipation for what , he wasn't sure. Or perhaps he was , and just didn't want to admit it. There were so many reasons a person might be lurking in the dark....

He watched the shadowy figure of Ardeth move to the armchair across from him, heard the rustle of his robes as he settled.

"I ‘ volunteered ’ to find you for your Aunt." Ardeth's smile was evident in his tone. "Of course, I will fail in this task."

"Of course." Jonathan reached for the table beside him to flick on the lamp. It wouldn't do, sitting in the darkness with Ardeth's rich voice wrapping around him like a warm blanket. It wouldn't do at all, the ideas buzzing through his mind that all revolved around being in the dark, alone, with Ardeth.

Turning on the lamp only sort of helped, of course, because now he could see Ardeth, see him grinning at him, sitting on that chair like it was a throne, all regal and what. 

He had likened Ardeth to a gallant knight before—in a more self-deprecating sense because Jonathan had, in that scenario, slipped on ice and swooned like a maiden in the arms of Ardeth the gallant knight. But it really did feel like Jonathan had a protector. It was silly, perhaps, but Ardeth scared off Great Aunt Myrtle, he deflected her attacks, he defended Jonathan from them, and...the mere idea of Ardeth being protective of him...Jonathan let that feeling wrap around his heart and fill him with immeasurable warmth. He didn't force himself to stop and instead sank into the feeling, embraced it....

"What?" Ardeth's voice pulled him back to reality.

Jonathan blinked. "What?"

"You are staring at me."

"Oh." Bloody hell. How long had he been doing that? Bloody hell. He felt his cheeks warm and did his best impression of nonchalance by crossing one leg over the other and shrugging. Ardeth was protective of everybody . That was his entire life’s work, protecting people and things. Jonathan shouldn't feel things about it. "Sorry, old chap. Just thinking."

"Of what, may I ask?" Ardeth's eyes darted downward for a moment before coming back up to meet his. 

It was an innocent enough question, but the softness that crept into Ardeth's voice, the intensity that entered his eyes, sent a jolt through Jonathan's chest. He ignored it. He ignored the way Ardeth's eyes were fixed unwaveringly on him.

"Oh. Nothing. I was just..." He shifted, scratching at his ear. "Well I was thinking about Great Aunt Myrtle. You certainly know how to keep her on her toes. All these years I've been around her and could never manage it, and here you come and within a couple of days you've got her having normal conversations. It's astounding, really." He paused, wondering if he should continue. He feigned interest in the book by the lamp, taking it up and picking at the spine. He continued, perhaps against his better judgement. "And you always know just how to get her off my back, which is very nice."

"I feel obligated to do so," Ardeth replied, and Jonathan couldn't look at him. "As your friend."

Friend .

Jonathan withheld a wince. How could such a pleasant word feel like a knife to the chest?

++

In the end, Ardeth's grand plan of failure ultimately failed when Jonathan snuck down to the kitchen for a spot of tea after going over confounded verbs again. He'd almost made it, when—

"Oh, there you are, nephew!"

Jonathan's shoulders slumped and by some miracle he managed not to groan miserably as he forced himself to turn around, to leave the doorway to the kitchen, to reenter the hallway and expose his poor ears and spirit to whatever onslaught Great Aunt Myrtle might launch at him.

"Yes, Aunt Myrtle?" He prompted reluctantly.

"Where have you been ?" She demanded. "One would think you were deliberately hiding yourself away somewhere."

"Of course not, Aunt Myrtle."

"Well, regardless, I wish to speak with you about your Egyptian friend," she declared in that authoritative tone she always had.

Jonathan nearly rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he braced himself. 

"What is his name again?" She frowned, not waiting for an answer. "Arnold, wasn't it?"

"Ardeth, Aunt Myrtle, Ardeth . For God’s sake, do you really think a man like him would go around calling himself Arnold ?" The very idea.

"Well, I rather think he would if he wanted to, because no one would stop him," she replied, and Jonathan had to admit she had a point. He couldn't believe he was agreeing with her. "Now, as I was saying, regarding your friend Adolpho—"

Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"—I like him."

His jaw dropped, but he caught himself before she could scold him about it and made himself speak. "You…do?"

"Yes," she said, as if it weren't the most shocking thing in the world, her liking someone. "You should have him around more often. I shall be sorry to say goodbye to him when I leave tonight. He’s quite the conversationalist."

Jonathan blinked, entirely stunned. This conversation most certainly hadn't gone the way he'd expected.

"Oh, and really , Jonathan, you should make a trip to the barber’s soon, your hair is quite wild."

Ah, there it was.

++

Cousin Horace arrived in the evening, to everyone's abject relief. And he arrived looking ten years younger and about one hundred times less fidgety. As he walked with Evy into the parlor, he did not trail behind her like a reluctant shadow. In fact, he didn't walk behind her at all, but stayed apace.

For Horace, that was a big deal.

"Hello Horace, old boy," Jonathan greeted as he entered.

"Hello cousin," said Horace in a voice quite unlike his usual—that is to say, not sounding like he was in the middle of an earthquake.

Introductions were made, and he shook Ardeth's hand eagerly, patted Alex on the head, and didn't even flinch when Rick produced a firearm from some hidden place to show him, or when Great Aunt Myrtle gasped and berated the American at the indecency.

"Did you have a nice Christmas, Grandmother?" Horace dared to ask. Horace never asked questions, to anyone, but especially not Myrtle. Not even idle ones.

"Well, it was decent enough, I suppose ," she replied crabbily, before launching into all the reasons why it wasn't completely decent.

Horace didn't hear a bit of it. Really, the matter of a few days had done wonders that, for many, required years. He had slept in, slouched about the house in his pajamas, read only the worst sorts of books, had a nip of something expensive before bed, and smoked his pipe wherever he pleased.

 The sudden onset of such reckless freedom made him a man reborn. His nerves were no longer frayed, his confidence had grown tenfold.

Alas, he found that he was perfectly capable of bringing his grandmother home and still smoking his pipe wherever he pleased, and all the other things, and if she said anything about it—and he could have won a fortune betting that she would—he would simply tell her that it was his house, and he's heard of some nice homes for the elderly, and would she like to go live in one?

"That's very nice, Grandmother," he said at the slightest of lulls in her very not nice diatribe, "if you'll excuse me, I'll go fetch your luggage."

He rose from the couch, and Jonathan and Evy, entirely shocked by his transformation, followed behind him like nosy shadows.

It wasn't until they reached the top of the stairs and rounded a corner that Evy spoke.

"Cousin Horace," she said, "you seem...well, you seem...."

"Better? Lighter? Because I am, and it's all thanks to you, dear dear cousin Evelyn." He actually laughed and patted her on the arm.

Jonathan stared. He'd never heard Horace laugh before in his life. He'd rather thought it wasn't possible.

"I say," Horace continued, "I'd gotten in such the habit of bowing to her every whim that I'd forgotten I had a backbone. In these last few days, I have rediscovered it." He actually sighed happily, and Jonathan almost tripped over his own foot. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"W-well, yes!" Said Evy.

"By George, old chap," Jonathan said as they walked toward the south-facing rooms, "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"I can hardly believe it myself," said Horace, beaming.

"It sounds like you've been having a wonderful time to yourself," Evy remarked when they reached Aunt Myrtle's room, "I'm almost sorry to send her back with you."

Jonathan blanched. "No she isn't."

"Don't be sorry, cousins," Horace assured them, "I intend to maintain possession of my backbone, permanently ."

++

Strangely, when Jonathan entered the parlor after Horace and Myrtle had departed, he found it completely devoid of everyone—except for Ardeth, who stood by the piano. Jonathan stopped, his heart jumped, and he thought, this must be Evy’s doing.

Ardeth glanced up at him and smiled. A completely disarming expression, one that made it impossible for Jonathan to come up with an excuse to go find Rick to prevent his being alone with Ardeth.

He might have asked himself why he wanted to prevent such a thing, and merely a day ago, he would have provided himself with some excuse or other, but since his wild thoughts in the darkened library...well, he had no excuse. All he could do was try to tell himself that being alone with Ardeth didn't have to be an ordeal.

"So," Ardeth said, turning his gaze back to the piano, " this is the instrument with which your sister tortures you."

Jonathan tried not to watch the way Ardeth’s fingers glided along the edge of the piano’s body, and failed. That wasn't the only body they could've glided against.

Oh bloody hell this was all Evy's fault.

"That's the one," he managed to say.

Ardeth looked at him, his face taking on a playful expression. "I played for you once, remember?"

Jonathan swallowed hard. Of course he remembered. And of course he knew where this was going, and it was definitely Evy’s fault.

Jonathan forced himself to speak. "Yes, but, well, you’re actually good at it."

"As are you, I am certain. Besides...it is only fair, my friend," Ardeth said, his voice low and sly.

Jonathan took a step forward. Maybe he wanted to play for Ardeth. It would be a train wreck, obviously, but still…perhaps in some way, it would be a bit like showing off. And Jonathan wanted to show off, if he could manage it.

"Oh fine." He gave in with a practiced sigh, one that wouldn't give away his cautious eagerness. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you."

He sat down on the piano bench, opening the song book that already sat perched on the music stand. Ardeth grabbed one of the chairs from the chess table and brought it over, settling just beside Jonathan.

"Hm." Ardeth reached out and took up the book, his arm and his entire body brushing against Jonathan, who pretended that this had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. "I see you have many choices."

Ardeth flipped through the pages, and Jonathan certainly did not watch his hands, or his fingers, or any other part of him for that matter. The parlor light was dim, and Jonathan wished he could have supplied the room with the brightness of the sun, just to make himself stop feeling this way. Deep down, he knew the sun wouldn't help.

"I’ll have you know," he said, his voice coming out odd, "I can only play a handful of those."

"We shall see." Ardeth's brows were furrowed with concentration before he stopped and held the book up for Jonathan to see the pages. "What about this one?"

It was one of the simpler pieces, fortunately, one that only required turning the page once and had lots of repeats.

"Only if you want to hear it butchered completely," Jonathan said.

"I believe I shall hear nothing of the sort," Ardeth said confidently, setting the book back on the music stand.

"Well, faith only takes you so far...." Jonathan raised his hands to the keys, forcing them to stop being jittery, and plunked out the first notes.

Ardeth watched him for a moment, his eyes following the movements of Jonathan’s fingers, admittedly mesmerized. Jonathan’s playing was, objectively, quite disjointed and perhaps even a little terrible, but love doesn’t just make one blind, it makes one deaf as well. And with that being the case, to Ardeth this sounded like the greatest performance since Mozart had graced the music scene.

Meanwhile, Jonathan fought to keep from striking the wrong keys. He was quite certain he was breaking into a sweat, and this wasn’t even a taxing arrangement! Then, Ardeth leaned forward and plucked a key. Jonathan shot him a sharp look, only to see him grin in an infuriatingly charming way and pluck another. It clashed awfully with what Jonathan was playing.

"I say!" Jonathan exclaimed, "You’re making something bad even worse!"

Ardeth plucked yet another.

"Really!" Jonathan gave up on playing to strike out and half-heartedly smack Ardeth’s hand away. "Stop it."

Ardeth threw his head back and laughed, a full, hearty sound that filled the room—and Jonathan—with more warmth than any fireplace could ever hope to.

He raised his hands slightly, face alight with mirth. "I surrender. I shall interrupt you no more."

Jonathan suddenly, and unfortunately, recalled a time when Rick had said Ardeth was ‘pretty’. That statement rang true now more than ever before. He cleared his throat and turned back to the piano, hoping to hide his flushing cheeks.

"Yes, well, it’s the least you could do after forcing me to serenade. If you can even call it a serenade."

He started up again, glad to have something to occupy his hands besides a nervous tremor. Something to concentrate on besides Ardeth, who sat quietly by, taking in the performance with rapt attention, turning the page when Jonathan bid him to, and absorbing every note of the song until its end.

"I don’t even want to ask you how it was," Jonathan quipped, taking the opportunity to wipe his clammy palms on his trousers, "because that would be hardly different than asking you to lie and tell me you actually enjoyed that train wreck."

"Hm." Ardeth smiled. "But I did enjoy it."

"Pig’s wallow. You’re a terrible liar, old chap."

"I am not lying, Jonathan," Ardeth said.

Jonathan hated how he nearly shivered at the sound of Ardeth saying his name. Against his better judgement, Jonathan glanced at him. Their eyes met.

"Play it again?" Ardeth asked softly. The firelight danced gently across one side of his face, the shadows soft and sharp at once.

Jonathan swallowed hard. Why did everything make this man look better? It didn’t matter if it was lamplight or firelight, or evening light, or the direct, grueling white-hot sun of an Egyptian noon. Ardeth looked good everywhere, all the time. And he looked even better because he was so nice. It was terribly unfair.

Jonathan forced his eyes back to the piano. "You don’t want to hear something else?" He managed to ask, his throat only sounding a little dry.

"I like that one."

"Well that works for me."

Jonathan started up again, grateful he didn't have to try to eke out a different tune.

Unbeknownst to the two besotted idiots, Evy peeked her head into the room from the hall, watching their interaction with all the rapt attention of a spy gathering intelligence.

Rick came up behind her. She didn’t notice him.

He placed his head next to hers, raised an eyebrow, and said, "whatcha doing?"

She jumped, a quiet squeak of surprise escaping her before she smacked him on the arm. "What are you doing?"

He grinned. "Catching you spying.”

"No. Well. Yes, all right. But—"

"Evy," he sighed, his face becoming more serious, "didn’t I tell you to leave them alone?"

"Yes, but—"

Rick gently took her by the arms and wheeled her around. He looked her deeply in the eye as he said solemnly, "You’re getting obsessed, honey."

"Well, one of us has to," she retorted as he guided her away from the door.

"Why?"

"Because there’s something going on and I’d like to know what, and how much."

"Well then ask Jonathan instead of spying on him like a peeping Tom," Rick said, slipping his arm around her waist. "It’s creepy."

Evy tsked . "But if something is going on—and I’m entirely convinced there is—and Jonathan is too stupid or too stubborn to do anything about it, then I have to do something about it."

"Honey, he’s a grown man—most of the time—he can figure it out himself."

"I know, but—well, Rick, you really can’t expect me to just let them keep staring at each other for the next ten years until one of them finally gets a clue, can you?"

Rick grinned and kissed her on the cheek. "Hate to break it to you, but you might be waiting longer than that."

Back in the parlor, Ardeth asked Jonathan to teach him something.

"Don’t be ridiculous," Jonathan blurted out, unable to stop himself, "I can barely teach myself."

"It is just that I have never played this instrument before, and I would very much like to try." Ardeth smiled. "Besides, I have faith in your abilities."

Jonathan despised how eagerly his face grew warm, the little flip-flop his heart did whenever Ardeth said things like that. Ardeth was just the type of person to build up anyone . He'd certainly complimented Evy on her research, her housekeeping, and her son enough times. Praised Rick's skill with a gun or a knife or what have you. It only made sense that he'd shower Jonathan with compliments, too. In fact, it would be stranger if he didn't, Jonathan concluded. It wasn't anything to blush about.

"All right," he said, motioning to the keys, "I'll show you the first part. But you've got to come sit here."

"Very well." Ardeth got up and they traded places. "Now what?"

"Well..." Jonathan really had no idea what . "What do you know about the piano?"

"That you play it beautifully," Ardeth replied, smiling softly.

"Oh please." Jonathan's blush intensified with the fury of a thousand suns. "I mean, do you know the keys—the notes? For instance—" He reached over and pressed middle C "—what is this one?"

"Um. Pleasant?"

"So you don't know anything. Well that's all right. I don't know much myself, so we can be confused together."

As Jonathan began his instruction, he found it much easier to stand behind Ardeth and point out the hand placements. Ardeth’s hands were large and elegant, and Jonathan couldn’t help but stare at them as they pressed against the keys, even if they did do it all wrong. Never in his life would he have thought he’d be jealous of a piano twice in the same evening.

He did admit this to himself, just for a second, before he stopped because if he didn't, he'd turn into a stammering mess.

He threw himself into the lesson instead, and soon, just pointing out where Ardeth's hands needed to be placed wasn't enough, and before Jonathan knew what he was doing, he was reaching around Ardeth, taking up his hands, spreading his fingers to the keys they needed to hit. The reality of what he was doing, of how close they were, didn't strike him until a brush of warm air against the side of his face made him realize that he practically had his head on Ardeth's shoulder, that he was pressed up against Ardeth's back, that his arms were nearly wrapped around him, that— oh , that they were holding hands.

Jonathan's cheeks flared and he cleared his throat, pulling his hands away.

Ardeth stopped pressing the keys. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh, no, old chap. Just, um, well, it might be easier if I played the right hand and you played the left." Jonathan backed away, moving to sit on the chair beside the bench.

For once, for once, he allowed himself to stare unabashedly at Ardeth, who actually ducked his head, and if Jonathan didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Ardeth was blushing— blushing , right there in the parlor because Jonathan looked at him.

Jonathan scratched at his ear. This was not something he was going to dig into. Instead, he said, "If you’re ready, I’ll join you."

Ardeth looked at him. "I am ready."

For some reason that made Jonathan's face grow even warmer, heat creeping up his neck, but he ignored it. There wasn’t some deeper meaning behind that. How could there have been?

As Jonathan adjusted and got closer to reach the correct keys, his shoulder brushed against Ardeth’s. He could feel the heat radiating from him like a furnace—if furnaces were tall, handsome, and mysterious desert warriors who had magnetic appeal to fidgety Englishmen who played piano very ill and had the very opposite of magnetic appeal.

But, if Jonathan had known just how often Ardeth’s gaze stuck to him, he would not have judged himself the opposite of magnetic.

Very slowly, but together, they butchered a lovely tune to the utmost degree, and it was the most beautiful music either had ever heard.

SIX: The Twenty-Eighth—I'll Be Seeing You

After breakfast, a chess match took place in the parlor, and for once it wasn't Jonathan getting decimated on the board. Strangely enough, it was Ardeth.

"Checkmate," Rick said, smirking and leaning back in his chair.

Ardeth raised an eyebrow and surveyed the board. "Well done," he said.

"And just how can he do that?" Jonathan demanded, agitatedly waving a hand at Ardeth's trapped king, and all of Rick's pieces strategically placed. "I never win against you!"

Ardeth smiled. "Well, he concentrates and strategizes," he said, beginning to reset the board. "Unlike you."

Rick grinned impishly.

"Pig's wallow." Jonathan rolled his eyes. Rick was able to concentrate, more like. Because Rick didn't spend the entire game trying not to stare at the bit of Ardeth's chest peeking out the collar of his robes, or Ardeth’s hair, or his face, or his hands.

"Guess I'm just better at chess than you, huh Jonathan?" Rick teased.

Jonathan clicked his tongue in disapproval, returning to his armchair. "Gloat as much as you want, O'Connell," he said haughtily, "I won't listen at all."

"Sure you won't." Rick chuckled.

Jonathan watched as Ardeth finished resetting the board. He found himself staring at Ardeth's profile, the gentle swoop of his hair as it settled around his shoulders, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled at something Rick said.

Without really realizing it, Jonathan had begun to admit that he liked staring at Ardeth, or rather admiring Ardeth, and that it was, in fact, a thing that was happening. He still made himself turn his gaze away to the fire. He might have begun to dabble in admitting things, but he didn't need to be entirely conspicuous.

Because on top of admitting to the staring, he also admitted, just a tiny bit, that his affection for Ardeth brushed the edge of something stronger than friendship. That his heart yearned, or pined, or what have you, and he was probably well on his way to turning into a pile of mush. That was as far as the admitting got, however, as he would derail his train of thought as soon as it began to arrive at a station called 'the truth'.

But all things considered, it was a great achievement that he got as far as he did. A Christmas miracle, if you will. Evy would have been thrilled, if she'd known about it, and then annoyed, since Jonathan admitting things had only happened the day Ardeth was scheduled to leave.

++

It was a far too familiar scene, parting with Ardeth. But familiarity never made unpleasant things pleasant. Just familiar. And somehow worse.

All Jonathan wanted to do was say something foolish like I'll come with you . Or, stay . Or oh God please help me, I've done something I swore I'd never do again . And of course, that something was...oh, he could scarcely even think it...in fact he couldn't think it, not the unfiltered truth. But he could admit he was far too attached, far too close to turning into a pile of mush—and a miserable one at that.

He felt absolutely beside himself. An out of body experience. They had tea in the parlor, and Jonathan couldn't look at anyone. Especially not Ardeth, despite the fact that he wanted to commit him to memory as accurately as possible. Evy and Ardeth discussed something historical. Rick remarked on the weather for travelling, how there might be a storm blowing in later. Alex babbled about his toy trains. And Jonathan must have said something, too, because no one asked him why he was being so quiet. But he didn't remember saying anything.

Ardeth seemed fine, of course, and Jonathan concluded it was because he wasn't absolutely dreading this farewell like Jonathan was. To Ardeth it was just the end of a nice visit, and he was getting to go back to his home, where it was warm and sunny and comfortable, and familiar in a pleasant way. Meanwhile, Jonathan would have to stay here, in this cold, cloudy, Ardeth-less place, and wait for a letter that Ardeth promised to send when he arrived in Cairo—one stating that he'd made it home unscathed, and it was back to business as usual.

Of course, this was just Jonathan's view of the situation. Really, he had no idea how similar his and Ardeth's thoughts were. Because Ardeth also dreaded parting, and once in a while he would try to soothe the ache in his chest by glancing over at Jonathan and letting his eyes stick to some wonderful aspect of him for just a few seconds too long. The blue of his eyes. The curve of his jaw. The strand of brown hair that had escaped Jonathan's orderly style and brushed against the pale skin of his forehead. His elegant fingers balancing a teacup and saucer.

Both of them wondered how long they would be apart this time. Another year and a half? Two? Three? More? Or would they see each other in a matter of months? Which was worse? It was impossible to tell.

"I'm just sorry it didn't snow while you were here," Evy said to Ardeth. She'd been watching both of them closely all morning, and everything she saw made her more and more certain that her theory was correct, and made Rick insist more and more that they were just friends sad at being parted. "A nice, snowy Christmas, you know."

"It might be better it did not," Ardeth said, half smiling. "If it had gotten much colder I might have frozen to death."

"See Rick, I'm not the only one who thinks it's too bloody cold out," Jonathan pitched in. To his own ears, he sounded very distant. To everyone else, he was quite natural.

Rick shrugged. "Eh, it's not that cold."

"Well, it's cold enough ." Jonathan made himself turn to Ardeth. "I say, I'm a bit envious of you , old chap, getting to go back to where it's sunny and warm."

How he would love to pack a bag and go with him. He could have jokingly suggested such a thing. I've half a mind to pack a bag and come with you so I can thaw out. It would be completely normal to joke about it. The problem was, of course, that it wouldn't have really been a joke.

And Ardeth wanted to tell him that the promise of sun and warmth could in no way ease their parting.

++

The car ride was too short. All too soon, Jonathan found himself standing in the same place he'd stood a few too many times before. The too-cold train station, with the people and the smoke and the hiss of steam close by. Where he bid Ardeth farewell before, oh so long ago.

And here he was, having to say goodbye to Ardeth again. How many times would he have to do this? And would there ever be a time when it was the final farewell?

He pretended to be interested in some men loading luggage and told himself to stop being ridiculous. Because he was ridiculous. Everything was all right.

Except that everything wasn't all right, because it was time for Ardeth to leave, and time for Jonathan to pretend he could bear it.

Fortunately, he'd had some practice pretending he could bear things.

"You got everything you need?" Rick asked, as if he and Evy both hadn't double- and triple-checked already.

"Yes," Ardeth replied, patting the bag that hung from his shoulder, "and thank you, Evelyn, for the food."

Evy smiled. "Of course. Can't have you going hungry, now can we?"

Jonathan made himself speak, because it seemed like something he would do. "Sounds like something your aunt would say, huh Ardeth?"

"Indeed. She is very passionate about keeping people fed."

Rick grinned as he bent to lift Alex into his arms. "Yeah, I seem to remember Jonathan complaining about some of his pants not fitting for awhile after that trip to Egypt."

Ardeth smiled fondly, his thoughts turning to the pleasant evenings he and Jonathan had spent together. Jonathan's thoughts moved in much the same circles, and he tried desperately to think of something to say to change the subject.

Evy watched both of them. Reminiscences, you understand.

Fortunately, a subject change did happen, but un fortunately, it came in the form of Rick pointing out that everyone was boarding, and Ardeth agreeing that he should probably go, too.

"Well, it was lovely seeing you again, Ardeth," said Evy, sorry for many reasons that he had to go so soon, "we absolutely must visit each other soon."

"Absolutely," Ardeth agreed, his eyes drifting involuntarily to Jonathan.

Jonathan discovered that all dreams of rambling in his usual manner—to avoid suspicion, if anything else—had abandoned him completely. "Yes," he exhaled hoarsely, coughing slightly.

"Perhaps you could all visit Egypt," Ardeth said, turning his attention back to Evy.

Evy smiled, not missing Ardeth's staring, or Jonathan's choking, for a second. "Yes. I'd like to take Alex there soon. And I'd dearly love to meet your family."

"Yeah," said Rick, "your sister sounds like a real riot."

"She is that." Ardeth smiled and turned his attention to Alex. "Farewell, little one."

Alex grinned, all cherub-like, and clapped his little hands. "Awdet!"

Ardeth chuckled. "It was very nice to meet you, too." He straightened from addressing Alex and looked at Rick and Evy. "Farewell, my friends," he said, inclining his head. "Thank you for opening your home to me. I had a wonderful time."

"Of course," Evy said fondly, "we did too."

"Yeah, anytime." Rick stuck out his free hand and Ardeth grasped it, shaking it firmly, smiling.

When he released Rick's hand, when he turned to Jonathan, Evy watched his smile change. Watched it grow softer, sadder, as Ardeth laid his hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

And while Jonathan may have kept a good poker face, his insides were about as steady as a hurricane.

"Farewell, my good friend." Ardeth spoke softly in Arabic, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on Jonathan's.

"Farewell," Jonathan replied in Arabic, feeling too drained of all sense to worry if his pronunciation was correct. In fact, he was rather surprised he could speak at all, and attributed the ability to the numerous times he'd had a painfully bad hand in a high-stakes poker game. He even cracked a grin and hoped it didn’t look too desperate. "Bon voyage."

"Au revoir."

"Write soon," Jonathan blurted before he could stop himself, and he felt utterly pathetic as heat climbed up his cheeks.

"I will," Ardeth said.

"Have a nice trip," Evy said, only willingly breaking the spell between them because Jonathan looked on the verge of fainting.

"I will," Ardeth said.

"Stay out of trouble," Rick told him, clapping him on the arm.

"I will," Ardeth said.

And then he was walking away. A terrible rushing filled Jonathan's ears as he watched the space between them grow larger and larger. The rushing sounded an awful lot like a thousand voices—many of which were Evy—urging him to do something. But do what? Make an utter fool out of himself and ruin a perfectly good friendship? 

He kept his hands firmly in his pockets, if only to keep them from shaking.

Ardeth stopped. Jonathan's heart stopped. Ardeth glanced over his shoulder.

As torturous as this was for Jonathan and Ardeth, Evy was experiencing her own sort of torment, watching those two staring at each other for just a moment too long before Ardeth seemed to use every ounce of strength he possessed to turn away and board the train. Why were they like this?

Jonathan felt gutted. Just like that, Ardeth was gone. And now there was an Ardeth-shaped hole in everything. Mostly in Jonathan's heart, if he was being honest with himself. And for once, for once, he was.

He immediately excused himself to go to the car, blaming the cold wind for his quick exit.

Evy's mind raced, and tripped over itself, and she watched Jonathan walk off, noted the slump to his shoulders, and she thought of the smile Ardeth only ever used for him, and—

Rick nudged her with his elbow, catching her eye and shaking his head slightly, as if to say, stop overthinking.

Evy rather thought she was the only one thinking enough .

As Jonathan sank into the back seat, he found he was glad when he looked out the car window and saw that Evy and Rick would need a little extra time to pull an enamored Alex away from the trains. It gave him an opportunity to be absolutely miserable without Evy's needling gaze reading him like a book and discovering everything.

He covered his face in his hands and breathed out, slowly. Something awful was happening. In fact, it had been happening for a long time, it was just getting worse now because he'd acknowledged it, and acknowledging it was a bit like letting the travelling encyclopedia salesman get a foot in the door: He was never going to leave, and one was about to become inundated with far too much information.

In Jonathan's case, it was not information on the wondrous palaces of the Far East or some strange new invention some American with too much time on his hands had rigged up. Rather, it was a bullet-point inventory of the contents of Jonathan's heart. And at the moment, they all read Ardeth .

He scrubbed his palms down his face and sat back against the seat, glancing out the window at his sister and her little family. 

He'd never really been jealous of Evy. Certainly, she'd always been smarter than him, done better in school, kept jobs easier, and no one would have ever thought to accuse her of anything resembling his ill reputation...and still, he’d never been envious. Not really. 

But at that moment—as he watched Alex wave at the departing train while Evy held his hand, Rick leaning in to put an arm around Evy's waist and press a kiss to her temple—he felt envy. 

Why couldn't he ...well, why couldn't he have that? Why couldn't he have a heart that was easily opened, a love that ran both ways, that was possible, that wasn't separated by seas and lands and duty and utter rot like that? Why couldn't he just have... happiness , like that?

It was so easy for her, he thought, so easy for her to love. To fall in love, to marry, to start a family, to just let herself be happy. To take risks and have them be rewarded.

He let out a wry laugh. Any risk he ever took was never rewarded, at least not for him. Pickpocketing Rick had nearly ended the world, killed several people...but it had also brought Rick and Evy together, and brought Ardeth into their lives, and, well, wasn't even just having a piece of Ardeth once in a blue moon better than never having any piece of Ardeth at all? Having a bit of someone was more than he’d had before.

He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered. This was getting terribly out of hand. He was becoming a miserable, melodramatic pile of mush. It just wouldn't do.

He never should have admitted anything to himself.

++

Jonathan turned in early that night. He couldn't help it. The house seemed somehow painfully empty, even with Evy, Rick, and Alex for company, now that Ardeth had gone away. It was a dreadfully melodramatic, morose thing to think, Jonathan knew it, but it was how he felt, and there was no amount of tea Evy could bring him that would stop it.

At least she hadn't made any allusions to Ardeth, to farewells, to the ruddy pagans and their mistletoe. In fact, she'd been strangely...normal. Almost too normal to be normal.

Of course, in truth she was just brimming with curiosity, but she kept it to herself. She hadn't the heart for any more investigating, not with the melancholy look in Jonathan's eyes.

So there were no needling questions, no squinting glances. Just quiet company until Jonathan had finally decided he couldn't stand the absence of Ardeth in the parlor anymore and announced he was going to bed.

As Jonathan approached his room, his eyes betrayed him and drifted to the door across the hall, now closed, and behind it only empty space. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was opening that door, turning on the light, looking into the bedroom that Ardeth had stayed in, the bed he had slept in only hours before. Of course, everything was neat and tidy, the bed perfectly made, because Ardeth was that sort of person—the sort to leave no trace of himself behind except for the indelible impression he'd made on people.

Jonathan's hand moved to rub over his heart, an involuntary, reactionary movement to soothe the awful ache that filled his chest.

It was pathetic, it was ridiculous.

He forced himself to turn off the light, to close the door, to say goodbye to Ardeth all over again.

He fell into his own bed and drifted into a fitful sleep. But his dreams betrayed him, they spun and morphed into the darkened library...and there was Ardeth, pressing him back against the closed library door, kissing his hands, kissing other parts of him, touching him all over and not because he slipped on ice—

Jonathan bolted awake, too flushed, too warm, thoroughly embarrassed. He rolled onto his side and tried to think of the most unpleasant thing imaginable, quick.

Great Aunt Myrtle.

The effect was instantaneous. He ran a hand through his hair. At least the old bat was good for something .

His heart pounded as he kicked off the sheets, the cool air in the room a balm against his burning skin. This was utterly ridiculous. Not to mention extremely humiliating. But at least Ardeth had left, at least Jonathan wouldn't have to look him in the eye for a long time. He'd have time to recover, to convince himself he hadn't dreamed anything at all.

"This is all Evy’s fault," he told himself, although he hardly believed it, "for planting ideas in my head."

But his traitorous mind drifted to the real darkened library, to that look in Ardeth's eyes. That look that was always in Ardeth's eyes.

Oh, he was being ridiculous. There was no look .

Jonathan rolled onto his back, glaring at the ceiling, angry with himself. How had he let this happen? And why? Only disappointment could come from this. Only disappointment and heartbreak. That’s all he’d ever gotten before, even when feelings like this were mutual. How much worse was it, knowing that his feelings could never be reciprocated?

Oh, how he missed denial. It suited him far better. He always did things like this, though, got his heart into places it shouldn't have been, and he only ended up hurt every time.

The solution, of course, was simple: He would get over it. Ardeth was headed back to Egypt. Jonathan could avoid him quite easily at a distance. He could write completely casual letters and just be his friend.

That was all he was, all he ever would be, and all Jonathan wanted him to be.

Or at least, that's what he told himself.