Richard Campbell Gansey III (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatsallthereis) wrote2016-07-20 03:05 pm
thatsallthereis) wrote2016-07-20 03:05 pm
And everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night
Gansey was dreaming.
He was in Monmouth -- no, he was in a hotel room. Monmouth stood empty in Henrietta, with Adam and Ronan tucked away at the Barns and Noah at rest. Gansey was only dreaming he was in Monmouth, but when he dreamed, he was never asleep enough to confuse it for reality. Much like in his waking hours, he kept one foot on the ground, checked in with himself to make sure he knew where he was. Tulsa, not Henrietta. Some hotel, not Monmouth. Home, but not those safe walls. After years of traveling and seeking, Gansey was relieved that he'd found a sort of peace that made him feel that home was wherever he, Henry, and Blue laid their heads for the night. Home was his Camaro, buzzing down interstate highways noisily despite the fact that there was no machinery to whir, no head gasket to blow every 45 minutes. Another thing he and his precious Pig had in common: a separation from time and the laws of the universe proper. Neither of them made any sense. No one Gansey loved did.
Gansey was awake. Calling what he was doing "dreaming" was a bit of a leap anyway. It was more like he was looking at Monmouth and noticing how empty it was. There wasn't even a ghost to haunt its empty halls.
Blue was gone. Henry was gone. A few moments ago, Gansey swore he felt Blue exhale a sleepy sigh against his neck, close enough to notice and far enough away to wonder if it had happened at all.
There was a vast expanse of a window spilling bright light into the room. Tulsa's forecast showed rain for days, heavy enough that Gansey had been able to convince Blue to let him get a hotel for a few days rather than risk flying off the road trying to flee the downpour. Gansey liked the rain. The sound of it on the roof had been one of his only companions in times of sleeplessness on his travels.
The sun was out and Gansey was alone. It sat wrong in his chest. Then, he looked around.
Books. Books he might read. A desk. A desk with knots in it the size of fists, all knuckle and no regard for bone. It made him think of Ronan, much the way gasoline smelled like Adam and the cold reminded him of Noah. This room was stark. The books were stacked in a way that felt familiar to him.
Then, he heard voices. The walls of this room didn't reach the ceiling and Gansey could hear the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen, could smell their cooking. Occasionally someone would speak, and Gansey's heart was pounding too hard in his ears to find the voices familiar. What if he'd been kidnapped? What if Henry and Blue weren't safe? Some uninformed idiot might have traced some of Gansey's research and thought there was something to find, as Gansey once had. Though never, ever would he have tried to find it like this.
Still, the smell of breakfast was not very menacing. Gansey took the space of a few breaths to calm himself, work through some rational thought, and push himself to his feet. Distressingly, he was only dressed from the waist down, glasses still on his face. He looked around fruitlessly for a shirt. Unless he fashioned one out of a nearby book titled Questioning Darrow's History, that wouldn't change. He decided not to harm the book in any way and headed for the door. He pushed it open. He had no idea what he might find on the other side.
Ceilings, high as the ones in Monmouth. Maybe higher. There were several bedrooms, laid about a very open floorplan. There was some shuffling below that suggested activity beneath, a table set, some more ruckus in the kitchen. No one seemed to be guarding the door. This wasn't a kidnapping. What the hell was it then? His brows knitted deeply over the tips of his wire frames and he skidded a thumb over his lip as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.
He was in Monmouth -- no, he was in a hotel room. Monmouth stood empty in Henrietta, with Adam and Ronan tucked away at the Barns and Noah at rest. Gansey was only dreaming he was in Monmouth, but when he dreamed, he was never asleep enough to confuse it for reality. Much like in his waking hours, he kept one foot on the ground, checked in with himself to make sure he knew where he was. Tulsa, not Henrietta. Some hotel, not Monmouth. Home, but not those safe walls. After years of traveling and seeking, Gansey was relieved that he'd found a sort of peace that made him feel that home was wherever he, Henry, and Blue laid their heads for the night. Home was his Camaro, buzzing down interstate highways noisily despite the fact that there was no machinery to whir, no head gasket to blow every 45 minutes. Another thing he and his precious Pig had in common: a separation from time and the laws of the universe proper. Neither of them made any sense. No one Gansey loved did.
Gansey was awake. Calling what he was doing "dreaming" was a bit of a leap anyway. It was more like he was looking at Monmouth and noticing how empty it was. There wasn't even a ghost to haunt its empty halls.
Blue was gone. Henry was gone. A few moments ago, Gansey swore he felt Blue exhale a sleepy sigh against his neck, close enough to notice and far enough away to wonder if it had happened at all.
There was a vast expanse of a window spilling bright light into the room. Tulsa's forecast showed rain for days, heavy enough that Gansey had been able to convince Blue to let him get a hotel for a few days rather than risk flying off the road trying to flee the downpour. Gansey liked the rain. The sound of it on the roof had been one of his only companions in times of sleeplessness on his travels.
The sun was out and Gansey was alone. It sat wrong in his chest. Then, he looked around.
Books. Books he might read. A desk. A desk with knots in it the size of fists, all knuckle and no regard for bone. It made him think of Ronan, much the way gasoline smelled like Adam and the cold reminded him of Noah. This room was stark. The books were stacked in a way that felt familiar to him.
Then, he heard voices. The walls of this room didn't reach the ceiling and Gansey could hear the sounds of someone banging around in the kitchen, could smell their cooking. Occasionally someone would speak, and Gansey's heart was pounding too hard in his ears to find the voices familiar. What if he'd been kidnapped? What if Henry and Blue weren't safe? Some uninformed idiot might have traced some of Gansey's research and thought there was something to find, as Gansey once had. Though never, ever would he have tried to find it like this.
Still, the smell of breakfast was not very menacing. Gansey took the space of a few breaths to calm himself, work through some rational thought, and push himself to his feet. Distressingly, he was only dressed from the waist down, glasses still on his face. He looked around fruitlessly for a shirt. Unless he fashioned one out of a nearby book titled Questioning Darrow's History, that wouldn't change. He decided not to harm the book in any way and headed for the door. He pushed it open. He had no idea what he might find on the other side.
Ceilings, high as the ones in Monmouth. Maybe higher. There were several bedrooms, laid about a very open floorplan. There was some shuffling below that suggested activity beneath, a table set, some more ruckus in the kitchen. No one seemed to be guarding the door. This wasn't a kidnapping. What the hell was it then? His brows knitted deeply over the tips of his wire frames and he skidded a thumb over his lip as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.
no subject
"I'm here...as long as this place lets me stay. There's a lot to know, I don't want to overload you," he says a little sheepishly.
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Since Gansey was sure Noah could hear this thought anyway, he didn't bother with looking sheepish or trying to recover. Insted, he shrugged, as if that gesture might appropriately accompany the thought.
"If I hadn't--" Gansey cut himself off, once again not bothering to recover. While he had the luxury to do so, he wanted to be as bare as he could. "If Glendower had been alive, I could have asked for your life." Or he could have died on the ley line and asked for Noah's. Bur Ronan. Ronan writhing, bleeding something like ectoplasm from his nose and eyes, being unmade from the inside out. Ronan who was never, ever supposed to be part of the cycle of sacrifice and rebirth.
The image was likely being broadcasted to Noah. Just in case, Gansey had the good sense to look apologetic. He wanted to make excuses and justify. He didn't.
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Noah stares at Gansey a long moment, with his mussed hair and wire rims, plucked from a place in time where he must have been happy and free from the burden of curses and sleeping Kings. It makes Noah's heart ache with both happiness and something else, something like sadness because he won't have been able to see it. The four of them, happy. Here, at least, he can.
"I wasn't a person anymore, Gansey. And there's something else," he begins to say, but reluctantly.
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There was a time when Gansey would want something and nothing would stop him from getting it. Glendower may have been the first. He'd wanted Noah to have life and he'd been sure he was going to get it. Now he was standing in front of Noah with the knowledge that the one thing he'd wanted more than anything had never, could never have been his and that he never could have changed Noah's fate. There was no credit card number to fix that. There was a magical city, though, and a rejuvenated spirit having animated conversation.
"What is it?" Gansey's stomach did a flip. He tried to smooth his brows to a cool neutral expression, but he wasn't too successful. Noah knew too much to be dazzled by thin disguises.
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And now he's about to tell Gansey something else potentially upsetting, if only because he kept it from him the entire time. He hesitates, but he knows he has to because the others know. He doesn't want there to be secrets between the group, all that's ever done has caused upset.
"The voice you heard telling you to find Glendower. It wasn't him, it wasn't-- it was me," he says softly.
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No, it was. It absolutely was. Why hadn't Gansey caught that before? Had he wanted it to be his call so badly that he'd mistaken that identity all of these years? Yes. Gansey had seen what he'd wanted to see. No big surprise there.
"Oh." It sounded weak and Gansey hated that. Had he allowed himself the time to daydream about meeting Noah again, it wouldn't have gone like this. He'd have been more welcoming, more certain. He'd have known everything there was to know. What kind of King was he?
"Why?" The question was too matter-of-fact. Of all of the things to say, why had that been it? Noah could have warned him, could have changed the course of his entire life. Why had he allowed him to devote his life to something that wasn't?
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"Oh, that's easy. So everything could happen," he says, and smiles. Linear-speaking, anyway. "You had to come to Henrietta. How else would you come back?" Noah's voice goes soft, remembering how little Gansey looked, lying on the ground, crawling with bees. "You died, Gansey."
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"It doesn't matter." That. Whether it was Glendower or Noah, the voice had given Gansey's life purpose. Another shot at life. Two, even.
Gansey reached out and clasped Noah's shoulder, no hesitation, no fear he wouldn't be there. Noah was there. Wherever there was. Standing in front of him felt something like they'd spit in the face of prophecy. A part of Gansey really, really liked that.
"Would it be terribly inappropriate," Gansey asked, smiling gently, "to inquire about those pancakes?" He knew it wasn't or he wouldn't have asked.
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"How many would you like? Um, also, do you want a shirt? I can go get you one of mine," he offers, torn between a bashful smile and a teasing one.
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"Thank you." All of the pleasantries occurred at once and Gansey briefly thought about how the politeness avalanche pointed to his nerves. Noah would have known either way. In his few moments there, Gansey had already witnessed Noah pluck several things straight out of his head. Had this been something he could do at home? Well, yes, he supposed so: this sort of collective unconscious happened all the time between them and Gansey had chalked it up to their collective dynamic, the way they fit. This was long ago: before he knew about time. Before he'd felt magic within him.
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"Also, I can see through clothes," he says with a pointed look at Gansey's pajama pants, before wandering off to his bedroom to find a shirt.
Just before disappearing into his bedroom he calls back, "That was a joke!"
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Still, Noah was here and Noah was getting him a shirt. It warmed him to know that Noah and he could exist at the same time, though he didn't know what to do with it. Few days passed where Gansey didn't wish he could see Noah, but now that he was there, Gansey didn't know what to do. What was there to say to a friend he was never supposed to see again?