I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.

Continued on from
thread with Tristan.
---

Dawn was breaking, again, when Mallos finally reappeared back in the bedroom. The soft pink glow of the morning sun cast a warm, lifelike blush onto Croe’s still face. Mallos moved cautiously across the room, as though worried he might wake her, and sat down on the bed beside her again. This is where he’d been, about twenty-four hours before, on the worst day of his life. It was as though nothing had changed.

Reaching over, he took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. Nothing.

A knock at the door saved him from having to think about what to do next. Mallos glanced up just as his butler, Duilio Alvarez, pushed the door open and stepped inside. He shut it gently behind him, face composed, already dressed in his uniform. Mallos didn’t insist on staff uniforms, but Alvarez refused to serve in anything other than his monkey suit. He stood tall and proud, the opposite of how Mallos felt in that moment.

“Juanita and Loida have been with Master Edward all night,” Alvarez informed him in Spanish, “and Abilio is with Lady Ángela. I took the liberty of purchasing nappies, formula feed and baby clothes from the 24-hour supermarket last night from your account. I will send someone out today to purchase furniture for Master Edward’s room and a baby monitor. Did you have a room in mind, sir?”

“No.” Mallos rubbed his temples, watching Croe. “Thanks, Alvarez.”

Alvarez nodded. “If it pleases you, I will begin interviewing for nannies. And if I may, sir, without the divine court, the number of staff required to maintain the household is far smaller than the number currently on the payroll. Many of them may be concerned.”

“Can you arrange for everyone to have some paid vacation?” Mallos asked, glancing back at him. “Work it out on some kind of rota. Buy people travel tickets to see their families if you need to. You too.”

“As you wish, sir.” Alvarez inclined his head, smiling slightly. “But if it’s all the same to you, I won’t be requiring any paid leave while the family is present. Very dull around here without you, sir.”

The butler excused himself politely and exited the room, leaving Mallos alone with his sleeping lover. Now what?

If Alvarez had realised he was back, then the rest of the household would know very shortly too. Nothing remained a secret in this place for long, and Ángela would rightfully be upset if he broke his promise to come and speak with her as soon as he returned from Earth. With the air of one about to step up onto the gallows, Mallos stood, gave Croe a kiss on the cheek, and left the room after Alvarez. Ángie’s room was further down the hall, around the turn in the corridor. As he predicted, she was wide awake and badgering her watchful-eyed playmate, the poor Abilio, about when her parents would be back to see her. She dropped the panda toys she’d been holding and bolted across the room to Mallos as soon as he opened the door. He swept her up in his arms and held her close.

“Am I relieved, sir?” Abilio asked, stifling a yawn. Mallos nodded and he sloped out, muttering about bed.

“Daddy,” Ángie asked, hooking her arms around his neck and pressing her face against his shoulder, “what happened? Where are we now?”

Gone were the days when Mallos could have taken the time to process at his own rate, to ignore others until he was ready to see them. Now he had to step up and be the adult in the room. His trusting four year-old stared at him, her dark eyes expectant. She needed an explanation. She needed to hear that everything was going to be okay, even if he didn’t feel like it was.

Gently exhaling a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, Mallos carried her over to her bed, sat her down on his lap and started talking.


“Oh dear,” Espinosa, the head cook, observed, “here come the waterworks.”

She stepped to one side so Mallos could enter, his mouth set in a grim expression, his daughter cradled in his arms. Ángela was sobbing - not the usual screaming tantrum she pulled when she wanted something, but real, quiet, tangible tears. Mallos’ shoulder was damp from where she kept pressing her face against it, her little shoulders shaking. He prised her gently off and sat her up on one of the work surfaces while Espinosa, without needing to be told, reached for a jar of cookies on the top shelf. She reached inside and handed one to Ángela, who gripped it tightly but didn’t take a bite.

“B-but,” she sobbed, her voice gasping around the tears, “I don’t want a brother!”

Of all the things to get upset about, today of all days. Mallos shot Espinosa a help me! look.

“Now there, angel.” The cook put her arm around Ángie and squeezed warmly. “I’ve got a brother, you know, and they’re not that bad. Besides, a big old house like this? You won’t even have to see him if you don’t want to.”

Ángela pressed her hand against Espinosa, trying to push her back. “I don’t want you.” She wailed. “I want my mamá.”

Mallos ran his hand through his hair. “Ángela, that’s the other thing we need to talk about. Your mother…” he hesitated. “She’s… not well. She’s asleep and can’t wake up.”

“So wake her up.” Ángela demanded.

“I can’t.” The knot in his stomach was so tight that it felt like it was about to snap. “I tried.”

“Daddy!” His daughter groaned like it was all so obvious. “Just use the magic!”

Something on Mallos’ face must have changed, or maybe Espinosa was just highly empathic, because she immediately called over two of the other kitchen girls to watch Ángie for a moment. Taking her employer firmly by the shoulder, she steered him out of the kitchen and shut the door carefully behind her.

“Does Ángie know everything she needs to know?” She asked, dropping the young girl’s title. Mallos just nodded mutely. “Right then. You need to go upstairs and rest and be with your lady. We’ve got the kids covered.”

“She won’t - ” He started, turning back to the kitchen door, but Espinosa barred the way with her body.

“Upstairs.” She told him firmly. “Now.”

He regarded her for a moment before turning and numbly walking away. Before he’d reached the end of the corridor, the door to the rest of the house swung open and a huge, oriental black cat jumped through. Her coat was glossy, her blue eyes alert. She paused when she caught sight of her fairy.

“Mallos?” She asked cautiously. “I was just looking for you. What are you doing down here?”

“Ángela…” He started, but trailed off, glancing back at the kitchen door over his shoulder.

“Right.” Sperantia nodded. “I’m on it. You go upstairs.”

She trotted past him, pausing only to rub briefly against his legs, and vanished into the kitchen. Mallos watched her go before forcing himself to turn and head back to the bedroom.

Croe’s position was unchanged when he got there, but someone had come in and tidied up a little. In lieu of knowing what to do, Mallos started to pace up and down beside the bed, but stopped almost immediately when he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. No wonder everyone had sent him upstairs to rest. He was still wearing his clothes from the previous day, only now they were rumpled where he’d slept in them. Bits of faint, powdery white dust still clung to him where he’d collapsed face-down on a distant planet after trying to teleport all the way to Shaman. His hair looked like he’d just been riding a motorbike, with tracks in where his fingers had created grooves. He was stiller than usual, his expression more distant, less focused.

First things first. He killed some time taking a shower in the en suite and getting dressed naturally, trying not think about the look Croe would give him if she’d seen him do it. He used magic to transform her clothes, switching them for identical, clean copies, and sat back on the bed again.

What now?

Mallos gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous. He was a god. He had divinity. He should be able to wake Croe up just with the power of pure magic, or from some ounce of experience in all the thousands of years he’d been alive, or - something. Think. Just think. He wasn’t that up on his sleep magic - that was more Tsi’s domain - but he was the world’s best psychic. He’d tried to connect with her mind before, but maybe he just hadn’t tried hard or creatively enough to communicate with her. Maybe if she knew he was here, she’d wake up.

Right. Okay. Physical contact helped with psychic connections, so he reached out and took hold of hand, closing his eyes to blot out the rest of the world. Once again, his mind came up against an impregnable barrier of sleep. Unwilling to bulldoze through in case he accidentally caused her brain damage, Mallos circumnavigated her mind instead, searching for a weakness he could exploit. Nothing. He tried projecting his thoughts towards her as loudly as he could - the same simple message repeated, wake up! - but nothing changed in her psyche.

Maybe he was going about it wrong. Maybe telepathy wasn’t the way. Taking in a breath, Mallos abandoned telepathy and zeroed in on a psychic ability he rarely used: empathy. He gathered up all his feelings of frustration, hurt, worry, loneliness, love, and projected all of them towards Croe in an unsorted, confused bundle. Still no change.

Could he try and walk into her dreams? Dream magic bordered psychic magic but wasn’t one he had a great deal of experience in and he didn’t really have time to research it.

Research it. Research it.

Mallos stood up as abruptly as if he’d been electrocuted, dropping Croe’s hand and vanishing on the spot. When he reappeared about twenty minutes later, it was with a rather nervous-looking Khasekhemwy in tow. The god of Palestine tugged his hands anxiously as Mallos gave him a gentle shove towards the bed, gesturing to the woman lying there. There was an awkward moment while Mallos stood at Khasekhemwy’s shoulder, clearly putting him off, until he peeled off to pace up and down part of the room.. Obviously relieved, the Scribe placed a hand on Croe’s abdomen, took a steadying breath and focused.

“So?” Mallos said when he couldn’t take it anymore. Khasekhemwy gave a half-shrug; probably didn’t dare give a full one.

“I - I don’t know, Mallos. Tsi is the sleep expert, but…” Khasekhemwy’s voice wavered as he watched Mallos push his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I - I can tell you that it was magic which put her to sleep, but I don’t know if that’s what’s keeping her asleep.”

“What kind of magic?”

“I don’t know.” Khasekhemwy replied miserably. “I don’t know what kind of magic this is. I’d need to see the person or thing that did it. And,” he added, correctly interpreting Mallos’ expression, “I’d need to know what kind of magic it was before I could safely try and wake her up.”

Mallos leant against one of the bedposts and gripped his hair.

“Tsi might know… when he comes back… and she might wake up before then?” The Palestinian suggested a little weakly. “Just… keep her warm, fed - carefully. Sometimes… sometimes coma patients can still hear, too, so you can try talking to her.”

He wrung his hands again, clearly at a loss for what else to say. There was nothing else to say. Khasekhemwy mumbled a few apologies and goodbyes before vanishing again, leaving Mallos alone with his sleeping lover once more.


The rest of the day took a week to pass. Mallos spent most of the next few hours moving between his office and his bedroom. He’d barely pick up a task in the office - drawing, playing the guitar, sorting through paperwork - before losing focus and deciding he needed to go and check on Croe. This morbid game of tennis was finally brought to a relieved halt with the arrival of the midday sun, heralding the staff’s siesta. Mallos abandoned his office - the four walls of which were increasingly proving too small - for the final time and made his way to Ned’s room to relieve the nanny on duty there. She passed the sleeping baby into his arms and left with a stifled yawn.

Three hours with a newborn forced him into inactivity; he even slept for part of it. Darkness consumed his dreams, silence broken only by the steady drip, drip, drip and the sound of his own erratic breathing. He strained against the chains until the panic jolted him back into consciousness, heart thumping. Ned continued to slumber peacefully in his arms.

After that, he carried the baby up to his bedroom and sat on the bed next to Croe until the siesta was over. Ned was passed over to a cheery-faced young lad who swept him off for a feed.

Time seemed to creep ever slower and nothing could hold Mallos’ attention for long. Words danced on the pages of the books. The apps on his phone were too boring. The sound of the plastic backing of the phone clicking on and off wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it used to be, somehow.

It felt like days but was actually less than an hour before he slid off the bed and trudged off in the direction of the garage. Mallos’ underground garage served as both a vehicle storage area and a mechanical workshop. As he descended the steps, he paused on the landing with the door leading off to the wine cellar, eyeing it for a long moment before shaking his head and continuing down.

He couldn’t focus on anything in the garage either. The SEAT Ibiza he was taking to pieces was just a boring mess of parts; none of the motorbikes needed a tune-up; all of the engines of the exotic supercars sounded dull, lifeless. Eventually, Mallos abandoned all of them and ascended the staircase again, shoulders slouched, hands deep in pockets. The bright light of day made him blink a few times in quick succession.

How was it not even five o’clock yet?

Nothing he wanted to do. No where he wanted to be. He stuck his head around Ángela’s bedroom, hoping for a distraction, but the all-nighter had taken its toll on the four year-old: she was crashed out on her bed, fully clothed. Sperantia slept across her legs, purring faintly.

The rest of the day inched by in much the same manner. By the time the sun had set, Mallos was grateful for the chance to go to bed, if only to give him something to do. Restless, unpleasant dreams - of the dark place; the centre of the Earth; being trapped on a distant planet while his friend lay dying - woke him three times in the night. Morning found him on his back with his head against Croe’s shoulder and his hand over hers, sleeping with some semblance of peace at last.

Mallos
I've learned enough to know I'm never letting go