Chapter Eight

HE KNOCKS TWICE, brisk and efficient, then waits, arms tight across his chest, barely restraining himself from tapping a foot.

The door opens on Nate’s friendly face. “Hey! Knew it was you. You’re the only one on my short list of magically allowed visitors who knocks like a robot.” Nate is dressed like he’s settled in for the night, in comfortable clothes and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He waves Ravi inside. “Val just knocks once, extremely hard. And that’s after she teleports on the inside of the door. C’mon in.”

Silently Ravi stalks in, barely slowing to toe off his running shoes. He’s been to Nate’s apartment once or twice, but never without the rest of the team. Cozily appointed, all soft furniture and plush rugs. Lots of family pictures and world art on the walls, artifact replicas displayed on the many bookshelves. Anywhere space exists for a bookshelf, one has been squeezed in and loaded full.

Brushing past Nate, Ravi goes over to a shelf and angles his head to read the spines. A mix of textbooks, field journals, fairy tales, and pulp paranormal fiction novels. His attention shifts to a framed picture propped up between Bullfinch’s Mythology and a decorative canopic jar of Anubis. A younger, lankier Nate, hair shaggy, with his arm around a white girl about the same age. They’re both grinning happily at the camera.

“So, can I get you anything? You want a drink? I think I only have beer. I can maybe make a gin and tonic? Eh, the tonic might be flat. I’m overdue for groceries. The beer’s probably the better option, to be honest. You can do regular beer, right? I’ve seen you drink it. Well, sip it. There’s, uh, water? I’ve got a Brita.”

That’s a whole lot of nervous babble. Ravi doesn’t look around. “It’s a mild intolerance, not an allergy. I can have a beer.”

“You’re sure? Great! Okay. I’ll just go get that, then.”

Other photographs line the shelves and walls, and Ravi moves slowly from one to the other. Nate with both arms slung over the shoulders of four young blonde women nearly identical except for age; Nate with a diploma and two middle-aged parents at his side beaming with pride; Nate at a bar with a cluster of friends all wearing rainbow themed attire; Nate and his college hockey team holding up a trophy; Nate brandishing a fish while he sits in a boat with that same auburn-haired woman from the first photo. She’s leaning into him, holding a much larger fish. They both are a little older than they were in the first photo. They look happy.

“Here ya go.” Nate comes back and hands Ravi a bottle with the top already popped off. Ravi takes a long swallow, eyes on the photo. Nate clears his throat. “You didn’t jog here, did you? It’s a little chilly by Georgia standards, even with long sleeves.” After a pause, Nate asks more softly, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Ravi’s throat immediately goes tight. “Who’s this?” he asks in a sandpaper rasp, pointing his beer at the woman in the picture.

Nate lets him change the subject without protest. “That’s Trish. We used to be engaged.”

Ravi swings his head around, really looking at Nate for the first time since he arrived. Ravi’s never seen Nate wear glasses before. They highlight the blue of his eyes and the angle of his jaw.

“This…was your fiancée?”

“Yup, high school sweethearts.” Nate smiles. It’s a little sad, but also a great deal fond. “Then we went to college, tried long distance, and it fell apart. Nobody’s fault. It was a rough time, but we stayed friends. We check in every few months, catch up on news, see how our families are doing.” He takes a drink of his beer. Ravi watches the bounce of his throat as he swallows. “After the breakup, I did what fifty percent of guys do when their hearts get broken.”

“And what’s that?”

“I hit the gym. It was either that or get a beer gut.”

Unbelievably, Ravi laughs. It’s a dry little thing, but it’s there. He chokes on the end of it, chest rising and falling unevenly, and pours about half the beer down his throat in one long swallow.

“Ravi,” Nate says softly, shifting toward him. “What happened?” He radiates concern, nothing devious behind it that Ravi can detect, but his judgement hasn’t been so great lately.

“Is there anything you haven’t told me?”

Nate’s eyes flash wide for a split second, a pink flush creeping up his neck. “Like what?”

Ravi sets the beer bottle on the shelf with a precise click. “Cayenne said my friends are keeping secrets from me. Are you?”

Nate’s arms drop to his side and he takes an instinctive, halted step toward Ravi. “Jesus Christ, you’re saying they told you that recently? Are you okay? Did they—” Nate starts to run a hand over his face before it bumps into his glasses. Hastily, he takes them off, face going scarlet, and sets them on a shelf along with his beer. He inspects Ravi from head to toe the same way Constance does when checking for injuries after a battle. “What did they want?” he asks, though his lips screw up to one side, as if he already knows the answer before he finishes the question.

“Is it true?”

Nate sighs. “Yeah. It is.”

It stings, but Ravi merely waits, taking a page from Robert Hernandez’s book, creating an uncomfortable silence to be filled.

Jerking a thumb at the couch, Nate asks, “You wanna sit down for this?”

Ravi sits. Nate joins him, turning sideways to face Ravi head-on, and without hesitation says, “Harry and I have had run-ins with Cayenne over the last couple of weeks. They figured out Harry’s apartment but not what floor, so every so often they’ll pop in and look around for her.”

“Why?”

“To get to you,” Nate says earnestly. “Constance layered so many protection spells on your building that I think Cayenne’s hair will start on fire if they even look at it. Obviously they weren’t going to get very far talking to Val, they hate even being close to Constance, and they don’t like me much either; so that means it’s been Harry.”

“I meant, why didn’t you tell me?” Ravi asks through a throat full of thorns.

“Because Cayenne is a manipulative, abusive prick and will say any bullshit they think will work to make you feel sorry for them.” Nate’s steady gaze does not waver. “Harry and I discussed it extensively. Neither of us were thrilled about keeping it from you, but we thought—I still think it’s the right call.” Nate doesn’t often use his hands to gesture as he speaks, so instead his sincerity is written in the set of his eyes, the evenness of his voice. “Look, Ravi, I’ve been in a lot of relationships—let’s just assume you made the appropriately catty joke here and move on—and I’ve been involved in a few nasty breakups. I’m really sorry Cayenne got to you. I wish there was a way we could have prevented it better. In a normal relationship, you can just block your ex on social media and throw out their hoodie and that’s the end of it, but this fucking time travel bullshit makes things tough. Did they… I can tell you’re not okay, so I’ll stop asking. But did they—”

“We just talked,” Ravi interrupts, back straight with both feet on the floor. A technical truth, chronologically speaking. “They just wanted to talk.”

“Uh-huh.” Nate slouches, running fingers through his short blond hair and making it stand on end. “Let me guess. They’re feeling this new scary emotion called regret. And they’re really sorry, and they want to make it up to you, right?”

Ravi doesn’t say anything, forehead furrowing.

“Ah, geez, man, I’m sorry.” Nate gives Ravi’s knee a quick pat before drawing back. “That’s classic manipulator stuff. And then telling you that your friends aren’t really your friends on top of it, right? Trying to isolate you? Christ, that fucking asshole,” he snaps swift and furious, as if the sentiment could no longer be contained.

Ravi runs back the evening in his head, this time a step removed, thinking tactically for once instead of like a brokenhearted idiot who hadn’t had years of secret agent training. “They were…” He drags a hand over his mouth, thoughts clicking into place. One minute contrite, the next aggressive and goading, and the next tender and loving; even for Cayenne, it had left Ravi with emotional whiplash. “They were all over the place. Scattershot. No unifying…strategy, I guess you’d say.”

“Trying everything to see what works, maybe?”

Head sinking into his hands, Ravi hisses, “Shit. Yeah.” Marking hits and misses. Rewinding when they could, and tallying wins for next time when they couldn’t. He knew they were playing him, but still let himself fall for it. Fucking pathetic.

Nate’s arm twitches, like he’s restraining himself from reaching out. “I get that you haven’t had a lot of experience in this arena. So let me help, my guy.”

Ravi pauses. He looks up. Every syllable, every tiny tell of his body language, is drawn into a challenge. “Yeah? You want to help me?”

He’s noticed the way Nate looks at him. He’s not blind.

Nate’s easy smile dissolves any tension before it can even really build. “Course I do. Look, Ravi, I can’t tell you what to do, but friend to friend? Do not take Cayenne back. This is seriously fucked-up behavior, even for a time assassin. This is textbook toxic manipulation to make you feel like they’re the only person you can turn to, but that’s not true. You have people. I’m aware this sounds like a terrible pun, but chosen family is a real thing. You have friends who care about you. You have us, have this team. We keep each other safe, patch each other up, teleport each other around, and get cacti to cheer each other up.” He grins, flashing a little wink.

Twining his hands in his lap, Ravi swallows, chest tight. “It’s… I’ve never been through anything like this. I don’t know what…” He’s lost and adrift without a map. He feels like he’s about to come out of his skin. He wants to do something, needs to take action, needs to be useful. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“My guy, nobody has been through what you’re going through, for real. Some of it, sure. Getting your heart stepped on is a nearly universal experience.” Nate does touch him this time, a sympathetic hand on the shoulder. “But eventually you figure out that anyone who says love hurts isn’t doing it right. I promise, Ravi, things will get better. You just gotta give yourself time. There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

Shrugging out from under Nate’s hand, Ravi pushes himself up to pace across the brightly patterned rug. “Plenty of fish?” A hollow, mirthless laugh. “Cayenne was the first person in my life who wanted to know me. Really me, not whatever they expected was already there. They saw me. That’s the worst fucking thing, no one has ever, ever, seen me before. I know it was all lies, every second of it, but it was real too.” The words burn their way out of his throat. He drags his hands over his face, willing himself to stop trembling. “I look at them now and I see a stranger. Did I ever really know them? Did I just see what I wanted to see? I feel so fucking stupid.”

“Ravi. You’re not. You’re—”

Ravi spins on his heel. “You lead this charmed life, you’re a…a fucking dreamboat professor with a supportive family and an emotionally healthy relationship with his ex-fiancée. For you, the sea is nothing but fishes.”

Nate stands up too, and his words ring out like a struck tuning fork.

“You’ve been taught to hide anything unique about yourself your entire life. You think you’re worthless unless you’re useful. You always feel like you’re on the outside looking in. You’re intelligent. You’re loyal. You’re funny, but don’t think you’re allowed to show it. You think of yourself as a shield and the whole world a battle you have to guard against. You’re allergic to cats. You’re into art. You’re good with kids. You’re kinder than you think you are. You’re so much more than just a guy with good aim, Ravi.” Nate spreads his hands wide, smiling softly. “See? Just because they were the first to see you doesn’t mean nobody else ever will. Plenty of fish out there with vision as good as mine.”

At his sides, Ravi’s hands curl into fists, and he stalks toward Nate.

*

MAYBE HE’S PUSHED too far, Nate realizes. He doesn’t believe for a second that Ravi would hurt him, but yell at him to mind his own fucking business? Probably.

Ravi stops less than a foot away. His chest is heaving, like he’s sprinted miles. He glares up at Nate with clear challenge and demands, “Do you want me or not?”

That’s not anywhere close to what Nate was expecting.

He’s never seen Ravi in anything more casual than a bespoke collared shirt before. Showing up on Nate’s doorstep, all windswept hair and broodiness, those long, lean lines of him outlined in a skintight athletic shirt, had come alarmingly close to some fantasies Nate’s had. It caught him off-guard. And now this is… Well, it’s unexpected, is what it is.

“Uh, that’s…” It’s the best he can manage.

Ravi licks his lips, and the pinkness of his tongue is all Nate can focus on, his brain short-circuiting. “Just tell me you want me, and you can have me.”

And, whoa, zero to sixty in under a second, Nate is so turned on he’s literally dizzy with it. “Wow, sunshine, that’s a hell of an offer.” He clears his throat. “Is that what you want?”

A wry huff. “I thought you had good vision, Doc.”

“Pretty good hearing too. Sounds like you’re only concerned with what I want.”

Ravi bites down on his lip, and Nate’s vision again tunnels down to his lush mouth, which isn’t helpful in the least. “That’s…easier,” Ravi breathes, his octave dropping low. “Say that you want me, and I’ll do anything you like.”

Every drop of blood rushes down from Nate’s brain to his dick, and he sways a little from the force of his arousal. “Hell of an offer,” he croaks.

Ravi’s eyes darken, and he moves in with a silent step. He bumps into Nate’s upraised hands. Fuck, it’s hard to keep his palms flat on Ravi’s chest, to not let them wander, explore all that toned, sleek, taut-muscled—fuck.

“Whoa, hey, Ravi. Wait.”

A thin line appears between dark brows.

Nate hastily drops his hands, but Ravi’s heat clings to his skin. “Is that what you want?”

A complex array of barely perceptible emotions chases across Ravi’s features. “It’s so easy for you,” he says, with something like envy. “You get to say yes to things you want, and no to things you don’t. You’re safe no matter what. I want all kinds of things I can’t have and have all kinds of things I don’t.”

Under his breastbone, Nate’s heart gives a little tug. “You should get that too, Ravi. You get to say no. To have a choice. You deserve to feel safe.”

As he looks away, Ravi’s throat moves, breath visibly hitching. “I…don’t think I remember what safe feels like,” he finally says, like it’s been pried out of him, so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Nate wants to punch Cayenne in their perfect lying face. He wants to…

“Can I hug you? Would that be okay?”

Ravi shoots him a startled stare.

“I’m a huggy kind of guy,” Nate explains. He was raised in a touchy-feely family; none of that typical Midwestern restraint for the Corbins. Nate’s always been tactile with his friends, and Ravi looks like he could use it.

Ravi eyes him, wary, before nodding once.

Without hesitation Nate pulls him in, carefully angling his hips away but otherwise folding Ravi completely into an embrace, arms wrapping around the breadth of Ravi’s shoulders, holding him close.

Bit by bit, Ravi sinks into it, his hands crawling up Nate’s ribs until they rest tentatively at his mid-back. After a minute, his heartbeat steadies against Nate’s chest.

“This is nice,” Nate says. Just the smell of Ravi is enough to make him a little light-headed; masculine musk and a rich woody scent that Nate knows but can’t place. It takes some extra effort to compartmentalize his longing into a neat little box, to keep this friendly embrace from turning into something else.

Fingers slowly wind into Nate’s shirt until Ravi is clinging on. Face turned into Nate’s collar, he makes a low sound in his throat that Nate interprets as agreement.

“You can stay, if you want.” Nate gives Ravi’s back a friendly little rub. “As long as you like. We can keep doing this. Just this.” People need physical touch, and all too often, men don’t get to have it without first paying the toll of sex. Nate’s willing to bet Ravi’s no stranger to that exchange.

“You…aren’t interested.” Ravi’s shoulders slump, his voice regretful, lost. “I’m being an asshole. You and Harry—” He starts to pull away, but so slowly and reluctantly that Nate thinks it’s probably okay to tighten his arms a little, encouraging Ravi to stay. Seems like that’s the right call, because Ravi instantly subsides, his hands again tangling in Nate’s T-shirt.

“Oh, no, no, Harry and I are just friends. You’re not an asshole at all. And of course I’m interested.” There’s no point lying to the guy; he’s already got Nate’s number. The jig is up. “But I don’t think you’re in a good headspace right now.”

Ravi’s throat clicks as he swallows.

“Hey, it’s okay, my guy. You wanna move back to the couch? We can get comfy and I can hold you for a bit. I’d like that. Does that sound good to you?”

Ravi drags in several shuddering breaths before he nods, face hidden against Nate’s faded old college shirt. Patiently, Nate waits until he hears a small, gravelly, “Okay.”

After a bit of maneuvering, Nate ends up on his back with Ravi tucked beside him, head pillowed on Nate’s chest. Nate drapes his arms over Ravi lightly, offering the comfort of his touch without blocking off a way to escape.

Ravi doesn’t speak, doesn’t look up. He just takes long measured breaths like he’s counting them out, one by one. He’s a warm and pleasant weight, far better than a blanket, and he relaxes even further as Nate strokes Ravi’s hairline with his thumb.

He’s a caretaker by nature. It’s a rare thing for a tough, independent guy like Ravi to let himself be cared for. He wants Ravi to know that he can trust Nate. That he’s safe with him.

So, Nate is not going to fuck this up. He’s not going to complicate a friendship with sex just because it’s offered while in a state of distress. If Ravi does ever decide he wants something more… Well, friendship is a pretty good foundation to build on.

*

RAVI JOLTS AWAKE, heart pounding, sweat cooling at his temples. It’s dark, the shadows strange, and he jerks away from the unfamiliar bulk under him.

Nate shifts beneath him, murmuring “S’okay, s’okay,” in a sleep-rough voice that rumbles up through his chest. A hand smooths over the disordered tumble of Ravi’s hair, heedless of his clammy skin. Nate shushes softly, stroking Ravi’s forehead like he’s an oversized cat.

After a frozen moment, Ravi leans into the soothing touch, still shaky with nightmares. Strong arms tighten around him, squeezing protectively. Ravi slowly drops his head back to Nate’s chest, pulse calming. He closes his eyes and listens to that steadfast heartbeat, the swell of it like an ocean buoying him up, the soft rise and fall of a tide lulling him back to sleep. Before he drops off, Nate must be conscious enough to mumble, “I’ve got you,” and it’s the last thing Ravi hears before he sinks into slumber.

He sleeps, deep and dreamless.

When he wakes again, it’s morning. Judging by the light through the windows, it’s maybe an hour later than Ravi usually sets his alarm. His top half sprawls across Nate’s torso. At some point in the night, a thin blanket has been pulled off the back of the couch and thrown over them.

He’d shown up at Nate’s door last night intending to provoke either a fight or a fuck. He hadn’t expected he’d be waking up warm and well-rested after a night of what could only be defined as platonic cuddling.

Nate rouses after a small, sleepy grumble, lashes fluttering. “Sandalwood,” he says with muzzy satisfaction.

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to place it.” Nate sets his nose to Ravi’s temple and breathes in. Ravi shivers. “Mm. Is that a shampoo?” The touch is intimate but not seductive, not something Ravi has any experience with. Like waking up together is no big deal, not trying to turn it into anything more. Touch offered freely without ulterior intent.

“It’s…it’s hair oil.” Ravi tries to match Nate’s casual tone. “I’ll bring you some,” he offers, ready to jump on any opportunity to pay Nate back for this, for giving him…a lot, not the least of which is comfort, and the best night’s sleep he’s had in months.

“Aw, that’s sweet, man.” Nate smiles and stretches his arms over his head. “You want some eggs?”

“And you can cook too,” Ravi murmurs, mostly to himself, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Nate rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “It’s just eggs. I’ve only got regular toast. I’ll get some non-glutenous stuff next time I hit the store. Then it can be eggs and toast, and you’ll be rightly impressed by my superior culinary skills.”

The implication being that Nate wants Ravi back here in his home. Wants to cook for him.

Ravi’s pulse increases, not a sharp spike but a warm, steady build, and he turns his face to the side with a shy smile.

All the details he’s been cataloguing in the back of his mind for the last several months march to the forefront; the professor is handsome enough that it’s likely to get him in trouble with students if he’s not extra careful; blue eyes and blond hair that are kept from reading as “boy next door” by the clever angle of his brows and the rakish shadow of stubble; a warm smile, an easy laugh, nice shoulders, narrow hips, long-fingered hands that would look very good on—

Nate’s phone chimes from the coffee table. The text tone must be customized because Nate grunts, “Harry,” and reaches for it.

Ravi pulls himself to the far end of the couch and fishes his own phone out of his joggers. There’s a missed call—and the fact that he slept through his phone buzzing in his pocket is certainly unusual; Ravi’s a light sleeper—and a text that reads, Hey, gotta job! Can you get us a jet by 9?

He doesn’t have to check before he texts back, Yes. If the Chosen wants a jet, The Trust will get her a jet. Where to?

 

- Harry-

Indonesia. Val’s gonna zap around and pick everyone up at 8:45. Supposed to be combat light, I’ve been assured.

 

He snorts and texts back an affirmative while attempting to finger comb his hair into place. “Combat light, she says.”

Nate laughs and tosses his phone back on the table. “So lemme guess, you’re gonna roll up with a bandolier of grenades?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“No doubt. You still want those eggs, or do you have stuff to take care of?”

“I do,” Ravi says, the honest regret taking him by surprise. “But I appreciate the thought.” He has to head home, shower, suit up, and make some calls before hitching a ride on the angel express.

“How about a ride home?” Nate sprawls against the plush armrest and covers a yawn with the back of his hand.

“No, I’m good. I’ll enjoy the walk.” It’ll eat into his time, but he’s feeling alert and full of energy for the first time in weeks. And if he sees any chalk circles, this time he’s going to be smart and avoid them.

“At least let me make you some coffee for the road. I’ve got protein bars too.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Nate’s almost to the kitchen by the time Ravi adds, “And…thanks, Nate.”

Nate pauses in the doorframe to toss him a smile. “You’re welcome, Secret Agent Man.”

Soon, Nate hands Ravi a lidded paper cup and the protein bar, waving off more of Ravi’s thanks. “Anytime, my guy.” He gives Ravi’s shoulder a squeeze and adopts a fanciful yuppie accent. “I’ll see you on the jet, old boy.”

“No, no, you need to look down your nose more, if you really want to pull off the filthy rich impression.” He gives Nate a quick demonstration.

Nate laughs. It’s a very nice laugh. “See? You’re funny.”

As Ravi walks down from the apartment and steps into a pleasantly mild Atlanta morning, he takes a sip of the coffee. Blonde roast, no cream or sugar, with a dash of cinnamon. Warmth suffuses through his chest and into his limbs, bolstering his steps.