8th Summoning: achieve something tangible

Entry tags:

8th Summoning: achieve something tangible

Who: Jonathan 'Nate' Crook & open
What: life in Cybele City
Where: home, and around Cybele City
When: through the Bang! Breach
Warnings: mention of mine collapse and injuries/deaths

1. Home, scenes after a disaster (closed to family + Hunter)

Nate had always been on the independent side, which was at least matched by a well formed sense of responsibility. Unsurprisingly, he's only grown more so in recent years, especially with work. It's not that he thinks he can't tell his dad or brother anything, it's that he doesn't want to burden them. He could've explained about the medical lessons, but that might have led to other conversations and arguments about the future and it just seems simpler leave things unsaid. He can take care of it.

But there are limits to that silence, Nate marked the end of this one with the rumble of the mine collapse, without even taking into account the fact that it would be rather difficult to keep things hidden. He drags himself home late, still covered in dust, dirt and blood - the water he'd dumped over his head only having had marginal results.

He manages it to the front door, mostly because he has help, and leans against it, next to a boy he's never introduced any of them to whose clothes are in much the same state.

2. The City

Life doesn't stop, until it stops for good, and Nate still has work to do. There's piles of paperwork to file, in between running other minor errands, the numbness that hasn't quite left at least making it easier to ignore his frustration with his boss.

There's also life outside the Spaceport and his work there, despite what it sometimes feels like. Nate sometimes visits the Port District, interest purely in pawn shops and the occasionally valuable find, or cheap necessities. He considers the rest of place not worth much time, though he manages not to roll his eyes when he runs into someone he knows there.

At the moment, he's carefully avoiding the tunnels. There are memories he doesn't want stirred up just now.

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It's late -- so very, very late. Nate is his own man now, but there are routines he keeps to, schedules and timeframes within his day-to-day activities and career that Crook has come to rely on. And it's late now, far past when Nate should have come home, and so he doesn't sleep. He stays in the small den area, going through the motions of reading a book by a dim light.

It's a difficult line to walk, giving his sons their well-earned independence, while still caring and fretting for him like a good father should. He knows he doesn't always do a good job of it, but he just can't help himself.

Since hears a shuffling outside the door and rushes to it, pulling the door openly quickly.

"Nate?"

When his eyes fall on his son and the boy beside him, he pales.

"My god, get inside, quickly!"

Nate had been planning on telling his dad about Harry. Talking about Harry would have likely led to questions like 'how did you meet', which he hadn't been planning on mentioning, and getting into details on stuff like 'heir to Wittebane Mining Corporation', possibly touching on a few of his worries about stuff Harry's said about his uncle - but he really likes him, and he'd wanted advice.

He really wishes he'd asked for that advice, even if he'd been numbed enough by everything else that he doesn't feel embarrassed by his rambling confession. It also would've been nice to be able to introduce them in a nice moment, instead of showing up at the door, with every (accurate) sign that they'd been caught in a disaster.

"Dad." He can't think of what to say after, too many words and too little. But he can get inside, aiming to hit the couch instead of just sliding onto the floor.

The boy behind Nate is... the same age, at least, a similar weight class even with his couple of extra inches, and in just as much of a state, with the same shell-shocked look in his dark eyes.

But he hesitates, when he sees the older man looking at them with such concern. He's still got clean track marks down his face, that he lifts a hand to try and brush back that only serves to smear more dirt and tacky blood back; what was once platinum blond hair is now streaked black with soot; and he immediately pulls himself up to stand on parade. "Mister-- u-um." And he wilts a little as the visible skin on his face turns pink. "I'm- sorry to intrude, sir."

He still manages to step inside, so the man can close the door, but he very obviously couldn't be more awkward about it.

He immediately tries to guide both of them to the couch, not caring one lick if there's blood and soot on the furniture -- or that one of them is a complete stranger. "Jesus, Jesus, look at the two of you. Are you hurt?"

Crook grabs his son by the shoulders to inspect him, then turns to the other boy and does the same.

"I'll grab a wash cloth and some water."

The question of whether his dad would take Harry in didn't even need to cross Nate's mind, which was lucky because he'd needed to save his concentration for the trip.

"We're not injured." Now that he's home - safe - he doesn't have a goal to focus on, and the weight of everything feels like it's finally fully landing. He can't find words of his own, just yet, but at least he can answer a question.

He's content to let himself be shuffled to the couch, and sits obediently, but the suddenly being gripped by the shoulders makes him flinch sharply, sitting bolt upright until he's released, and his hands grip his pants tight enough that he can feel his nails through the once-expensive fabric.

"We--" Why are words so hard, he was supposed to be good at them. "Th-there was... a cave-in. At the Wittebane mine. We... we helped out."

Crook is already three steps into the kitchen as Nate's friend begins to explain. The mines? Why the hell was Nate down by the mines?

He returns with a bowl of lukewarm water and two wash cloths, which he hands to each boy before he sets himself down onto the coffee table in front of them.

"Helped dig out the miners?" he wonders, suddenly quite unsure of himself and his relationship with his son. It's a first.

Nate sits next to him on the couch, reaching out to rest a hand on his. It's grounding he feels he desperately needs and an attempt at reassurance all in one.

He takes a wash cloth, though he just sits there with it in his hand.

"I've been going there, for a while. There's a doctor there who's been teaching me some first aid. Harry, too. Something - happened." He doesn't know what caused the collapse, doesn't know if anyone will even care to find out or if it'll just be filed away. "We helped."

His tone is flat, a retreat into facts to try not to think about the people it was too late to help or all the fates he doesn't know. He's not focused enough on the present to think what he dad might make of it all.

The hand on his makes his unclench a little, and he turns it over so he can cling to Nate's. But it gives him the ability to move, and he takes a cloth as well, but unlike Nate he does start wiping his face. He just wants to get the feeling off his face, more than the actual grime.

"We're pretty far out from Cybele," he says, not much louder than a mutter. "There's not gonna be a formal review."

He looks back at Crook, and adds, "I helped with some digging, but. We were mostly doing triage."

Crook feels his stomach drop. Here's his youngest son, the boy who still lives with him, who chops vegetables with him in the evenings and puts up with his terrible jokes, admitting to living a whole other life.

He nods softly, running his hand down his face.

"I see."

He takes in a deep, steadying breath, then addresses Harry.

"I'm sure Cloud's left some clothes here if you'd like to change. Can I make you boys some tea?"

Nate knows himself too well - or perhaps is just too proud, to claim that it had ever been an accident. He'd gone looking to learn, even if he hadn't expected the luck of finding a teacher as willing or as skilled as Hilbert.

But he hadn't meant for it to grow into something so important. It was supposed to just be a test. Data that he could use for the future. It's only now that they've jumbled together that he realizes how much there is. But he can't think about it right now.

He squeezes Harry's hand, finally starting to wipe his face.

"Yes, please." He looks at Harry. "Have you had anything to eat?" Hilbert had given him a snack bar, but he doesn't know if Harry's had anything since everything began.

"Id... like that. Thank you, sir."

But Nate's question gets Harry to shake his head, as he makes a little negative grunt.

"No, um. I didn't even think about it, actually. I- I wasn't hungry, then." And he's not sure if he is now, or if adding something to the hollowness in his stomach is just going to make him vomit. He hadn't, yet, and a part of him wondered whether that was a good thing or not.

Crook glances down at their conjoined hands, his mouth pulling into a ghost of a smile.

"I've got a few things in the ice box," he tells them both gently, rising to his feet. "Tonkatsu, and I'd be happy to fry up some leftover rice. Nate, son, get your guest some clean clothes. I'll be back with the tea."

He places a hand onto Nate's shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze before leaving them be for the moment.

"Thanks. Dad's a really good cook," he tells Harry, proud and pleased to be able to show off his family.

He puts down the cloth, having made progress at getting rid of the top layer, at least.

"Come on, I should change too." Now the prospect is in front of him, he can feel just how much he wants to discard his stained clothing.

He nods, putting down his own cloth. He hasn't made as much progress, since he's not really putting any effort in, but there's still a visible layer removed, and he'll help pull Nate to his feet.

"Yeah. Um. Do... you think your brother's gonna mind?" he can't help asking; it's not like he's going to be leaving them in any fit state to wear again.

"Thanks." He manages a real smile for Harry, if a small one. "Don't worry, he won't mind." Not in any way that matters, anyway. He waves Harry into his room, going to fetch some of Cloud's older clothes, and a hairbrush along with another bowl of water.

"There won't be any review?" It's not a surprise, and wouldn't have been even if Hilbert hadn't indicated as much, but he still has to say it.

In the brief interim that Nate is gone, Harry starts taking off his filthy clothes. He's got no issue with stripping around people - he's been through far too many photoshoots - so soon he's gotten his jacket and shirt off, leaving him looking abruptly pale against the dark stains on his clothes, face and forearms.

When Nate comes back, he doesn't look up, just shakes his head a little. "No. Maybe in one of the mines closer to Cybele, but anything in the cluster just gets written off as a business expense. Even some of the smaller veins don't get much attention around here; they'll probably just close the entire mine, or sell it."

Nate hadn't thought anything of it. He doesn't have time for it now, but he'd gone swimming for years and, besides, he's never really been interested in most people. In the number of ways that can be interpreted, to be honest. That Harry very much isn't 'most people' doesn't occur to him until he walks back into the room, and he takes a moment to be deeply grateful that Harry's looking down and that he doesn't blush easily.

He just manages not to hold the shirt he's holding over his face. Luckily, unethical but no doubt not illegal business practices are depressingly unattractive.

"Here." He puts down the clothes next to Harry, going to fetch new ones for himself from the box under his bed. He pulls off his shirt, using it to try to scrub dirt of his arms before pulling the new one. "I'm glad you're here."

He turns when he hears Nate approach, and watches his friend take his own shirt off, and...

Huh.

Harry has to very quickly turn away, scrambling to grab his soiled shirt again and bury his face in the (sweaty, but dirt-free) inside to try and hide how his face turns red, before he uses it to scrub a bit too vigorously to cover it up.

When he stops scrubbing, he just holds it over his mouth for a minute, feeling like an idiot, but.. "I'm-- I'm glad I'm here, too," he admits, finally putting it down to take the new shirt. "I'm just. I don't want you guys getting in trouble, because of me."

Nate's put on one of his dad's old shirts, which still hangs long on him, though not as much as it had.

It it was just him, he would say without hesitation that he doesn't care about any trouble, but, for his family, he takes an extra moment. "I don't think we'll get in trouble. Maybe there's risk," there's always risk, and he didn't need this day to prove it, "But you're worth that. Besides, I couldn't have let you go somewhere else alone, and my dad would've been upset if I didn't come home." So, really, it's very reasonable.

He doesn't know how to feel, that he's worth actual risk. He can't get over the impression that all he'd done today was something he should have already been doing for a long time - actually helping people who worked under his company.

He finally pulls a shirt on, something with three-quarter sleeves that's far too wide in the shoulders, but it's clean and it smells a little bit like Nate, so it kind of helps.

"...thanks." It's only the first time he's said it, he's dimly aware, but it's fully sincere, despite how soft it is; he's got a slight gap in his teeth, that the photos always edit out, but there's a flash of it when he gives Nate a small, genuine smile. And with a shirt on, he's happier to take the brush and try to use the water bowl to start cleaning his hair a little.

Nate takes a damp cloth to work on scrubbing his hands and arms as clean as he can get until he can face a shower.

As different as their lives are, for all the differences there are between them, from the beginning Nate had found Harry easy to understand in a way that most people aren't. Which is why he says, quietly, "You were there, today, because you visit the mines. You could help because you've been learning how to help people. You're part of the company, but that doesn't mean you have any control of it, right now."

There's a lot he thinks should be different, and maybe a lot Harry will be able to do, but that doesn't change that he's done far more than anyone else in his position Nate can think of.

He smiles at him. "You're worth the risk because I like you best. All the rest just makes it logical."

Hunter pauses brushing when Nate speaks, and looks back at him with an increasing redness across his face.

God, he doesn't think anyone's ever been as nice to him as Nate consistently is. That he was always so eager to meet up with, that he wanted to spend whiling away the hours reading ancient medical texts and studying together and just-- being, together.

Nate, smiling back at him despite all of their pain and exhaustion and grief.

Harry feels like his chest is going to burst. So in one quick motion, he ducks in to kiss Nate, right on that perfect little smile.

From the kitchen comes Frank Crook’s voice:

“Boys! Come eat!”

Not that he had planned it out to interrupt so perfectly; it’s just a six sense all dads have.

When they do eventually make their way out, they’ll find a set table with two very full plates, two glasses of water, and two steaming cups of herbal tea. And Frank Crook himself, standing in his frilly apron, waiting to learn more about his son’s friend.

It's probably a good thing Nate hasn't thought about kissing before, or he'd probably have come up with a whole list of details to be concerned about, and ideas about proper time.

Right now, he's decided that in his bedroom, after one of the longest days he can remember, still more than half a mess, is the perfect time to forget anything else. His dad's voice is a not looked for intrusion on his plan to attempt to wrap himself around Harry.

The plan still holds a lot of appeal, really, but the specter of his dad poking his head around the door rather obscures that vision so instead he steps back, with deep regret.

"We should go get dinner." He's pretty sure he's hungry enough he's stopped registering how much he'll want the food when it's in front of him. He's also had to share space with Cloud and his boyfriend often enough that he feels like he can say, "We can set up blankets and stuff for you here, afterwords."

The call from outside their room makes Harry jump, and he pulls away from Nate with a look of flustered panic; he's not sure his face has ever been this red before in his life.

His arms fold across his chest to hug his elbows, but it's not defensive or embarrassed, just... shy.

"Y-yeah." But there's a smile, there, and he reaches for Nate's hand himself, gripping more gently this time. "That sounds nice."

When they get out into the kitchen, though, the mere sight of the food, the smell of it filling the air makes Harry's stomach rumble so loudly that he clutches it with both hands and a fresh dusting of heat across his cheeks.

Crook isn't looking for any signs of guilt or embarrassment between the two boys when they emerge from the bedroom -- he's still just horribly concerned for their mental states and general wellbeing.

"Please, sit," he says quietly, taking a seat himself across from them. He doesn't eat, but he does indulge in a nice hot cup of black tea. He looks at Harry, expression soft. The horror of their sudden appearance has faded somewhat. "What's your name?"

For good or ill, Nate is rarely embarrassed about his choices, though looking back he occasionally feels bad about them. He's certain that Harry won't be a choice he ever feels bad about. Everything else is still swinging but things too wildly for him to tell what he feels, though it's better to be somewhat cleaner and in fresh clothes.

"Thanks."

It's also hard to think of anything but food, now that it's right in front of him. He manages to give Harry and encouraging look, before sitting down and starting on his plate, barely managing not to go too fast.

It's strange for him, to just sit at a table with food already prepared, with no sense of decorum or cameras or judging eyes to worry about. He still doesn't sit down until after Nate, and takes his cutlery but hesitates when Nate's dad asks him a question.

"...Harry," he says, perhaps a bit meekly. "I'm... from the outer belt, but my family came to Cybele for work. I, um. I mostly do my own thing, but I've been studying medicine with Doctor Hilbert."

“Harry,” he repeats, trying not to stare outright at Nate. A boy and a job in medicine —- it’s as though he doesn’t know a thing about his own son anymore.

But Crook doesn’t let his confusion show. “Good to meet you, Harry. Any friend of Nate’s is welcome. Please, eat. There’s plenty. And stay for as long as you need.”

They’re cramped, but there’s always room for those who need a place to crash.

There are certain other details that Nate hopes to fill his dad in on in good time ~~otherwise wedding planning could get awkward~~, but, for now, he's grateful to just be able to soak in seeing two people he cares about so deeply meeting, all of them sitting together and just - sharing space. He's not sure if he wants all of the ice holding back the memories of the day to melt, but the warmth still feels good.

Now that he's regained more awareness of the present, he suspects he should try to explain more of... everything to his dad, but he can't quite face it, just yet. Harry's presence is at least an excuse to put off some of it.

"We're never short on extra toothbrushes, so I guess it's useful that Cloud's friends pop up."

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8th Summoning: achieve something tangible

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