He probably should have. He hadn’t kept many pictures of Matt, and now…
Rahil shuddered away the thought as he stepped into the shed, avoiding looking in the direction he knew Mercer’s holy silver to be, stashed with the fangs of a vampire Merc might have gone so far as to capture and murder, had he not lost the will. With utmost care, Rahil gathered Leah’s project from the back of the shed and closed the door behind him. After working there for over three weeks, he could make out the gentle whir of Mercer’s traps reactivating.
He thought he understood them a little better now, having seen the inner mechanisms of their creator’s other work. But there was still a long way to go before Rahil could reconstruct the littlefor Lydiadevice he’d selected from Leah’s pile of unfinished projects. Based on its size, he figured it had to be made for portability, and with its trap-like ropes, there had to be some defensive aspect to it. Something that could provide Lydia with a safe space, but also allow her the ability to chase after her dreams and find her own place in the world.
She needed that—deserved that. She was a good kid, with a good dad. She’d do better than his own children. Maybe she already was.
Mercer barely seemed to notice as he settled onto the floor beside the bed.
Rahil had been there to check the windows the day prior, but sitting with his—Leah’s—project, his focus broadened and his attention wandered to the details. The room held a standard mid-sized bed and dresser, with a potted plant hanging from braided rope in one corner and a landscape painting on the wall. For a man whose life involved creating the most beautiful and unique pieces of metal, wood, glass, and more, the space was oddly bare of such ornamentation, its aesthetic rooted in its simplicity. The more outrageous touches were the sheer extent of cream and blue pillows that spilled in waves over the sides of the bed, and a small cork board where Mercer had pinned up so many pictures of Lydia and Kat that the board itself was barely visible.
It was humble yet lovely, stony but soft: in all ways perfectly Mercer.
Rahil transitioned between glancing at his friend, collecting updates from Avery, and fiddling with Leah’s device.
He focused on the mechanical aspects first—those came easier to him, after so many decades transitioning to more and more complex pieces of equipment as electronics developed from massive boxes for simple functions to highly intricate computing systems that fit in the palm of a hand. Despite the complicated nature of Mercer’s coiling silver cords, and the enthralling sensitivity of Leah’s little sensors, his hands seemed to know instinctively how it was meant to go together, fitting piece after piece. It would undoubtedly require some adjustments for its software as well, some finishing touches perhaps—hopefully not a full construction, as Rahil was still motivating himself to better learn the programming end of things.
For the hour it took Rahil to finish the device’s hardware assembly, it seemed like Merc was asleep, but he finally shifted, pulling off the inevitably warmed ice pack hat. It left his curls in an adorable mess, the tight black curls sticking up at odd angles. He squinted at his phone, “You’ve been checking on Lydia?”
“Merc,” Rahil said, gently.
Mercer sighed. “Of course you have.”
Rahil stood, showing Merc the latest picture Avery had sent as he picked up the ice pack. “I’ll throw this back in the freezer for you.”
Mercer grunted his thanks, his smile weak but genuine. When Rahil returned, he was sitting upright, though barely. “I forgot, I have something for you.”
“Hmm?” Rahil’s heart did something terrible and wonderful, but then Mercer opened a notebook with pages of blocky text, schematics, and equations. He scolded himself. Of course the gift was simply to benefit their work.
“This was Leah’s. It should have notes on the project you’re finishing… somewhere.”
At the emotion in Mercer’s voice, Rahil’s original joy returned, softer and steadier. Merc had chosen to offer this up, this intimate piece of his past lover, for Rahil’s use. As much as it was practical, what with Rahil working on the project in order to protect Lydia, it was also vulnerable. A vulnerability that Mercer shouldn’t have been offering him, but still.
Rahil didn’t know what exactly to do with that—to run, for Mercer’s sake, or to stay for his own—and instead his body took over, accepting the notebook and perusing it slowly. It was practically a piece of art, with its sprawling notes and scribbles in the margins, so different from Mercer’s precise organization. There were pages and pages of them, too, dozens of different projects, each more genius than the last. Rahil was in awe, where awe looked just a bit like jealousy.
He glanced at Mercer. “Leah did this as a hobby?”
Mercer had already leaned his head into his hands, but he looked up, eyes bleary. “She could have gone for patents, made a lot of money. But she said the world didn’t deserve her technology until she could refine it past the point of misuse. Otherwise, they would employ it as swords instead of shields.”
“She sounds like she was as kind as she was brilliant,” Rahil said, and meant it. He leaned over to nudge Mercer’s knee. “It seems you had good taste.”
Mercer scoffed, and he must have heard Rahil wrong through his migraine because he grumbled a teasing, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I’ve been flattered enough for one lifetime.” Rahil shrugged, fiddling with the wire he was supposed to be rerouting. “That’s what happens when you go on nothing but first dates for a decade.”
The look Merc gave him was entirely unreadable, cast behind his stoic blankness and the tightness of his pain, but there was a depth to his gaze that made Rahil nearly uncomfortable from its intensity. Uncomfortable, and hungry, like he was unfinished—not close enough; not open enough—as though he was meant to be peeled apart before the craftsman.
He tried on a smile, hoping the joviality would help.
It only prompted a question from Mercer. “Why no second dates? You have your fangs visible on your profile. I cannot imagine your matches don’t know what they’re getting into.”
“With me? Bah. No one can ever truly know what they’re getting into where I’m concerned. You weren’t even into me and I still managed to overrun your shed and corrupt your daughter. Imagine putting ‘falls into traps as a hobby’ on your profile.”
Mercer lifted one hand in submission. “I retract. You are intolerable after all.”
Rahil winked. “Good. At least we’re on the same page.”
In the quiet that lingered, he managed to connect a few more pieces of Leah’s device into place. Mercer rubbed his temple, his expression sliding in and out of relief. “You didn’t text them back, did you?”
