Chapter Text
Hob wasn’t expecting an explanation.
To be honest, he hadn’t needed one, or even thought to ask. All those nights spent wondering where his friend, his mysterious stranger, had disappeared to, if he’d ever come back, seemed to just vanish in the face of that small, soft smile. He’d spend so much time trying to figure out what he would say, how he could even begin to apologise, going over and over it in his mind, but he found himself quite speechless when he looked up and suddenly he was there.
The Stranger—Hob’s stranger, even if he had no right call him that—seemed inordinately pleased to see him.
It was enough just to have him there, to drink him in after all these years, and hopefully have a chance to start over. There were differences, expected alterations, such as a change of clothes—a long black coat that fitted him wonderfully, tight black jeans that would prove distracting if they weren’t half hidden—and his dark hair was longer, more wild, but Hob found himself curious at the missing ruby. The thought was gone in an instant, replaced by surprise when his Stranger called him friend, when he apologised; Hob was still struck completely dumb by it two minutes later when he’d taken his seat, marvelling at how he really, truly, wasn’t angry at him. After a moment of his stupid staring, the way he was practically gaping at him, the Stranger frowned, leant forward from his relaxed sprawl, that elegant recline, and peered at him curiously as if trying to puzzle out a foreign language.
It was ridiculously endearing.
“Is that not how it is done?” He said finally, appearing the slightest bit put out. “Was the apology insufficient?”
“Yeah—er, no. No. you did it right.” Hob really needed to start remembering how words work.
“I see.” The sullen look was still there, the joy dimmed by what could have been doubt, and Hob realised he really needed to start remembering how the English language worked before he offended his friend again. Two minutes would be a new record, a speed run in fact, but it was one he was unwilling to set.
“I’m surprised, that’s all.” Hob smiled reassuringly, full of an almost giddy warmth. “I’m pleased to see you.”
His friend relaxed, that fond smile returned to his face. “I am pleased to see you too, Hob Gadling.”
The way he said his name, soft like a lovers caress, like fingers trailing over sensitive skin, was incredibly unfair. It had been over one hundred years since Hob had last had to suppress a similar shiver. That, like the Stranger’s eyes, blue and somehow gleaming like stars, the impossibly pale skin that should have looked sickly rather than vaguely ethereal, were all things that hadn’t changed at all. Hob caught the barmaids eye—Beatrice, one of his summer hires—and waved her over. “I’m about to order food, want anything?”
His Stranger grimaced, looking vaguely nauseated, which was exactly what Hob had been expecting. “No.”
“Drink then?” Hob gestured to his beer, half drunk.
“If only to keep up appearances,” His Stranger acquiesced with a small nod.
Hob packed his papers away while Beatrice made her way over, excitement making him the slightest bit clumsy, and wondered if they might sit outside to talk. The pub was quite small, slightly cramped, and the afternoon rush was just about to pick up. He’d much rather go somewhere private for this, somewhere they were less likely to be overheard. The incident with Lady Constantine had appraised him of the merits of being cautions. His companion merely continued to watch him, eyes fixed on him unblinking, expression soft enough that Hob could almost call it contentment. Whatever it was, Beatrice glanced between them both with slightly wide eyes as he ordered, then gave Hob a look that meant there’d be questions later.
“Tables free outside?” He asked instead of dwelling on it.
Beatrice nodded, eyes drifting to settle on his Stranger, before she seemed to realise that it was rude to stare. “Yeah—I’ll bring your drinks. Food will be about ten minutes.”
They spent some time discussing this new century.
Or, more accurately, Hob talked and his Stranger listened. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun high in the sky, the air was warm enough to be comfortable, and Hob barely noticed when the light began to wane. There had just been so much in the past fifty years, the past ten, and he knew he’d never be able to get through all of it. He still tried, gesticulating a little too wildly about the creation of the internet, then marvelling at the invention of flight, and all the while the Stranger watched and listened. Those eyes never left his. It was a heavy sort of regard, a power in his gaze that had intimidated Hob in the beginning, but now he likened it to being wrapped in a weighted blanket. There was something grounding in those glimmering eyes.
Things changed when he ordered another beer, the natural lull in conversation creating an opening.
It wasn’t something that he’d thought his Stranger would take advantage of. The garden had emptied as they’d spoke, the evening encouraging patrons to remain inside in case of a chill, and it was as if he’d been waiting for them to be alone. Hob had been prepared to jump straight back into it, was partway through describing the wonder of the Kindle, but it seemed the Stranger had a different idea. An idea even more surprising than the apology, than the fact he’d called him his friend; he leaned forwards, expression less content and more severe, a frown making itself known, and broached the topic of his absence without being asked.
“The delay was unintentional.” The Stranger said softly, sounding the closest he ever had to contrite. “I was…summoned. Elsewhere. It took some time to return.”
Hob raised a brow in surprise, he was apologetic, clearly regretful, but what he’d said didn’t really make much sense. It felt out of context, so he smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
The frown deepened, a glimmer of annoyance, and then his Stranger tried again.
“I was unavoidably detained.” He said slowly, an emphasis on ‘detained’ that felt incredibly significant. It was an extra detail that made Hob frown at the implication of it, half way to puzzling it out before his Stranger added. “It was not by choice.”
Hold on. That’s—
“You were what?”
An amused little smile, cold. “You would not be the only one surprised by the nature of my absence. Many had assumed as much.”
Detained. He meant captured. Trapped. Hob swallowed, feeling a little sick. “If I’d known I would have—“
The Stranger chuckled.
“Come for me? Did you not also presume my absence was of my own design?” It wasn’t doubt in those fathomless eyes, he was certain of what he was saying, and worst of all he was right, because Hob had assumed he’d stayed away by choice.
To be honest he’d thought he was sulking.
Right now Hob wished that had been all it was.
He still scowled though, because his Stranger wasn’t right about everything, and he levelled his own accusation right back. “Now that’s not fair, after how we parted what else was I to think? I’d wondered if you needed more time to cool off. It’s why I built this damn inn you stupid fool. To wait for you.”
The Stranger frowned, anger flashing in his eyes at the phrase ‘cool off’, deepening even more at the words ‘stupid fool’, but then something eased and that small smile was back. “You’ve been waiting for me?”
“Well I—“ Too late to back out now. “Yes. I have.”
“Lucienne did too.” The Stranger said, seemingly mollified, a warmth softening those severe eyes, the light in them shining like starlight in a clear sky, moonlight rippling across a still lake. “She was the first I saw when I found my way out, I owe her more than she will ever know. You two were the only ones to keep such faith. You and—“
He didn’t finish the sentence, that light dimming like a dying star, staring distantly as if lost in thought.
Hob knew what grief looked like, how it felt, how it could strike you dumb even years after the fact, but he had never seen it on his friend. He never wanted to see it again. Who had it been? Hob didn’t need to know, wouldn’t pry. It already felt like he was intruding, spying on something not meant for him, because his Stranger seemed a marble statue carved in mourning. Cold, yes, perfect and beautiful, but there wasn’t just pain in the tense set of his jaw, the slant of his eyes, there was eternity. It felt private. The urge to reach out was there, to lay his hand on that pale one, stroke his thumb across the back of it to try and soothe, but it wouldn’t be understood for the comfort it was meant.
“I would have looked for you, if I’d known.” Hob said instead, voice as gentle as the touch he couldn’t give but longed to, watching carefully as those fathomless eyes flicked back to his and all of that grief disappeared, pain hidden somewhere impossible for him to see. “I should have anyway, the second you didn’t turn up. I’m sorry.”
“You would apologise to me?” The Stranger seemed amused by the prospect.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I doubted you.” Hob said, somehow knowing it was the right answer, watching as it provoked the another of those small, delicate smiles. It was impossibly lovely. “I’m sorry that I left you—wherever you were.”
The Stranger stared at him for a moment, careful all of a sudden, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with an apology like that. It took him a few more moments to puzzle out a response. “It was not your doing, nor did you have any part in my continued…absence. There were others who knew of my disappearance.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Hob should think his question was obvious. “Why didn’t they look?”
“The fault rests with me. Perhaps I had grown remiss in my duties, demonstrated a lack of loyalty to my function. Whatever the case, they believed me to have abandoned them.” The Stranger spoke coolly, with his customary deliberate inflection, as if it was of no consequence. “The others that might have acted could not, had their own affairs, and I was not so foolish as to believe I could call on them for aid. I did not try.”
While he didn’t quite understand the context, Hob understood enough to feel angry on his friends behalf, to feel his heart clench at the thought of it. “That’s—“
The Stranger waited patiently for him to find the words, watching him curiously.
“Fuck. That’s shit. You think they might have abandoned you because they thought you were bad at your job? Or that they wouldn’t have come for you because they were busy?” Hob found himself shaking his head, horrified, taking a sip of beer to calm himself, to hide how his hands were shaking with rage. “You need better friends.”
A curious head tilt. Like a bird. “You are my friend.”
God this was getting more and more confounding. Hob did not have enough information for this. “Then? The others—?“
“I speak of my creations. One might even say the subjects of my kingdom, the place of which I am ruler. And—“ here he paused, as if debating whether to continue. “My family.”
There was no way in hell his Stranger would accept the hug he very much wanted to give him. Hob took another swig of beer instead, trying to process the fact that his friend also happened to be a king. It made a lot of things make sense. “Well fuck.”
A tiny smirk. “It is of no importance, my creations are returning even now.”
“But they left in the first place. They all left.” Hob frowned, peered at that impervious face and found no hint of pain, but his gut told him otherwise. He thought back to that expression of grief, to the way it had felt like looking at a sculptors monument to loss, and knew that there was no way he could be so unaffected. His gut told him it was impossible to face something like that and not be hurt by it. “You feel betrayed.”
“No.”
“Yes you do. They all left because they thought you’d left and now they’re coming back but it still hurts, doesn’t it? It doesn’t change the fact that they all doubted you.” His Stranger had frozen, was once again like marble, glowing in the waning light, but it wasn’t grief that carved those perfect lines this time. There was something terrible growing in his face— rage worse than that night over one hundred years ago—a hum was building in the air, the scent of burning ozone, the moment before a lightning strike, and all his instincts were screaming danger. Hob couldn’t stop. “You look at them all and feel—“
“I feel nothing,” The interruption came softly, but powerfully, a tone that was not to be reckoned with and a glare just as strong. For a moment Hob couldn’t breathe, trapped by whatever magic lurked beneath that thin frame as easy as a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. “You will not speak to me this way.”
Hob wanted to protest, even with all that power hovering in the air, unwilling to let it go so easily. He’d opened his mouth to speak when he saw it; the pain tightening the corner of glowing eyes, the glassy sheen that couldn’t be tears but absolutely was, the subtle tension in those slim shoulders, and considered that he’d been wrong. This was no marble statue, wasn’t an ode to rage rather than grief, because the eternity he’d seen before was missing here. This betrayal was lived experience, added to, still being carved into him, words waiting to be written—tears that could still fall. The realisation made him pause, made him wonder if all he was doing was making it worse, because pushing was only making his friend angrier.
The hurt was real, and it was deep, but his Stranger didn’t want him to see it.
So, he softened, took another gulp of his drink, tried to force down a surge of helpless, protective, wrath, but couldn’t quite help how his fingers clenched around the glass. “Alright. Didn’t mean to be an arse, I’m just angry.”
The pressure in the air faded so fast his ears popped. “What did I—“
“Not at you stupid.” There was that glower again. Hob hurried to fix his words. “Look I don’t know if you’re a god or some weird vampiric creature, but you had people who knew you and they did nothing.”
“Your concern is not necessary.”
“Yeah, well good luck getting me to stop worrying.”
It was the wrong thing to say. “I am quite capable of handling my own affairs, Hob Gadling.”
“Well, you have to be, don’t you, since you seem to be doing everything alone.” Hob snapped, seemingly committing himself to the hole he was digging, setting his beer glass on the table with more force than he’d intended.
The Stranger’s eyes narrowed. “That is my function.”
“What, you think if you’re the best at your ‘function’ none of them will leave you next time?”
For the first time the stranger actually looked shocked, brows raised in indignant surprise, as if he was reluctantly impressed at Hob’s gall, even as it was clear the words had bitten deeper than expected. Perhaps they’d even revealed a truth he hadn’t known, uncovered a motive that had as of yet been a mystery. This time there was no rage, no dizzying power, even as Hob realised that he’d more than overstepped. It would have made sense for this to be the end, for the Stranger to get up and walk out, but his reaction was much more muted. He fixed Hob with an expression of cool calculation, a piercing regard that felt incredibly uncomfortable, and it was a long time before either of them spoke.
It felt like he could see right down to Hob’s bones.
“There is no need for outrage on my behalf.” The response came softly, careful as if he was trying to mollify him but wasn’t quite sure what the source of the problem was. The eyes remained the same, unflinching, as if sizing up an unexpected competitor. “Nor is there need for concern. I am not human, and your sentiment is misplaced. If I could not get myself out of the predicament I found myself in, if I could no longer handle a crisis alone, then I would not be worthy of my station. They are right to judge my competence.”
“Hold on, are you really saying you’d deserve to be trapped forever if you couldn’t escape without aid?”
There was no nod, no confirmation, but Hob had the that the Stranger thought him an idiot for asking the question, that it should be obvious. He didn’t even look unsettled by it, accepted it as if it was the way the world worked, and Hob found himself unable to wrap his head around something so wrong. He didn’t really want to restart their argument, especially as he was unsure what had ended up calming his friend down, but he couldn’t help but protest. “I don’t understand, how can you feel you’d deserve—“
“You are human. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Well excuse me.” Hob found himself snapping. Again. “I don’t even know what you are.”
“I am Endless.” The Stranger said.
That cleared exactly nothing up. But it was a start. “That a last name?”
He was rewarded with a small chuckle. “You would be more correct to think of it as my species.”
“I’ve never heard of an Endless.”
“Never dabbled in the occult? In all these long years have you never thought to try and discover what I am?”
“Well, yeah, but I’ve been busy.”
This time he was gifted with an actual laugh. “Busy?”
“There’s so much to do, to see.” Hob found himself leaning forward in excitement, chasing that laugh, the way it cleared all of that cold detachment from those fine features. He pushed his empty plate to the side, rested his elbows on the table. “I figured I could always ask you, if I really wanted to know.”
“And do you? Do you wish to know what I am?”
He shrugged. “Maybe leave a little bit of mystery. Something for you to tell me next time we meet.”
“You would keep living.” He didn’t sound surprised, a pleased smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Of course. Very busy you see.”
“And you would see me again?” The Stranger said, curious, as if it was even a question.
It gave him an idea.
It was a bad plan. Absolutely outrageously terrible. Inspired by the fact that Hob really didn’t think he could wait one-hundred-years to see him again. There were lots of reasons for that—some of which were incredibly selfish—but the heart of it was that something had changed. It had changed the moment the Stranger had admitted they were friends and, in doing so, also admitted that these meetings were something more than passing curiosity. There had been a status-quo, you see, a pattern, a limit to the topics they’d discussed, and it had held strong right up until Hob had put his foot in his mouth the last time they’d met. This time the Stranger had been the one to break the pattern, he’d been the one to bring up something previously off limits, broaching the topic of his absence without being asked.
He’d wanted to tell him.
That was why he’d been so insistent, so revealing, because he hadn’t wanted Hob to be another person who thought he’d abandoned them.
There was no way he could ignore that.
And, well, he’d already pissed his friend off again today so why not go all in? To be honest, Hob was probably already half way to fucking this up, as he’d been silent long enough that the Stranger was already beginning to frown. Damn. Hob tried not to let his nerves show when he spoke, tried to sound calm and casual when he asked his question. “Would you consider increasing the frequency of our meetings?“
Those eyes flashed with anger. “I don’t need—“
“Was gonna suggest it anyway.” Hob said quickly, because his friend seemed to be interpreting concern as the equivalent of being stabbed and then having the knife twisted. He wasn’t seeking to expose or to wound or anything like that. Comfort might have to be sold in a slightly harsher way, if he wouldn’t accept a hug perhaps he’d accept a rebuke. “You did stand me up, after all.”
“Hm.” The Stranger considered it. “You would request this of me?”
Hob blinked. If he needed it to be negotiated like a deal then he supposed he could do that. “I would.”
“There will need to be terms,” His Stranger replied in a voice silk soft, seeming more comfortable with a business proposition. Perhaps that had been what he needed, a way to make this a task. Necessary. Perhaps he wasn’t ready yet to allow himself something just because he wanted it. “You will need to convince me.”
Saying it like that, in that low soothing voice, sent some very confusing signals, and inspired some very forbidden thoughts. He forced himself to focus. “I can be very convincing when I want something.”
Wait. No. That had sounded way flirtier than he’d intended. Hob hadn’t meant to—
The Stranger chuckled. “Very well Hob Gadling. State your case.”