Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Before the door to the Van Eck Mansion had locked behind them, Kaz had disappeared between the Church of Barter and The Exchange. He had moved quickly, yellow lamplight casting waxy shadows along his cheekbones. Inej had recognized the set of his jaw. Falling into step beside him, she had breathed into the crisp air of the Geldstraat. The air quality was always improved among the rich; here no factories and filth pumped toxins into the Earth beneath their feet. 

In spite of their height difference, Inej had found herself slowing her pace to match his unsteady gait. Kaz’s brow was pulled tight, his upper lip tucked between his teeth. Scheming. 

“Take to the shadows.” He had rasped, pulling his shoulders back and brushing invisible crumbs from his starched collar.     

And so she had. 

Kaz’s moonlight silhouette was blurred by the swathes of thick fog looming over Fifth Harbor. Watching from the shadows, Inej crept along the sleet slick bricks of the crumbling building on the edge of The Lid. 

The docks were silent. 

From her perch, Inej could see the lasting effects of a scuffle with the Black Tips a few days back. She had a number of bruises and cuts from the fight, slowly fading to yellow and scabbing over. Kaz, as the head of the Dregs, had been the primary target. She knew his ribs were badly bruised; he had allowed her to dance her fingers along his abdomen to ensure there were no serious breaks. A number of his fingers were splinted and swaddled in gauze beneath his gloves. Watching Kaz pause in the shadows to lean against a wall, Inej suspected her suspicions were right: the dirty hit one of Geel’s newest bruisers had landed on his bad hip had done damage. With a palm to the damp wall, Kaz shook out his leg before striding into the lamplight. 

Cane planted firmly between his feet and hands crossed neatly over the crow’s head, Kaz waited. For what, Inej wasn’t sure. 

The bells struck as fifteen minutes came and went.

Inej occupied herself with the untangling and braiding of her hair. Eyes scanning diligently along the narrow streets out of Kaz’s sights. Merchants heading home after a long day's work at the trade offices. Drunken teenagers stumbling, handsy in the darkest alleys. Nobody of note. 

Like a flash a boy, too small to be anything but a child, darted out of nowhere and handed Kaz something. By the time Inej had registered that an item was being passed, the boy had disappeared and the paper was tucked safely into the innermost pocket of Kaz’s vest. But Kaz didn’t move. 

Eyes narrowing, Inej watched him take a lopsided step towards the ships awaiting departure in the morning tides. 

“Geels.” Kaz rasped. “We’ve had this talk before, and frankly it’s getting old. Fifth Harbor is mine. Go home.” 

Without shifting his gaze, a silver pistol appeared in his hand and seconds later smoked with the firing of a single shot. Inej watched the man fall before he’d managed more than three steps from his hiding place along the gutter. In an instant, Innej had a knife in each hand; prepared to land them in the base of his skull if he crept too close to Kaz while his back was turned. Twirling the pistol in a motion Inej had grown to associate with Jesper, Kaz tisked with a comical air about him and as just quick as it had appeared, the pistol was gone. 

“And take your pet with you.” Kaz instructed, running a gloved hand through his hair. 

He took a lunging step towards Inej, back turned without fear to Geel still concealed in the shadows. Kaz locked eyes with her. She bit back a giggle as the corner of his lip quirked up at the sight of her blades glinting in moonlight. Kaz poked his cane at the blonde lump of muscle sprawled on the docks. Blood, black in the night sky, pooled beneath him. 

“Well,” Kaz continued, a dark raspy chuckle punctuating his words. “At the very least, you can do me the courtesy of removing his body. He really does look awfully heavy.” 

Inej sheathed her knives, grateful that her Saints had granted her a night without blood on her hands. It really had been a pathetic attempt at murder, even for the Black Tips. 

“Good night, Geels.” He called, sauntering away from the ships and towards the low slung building of the Lids. “Now, get off my fucking docks.” 

Without a look back Kaz slunk among the brothels and the bars, turning to avoid walking past the Menagerie. As the crowds thinned, Inej descended from the rooftops, skirts nearly catching along the rusty nails, and fell into step beside him. He spared a look in her direction. Inej took his gloved hand into hers. 

“You…” Kaz began. 

“I?” 

“You are always reliable, Inej. I can put my life in your hands by day and sleep soundly at night. I owe you a debt.” 

Inej felt a smile spread across her lips as Kaz flushed pink. It had been nearly five years since Kaz had presented her with a ship of her own. Over four years since he had taken her bare hand on his own. Just three years since he told her, with tear tracks carving a path over the mountains and valleys of his sharp cheekbones, that he loved her most dearly. She had never thought he would be the first to say it; until the words fell on her ears in that rock salt rasp and she couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

And still, at times he talked to her with unnecessary formality. Among the Suli this was strange, if not offensive, Inej was learning that for Kaz this language was not only of business but of sincerity. In a city of twisted deals and wretched lies, Kaz Brekker was one of few who held to a contract. He was shrewd in reading the fine print, of course. Quick to read in a way that was favorable to his interests, naturally. But, Kaz never broke a deal. He was a man of his word, if you could unravel his complex promises this would be clear. And so, when Kaz laid out his appreciation in his native tongue- a complex dialect of trickery and business talk, intermixed with the slightly rounded vowels that were uncharacteristic to Ketterdam but no one dared mention- it was not cold in the slightest. If for Kaz, reliability was the highest praise and debt was deep love; well, Inej would take it with a gloved hand in hers. 

But that hardly meant she would let an opportunity to make him blush as they walked through the slanting streets of The Barrel. 

“Kaz Brekker,” She teased, “Are you trying to tell me that you appreciate me?” 

It was then that Kaz paused. The candles of the opera house flickering behind him, Kaz turned to face her fully. Inej was suddenly conscious of her flyaways and sweaty upper lip, but he simply smiled and smoothed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes with the back of his hand. 

“I appreciate your knives.” Kaz corrected with the lift of a dark brow. “I thought you might like to know that I still regard you as one of my most valuable investments.” 

“Ahh,” Inej exclaimed, pulling on his sleeve. “ So, you do appreciate me.” 

She giggled; feeling Kaz’s eyes trace over her face- never darting beneath the starched collar of her blouse. The observation made her heart swell. 

“I do appreciate you.” He rasped. 

Kaz licked his dry lips, and cleared his rough throat. Inej watched with a meek smile as he adjusted his cuffs around his wrists- a nervous habit she had picked up on a few years earlier.

“And trust you. And admire you. And love you most dearly.” 

As he spoke again, Inej resisted the desire to kiss him right there in the streets; amongst the broken beer bottles, piss stain cobblestones, and the lingering scent of over salted seafood.  “And I love,” Inej began, lowering her voice until Kaz was leaning over to catch her words. “I love you, Kaz Rietveld.” 

With a customary glance to each side, Kaz pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. 

“And I you, Inej Ghafa.” 

She loved the way he said her name. Like it meant something, like it was something he wanted; not like want kruge or success. Not hunger, but desire. For all of her–the broken, jagged edges, and, though few, those parts that had been smoothed out like glass in the sea. 

The corner of Kaz’s lips began to quirk up as he pulled back from the kiss. 

“Even if I was a marginally better spider.” 

Throwing her head back with a laugh, Inej tapped his cane playfully. 

“Well, I guess we will never know.” 

It was strange to imagine that in another life, another order of events, perhaps, Kaz would still be a spider for the Dregs. Still blending into the shadows and slipping into places he didn’t belong, although, Inej reasoned, Kaz was quite getting into those places without being a spider. 

“Had the circumstances been different…” Kaz mused with a raised brow. 

She knew that, though he wouldn’t change things, Kaz missed the ability he once had. He liked  being up high, overlooking the city that he now ruled with a tight, leather bound hand. When the weather was good, they climbed out of the attic onto the rooftop to share dessert and liquor. Inej always made Kaz go first to spot him, afraid his leg might give way after a long day. She would carry his cane up for him and, when he would allow it, would offer her lap to elevate his foot. 

“Speaking of the circumstances” Inej murmured, voice turning serious. “We ought to get you off of that leg.” 

“No need.” Kaz said flippantly, dropping his cane from the crook of his arm back to the cobblestones with a thought. He began limping in the vague direction of The Slat. Inej was sure he thought this would be proof of his well being, but the worry in her stomach was only amplified by the slight drag of his bad foot. 

  “Besides,” He continued, flashing a sharp smile. “I like The Barrel at night. I thought we might pick up a snack for your crows.” 

“For my crows, huh?” 

“And perhaps for me as well.” Kaz admitted, “I don't find the microscopic portions of the rich especially satisfying.” 

Even Inej could recognize that the Van Eck’s cook, though talented, was used to preparing meals for merchers with bellies straining against their trousers, not for scrappy Barrel kids. And so, against her better judgment, Inej nodded. She was always eager to get as much food as possible into Kaz's system, when he could stomach it. 

She followed him for a few minutes through the chaotic streets; the night was young and the clubs were just beginning to roll out the locals' favorite games. Kaz ducked into an alley and without hesitation navigated his way to a stall in the back corner. The patron running the stall, an old woman with wild hair, spoke in such a rapid Kerch dialect that she couldn't dream of understanding more than every third word. Kaz, on the other hand, seemed just fine. 

After only a number of minutes, she handed over a large brown paper bag with grease seeping into the corners. Kaz exchanged a fistful of kruge, insisting, with a kindness few saw other than Inej, that she keep the change and put it towards her son. 

Inej took the bag silently. Reaching for it back, Kaz’s expression molded to something adjacent to a pout. 

“I can carry it, Inej.” 

She knew he prepared to have at least one hand available, should a fight arouse. It was why he brought a leather satchel with them on longer jobs, and why he made good use of the internal pockets in his vest and coat. 

“It hardly seems fair for me to have two free hands and you none at all.” Inej reasoned. 

Kaz plucked the bag out of her grasp once again, but not before sneaking a chunk of fried potato out of the crinkly package and into his mouth. 

“Ghezen!” He exclaimed. “Fuck, those are hot.” 

Inej giggled. 

“That’s what you get.” She snarked, resisting the urge to pluck one out herself and burn her tongue.   She understood now that it was a show of love. In two ways, actually. It was an act of service, to insist on carrying the bag, but also a show of trust. Kaz was willing to make himself more vulnerable with her. He trusted her. 

Inej let him carry the potatoes back to the Slat.

Chapter Text

The Slat was not nearly as quiet as Kaz had anticipated. It was nearing ten bells – the perfect time to hit the bars and scurry for a spot in the high stakes card games. Usually the Dregs would have dragged to their posts at The Crow Club or The Silver Six, if not running a particular errand by Kaz’s orders. The minority with the night off were sure to be at the tables by now. And still, there were people lingering in the cramped quarters of the Slat’s lowest floor. Much to Kaz’s annoyance, more than one person staggered up to him – likely feeling the effects of alcohol, as he was still the only member with a limp. The eye contact their dopey faces and bloodshot eyes demanded sent a shudder through him. It had been far too long a day, too bad a pain day, too crammed with meetings and social events that–though enjoyable in a number of cases, for either the company or satisfaction of wringing money from merchants without a whisper of business sense–had left him empty as the Blacktips coffers. Each person, whether desperate for a job, coin, or a fight to pick, was met with the cool stare that Kaz had long ago perfected. Inej almost wanted to laugh at the contrast of her boy and his gentle alley kisses to the Barrel boss before her–all straight edges and harsh lines. 

Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in a way that never failed to soothe, Kaz was grateful to have given up the greasy bag of potatoes to Inej’s loving grasp in preparation to climb the stairs. Inej watched with a pang of something adjacent to pity as Kaz practically bared his teeth at the splintering, steep staircase. He began them all the same. Banister in one hand, crumbling with wood rot and the continual burden of drunkard clinging to it as they ascended the stairs, and cane in the other. Kaz took the first three steps with relative ease. 

“Want me to talk?” Inej offered. At times Kaz had asked her to do so: when his pain was unbearable, when the ghosts of the past were so close they left condensation on his skin, when the bustling streets and endless chatter of the Barrel drew his shoulders up to his ears in a near desperate grasp for quiet. 

“No.” 

Inej wasn’t hurt by his bluntness. Though he was a master at long, tangled chains of eloquent words – more often than not used in drawing deals – Kaz was, at heart, a straightforward man. It was in his nature. His manner of speech often meant that even the direct Kerch people–not to mention the warm, tender Suli that Inej had grown up amongst–found him cold and calculating. Inej was inclined to believe that only one of those things was inherently true. He was calculating, yes. The cold, however, was a misconception at best and a facade at worst. 

And so, to Kaz’s pleasure, they climbed in silence. Stopping at the second landing, halfway to the tightly locked attic door, he flexed his fingers from their cramped, tight grip around the banister and then did the same with a reluctant, brief release of his cane. The ball of his hip radiated pain up his spine and down through femur, spidering out to the tips of his toes. It wasn’t common for his hip to be such an issue. Kaz cursed the Blacktips once more. 

“Does it hurt?” Inej asked softly, feeling stupid to ask such a question given the scene before her: Kaz curled in on himself, leaning against the wall. His jaw set. His teeth grinding. 

“Of course it fucking hurts.” He spat, face heating up; first, in embarrassment at the admission and then, in anger at the reality that he had barely turned twenty and was certain that by twenty-three, at the latest, he would no longer be able to make it up these stairs. 

“It always hurts.” He reasoned out loud, trying to straighten his posture. 

Inej paused, twirling the end of her braid between calloused fingers.  

“You can–” Kaz panted, hauling himself up another step with a tight expression. “Just go ahead and start eating. I’ll be a minute.” 

“No armor, Kaz.” 

He rolled his eyes to meet hers, face cooling at the sight of her bright eyes. The phrase was a joke of sorts by now, but it meant something all the same. 

“You can’t just push me away when you are feeling vulnerable.” Inej said, voice soft but firm. 

She was right. 

“M’not.” Kaz muttered. “The potatoes are gonna get soggy and cold before I reach the top of this fucking staircase.” 

“I think the potatoes will be fine, love. You, on the other hand, I’m a bit more concerned about.” 

“I take priority over potatoes?” Kaz asks, dropping his jaw dramatically in overly theatrical surprise. 

“You are going to feel like a soggy potato by the time you get up there if you don’t let me help.” Inej threatens, transfering the bag to her other hand and gesturing to Kaz’s waist. 

“Inej dearest,” Kaz rasps, accepting his arm around his waist, with a slight flinch that he is quick to hide. “I already feel like the soggiest potato.” 

“Well, if a potato metaphor is what it takes for you to be upfront about your pain then so be it.” 

Setting the potatoes and Kaz’s cane on the step below them, Inej wrapped her arm tightly around Kaz’s waist. Protest bubbled briefly in his eyes as it became clear that the intention was to leave his cane and come back for it. Kaz didn’t like to be away from it. But the reality, which Kaz was slowly being forced to come to terms with, was that he simply wasn’t going to make it to the top of the stairs alone. And so, drawing his arm over her shoulders, she coaxed him forward. Immediately, Kaz let more of his weight than he cared to admit fall on his shoulders. 

This close, it was easier to hear the pained noises that Kaz had managed to keep under his breath.   

“Perhaps,” Kaz pants, a drop of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose. “I’m a mashed potato. At this point, anyway.”   

“I can see it. Your complexion is quite close to a mashed potato.” Inej giggled, making brief eye contact out of the corner of her eyes before they fell into silence once again. 

It was slow progress. When they reached the final flight and the door to the attic was coming into sight, Kaz, grunting as he hoisted his bad leg up a step, turned to Inej once more. 

“I’m gonna kick Geels’ ass the next time I see him.” 

“He didn’t lay a finger on you in that fight.” Inej reminded softly. 

“In this equation, his new muscle is already long gone.” 

With a pointed, gloved finger Kaz drew a line over the width of his neck with a wicked smile. 

“Do you think it's fractured?” 

Kaz shrugged, seemingly focused on reaching the top of the stairs. And he did. Inej released him quickly. Her heart aching as he balanced himself against the doorframe, head bowed to press his forehead against the wood panels. She darted back down for Kaz’s cane. 

With his cane back in his hand, Kaz seemed a bit more himself. With the satisfying roll of his shoulders and crack of his neck, he set to picking the locks on his door which, he claimed, was easier than keeping keys for all of the many locks. Inej noted with a touch of concerns that while he usually leaning his cane against the door and allowed two hands for the delicate art of lockpicking, Kaz was currently standing with all of his weight on his good leg, leaning heavily on his cane, and, somehow, deftly picking lock after lock with just one hand. 

“Roof?” Kaz asks, stepping into the room, his hair damp with sweat and curling around his ears. His suit is rumpled, his desk a mess, and though he is relieved to free from mingling with drunken, handsy members of the Dregs, the attic space feels only slightly less suffocating. He wants the fresh air. He wants to be up high. 

“Roof.” Inej agrees, craving the open air.  

She is perfectly comfortable in the loose dress she wore to dinner with Wylan and Jesper. Inej was never one for the latest style, but this piece was made of a particularly impressive import from Novyi Zem. It felt like water against her skin. Inej had thought, in passing, that Kaz would despise the sensation. Thankfully, it hadn’t seemed to bother him thus far. 

Kaz, on the other hand, seems desperate to remove layers. He peels off his coat, then his vest, and rolls up his shirt sleeves. His garters are tight around his biceps, and the black of his tattoos peeks out from under the now wrinkled cotton of his button up shirt. Kaz discards his tie and unbuttons his shirt with something akin to violence until it is hanging loosely around his chest. His gloves remain on, and Inej knows what kind of day it is.

His breathing comes a bit easier without something tight around his neck. 

Inej lets him slip out of the window first, cane abandoned against the lip of his desk and the wrinkled paper bag clenched in his fist. She knows that he hates her eyes lingering on him like this. It isn’t a long, nor notably difficult climb. Just a few feet to maneuver across the slanted attic roof to the two foot wide stretch of flat boards in the middle. He does it with nearly all of his weight on his hands, in spite of the potatoes, and turns back with his lips slightly quirked. 

Limping to their normal spot, Kaz gives into the incessant ache in his knee and painstakingly lowers himself to the weary tiles of the Slat’s roof. Inej sits beside him, crossing her legs at the knees so her feet don’t tangle over the alleyway. He can’t help but think that she looks safe like that. Body compact and hidden by the jut of the chimney. Dark hair and skin masking her against the night sky. A part of him wants that smallness. That safe feeling. He shifts a bit, longing to mimic her position. It sends a pain so sharp through his knee that he must consciously stop his body from pitching forward down four stories on the cobblestones below. He clenches his hands against the edge of the wood and breathes deeply. The Dirtyhands voice in the back of his head reasons that he’d survived a fair higher fall before. Scoffing internally, Kaz responds but at what cost . His leg screams again and he gives up on feeling small. Inej leans her head against the chimney, now with her knees hugged oh so close to her check. Jordie used to sit like, pressed between Pa and the arm of the paisley sofa. 

Kaz lets his feet dangle.   

Admiring the soft cotton of his shirt pooling under his biceps, Inej munches on the fried potatoes. She hadn’t felt especially hungry when they’d purchased them but now, with the salt on her tongue, she is quite certain she could devour the whole bag alone. In an act of generosity, she presses one to Kaz’s tight lips. His eyes are looking into the distance. Unfocused. It takes a moment for notice and unclench his jaw to take the food between his teeth. 

Suddenly, even sitting up seems draining. The potato on his tongue tastes like nothing and even the hunger that led to the purchase of the Saints-forsaken potatoes in the first place has vanished. Absent-mindedly, Kaz begins to toss potatoes to the crows. The birds quickly flow towards him. 

Inej laughs as one settles in her lap, as if cuddling will win more snacks. It does. 

“I thought you were hungry, love.”  She says gently, voice free of judgment. 

Kaz considers the question for a moment. 

“I was.” He rasps. 

“And now?” 

Kaz glares at her momentarily, then forces his expression to soften. He shrugs. 

“Less so.” 

“Can I get anything? Some of your medication?” Inej asks, already on her feet. 

“Just a whiskey.” 

She hesitates. 

“Really, Inej. ” Kaz insists. “I just lost my appetite.” 

Inej slips back through the window. The vial of amber liquid in the bathroom cabinet seems a far better thing to fetch than a bottle of mediocre Kaelish whiskey, but that is what she grabs. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Kaz to avoid eating. More often than not, his appetite was non-existent. Or–at the very least–he was unable to perceive it. When it did show its face, pain, fatigue, and flashbacks often chased it away. It would be hypocritical of her to judge. Months had passed after she had left the Menagerie before she could stomach enough food to adequately sustain her. Kaz had purchased her food each day and forced himself to eat alongside her. To convince her that to eat was not a sin. In return for his kindness, Inej pretended not to hear him retching after pushing himself too far. Some days, Heleen’s voice whispered in the back of her mind and she skipped a meal. Some days, a man would come too close and Inej would vanish. When she reunited with her body, starvation seemed too easy a solution. 

With a deep breath, Inej smoothed back her hair. She needed to remember that for Kaz, unlike her, food was not an enemy. It was merely another thing his body rejected in a strange attempt to protect itself; it was just another mundane pleasure that his pain tried to steal away. 

Crawling over the lip of the roof, Inej can’t help but smile. Kaz is leaning to the side with his cheek pressed against the cool bricks of the chimney. His arms are held close to his body, hands dangly limply at the wrists. Kaz clenches his fingers rhythmically. Then, in a pattern unidentifiable to her, shakes them out. It wasn’t the first time she had glimpsed him lost, with near glazed eyes, in a self soothing motion. He had told her once, whispering by firelight on a job, that kids had made fun of this habit as a kid. It was one more part of Kaz Retvield tucked away under the gloves and schooled expression. Instinctively, Kaz drops his arms to his side the second he senses her coming. 

Wordlessly, he reaches his gloved hand out for the bottle and takes a swig as Inej settles across from him again. This time, she settles her back against the chimney; facing Kaz rather than the skyline. 

The burn of alcohol in his throat is, at the very least, a momentary distraction. Kaz shifts uncomfortably despite the weight of Inej’s warm gaze. His knee is starting to cramp from being bent. Moving slowly to mirror her position, Kaz presses his back to the chimney and, with a hand under his thigh and the other under his knee, maneuvers his leg back onto the rooftop. Inej pats her lap in invitation. Against his better judgment, against years and years of disguising this particular weakness until the magic trick succeeded and all people saw was strength, Kaz drops his cards, and his aching leg into her lap. 

Inej rests her hand carefully on his ankle. Kaz hates that she thinks she needs to be careful with him; he hates that she is right. 

Trusting the Slat’s chimney to hold his weight is, at best risky, but Kaz can’t bring himself to care as he reclines. He sips at the whisky, a test bottle from a new supplier that he certainly won’t be pursuing but the whiskey nowhere near bad enough to waste. Inej reaches out a hand for the bottle. Reluctant to let it go, but aware he should all the same, Kaz takes a final nip before relinquishing it. Inej takes the bottle and then, to his surprise, she takes a sip.

“Eat a few more for me?” Inej asks gently, tucking the bottle of whiskey beside her. 

Kaz scowls.  

He picks up a potato all the same and nibbles on it, holding it tucked between the tips of fingers on both hands in a manner that is delightfully juvenile. By mercy of the Saints, Inej watches him eat a handful more before he returns to tossing them across the slanted rooftops for the crows to squabble over. Eventually, Inej can’t help but join in. 

A few crowd favorites arrive. Putt, a stout bird with one eye arrives and waits for fry with unbridled patience before sitting at Inej’s side. Kaz smiles at the sight, eyes crinkling at the corners. And even Inej, though she claims her love for each of their crows, must admit that Putt has a special place in her heart. Not long after, Snort, an especially strange looking creature–though accurately named–arrives with a thirst for blood. He practically takes Kaz’s fingertips off in his desperation for food. It is no surprise that this one is Kaz’s favorite. It seems mere minutes before the potatoes are gone. 

Kaz rambles for a bit about a new plan to break into an orphanage mysteriously placed in the warehouse district. He smells brokens labor laws, money to be won, and children to be set free. Still, they remain on the rooftop. 

 Inej shares the remnants of a bedtime story she was told as a child, only just remembered while roaming the streets of Ketterdams’s Suli market. She braids and unbraids, only to rebraid again moments later. Still, they remain on the rooftop.

They consider the possibility of a trip to Novyi Zem with Jesper and Wylan over the winter holidays. Inej is ecstatic at the notion. Kaz, though reluctant, admits that a week away from the frigid Ketterdam winter would be nice. Still, they remain on the rooftop.

Over and over again, Inej braids her hair. Kaz maneuvers himself into new positions every so often, with each one seeking relief he doesn’t find. Still, they remain on the rooftop.

When Kaz’s voice is painfully hoarse from use and Inej has no desire to sit with the sound of her own voice, they welcome the silence. Below them the Barrel is alive: jugglers wandering through the streets searching for coin and musicians making a racket just for the sake of capturing attention before switching to more impressive tunes. Barrel rats and confused pigeons mingle in the dark streets. Occasionally, Kaz points out an especially easy target to pickpocket. Inej laughs; both at the fact that he can notice such things from so high a vantage point and that he warrants it worthy of breaking his silence, even with a shredded throat. Still, they remain on the rooftop.

Soon, the Barrel quiets and across the city lights slowly come on as the rich rise for another day of good, honest work. Kaz shuffles his cards between his gloved fingers. This deck rarely comes out around anyone but Jesper and Inej. It is so faded and soft, that the cards are practically indistinguishable. Inej doubts anyone but Kaz could manage to so much as shuffle them. Still, they remain on the rooftop.

Slowly, ships raise their sails in the harbor and begin to set out on voyage. Scrawny boys in gray caps run messages and cargo across the docks. The Wraith is only just visible in the distance.  After watching the first ship disappear out of sight as the morning light slowly turns from gray to yellow, Inej turns to Kaz with a weary expression. Kaz’s eyes are bloodshot with sleep deprivation. They both know the conversation that is to come. And, though perhaps she should, Inej knows that this time she will not be the one to start it.

Chapter Text

Blinking the sun, and the sleepiness, from his eyes, Kaz turns to Inej.  After a few moments of locked eyes, while absentmindedly twirling the chain of his pocket watch between gloved fingers, he finally finds the courage to speak. 

“When are you leaving again?”

“You really want to have this conversation now?”   

“No time like the present.” 

“Kaz…” Inej says softly. She touches the end of her braid to pursed lips and looks out over the city. 

“Inej. ” 

She doesn’t respond. 

“Inej,” Kaz begins again.” When are you leaving?” 

Even Inej can tell that her voice is uncharacteristically small when she answers. 

“A week from tomorrow.” 

Kaz exhales through his nose, letting his head fall back against the chimney. The crisp air echoes his breath. Inej is glad that he had given in and allowed her to fetch his coat from inside. If nothing else, she reasons, it delivered something for him to do with his hands: Kaz's fingers tuck away his watch and begin to shuffle his deck again. The cards fly from hand to hand with each deft motion, despite his immobilized, bandaged fingers. He says nothing. 

It is after a number of minutes, each passing like thick syrup poured impatiently over waffles, that Inej decides to make the offer: One she has been considering for weeks. One she hopes he has been considering as well. 

“You could come with me.” She says bluntly, turning her body to face him once more. 

Kaz doesn’t move. 

“The sea air is wonderful. And, just think of all the places we could travel. You could meet my parents again. We could really explore Shu Han. We might even make it up to the Wandering Isle, or see Nina in Fjerda.” 

Inej slows to a stop as Kaz stays frozen with his head against the cold bricks, eyes closed; his jaw tight and breaths measured. Gathering her skirts closer, Inej puts her elbows on her knees and waits as the city slowly wakes beneath them. It is several minutes later that she watches with heavy lids as Kaz gingerly eases weight off his bad hip. He opens his eyes.

“I can’t sit up here any longer.” He admits with gritted teeth and a bowed head.  

She waits, but Kaz says nothing more. 

This admission is all he can offer her right now. No promises of setting sail, of leaving Ketterdam behind, and venturing into the unknown. No excitement at the prospect of meeting her family nor glee at the thought of seeing her childhood up close again. For now, Kaz can put forth the vulnerability of his discomfort, his hesitancy to leave the city, and his simultaneous reluctance to be left without her by his side once again. 

It is enough. 

Inej nods, immediately standing up and reaching down to offer a hand; the whiskey and grease-stained paper bag can wait for later. To her surprise he takes it; allowing her to pull him to his feet and stabilize him with a careful arm around his waist as he collects his cane from its spot among the roof panes. 

With a glance over his city, Kaz makes for the window. His eyes burn with exhaustion and his body aches the way it always does when a flare up is drawing near. It takes a few minutes and a near tumble to his death, but he makes it into the safety of his rooms.

Inej says good morning to the sun peeking over the West Stave; perched on the windowsill, she waits. She is always welcome in his rooms–that she knows.  And still she hovers. Waiting; for what, she is not sure. An invitation? A confirmation? It doesn’t make sense to come in. The very window she is huddled in will serve as her door to Wylan’s house when the need for sleep grows too heavy. Inej considers leaving now as she watches Kaz hobble to his desk. He digs around his innermost pockets and his hand emerges with a wrinkled brown envelope; the envelope, in turn, is secured in the safe. He turns to look at her with red-rimmed, coffee-brown eyes. 

“You can stay, if you like.” He offers, unclasping his gloves around the wrists but moving no further.  

She hums thoughtfully, sinking to her heels until she is fully seated in the wooden window frame. 

“I don’t especially want to sleep in the chair, and you–well, you shouldn’t.” 

Inej leaves the not in your condition unspoken; Kaz hardly needs to be reminded of his pain.  

For a moment they both turn their gaze to the aforementioned chair–a threadbare, squeaky thing. Its upholstery soft with wear and its springs rusty. Inej had spent countless nights curled in the chair as Kaz worked. In fact, it had only appeared after she complained about his office’s lack of seating options. She was small enough to curl into some semblance of a reclined position in its overstuffed cushions. And so, when Kaz let down his armor, she stayed; sleeping in the chair next to his bed when he was panicked to the point of needing her in sight or in enough pain to warrant admittance. When she returned from sea, exhausted and, more often than not, increasingly anxious about being unprotected–how could she note after witnessing what those awful men did to girls like–Kaz would spend nights in the chair–slouched against one armrest and with his leg propped on a nearby crate. Inej would fall asleep with him in her line of sight; dark eyes carefully keeping watch, cane at his side, and pistol in hand. 

“I didn’t mean in the chair.” Kaz says quietly, the burn of his voice practically tangible in the crisp morning air. 

Inej creeps silently forward until her hands meet the fine mercher silk of Kaz’s lapels. Blinking slowly, she looks up through her lashes at Kaz’s reserved expression. 

“Where did you mean, Kaz?” She whispers. 

“I thought,” He begins, lifting his hands to rest over hers, sandwiching them against his chest. “That we might try sleeping together, in my bed.” 

In tandem, they look towards the bed. For the longest time, Kaz had slept on a ragged mattress on an even more ragged frame, which had scarcely held the mattress off the creaking floorboards. The mattress itself was afflicted with a number of concerning stains–likely blood, which Kaz insisted was nothing to worry about—and a collection of rusty springs that had thrust through the fabric. After the Ice Court, Kaz had purchased a new bed. His room at Wylan’s was undeniably comfortable; Kaz had, without hesitation, ripped the tag off the mattress and hunted down the shop which sold it. With a wad of cash, he bought an identical mattress and paid a few young boys looking for work on the streets to haul it back to the Slat and up the steps. 

Now the plush mattress was settled on a wooden frame that Inej had watched Kaz built himself. The sheets, blue and white striped, were usually tucked crisply under the mattress with the quilt perfectly smoothed over top. Today they were mussed with the look of bed after a sleepless night and an early morning. Inej wanted to slap herself for thinking it looked cozy; lived in, like it could be their bed. 

“Alright.” Inej replies, stepping back from him. 

“Alright?” He echoes with the voice of an unsure man. 

“Alright.” 

Kaz smiles as she giggles, head tossed back and hair coming loose around her full cheeks. She steps towards the bed. 

“Let’s try.”

He echoes her once more; this time with determination in his voice. 

“We should shower.” Kaz continues. His hair feels greasy, his face is unshaved, and the smell of the harbor clings to his clothes. 

Inej nods. 

“You first.” 

For a moment, Kaz has it in his mind to protest–to insist she go first; while he has no reputation for being a gentle man, he has at least managed to be a courteous one thus far. Shifting his weight to peel his gloves off, however, reminds him of the need for hot water to soothe the twisted muscles in his leg. Inej could enjoy a lukewarm shower; especially running hot, as he knows she does. He, on the other hand, would feel the chill amplified in his bones and crawl into bed, with her weight beside him, only to lie silently in the hours until she wakes. 

He nods. 

“You can borrow clothes, of course.” Kaz offers as he opens his wardrobe. Hanging his coat, then his blazer and finally his vest, Kaz considers the options. A soft pair of sleeping trousers and a dark knit sweater will suit him just fine, but Inej is trickier. He picks a cotton button up out, worn soft at the elbows and around the collar but more than wearable. It will certainly be long enough to serve as a nightgown–their height difference of nearly a foot ensures that–but Kaz wouldn’t dream of making her uncomfortable. Besides, the thought of shifting in the comfort of his bed to meet the unexpected touch of skin is nauseating. He plucks a second pair of sleeping trousers out. Kaz lays them out on the desk for her, smoothing the wrinkles out with a careful hand while Inej watches him with gentle eyes from her perch on the edge of the bed. 

“Thank you.” She says softly, watching as Kaz leans his cane against the desk. 

After toeing his shoes off and placing them carefully in their proper place in the closet, Kaz slips into the bathroom. There is no need to lock the door, but he does all the same–even without Inej in his room, he would. It is a habit, and not one he is set on breaking any time soon. Kaz starts up the shower and leans against the counter as he waits for it to heat up. This close to the mirror, he can see the exhaustion carved into the lines of his face. And, as usual, Inej is right–he’s lost more weight than he has to spare. His ribs strain against skin stained purple and blue; if he isn’t careful with his breathing the air doesn’t quite make it deep enough in his lungs. He is staring into his own red rimmed eyes, fighting the same battle that he always must when going to shower–one against himself–when steam starts slowly creeping up the mirror. 

He can’t wait any longer. 

At this rate, the shower will be cold for him, as well as Inej. As quickly as he can, Kaz shucks off his shirt, trousers, and underwear. Leaning an elbow against the counter, he bends over to pull his socks off–ignoring the sharp pain of his ribs. The bandages on his fingers take a minute to unravel, followed by a sticky bandage swadling his upper arm. Despite steeling himself, Kaz can’t help but flinch as he steps carefully into the shower. 

The water is, mercifully, still hot. His pale skin turns pink almost immediately under the heat. Taking measured breaths gets harder with each passing second. Jordie’s voice rises in his ears next to the sound of his own heart pounding. Hurriedly, he scrubs shampoo into his hair. It feels good to strip away the grim and old product. 

Washing his body is harder. The touch of hair under his fingertips isn’t bothersome, but touching skin–including his own–still sends him spiraling at the worst of times, and the damp does nothing but accelerate his panic. A washcloth usually solves this problem by ensuring that he never has to come in direct contact with wet skin, but the roughspun Kerch materials are often painful to scrub against sensitive scar tissue. He endures. 

Before lathering up a washcloth with Inej’s gentle honey soap, Kaz gives into his exhaustion and leans against the wall. With his forehead pressed to the tiles it is easier to breathe. The heat and pressure of the water are slowly working to ease the tense muscles of his back and shoulders. His leg, however, protests any weight on it. Gritting his teeth, he manages to stand up properly again and begins to scrub the Barrel blood and grim from his skin. Kaz doesn’t look too closely as he goes, eyes glazed over and mind wandering in an attempt to ward off unwanted memories. Tackling his face last, Kaz scrubs with more vigor than necessary until his cheeks are raw and he feels something adjacent to clean.   

He shuts the water off with a sharp movement that sends a rattling echo through the pipes. Standing in the shower, dripping and shivering, with his arms held awkwardly out to the side–both to avoid touching his wet skin or jostling his ribs and to grasp at the wall in order to maintain his balance–makes Kaz feel unbearably pathetic. He is quick to grab a towel left within reach; if there are Saints at all Kaz gives them credit for Inej and for that towel. Today, he can’t manage to get out of the shower in one step. Instead, the fatigue and the stiffness forces him to sit on the lip of the shower wall and manhandle his back leg over. Combing his hand through damp hair, Kaz can’t help but be somewhat grateful for the excuse to sit for a moment. It takes him about fifteen seconds to realize the absurdity of that thought and force himself back to his feet. 

Kaz dresses quickly; toweling off his body before eagerly hiding his skin beneath the protection of fabric. As he steps back into the bedroom, steam billowing behind him, Inej looks up and smiles. 

“What?” He asks, feeling a bit silly as he limps into the room scrubbing his hair dry. The vulnerability makes his stomach tight. 

“Your hair.” Inej tells him with warmth in her eyes. “I had no idea it was so wavy.” 

She gathers the clothes set out for her on the desk and disappears into the bathroom. Kaz feels the corner of his lips quirk. Of course she hadn’t known his hair was wavy; how would she? Each morning since he was twelve he had carefully combed it back. Still, she had said so wavy; as if she’d know it was wavy but not to this extent. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kaz thinks of every instance Inej had seen him with wet hair. Leaving the Ice Court, of course; when he had nearly drowned and had been soaked to the bone as they made their escape. A number of stakeouts in the rain; when a storm had managed to catch them by surprise. 

As his hair dries, it settles in against his forehead in soft waves and begins to curl up around the shells of his ears. Kaz resists the urge to drag his hands through it and force it into submission: flat and straight and neat. His cane is perched against the edge of his desk. Kaz has it in his mind to get up and update a few of the ledgers before Inej is done. But this new mattress is far too comfortable and, against his better judgment, Kaz leans against the headboard resting his eyes while the shower hums on steadily in the background. 

For all his dislike of showers on days like this, Inej still manages to finish quicker. Kaz hopes, absentmindedly, that he hadn’t stolen all of the hot water. 

Inej emerges with her hair loose and smile wide. She freezes for a moment in the door frame before twirling dramatically, as if showing off an elaborate dress. She laughs loudly and Kaz can’t help but fold over with a giggle. 

His sleep trousers are rolled up a handful of times, forming clumsy, thick cuffs around Inej’s slim ankles. The waistband is tied tightly, and still the pants hang low on her hips. The shirt, buttoned just high enough to contain her breasts but not high enough to tuck away her collarbones, drapes over her knees. Like the pant legs, the sleeves are rolled up so many times it is a bit absurd. 

“This is a good look for you.” Kaz jokes, head cocked to the side and eyebrows raised. “All the Kerch women will see you in the streets and will rush home to put on the newest fashion.” 

“Well, you do have excellent taste. At the very least, I think this look could take off in the Barrel. Anika did mention a growing fad with oversized clothing.” 

“Damn.” Kaz chuckles. “And to think, I thought we were ahead of the game.”  

Settling into that all too comfortable silence, Inej combs her hair, feeling oddly secure in a city that once stood for everything that had been stolen from her. Kaz is just across the room sleepily watching her with warmth in his eyes. Once her hair is detangled, she perches on the bed beside him. His dark eyes open at the movement, catching on her lips and nodding permission to a question she had only just realized she wanted to ask. 

She kisses him carefully, with her fingers brushing the cuff of his sweater and touching nowhere but the lips. Kaz smells like her body wash; and in the same way that his pajamas make her feel like his, that lingering honey scent ties him to her. Kaz kisses back with that familiar softness. He is in need of a shave but has, for whatever reason, forgotten it. The saltiness of the potatoes and the bitter kick of alcohol still clings to their breath. 

After a moment, Inej feels him jerk back. She watches as he bows his head slightly; taking measured breaths and burrowing pale hands into his sleeves. 

“We should brush our teeth.” She suggests; knowing that it is one of those days where it is simply too hard to divulge the complexity of emotions racing through him. Kaz struggled to label what he felt at the best of times. And Inej, she wasn’t going to push him more than she already had. Some small part of her scolded herself for giving the option to take something he wanted but wasn’t ready for. 

Grumbling, Kaz stretches and stumbles out of bed towards the bathroom. There is a ceramic cup beside the sink. Wylan had made it, then painted the elaborate webbed design across it. There, Inej’s toothbrush was at home beside Kaz’s. The toothpaste is carefully rolled from the bottom of the tube, scraping every drop of product out. It is a humorous difference to the squeeze-and-go method that Jesper employs.

Inej plucks her toothbrush out of the cup and squirts a dollop of toothpaste onto it before handing the open tube to Kaz. He follows in suit, wetting his brush beneath the faucet before sitting on the closet toilet lid and brushing his teeth with more vigor than strictly necessary. Toothpaste is foaming around his lips and Kaz looks at her with wide, confused eyes as she stares.  At that, Inej can’t help but laugh. Pulling his toothbrush out of his mouth, Kaz becomes aware of the situation and smiles despite himself. He scrubs his sleeve across his mouth effectively smearing toothpaste over his cheek. In her fit of laughter, Inej ends up in a similar state: toothpaste on her chin and her toothbrush abandoned on the bathroom counter. 

Spitting in the sink, Inej reaches towards Kaz with a washcloth and gently wipes his face clean. He takes the cloth from her hand; slowly, and with his eyes cast down, to ensure that their skin doesn’t meet. Kaz doesn’t meet her eyes as he mops the toothpaste off her chin. 

She follows his gaze downward. They are mere inches apart with Kaz reclining slightly against the sink. It’s the closest their bodies have been in months for any reason other than offering physical support. Inej’s shirt cuffs grazes his trousers. The soft touch calls Kaz’s attention, and then he is making that rare, intense eye contact that she has yet to experience with anybody else. 

Kaz usually hates looking deep into someone’s eyes. It feels unnatural. He forces himself to make this kind of eye contact regularly on jobs and at the club. Dirtyhands cool stare has become easier to muster over the years. But this isn’t Dirtyhands looking at Inej now; it isn’t even Kaz Brekker. 

Kaz Rietveld lived in the safety of unmet eyes. Jordie and Pa were the exceptions–the people he could, at times, lock eyes with and feel safe. As a child, he had no need to force eye contact and nobody said anything about it. In Ketterdam, he had had the shit beaten out of him numerous times for lowering his eyes from gang leaders and drunken bastards determined to lift their esteem with the regard of starving Barrel rats. Kaz had quickly learned that a cool stare was another tool in the arsenal required to survive Ketterdam’s rough streets. 

Kaz can’t help but marvel at the difference of their skin tones and similarities between their eyes: both the kind of brown that softens to honey in warm light and, when angry, turns black as the bottom of the True Sea. Inej’s lashes are flared out in the outer corners of her eyes. In the waning lamplight of the bathroom, and with the sunrise casting light across the attic rooms, her coloring is warm. Kaz leans in, their noses nearly touching with this rare closeness.

This time it is Kaz that follows Inej’s eyes downward, as she ducks her head and her hair fans around her face. 

“I’ve never seen you without socks before.” Inej whispers. 

Kaz snorts at the contrast between Inej’s hushed, secretive tone and the positively ridiculous statement she’s made. 

“Darling, why in Ghezen’s name are you looking at my feet?” 

“I glanced down and just realized I’ve never seen you barefooted.” Inej repeats, as if it should mean something more. 

“And…” 

“Well, I’ve seen you without gloves numerous times, which is practically nudity for you. Yet, for all I know, you are missing several toes!” 

Kaz laughs, warm and throaty. He caps the toothpaste as Inej mops water off the counter. As she disappears back into the bedroom, still giggling, Kaz blows out the oil lamp. Inej climbs into bed, clambering across the mussed sheets to take the side closest to the wall–it is both harder to get into and harder to get out of. In that spot, she feels safe from the world; Kaz’s body is a barrier between her and the door, and Kaz can more easily slip from the sheets if she draws too close. 

Inej slips beneath the sheets. She keeps her eyes on Kaz as he tidies the space, a ritual he completes before collapsing into bed no matter the hour. As he stands on his good leg, slipping files into his desk drawer, Inej realizes that his bad foot doesn’t quite reach the floor. Brow furrowed and voice hesitant, she turns to him. 

“Are your legs not the same length?” Inej hopes the question doesn’t come across as judgmental; it certainly isn’t intended to be. She can’t help but be curious. The relationship between them has hardly allowed for the physical exploration that she has come to associate with a romantic partnership. Still, Inej longs to know each detail of Kaz’s being. 

Kaz, to her surprise, looks up at her–eyes soft at the corners with sleepiness–and shakes his head. 

“No. They haven’t been since I broke it. Jesper–medical expert that he is, of course–thinks it just didn’t grow at the same rate after all the trauma to the bone.” 

She nods, swallowing heavily. Nothing has changed. And yet, it is hard to face another thing she didn’t know was bringing difficulty to his life. Another thing that she can’t change. 

“Doesn’t it make it even harder to walk? Besides the pain.” 

This time, to her relief, Kaz shakes his head. The movement sends dark waves crashing into his eyes. 

“It’s just a couple of inches. I have a little lift in my shoe that balances out my legs so I step as evenly as I can. It doesn’t get rid of the limp, clearly, but it helps.”

Kaz feels the tight feeling in his chest dissipate as Inej’s pitying look vanishes, as if she’s realized that the Bastard of the Barrel doesn’t need her sympathy. He finishes organizing his papers and takes his cane from its propped position against the desk. The metal is cold and foreign against his bare palm. He walks, undoubtedly with a heavier limp than usual and painfully aware of that fact, to the bed. Kaz sinks into the edge of the mattress and leans his cane against the wall. 

“I feel like I owe you a secret now.” Inej tells him, pressing her back to the wall. 

Smirking, Kaz settles back against the pillows. 

“Oh? What will you give me?” His dark eyes twinkle mischievously. 

Inej hums, thinking of something worthy of sharing with Ketterdam’s dark dealer of secrets. 

“A secret is a dangerous thing to give.” She says softly. 

Kaz leans in, cocking his head to the side. 

“I trade in secrets, dearest Inej. I know the value can far outweigh any coin.” He pauses for a moment. “So, what will you tell me?”  

“What do you want to know?” Inej counters, unable to contain her smile as Kaz’s scheming face makes an appearance. 

“Anything.” He rasps. “Everything.” 

“When I was seven, I snuck out of my parents wagon and ate an entire cherry tart all by myself. It was meant for a cousins’ birthday party the next day, which I didn't know at the time. I just loved cherries so much I was willing to risk getting in trouble to eat them all myself.” 

Kaz lets his head fall lazily against a pillow as he laughs. 

“Oh that is excellent information for blackmail. I’ll be sure to let the world know you can lure Inej Ghafa right into a trap with a well-made cherry tart.” 

“Fine.” Inej pouts. “I’ll come up with something worth of Dirtyhands and all his secrets.” 

 Reaching for her hand, swaddling his bare skin with the sheets, Kaz shakes his head.  

“The cherry tart will do just fine.” 

Inej busies herself with taming her wild, damp hair into intricate braids along the sides of her head. The sheets, though wrinkled, are refreshingly cool against her skin. Kaz fumbles in the drawer of the nightstand. The nightstand is another recent addition to the room; it has replaced a crate that used to sit upside down beside the bed with the sole purpose of holding a glass of water so when he woke from nightmares reaching there was no need to drag himself to the bathroom to rinse away the taste of bile. He finds what he is looking for and sits back against his pillow with a glass jar in hand. 

Unscrewing it carefully, Kaz lays the lid on the tabletop beside his chipped carafe. Inej continues braiding as he gingerly begins to roll his pant leg up. Peeling the thin cotton material away reveals scars she has only seen a number of times, and largely in the dark at that. His leg is a mess of scar tissue, especially around his knee and upper shin where his shattered bones broke through skin. Kaz’s thigh is twisted oddly, misshapen just enough to be noticeable, above the knee. Inej can only assume the bone, which hadn’t been treated by a professional until it was far too late, healed out of place and forced the muscles sideways with it. She holds her breath as Kaz roughly digs the heel of his hand into a twitching muscle. The set of his jaw tells her that it is as painful as she fears. 

Kaz can tell that she is pretending not to look or, perhaps, she is really trying not to. All the same, he can feel her gaze heavy on his skin. For once, he doesn’t mind. It doesn’t feel like the prying eyes of people desperate to take whatever they can sell: secrets, shame, or otherwise. 

He digs his fingertips into the ointment, scooping it out of the container generously, and begins to dab it over the less sensitive scars. For a while, it had felt a waste to put product on the areas that weren’t agony, but he quickly learned that it was easier to tolerate the worst of the pain if he eased the minor areas first. Besides, he was hardly short on cash to buy more medication and it was no longer a great feat to send a younger runner after it with an extra coin for a sweet and their silence. Still, he moves slowly; gently bending his knee so he can reach the back of his calf. 

Inej sits cross legged. She heaves a bit of a sigh as she finishes her first braid, and lowers her arms, aching with the effort of being held up for so long. 

“What is it?” She asks, brows perked curiously. 

“It’s made with a plant– pershi –a cousin of run-of-the-mill jurda . They grow in the same conditions; often on the same fields, according to Jesper. It has a very different effect though. It’s not just a stimulant. For many, it functions as a depressant. People chew it, smoke it, and put it in all kinds of foods and teas. It’s calming–helps with sleep, arthritis, inflammation, and that sort of thing.” 

“And it's in the ointment.” Inej continues, stating the obvious in the hopes that Kaz will continue. 

He nods. 

“Jesper suggested I try it. I don’t like smoking it.” Kaz sounds almost hesitant, as if admitting a flaw. “I don’t like how it makes me feel, but this ointment lacks some part of the plant– it doesn’t change your state of mind at all. Still, it helps with the inflammation a bit, and even the muscle spasms, if I’m lucky.” 

Inej sniffs at the container. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

Kaz freezes, blood rushing to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

“I’m serious.” She continues softly. “I’m proud of you for taking care of yourself; just as I asked.” 

“You should try some.” Kaz offers, changing the focus of the conversation smooth as ever. 

She quirks a brow. 

“It helps with sensitive scars.” 

Inej ducks her head. Of course, Kaz–and nobody else–would remember that the scar from her first real stab wound was still sensitive to the touch. She has acquired countless of worse scars since then. And still, the one Oomen had left that day on the docks, the one that had pulled painfully all through their Ice Court job, caught her attention each time loose fabric brushed against it. She dips her finger in and carefully lifts the hem of the borrowed shirt to dab the ointment over the shiny scar. Kaz isn’t looking any longer. He has turned back to his own wounds. 

His breathing is audibly shaky as he applies ointment to the ropey scars on the front of his leg. The gentlest brush of his fingers against them sends his damaged nerves into a panic. It takes him a number of minutes to apply the medication to enough of his leg to call it a job-done-well-enough. Kaz knows he has avoided the spot that needs it the most; the jutting, cooked spot beneath his knee, the one wrought with rough, purple scar tissue which throbs with each beat of his heart. He can’t manage it now. His ribs fall into the same category: not worth the distress of applying that ointment. Kaz is fair too exhausted to endure that now. Pulling his waistband down a bit, he rubs the remaining ointment on his hands onto his bad hip. Now, he must wait. It usually only takes a handful of minutes for the salve to do its work; Kaz is hoping that remains true today. This kind of pain doesn’t make him restless anymore. It is exhausting. Kaz relaxes into the pillows, turns his head slightly to face Inej, and buttons his gloves at the wrist. 

“If nothing else,” He rasps with a tired smile. “It smells quite good.” 

Inej wiggles her way under the covers and into a reclined position. 

“It does, but I think it's working for me already.” 

Kaz hums; a sound that is meant to feign thoughtfulness, but fails the act in the tightness of his dark brow. It is then that Inej realizes more than half of the pillows have been surrendered to her side of the bed. The striped one that usually gets tucked under his hip is between her favorite pillow and the headboard. The round throw cushion he typically supports his knee with is wedged between her and the wall. Collecting the pillows, Inej settles on her knees atop the plush mattress. 

“I don’t need all of these.” She scolds. “I’ve gotten used to sleeping in a fishing net dangling from a few nails in a swaying ship. You, on the other hand, are going to wake up sore.” 

He doesn’t protest, or say anything at all for that matter.

“Can I help? Or would you like to do it yourself?” 

To her surprise, Kaz croaks out a barely audible you and doesn’t so much as open his eyes. He is still except for his fingers. Despite the bandages he’d applied during her shower, Kaz moves the pad of his thumb to meet each fingertip; rubbing them together in small circles before moving to the next. The motion is soothing and, after a moment, he manages to catch his breath despite the discomfort of his injuries and her closeness.  

Inej murmurs, and Kaz does his best to sit up enough for another pillow to be maneuvered under his shoulders. The motion sends shooting pain through his ribs; which he successfully hides until a cough rattles through his lungs. Kaz can’t help but take a gasping, wheezing breath. Collapsing into the feathered cushion, he manages to wave off the concern look Inej is sending his way and cradles an arm protectively over his ribs. 

“Lift.” She instructs softly, trying to wedge a pillow beneath his knee. 

He listens and maneuvers his knee off the mattress. The pillow Inej settles his swollen knee on is a welcome softness. Inej apologizes against her better judgment, as Kaz breathes stutters. He ignores it–as she anticipated. He wills himself to be pliant as Inej creeps off the bed to wedge a cushion under his bad hip, and then his foot. Kaz bites his tongue, flushing as a noise of discomfort claws from the depths of his raw throat. The deep noise startles her, and Inej can’t help but flinch. She digs her nails into her palms slightly, hoping the sensation will keep her from floating away. 

“Sorry. M’sorry.” Kaz apologizes, clenching his eyes shut but not before witnessing Inej’s startled expression. 

“You’re alright.” Inej insists. “Just a gut response. I promise it’s not you.” 

Kaz hums in acknowledgement, offering his hand. She takes it. In this position Inej feels anything but trapped; she stands beside the bed, leaning over Kaz–sprawled under the quilt. He looks wearier with each passing minute. Clumps of dark, wavy hair leave damp spots on his pillowcase; a number of rebellious strands dance over his brow and the strong bridge of his nose. 

“Is the ointment helping at all?” Inej asks softly. She’s scared to push his vulnerability any further, but his body is tense and his hand tight around hers. 

“A little.” He grits out. 

“Can I do anything?” 

“No.” 

She knows there is nothing to be done, knew before she even offered, and still hopes that he might come up with some minute adjustment that will make him more comfortable. Kaz considers, for a fleeting moment, the aid of a hot water bottle. Quickly, he dismisses it–even the concept of heat against his sensitive skin is overwhelming. 

Inej clambors back into the bed, jostling the mattress just enough to make Kaz stiffen.  Settling back into her pillows, she carefully brushes Kaz’s hair out of his eyes. The bags beneath his eyes are purple and puffy; evidence of nights of aching and waking up to retch over the edge of his bed. He hasn’t told her this, but Inej knows. She from all the nights she spent in that wretched chair bearing witness to his nightmares. She knows from Jesper’s careful tone when she’d just arrived back in Ketterdam and he suggested she spend the night here. Moreover, Inej is fairly certain that Kaz knows that she has noticed; he wouldn’t have hired her as a spy all those years ago if something this mundane wasn’t on her radar. 

They lay in silence for a while. Through the cracked window, Kaz can practically map out the movements of the Barrel below. First, the clatter of cheap alcohol being rolled in wooden barrels across the uneven payment. Then, the sizzle of eggs and bacon frying at all the early morning eateries; this is naturally followed by the sound of young voices attempting to persuade passerby to stop for an omelet. Inej detects the scent of coffee in the air and lazily rolls over, anticipating that Kaz’s attention would be grasped and his directory towards sleep distracted. 

He remains still. Caffeine isn’t appealing; in fact, the thought forcing anymore into his body sends nausea roiling through his stomach. Kaz knows that sleep is what he needs, and still it won’t come. It is clear to him from years of careful study, that Inej is awake. She isn’t trying to feign sleep, either; merely lying contently with her eyes shut. The sky is oddly clear this morning, and the sun makes its way onto her skin. It gleams in the warm light. Her hair is braided loosely; small wisps escaping and catching on her earrings. As if feeling his gaze, Inej’s dark eyes open and meet his. 

Kaz looks away. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He admits softly, the light from the window casting shadows over his face. “I just toss and turn for a bit, before giving up. Laying in bed–it makes me feel restless and overwhelmed. Like the stillness is stiffening and suddenly I’m trapped completely. And the blankets are too heavy and the air too warm. The breath is pressed from my lungs and I’m drowning. Then, if I manage to fall asleep at all, I drown in my dreams and pull you to the bottom with me.” 

Inej squeezes his hand softly.

“I’m drowning and you aren’t here to pull me out.” 

“Oh Kaz,” Inej begins. 

“No. I don’t mean it like that. You should have your freedom, your ship, your mission. But I can’t help but feel that I let someone close and it made me reliant. Weak.” Kaz practically spits the words out. 

His hands are clenched tight in the sheets. 

“I’ve come to need you, and for that I am ashamed, grateful, and frightened all the same. I want you to fulfill your purpose–to show those slavers what it means to taunt the Wraith with their sins. And still, I want you here with me; to pull me out each time the waters swell too high.” 

“Kaz Brekker,” Inej leans closer. “It is becoming entirely apparent that you read more poetry than Tolya.” 

Her attempt to lighten the mood is somewhat successful as Kaz smiles, opening his mouth to snark back. 

“I doubt I read more of it than he does. I just happen to remember it all.” He taps the side of his head with a smirk, as if tempting her to test him. 

“You may be a poet, and perhaps capable of dictating back every word that passes through that brilliant mind of yours, but you are certainly not weak. Time and time again you endure–with or without me by your side. And you may be able to weather these storms without me, but I shall endure each one with you that the Saints allow me to.” 

“It’s hard.” Kaz says plainly. 

“I’d like you to know that it is hard for me to be away from you as well.” Inej says, voice soft–as if hiding from the truth. “On the ship, I sleep like the dead because it’s exhausting each and every day.” 

Kaz tries not to be jealous at the mention of deep sleep. 

“But eating is difficult. Without you. It’s harder without you by my side.” 

“And have you been eating?” Kaz rasps, with that characteristic sternness born of need to defend. 

“I try to.” She admits. “I get by, but at nearly every meal I wish I was sitting here in the office with you. I long, like a stupid little girl, for you to sit by my side and wait with that determined expression on your face until I manage enough food to sustain me. I know you never understood the need to feel hungry; how could you? A child nearly starved in the streets all those years ago. Still, you ate–even when it made you ill–and you were patient.” 

At that Kaz scoffs. 

“You know you were, Kaz.” Inej scolds with a smile. 

“Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel. Remembered for his ruthlessness… and his patience.” Kaz jokes, before sobering once more. “Thank you.” 

Inej nods. 

“It’s not one way. Not like you seem to think. You don’t take and take. You give more than you could ever know.” 

Kaz swallows a rebuttal; some remark about his selfishness, about how what he has to give could never be enough for someone as good as her. 

“I’ll make you breakfast, once we wake.” He promises, knowing fully well it will be past breakfast time by that hour. Inej had always favored breakfast food, and frankly he preferred it most of the time as well. “Something tells me we aren’t going to be out of bed in time to accept Wylan's offer for brunch.” 

“No, probably not. Though, we should make sure it happens before I leave again.” 

The silence weighs heavy for a moment. 

“I can’t go with you, Inej. I want to be with you–Ghezen, I hope you can see that–but, I can’t be on ship for months at a time. I can’t be away from the Barrel that long.” Kaz pauses to force in a deep breath and banish the waters lapping at his skin. “I can’t be surrounded by water for days and days at a time.” 

Inej nods, like she knew this was the answer that was coming. She turns her face into the pillow for a moment–blinking away tears that feel ridiculous but inevitable. Kaz goes on. 

“I was thinking that; well, I’ve been to Ravka. I’ve met your family, seen your home. I have no family to offer–no customs and foreign lands to show you. Still, I want to show you where I came from. My home.” 

The word home is heavy in his mouth, and Kaz must swallow thickly before continuing on. 

“Jeser and I fixed up my childhood house in Lij last summer; the farm I bought all those years ago. I’d like to take you there–if you’ll let me. I know it's not the same as going off on your ship for months, but it’s something.” 

“I’d like that a lot.” 

Kaz shuffles against his pillows; trying to get comfortable and ease the pressure on bruised hip. He manages to roll partially on his side. There is still two feet of room between them with Kaz lingering on the edge of the mattress, Inej pressed to the wall, and a series of pillows lined between their bodies. He feels oddly at ease considering the warmth of her body is so near; Inej must feel the same, as she sinks under the crisp coverlet. She tosses another pillow behind him and sits patiently waiting for Kaz to settle. After a moment he does. 

“We could go in a few days; after I settled business here.” Kaz suggests sleepily. 

“I want to see where you played as a kid: the trees you climbed and the places you swam.” 

“I’ll show you it. All of it.”  

“Anything. Everything.” Inej murmurs, echoing the words he had told her just minutes before. 

Inej can’t help but smile at Kaz’s closed eyes; his dark, long lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. Inej drapes her braids over her shoulders, stretching one last time, before cradling her head against her elbow. He can feel her fingers cautiously comb his hair back. Kaz tries to match his breath to Inej’s steady rhythm; slowly, his strained breathing comes easier and he manages to ignore his aching ribs. As Kaz’s brow relaxes, Inej gives into her own fatigue and closes her eyes. A soft snoring nose escapes from Kaz’s mouth, and Inej smiles once more. 

“Sleep well, Kaz Rietveld.”