NC-17; warnings for mentions of incest, non-con, abuse and various kinks-gone-wrong.
The ship is the one place where they can consistently have time, and privacy, and Eight is...surprised...that after the first few nights Angelo doesn't want to take advantage of it. But then, Angelo hasn't quite been himself since they left Neos and the brittle near-hysteria wore off into a strange restlessness.
Eight thinks he might just be reacting to the freedom symbolized by Angelo abandoning his ruined uniform. He doubts Angelo could actually defy Marcello yet, but it's a start.
It isn't until he sees Angelo with Jessica, arms around her, lips pressed against hers, that he understands.
Eight catches him a few days later. "I've seen you with Jessica," he says.
He doesn't know what he expects. Guilt? Denial? Certainly not the puzzled reaction he gets.
"I imagine you have."
"Are you using her, too?"
Angelo shakes his head, but this, too, is confusion rather than denial. "Using her?"
"Like you did me," Eight snaps, his voice bitter.
He sees understanding in Angelo's eyes, followed by hurt. Angelo's expression hardens. "I doubt Marcello left me capable of anything else." His bitterness matches Eight's.
He turns and walks away. Eight can't find the words to call him back.
Jessica's arms slide around him from behind, and he desperately wants to turn in her embrace and hold her. His knuckles whiten on the rail as he holds himself in place.
"What's wrong?" He feels her breath on his back through the lightweight tunic.
"Nothing."
"You're a terrible liar."
It would seem I'm a very good liar, he thinks. At least, to myself.
"Angelo," there's a note of pleading in her voice, "I can't help if you won't tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know what's wrong."
He can't say he loves her. And Eight.
Because he's apparently very mistaken.
"Why?" Eight doesn't expect an answer; Angelo didn't answer Jessica, for all her pleading. He's shocked when Angelo gives him one.
"Do you think I'm so like my brother that I want to use people, even unwittingly?" As has become typical for Angelo, the tone is polite, and so distant that he may as well be on the other side of the world.
Eight winces. "No."
"Then why would you expect me to keep deluding myself?"
"Deluding yourself?"
"That I loved her." Angelo pauses; for a moment the distance is gone, replaced by something all-too-familiar. "That I loved you both."
"What's so hard to believe? I have a fine history of convincing myself Marcello cared about me. Why shouldn't I be able to convince myself I'm capable of caring for others?" Angelo's voice rises for the first time. "I thought I loved you. I thought I loved Jessica, too. But I don't actually... I don't know if I can love anyone."
"Do you still think you love Jessica?" It's not the question Eight wants to ask, but the only one he dares.
"I know it's not real."
The look in Angelo's eyes tells Eight what a terrible mistake he made.
Eight thinks Jessica's persistence is probably the only thing keeping Angelo from withdrawing completely. It leaves him grateful, jealous, and guilty over just how he confronted Angelo. Eight can't help watching them, and for the most part the jealousy is held at bay by the guilt, because even with Jessica Angelo's reserved, as if questioning everything he does before he dares to act.
He feels worse that Angelo doesn't seem to hold it against him. They aren't friends anymore, but when Angelo turns away from him it's with shame, not anger.
Eight wishes he dared be as persistent as Jessica.
He wakes, arms pinned, mind racing, wondering what he's done what he's done what he'll do, biting back a scream because screaming's useless except as a goad for further punishments.
Then his arms are free, and there's a gentle hand in the center of his back, a soft voice assuring him he's safe.
He slumps back down in the bed. He'd be ashamed if Marcello hadn't taught him so many other sources of shame that a nightmare is nothing.
"Marcello?" Jessica says his brother's name like a curse.
"Who else?" He wants it to sound like a joke.
It doesn't.
"You miss Eight." Jessica laughs at his expression of surprise. "You two didn't think you were fooling anyone, did you?"
Angelo shrugs. "It doesn't matter."
"Why not?"
Ignoring her won't avoid more questions. "Because I'm with you now," he says; her expression tells him that's not good enough. "And because what I... thought I felt... wasn't real."
"I don't believe that."
"Eight said..." He stops; it hurts too much, admitting I used him.
"You love him."
"How can you know, when I don't?"
"Because," she wraps her arms around him, "you look at him the way you look at me."
"Tell me what happened," Jessica says.
"What do you mean?" It's almost convincing, except for the way he tenses.
"You love Eight." It doesn't quite hurt to say the words. "But you're here with me."
"I love you, too," Angelo says, and oddly, it's the too that makes her feel better. Or perhaps not so odd; if he'd denied loving Eight, she'd have known he was lying.
Jessica props herself up on one arm; her other hand cups Angelo's cheek, so he can't look away. "Something happened, or you wouldn't be here."
Angelo laughs without humor. "A great many things happened to bring me here." He wraps his arms around her. "Some of them were even pleasant."
"What happened with you and Eight?"
"I just wanted the chance to be with you."
He's sincere and confused and so obviously hurting that she can't imagine not giving in to whatever he might want. "How hard did you try to work out Eight's objections?"
"I didn't know he had any objections."
She frowns down at him. "Did the two of you ever talk about anything?" she asks in mild exasperation.
Angelo takes the question seriously. "Marcello."
"So the first he knew about us was when he caught you with me." She wants to laugh, because it makes a horrible kind of sense that it would never dawn on Angelo to discuss this. "You know, not over-reacting the way your brother does doesn't mean Eight hasn't got feelings."
"I know he has feelings."
"You hurt him," she explains, and almost asks how he'd feel if he discovered Eight was sleeping with someone else, but she doubts Angelo was ever allowed to be jealous. "He saw us together and thought you'd chosen me over him, without even telling him." She leans down to kiss him before he can protest. "And I know that isn't what happened, but he doesn't."
"He said I used him. He asked if I was using you."
And that explained why he'd spent days trying to avoid her. "He can't know how you feel if you don't tell him," she says, "and he certainly can't tell you what you're feeling."
"I can't swear he isn't right."
"I can't either." She leans down and kisses him again. "But the only way to know, is to see what happens."
Their first night in Baccarat, Eight's startled when Jessica drops into his lap and begins kissing him.
It's hard to speak around her mouth. "I thought... you and Angelo..."
"This is for Angelo," she whispers against his cheek. "You may not believe him when he says he loves us both, but I do."
"You know?" It's a bigger surprise than the kissing.
"I'm not stupid. Or blind."
Eight glances at Angelo. He looks at Eight for the first time in weeks, hunger in his eyes.
"You're sure?"
Jessica nods. Eight slides his arms around her and lets himself enjoy it.
Eight isn't surprised to find Angelo waiting when they go up to Jessica's room. Even so, they stare at each other for awkward moments, neither sure what to do, Jessica obviously waiting for one of them to do something.
Finally, Angelo straightens away from the wall. His eyes are fixed on Eight's. Eight doesn't think it's a challenge, but even if it is it's such a damned relief after the past weeks that he doesn't care.
Angelo's close enough to touch. Eight thinks he should say something, do something.
A moment later, Angelo takes the decision out of his hands.
He finds himself backed against the wall, Angelo's hands on his shoulders and lips against his. He doubts he could get away if he wanted to, but escape is the farthest thing from his mind.
Breathing hard and fast, they barely stumble through the door Jessica holds open before their hands are on each other again.
Eight tugs the ribbon from Angelo's hair, carefully curls his fingers in the strands. Angelo falters for a moment, then captures Eight's mouth again.
"Are you sure?" Eight asks as soon as he can speak.
"Of course I am." Angelo smiles. "I love you."
He doesn't think about it very hard. He's missed Angelo, whose deft fingers are busy proving he hasn't forgotten anything in their weeks apart.
He can't completely stop thinking, though. When he can speak he asks, "What changed your mind?"
Lips brush lightly under his ear. "Changed my mind?"
Distracted, Eight still manages, "You said you only thought you loved me."
"I didn't change my mind. I decided you were wrong about my motives." Angelo's voice wavers on "wrong", body tensing as if unsure the criticism will be permitted.
Eight slides his hand under Angelo's shirt. "I can be wrong."
He's lost control of the situation, completely at the mercy of gentle hands and gentler mouths. They know him too well, and he's struck with a sudden need to resist, to make sure resistance will be permitted.
Both go still, as he knew - of course he knew - they would; Eight asks if he's all right. He nods.
They lie tangled together, Jessica stroking his hair, until his breathing calms and the arousal that was half fear fades. He kisses Jessica; they begin again.
They know him frighteningly well. But he trusts they won't use that knowledge against him.
Eight's used to Angelo being prone to restlessness and sudden, frightened awakenings; it's a shock to see him deeply asleep between them. He moves slowly so as not to disturb that slumber, leaning up on one elbow to look at Jessica.
"How did...?"
She smiles, sated and self-satisfied. "We've talked a lot. You should try it some time. Not," she adds, reaching over Angelo to run a hand down his chest, "that I can blame either of you for being more interested in other things."
Her hand continues lower, until Eight wishes they didn't have to worry about waking Angelo.
He can't remember ever being able to sleep through the night. He supposes he may have, as a child, but if so he suspects his years with Marcello have destroyed the ability.
It's a shock, therefore, to fall asleep between Eight and Jessica and wake with the sun filtering through the shuttered window at an obscenely late angle, but have no memories of nightmares or panicked scrabbling to wakefulness, of trying not to wake the others or being soothed back to sleep by them.
It's probably a fluke. He prefers to think it's confirmation he's finally made the right decision.
"You're in a good mood."
There's laughter in Jessica's voice; Angelo can't help but smile in response. "Is there some reason I shouldn't be? As soon as we defeat Dhoulmagus..."
He stops; he doesn't know what will happen. He's given up on returning to the Abbey, but he has no reason to believe Jessica and Eight don't want to return to their lives.
Their very separate lives, that never included him.
Jessica wraps her arms around him. "As soon as we defeat Dhoulmagus, we'll have a lot more time for each other," she assures him.
He tries to believe her.
He truly isn't sorry that their quest has hit another delay, though he knows he should be. Jessica is unhappy, and King Trode is ensuring Eight is, as well. He hides his reaction, tells himself he should be upset for them, no matter that this is giving him more time, and tries not to hope Dhoulmagus has moved on by the time they get back to the Dark Ruins.
He never quite convinces himself.
They're still nearly a week from Argonia - he knows because King Trode spends the entire day complaining about it - when the sound of his cabin door opening and closing jerks him from an uneasy sleep. He blinks as Eight crosses the room. This isn't part of their routine; he's more comfortable going to the others than having them come to him.
Eight doesn't say anything, doesn't squeeze onto the narrow bed, doesn't even touch him, just sits on the floor and rests his head on the blanket near Angelo's hand.
Angelo runs his hand through Eight's sleep-tangled hair. "Are you all right?"
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," Angelo says; true, at least in the sense that Eight's quiet entry never would have awakened him if Marcello hadn't spent years conditioning him first. "What's wrong?"
"I'm just..." Eight sighs. "Tired. Of this. The quest. Sometimes..." He sighs again. "It feels like the whole thing is cursed."
"We'll end it soon." His hand slips down to Eight's shoulder, kneading tense muscles. "Why are you here, if you didn't intend to wake me?"
"To remind myself."
"Of what?"
Eight's hand comes up to cover his. "That something good has come of this."
It's a few moments before Angelo can speak. "Come here," he says, a little surprised his voice doesn't shake.
Eight looks at him, and he does look tired, tired and discouraged. Angelo tugs at his shoulder. "Come here," he repeats, and after a moment Eight pulls himself onto the bed. He settles with his back against Angelo, the tension in his body even more apparent.
Angelo feels like he should say something, but he isn't sure what, exactly. So he remains silent, simply holding Eight snugly against him.
It must be enough, because Eight finally relaxes enough to sleep.
Even once they've sailed south to Argonia, they have several days' journey to reach the capitol. It's all taking so long; Jessica can't bear knowing they had her brother's murderer cornered and had to leave him, can't bear the thought he might slip away again.
It isn't fair to take it out on Angelo and Eight, but she doesn't want to talk or be reassured; she wants this to be over.
She expects - almost hopes - they'll start avoiding her, give her less chance to say something unforgivable. And she prays she can make amends once Dhoulmagus is dead.
"Jess?"
Angelo's voice is hesitant, and Jessica feels doubly guilty for the way she's been acting. She stretches a hand toward where he's sitting, watching her. "You should get some sleep," she says, and hopes he doesn't think she's telling him to go away.
He takes her hand. "I'm worried about you," he says, not looking at her, all his attention on the warm lines he's tracing on her skin. "We're both worried."
She wants to tell him not to worry. She wants to pull him down next to her and let him reassure her. She wants to yell at him that she doesn't need him, what she needs is for Dhoulmagus to be dead. She wants to admit she's terrified they're going to fail.
She does none of these things, and Angelo says nothing more. But somehow, by the time the camp goes quiet and Eight joins them, her head is pillowed against Angelo's leg and his hands are kneading the tension out of her shoulders.
Eight doesn't say anything, either, just shifts the blankets enough to begin working knots she hadn't noticed out of her lower back.
She sniffles a little as her body relaxes under their touch, though she doesn't let herself cry; she hasn't cried since she vowed to avenge Alistair's death. She won't cry until she's succeeded, or given up hope.
And she doesn't think Eight and Angelo are going to let her give up hope.
Jessica thinks she should feel something.
She stares at the pile of dust that was once Dhoulmagus, and thinks she should feel...triumph, relief. Something.
Instead, all she feels is empty, and almost unbearably tired.
"Jessica?" Angelo's voice, pitched low, meant only for her. "Are you all right?"
She doesn't look at him. "I thought it would be different."
"If you need to talk..." He hesitates, hand brushing hers. "I'm a good listener."
"I know." She forces a smile. "Maybe later," she says, because she thinks she would like to talk, if she could figure out what she needed to say.
Angelo goes through first day after Jessica disappears in a daze. Eight's worry is split equally between him and Jessica, and he's grateful when they finally make camp and the others go to sleep, leaving him the first watch.
Angelo's in his blankets, too tense to be sleeping. Eight settles cross-legged beside him and reaches out to stroke his hair. "We'll find her."
"She wouldn't have left if she wanted to be found." His voice is hollow.
Eight wishes he could be surprised that Angelo is so quick to expect betrayal. "No," he corrects. "She wouldn't have left at all."
