roughworkdone | Open Post

[ She gets a message from him, filled with its usual brevity and vagueness. It shouldn't even be necessary, considering they're under the same roof, but their schedules don't match. He's been off doing—something, picking locks for Per Haskell, probably.

And she's been listening. Learning the streets, the rooftops, every curve and incline. It hasn't been truly difficult work, but it's still challenging. A roof isn't exactly a high wire, though the principles are the same; keep moving and don't look down. He's seemed impressed with how rapidly she's taken to learning the Barrel. Well, she thinks he might be impressed. His face is unreadable most of the time.

At any rate, she's here in his office, standing in front of his desk. ]

You asked for me?

Inej is already making good on his investment. Per Haskell gave him a lot of shit for buying her contract and he's had to endure jokes and sneers from every side about the girl from the Menagerie.

Well. Endure is putting it strongly; Kaz put an end to the teasing as quickly as it started, but that it existed at all bothers him. Inej will have to get used to it, she'll have to find her own way to deal with rumors and whispers and snickering jeers from corners. Kaz can't - and won't - protect her. He didn't promise her safety, only opportunity and more freedom than she'd ever find with Tante Helene.

He knows the moment she enters the room; she surprised him once, never again. He makes her wait a minute as he finishes a column in the Crow Club's ledger.

"Yeah."

Kaz leans down to open a satchel at his feet and slides a knife across the table. Not just a little switch blade or utility knife: this knife is designed to hurt people, to cut flesh and chip bone.

"This is for you."

She waits patiently as he finishes his work, watching him write in the tidy numbers of the Club's books. From the moment she met him, she'd known he was bright, clever; looking at the neat columns he's laid out on paper just reinforces the fact. He makes it look as effortless as her walking a high wire and she wonders, not for the first time and certainly not the last, how many other talents he has buried under the brutal face.

Her patience is rewarded, the deliberately softened thunk of the object he places on his desk immediately catching her attention. It's a blade, sheathed, and she steps closer, hand hovering over the handle.

"Part of my contract?" How much will this set her back? What does she owe? Why give this to her? The questions flood, each one sitting on the tip of her tongue, waiting.

"Tool of the trade," he corrects as he sits back. Kaz lifts his dark eyes to watch Inej, to study her reaction to this. He won't call it a gift. It isn't. Inej needs to know how to protect herself and this is a start. She's small but she's fast, and she's a quick learner.

But she can't survive here without teeth and claws. She has the bite; he can provide the claws. Or at least get her collection started.

"Seemed like it would suit you."

More elegant than a gun; also silent when used right. If Inej is to become a spider, silence will always be her ally.

He's studying her and she does the same right back. His expression doesn't betray anything, is simply neutral, and she feels—anxious. Uneasy. No gift here goes without some price.

But then, this is the person who took her from the Menagerie. He hadn't known anything about her and yet, he'd come back, paperwork in hand, freeing her from Tante Heleen. Physically, at least. The furrows that whole experience left in her soul would be felt for longer, this she already knows.

Carefully, she picks up the knife, immediately satisfied with the weight in her hand. She pulls the sheath off and her mouth opens in an unsaid and startled oh. The blade is beautiful, polished to a gleam and the edges seemingly sharp enough to cut through anything. Her aunt had some like this, used for the knife-throwing act; she knows how much it might be worth.

And knows that worth doubled, here, because now she has something she can really protect herself with. This is no flimsy pocket knife. She slides the sheath back on, turning it over in her hands once before meeting his gaze.

"Kaz, this is—you're sure?" He never seems to do anything he isn't sure of, but she still has to ask.

"It isn't a gift," he rasps. "You won't be thanking me after the first time you use it."

Kaz is almost certain of that, especially if the first time she uses it is in anything but self defense. And it might be, though he has resolved to avoid asking Inej to commit murder if he can help it. Menacing, blackmailing, and who knew what else would come up in her line of duty.

"Consider it a tool of the trade."

He's protecting his investment, or at the very least giving her the means to protect herself.

He says it isn't a gift, but he isn't hanging the cost of it over her head. So while he might not mean it to be one, it is. Even if it will invite more danger, like he says. She can only imagine the kind of damage this could do and while she's glad to have a reliable looking weapon, she's vaguely nauseated at the possibility of having to use it. Of having to spill blood.

Still, she doesn't let that show, just stands up a little straighter, knife clutched in both hands.

"It's well-made; thank you." She's never owned something this expensive. Even the dresses she wore for the performances with the caravan couldn't compare, most likely.

"Will you need me for the rest of the day?" There's some practicing to do, now.

"Per Haskell wants an update on the Merchant Council's plans regarding Pieter Visser's holdings now that the will has been dissolved."

Family dispute. No named heirs. A significant portion of the property goes to the city in some way or another which means the Merchant Council will have their hands in it. And it's entirely likely that Kaz is more interested than Per Haskell is, but he invokes the old man's name all the same. Inej technically works for him, after all, not Kaz.

"Pim or Anika can help you practice in the mean time. Blade's sharp so watch yourself."

She has her suspicions about whether Per Haskell would be interested in such a thing– well, that he held more than a passing interest, anyway. It hasn't been long, her time with the Dregs, but she'd felt the undercurrent of it quickly. Had sensed that Haskell was the leader but sat upon his laurels, content to take the path of laziness. The one that gave him easy wins, near bloodless.

The boy sitting before her is nothing like that. He has teeth and claws, ones he isn't afraid to use. She'll be just another one of those weapons, she thinks, but the thought doesn't unsettle her. In a way, it feels traitorous. Per Haskell runs the Dregs, not Kaz; he's the one with the final say.

And yet, every part of her whispers– Per Haskell runs the Dregs, for now.

"Anika's faster." Just a fact, no slight against Pim. She starts to turn, clearly dismissed, but crooks the ghost of a smile at him.

"Not as sharp as someone's tongue, sometimes."

It's at least 8 months between now and her last visit to Ketterdam. Most of that time had flown, the sea and its demands keeping her busy. In that time, they'd taken down two slaver ships and returned most of the girls (and young boys) back to where they belonged. And if they didn't have someplace to go, she had found them safe places. A number remained on the ship now, either wanting to start afresh in Ketterdam—or Kerch in general—or having decided to stay with her crew for a lack of elsewhere to go.

Overall, it was tiring work, all the travel. Fulfilling, but tiring. She had been glad to see the familiar span of Ketterdam's harbor and, as they'd gotten closer, the particular cadence of the docks. Some of the buildings she didn't recognize, but that was simply something she'd come to expect from being away for so long. Yet, she could pick out the spires of Ghezen's church, could make out the slant of the Crow Club's roof.

Home, or something like it.

Upon disembarking, she'd been greeted briefly by Jesper, who told her Wylan was busy; he extended an invite for her to stay at the mercher's house before apologetically bowing out on some other business. It had made her happy to see her friends doing well over the past few years, their various pursuits keeping them busy but in good health.

With no one to waylay her, she goes directly along a familiar route, one that will take her across the rooftops to the Slat. No longer is she disappointed if she doesn't find Kaz at the harbor; he has an entire Barrel to run, after all. She knows he'll show up at some point to his room in the attic. Anticipation runs through her as she easily lifts the window to said room, sliding in off the ledge. He isn't in yet, is probably overseeing business at the club or somewhere in the Barrel itself. Inej takes a seat by the window, preoccupies herself with feeding the crows a bit of leftover biscuit she'd brought specifically.

Kaz arrives less than an hour after Inej does: the familiar sound of his cane and his gait on the steps announcing his presence before he ever gets to the door. He uses Haskell's old office for business, but the attic is still his. He can't give it up: he's been through so much in that little apartment.

He pauses once he's inside, once the door closes behind him. Kaz's dark gaze flicks to the window and he can feel the sudden heart-hammering rush of anticipation when he sees the shape of her there.

"I should just fashion some shutters to look like a door," he rasps, sounding as fond as he can get. "Not that you would ever knock."

He missed her. Ketterdam keeps him busy, but in the time between visits he feels her absence like an ache. Kaz is still learning to cope with that particular brand of vulnerability. Inej wouldn't like for him to call it a weakness, even if Dirtyhands would think it exactly that.

Kaz makes his way closer and there's a smile playing across his mouth. A smile that exists just for Inej Ghafa.

She does hear him coming, the tap of his cane unmistakable even from the sounds coming up the stairwell. Hearing it brings a sense of anticipation, a small rush in her veins; she's missed him. Missed the scratch of his voice, the steadiness of his hand in hers. Being a ship captain is her dream, it's everything, but she catches herself thinking: Kaz would've liked to see that, whether it was a glimmering sunrise or a storm whipping itself into existence.

(Or, the most recent occasion—her getting soaked to the bone, clothes clinging, and looking something like a wet cat).

The door opens and closes with a faint click and only then does she turn her gaze away from the sill and the crows hopping along it.

"Window or door, it remains an entrance." She tilts her head, returning the smile she can see forming on his mouth. "You'd have no sill to perch on, though." As if he's ever sat on the window ledge half as often as she has. They both know that's not the point. Inej extends a hand, palm facing up, a curiously expectant look on her face as she meets his gaze.

He thinks of her just as often. Some days he'll be working at his desk and he'll look up, thinking to tell her something, and she simply isn't there. Or he'll have a job in mind that requires his Wraith only to realize that he won't see her again for months.

Kaz lets his gloved fingers drift over Inej's palm as soon as he can reach her. It's been eight months and it feels like they have to remember each other all over again; it's ridiculous, he knows every line and curve of her, dreams of her when she's gone. But now she's real again.

"I'll extend the sill," he says quietly, as he lifts his gaze to meet hers. "You'll always have a place here."

His fingers trail over her palm and she immediately feels a sense of relief. Like an arrow set back on course. Nevermind that he's still wearing the gloves—she knows better than to expect them to pick up exactly where they left off. No longer is she disappointed by this, having had a couple of years to adjust to their quirks, to give each other space to shake off ghosts that cling like gossamer strands.

"It's good to be back." That doesn't quite encapsulate everything she feels coming to Ketterdam, to this particular room and this specific person, but it's a start. Just like the touch, the words start off subtle despite the underlying vulnerability.

Sliding off of the sill, she stands in front of him, chin tilted up so she doesn't break their contact. "Come greet me properly, Dirtyhands."

Kaz's breath catches as she stands and makes her gentle demand. For a few heartbeats he just looks at her, feeling like he's on a wire, and he has none of Inej's poise. He looks at her, takes in the shape of her eyebrows and the curve of her jaw and her eyes--

Saints.

She's too good, will always be too good, for the likes of the bastard of the Barrel.

Kaz brushes his fingers along the line of her cheekbone, then tips his head down to kiss her. It's light, a bare brush of lips, but he's been thinking of this moment for months. He feels lightheaded and he isn't sure if it's from the wanting or the sickness in him.

"I missed you, Wraith," he murmurs in the scant space between them.

She’s patient, always has been. Here, that’s amplified despite how much thrums under her skin. On the sea, she feels alive with motion, like she’s the push and pull of the tide itself. With Kaz, it’s a different kind of hum, like a warmth spreading out, a fire lit in her ribs.

Still, she stays where she is, waits for him to get his bearings, to take the slow inhale he does when he’s mentally gearing up.

As always, the waiting pays off. His touch is gentle, something that surprised and delighted her when they’d first down this. He’s nothing like what he portrays, not with her, the mask of Dirtyhands falling away. When his lips brush hers, she tips her chin into it, just a bit, sighing out contentedly.

“I missed you, Kaz Brekker.” She carefully slides her hands up to his shoulders, palms settling on the familiar span.

"Inej."

Kaz isn't religious, but he whispers her name like a prayer. He slides his arms around her, bringing her closer until there isn't space between them at all. His head tips down, brow against her hair. She smells like the sea.

Then he presses a kiss to her brow, and it feels just a little easier. Kaz wants to be the man that can sweep her into his arms, but this is what he can do right now. And as their layers come away, he know it will be easier. And then it will be time for her to leave again.

"I'm at your disposal for as long as you're here," he says with a faint smile. It isn't a small thing for him to offer, and he trusts that Inej won't actually abuse it so much that it takes him away from business. "Starting now."

Between them, there are lots of little moments she cherishes. Right now, this is one of them, when it's the first break in the armor before it all sluices away. If kissing her had caused the crack, this is a whole portion falling off, readying the rest to crumble. It's in how he pulls her so close the delineation of their bodies goes hazy, how he presses his brow to hers, kisses without prompting.

She keeps ahold of him, loops her arms around his chest so she can press her hands to his shoulder blades. Like this, she can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing; she feels safe.

"So much freedom." She replies, amused and grateful all in one. He's busier than usual nowadays, with the Barrel under his thumb. This isn't a light effort at all and she plans to make the most of it.

"Well, I've been sailing for nearly a month straight—" Inej starts off, gently extricating herself from his arms (there's a pang of regret, but she has plans). "—come help me relax." She finishes, tugging him along by the hand. Even if this ended up with them taking a nap on his bed, she'd be glad.

"So, a bath?" he teases, unable or unwilling to hold it back. Regardless of what change he may or may not be capable of, his sense of humor is probably beyond saving.

Kaz reluctantly lets Inej slip away from him. He follows after her, fingers curled around hers. He can feel the warmth of her touch through the thin leather. He hangs back just long enough to leave his cane resting against his desk, frees his hand long enough to shrug out of his coat to toss it in the same direction.

"What can I do?" he asks, more sincere. A bath isn't out of the realm of possibility, if she wants one.

Honestly, the suggestion isn't out of the question, even as she resists the urge to shake her head at him. At least he's lightened up enough to break the tension with humor. Progress.

She lets him go with only a faint bit of reluctance, which is immediately replaced by interest. Over the years, she's seen him shrug off his jacket hundreds of times but she hasn't gotten sick of it. There's something about how he rolls his shoulders to do it.

Blinking, she seems to consider, and then: "Lend me a shirt?" Because this one sure isn't staying on. Not that it's uncomfortable, it's just one too many layers and she's ready to be done with it. Her vest comes off first, an immediate sweep of relief going through her as she drapes it over the back of the nearby chair.

Kaz watches the vest come off and he feels the familiar stir of heat that used to make him so miserable. Back when he believed that he would never be able to act on physical desire again. Maybe it's been slow going, but at least there's something that feels more like hope now. He could do this. With Inej's help and her patience, he could do this.

It takes him a few seconds to realize Inej asked him for something, and without answering, he limps to the small wardrobe he's acquired for himself. He finds a shirt that he's absolutely certain has been laundered recently and offers it to Inej.

"We should keep clothes for you here," he says after a moment, surprised with himself for not thinking of it sooner. He knows Inej has things on the ship, but why should she have to worry about hauling clothes across the Barrel? He'll see to it before her next visit.

It's gratifying, that short delay before he answers. Well, not verbally, but a response all the same, as he hands her a shirt from the dresser. She sets it on the bed for now, working on methodically stripping out of her current clothes. Off come the boots, the pants, socks, shirt. There's nothing intentionally teasing about it, though she knows he's watching.

Last to come off is the compression vest, which she sighs after it drops to the floor. His shirt gets pulled on, familiar in the way it swamps her smaller frame.

"Then I won't have an excuse to wear yours." She says with a grin, as she neatly rolls up the sleeves. There's a logic in it, of course. Keeping a spare set of clothes isn't such a terrible idea. But maybe she likes how the air seems to shift as soon as she puts his shirt on. Maybe she likes being able to turn her nose towards the collar and catch his familiar smell underneath the soap.

He watches as Inej finishes undressing, utterly distracted as she reveals more and more of herself with the purpose of putting on his shirt. As a rule, Kaz Brekker doesn't blush, but he feels warmth creeping through him none the less.

Once the shirt is on, it's impossible not to notice how the hem brushes her thighs.

"Of course, how could I do anything to deny you that."

Kaz seems to consider for a moment, then rather deliberately slips off his gloves. He leaves them on a nightstand and keeps his eyes down as he slides off his suit jacket, then waistcoat. He's changed in front of her dozens of times now, but it's always different when he knows he has Inej's attention versus when his mind is on something else entirely, when changing is just a cursory move between one thing and another.

She laughs at his response, simply glad to be back in their personal rhythm. Now that she's undressed (and re-dressed, sort of), she takes a seat on the bed. It's well timed, because now she can turn her attention to Kaz as he starts to peel off the layers of his clothing. In what feels like forever ago, she could barely stand to watch, blush rising up every time he took his shirt off to wash.

Here, she has no problem looking, though a bit of heat still comes to color her cheeks. She fiddles with the hem of the borrowed shirt, fingers itching to comb through his hair or run down the back of his neck. It's near irrational, how much she suddenly wants to touch him, enough that she takes a slow breath in and then out to calm her fluttering pulse.

"You're the worst tease I've ever known."

"Worst as in bad or worst as in good?" he asks with a faint smirk as he looks up to meet her gaze. Kaz slides his suspenders off his shoulders before he attends to the buttons on his shirt. Every time they're together again, there's a few hours, a day, in which Kaz needs to reset himself. Needs to relearn and remember that touch is not all bad. He craves it from Inej regardless of how much he fears the consequences. And he is getting better. He knows he is.

He hasn't fainted on her yet. That has to mean something good.

And Inej is patient, maybe because she has to be or wants to be, or because she understands. Kaz is careful when he touches her, too. Because he wants to, his fingers itch to, and the last thing either of them wants or needs is to dredge up painful memories in the other.

Kaz pauses when his torso is bare, as if waiting for her nod to continue or stop.

"Still deciding—keep going." She's not distracted enough to lose her train of thought, nor the sense of amusement that's keeping the levity between them. It's not exactly tip-toeing, not like it used to be around their respective past, but it is careful handling. Each span of time requires a reset; for her, it's to remind herself that this is Kaz, who would never do anything to hurt her. Who, while he espouses using greed as his servant and lever, has proven time and again to care.

With that in mind, it's easier for her to want his hands on her. To know that the damage and violence they're capable of would never be turned on her. He isn't the men from the Menagerie and could never be.

"Unless you've gotten shy since I saw you last?" Sometimes, he makes it too easy to tease him.

Kaz rolls his dark eyes and resumes undressing.

"You know me," he rasps. "I've always been terribly modest."

This from the boy that used to shuck off his clothes while Inej sat in his window for a quick rinse from a basin. He's changed in front of her so many times that he never thought about it until he realized she was watching. Really watching.

Kaz strips down to the pale cotton shorts he wears beneath it all. His weight is balanced mostly on one leg to spare the other, and he is aroused. How could he not be by the sight of Inej in his shirt?

She still remembers her reaction when he'd first stripped in front of her. That's years ago now, soon after she'd been given her first knife. He'd been going over plans (something somewhat new to her, then) and then had simply unbuttoned his shirt and wiped off. She remembers mentally recoiling, the shock hitting her like a slap of cold water.

Quickly, she'd realized it hadn't been to tease or flirt or take advantage. He just didn't have a sense of modesty. It had taken her time to get used to, but eventually she'd gotten there.

(She also remembers how it felt that first time she'd seen him in a different light, how it seemed her heart would stutter out if she looked at his bare back for too long).

Her pulse still flutters now, but she's allowed to look her fill. So she does, admires the slant of his shoulders, the way the muscles work in his arms and stomach as he bends to pull his trousers off. There's a familiar wave of heat that settles under her skin when he straightens, left only in his shorts. Dark eyes sweep down the angle of his hips pointedly and then back up.

"Sit." Inej pats the spot next to her on the bed, fully intending to see how much he's willing to try and handle.

Kaz does as he's told and sits on the edge of the bed, near to Inej but not quite touching. The distance is for her as much him: he leaves it to her to cross, when she is ready. He never thought ceding control would gain him anything, thought it would grate against him as badly as any cage. But it doesn't. He puts power in Inej's hands and he trusts her not to abuse it.

It is, all at once, terrifying and freeing.

"Good to see you again, Wraith," he murmurs fondly, just so that he's said it out loud.

He sits as he's told and really, she'll never be over the strange pride she feels. It's more than the rush of power he's placing in her hands—though that certainly cannot be overstated—it's also the amount of time and trust they've both put into this. Here he is, Dirtyhands, bastard of the Barrel, following what she asks (demands) of him.

And here she is, the Wraith, the ghost of Ketterdam's streets, putting herself in a man's bed willingly. Here she is, with soft words that have all the might of a knife in the safe world they've made for themselves.

"And you as well, Kaz Brekker." There's a weight to her words, not just the warm gladness she has at being here again. It's also the awe of privilege, how he's letting her see what's beneath the armor, just like he said he would. A word kept. As if spurred on by this, she moves closer, purposely leans forward to let his shirt gape open, and carefully places a hand to his cheek. If he doesn't stiffen, she'll continue to touch a path downwards, palm laying flat on his chest.

Kaz can't help the way his gaze drops to the flash of warm skin beneath the open shirt. The hand on his cheek, soft and small and familiar, makes him swallow but he manages not to go tense. This has always been a slow exercise, frustrating in its glacial pace. He wants to give her more, everything, but it takes building up. Maybe faster this time than the last, but not instant.

As her hand slides down to press to his chest, goosebumps rise and fall and Kaz shivers beneath her touch. But he doesn't try to pull away, nor does he go tense and distant. He wants nothing more than to lay his hand over hers and his fingers twitch, but he can't quite bring himself to do it yet. But he wants to.

He doesn't lock up, which is testament to the progress they've made. She can tell he's still on edge, waiting for his past to drag him under. But he doesn't shy away, keeps letting her touch where she wants.

And well, she doesn't miss the way his gaze drops for those few precious seconds. A small smile curls her mouth and she can't help but tease.

"See something you like?" She pulls her hand away from his chest, leaning back and touching herself instead. Her hands cup her scant breasts, shirt pushed off to the sides so it gaped open properly. So much of her wants him to touch, but she knows this is a slow process. Until then, she'll let him adjust on his own.

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