A Small Thing about Magnus and Kravitz

It takes almost a year of dinners at their home for Magnus to notice. Once he does, the itchy splinter of it will not leave him alone, his comfortable comforting routine now irreversibly ruffled.

He arrives with a bottle of whatever beer he's brewed that month, and he sits at the table he made for them, and he eats Taako's food, laughs at Taako's jokes, answers Kravitz's polite questions after his shop and what his dogs are up to.

He often ends up alone with Taako, drying the plates Lucretia bought them in the kitchen, or perched on their couch next to the fireplace, or up on the roof with a joint shared between them, the city rumbling and glittering around them. That's the first thing Magnus notices -- how often Kravitz makes himself scarce, disappearing with a smile and a murmur of apology. And for a while Magnus thinks, how nice! How very like Kravitz to stand aside, to offer Taako privacy to catch up with an old friend.

It's early Spring when he realizes. He's helping Taako move furniture, which Taako could absolutely manage with magic, but prefers to have done with human hands he can order around while drinking lemonade. Caught up in the momentum of redecorating, Taako sets Magnus a task and then takes off for the next room, the next idea, returning with fresh opinions about the placement of end tables and corrections for whatever it is Magnus has just done.

When Taako breezes into the living room ahead of him, Kravitz is there already, sitting in his chair with a book and their cat. Kravitz smiles, and when asked, he agrees with Taako's insistence that the couch needs to be on the other side of the fireplace. And then Taako leaves Magnus to wrestle it into the place he's pointed out. And then Kravitz leaves immediately after, the book tucked under his arm.

It happens again in the study; in their bedroom. The pair of them chasing Kravitz in a circuit around the apartment, always smiling and good humored, always quietly relocating the moment Taako is gone.

Magnus doesn't say anything then, not while they're working and not over dinner, and not for the weeks that follow. He'd rather he was imagining things. He wants to be proven wrong.

At first he's hurt; bewildered. Then annoyed, at himself for caring and at Kravitz for being squirrely. And finally, on a long warm evening in midsummer, the crumbs of a slice of pie in front of him and a sweaty glass of iced tea in his hand, Magnus finds the end of his patience.

He's explaining about his plans for his new garden when Taako's attention shifts to the kitchen with a muttered, "Ah, shit!" Taako drops his napkin on his empty plate and pushes back from the table and says, "Hold that thought for a sec, Mags, the bread's gonna rise too much if I don't move it."

"Can't have that," Magnus says, and Taako flashes a grin as he ducks into the kitchen.

"That reminds me," Kravitz says. "I have something I need to take care of in-"

"Stop."

Already halfway out of his chair, Kravitz pauses with a guilty look that obliterates any doubt.

Magnus sighs and sets down his glass with a thunk. "Sit," he says, not unfriendly but not to be argued with, either, and Kravitz does as he's told. He has never seen Kravitz, a man who channels the will and power of a god, look anything like this nervous.

Magnus crosses his arms over his chest, and says, "Why are you avoiding me."

"I'm-" Magnus watches as the "not" dies on his lips. Kravitz frowns, and thinks, and finally says, "It seemed simpler."

That startles up a bark of laughter. "Than WHAT?"

"There are questions I imagine you want to ask me," Kravitz says. Carefully, like he's picking his way barefoot across a stony beach. "And I don't think that you'll enjoy the answers."

"Questions."

"About..." Kravitz reaches of Taako's abandoned napkin, folds it into a square, sets it back on the plate again, takes a sip from his own glass. Then, at last, "About her."

A wave of heat rushes up Magnus's neck, burns on his chest and his cheeks. It's a strange cocktail of shame -- that he had not in fact thought to ask about her, not that evening nor all the months before; that now, reminded, he's desperate to.

"Well." His shoulders have drawn forward, his eyes on the flowers he'd brought for Taako. "Well, I...I guess I would like to know. How she is. I mean..." He swallows. "Is she happy? Does she...has she made any friends, or-"

"Magnus." Kravitz has never spoken to him this way, soft and a little tender. "I'm afraid that isn't how it works."

"What do you mean 'how it works?' How WHAT works?"

"She isn't...properly herself. Anymore."

"I've met ghosts," Magnus says, with an edge that only embarrasses him further. "I'm friends with a ghost. I WAS a ghost. I know how it works just fine."

"What happened to you and Noelle is the exception," Kravitz says. "She was ripped out of the astral plane with necromancy. Your own soul never made it that far."

"All right. All right, fine, but what's that have to do..." Magnus drums his fingers on his bicep. "So Julia's not in a robot, what difference does that make?"

"In the natural order of things," Kravitz says, "once your body has died, your soul joins with those who have passed before you. You become a part of something larger. Something peaceful, and profound, and very old."

Magnus watches him across the table. Waits for him to say the words he so clearly, desperately does not want to.

"It's beautiful. And it's safe, now, I promise you. Safe and cared for." Kravitz looks up, then; catches Magnus' gaze and holds it. "But it's....singular."

"There's a prison," Magnus says. "What do you need a prison for if you don't have PEOPLE."

"Not everyone is able or willing to make a smooth transition," Kravitz says. "Julia was."

Magnus can't think of any reply to that; stares until Kravitz lowers his eyes, and huffs out a frustrated sigh, and gets to his feet; watches, as, instead of making his escape, Kravitz circles around to stand just beside and behind Magnus' chair.

Kravitz lays a cold hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I realize this isn't what you wanted to hear."

Magnus stands so abruptly he knocks over his chair. Kravitz is still startling at the clatter when Magnus's arms close around him. His head fits perfectly under Magnus' chin.

It's a while before Magnus can speak again; before he can think of what he wants to say, and then, calm down enough to do so without making a fool of himself. "She's safe?"

"Yes," Kravitz says against the front of Magnus' shirt.

"Then it's fine," Magnus rasps. "That's fine. That's enough."

Taako's reappearance is so convenient as to make his exit retroactively suspicious. He sweeps into the room sill wearing his apron, dusty with flour and smiling. "Bread's in the oven, coffee's brewing, dishes can fuckin' wait."

Magnus and Kravitz step apart, although not quickly; not embarrassed.

Taako pours himself another glass of tea and says, "Mags, PLEASE tell me you got the good shit from Avi."

"You're absolutely forbidden to redecorate while high," Kravitz says mildly. "Putting my foot down here."

Taako slouches over to kiss his cheek. "Spoil sport."

Magnus chuckles, smiling. He likes to see them together. "So we're done for the night, then?"

Taako quirks an eyebrow. "I don't know," he says. "Are we?"

Magnus reaches over to thump Kravitz on the back. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, we're good."