where. – their house, hammersmith.
when. – 16th of july, 2021.
No amount of blood shed by War’s panicked hands could undo the few minutes that have been replaying in Solomon’s mind. Sweat that had dried on his skin felt sharply cold as something brought him into a melted awakening, all hazy and nauseating. A pristine scene that left no trail. The noise of people on the streets, certainly no longer six in the morning. This is a trained man, whose first instinct was to reach one hand for the gun on his hidden pocket, another in Gabrielle Warden’s direction - but her chair was empty. He reaches for another cigarette, the old one still warm on the ashtray, just as he reaches for his Horsemen in his head. Again and again and again. The first few days were sleepless, a paranoid soldier guilty of losing the one they’d sworn to protect for countless years now. Then he got it all a bit more under control, becoming much more useful in the search for the missing Horsemen than before ( he did always act out heart first, even if his heart was more often made up of unloving emotions than any sort of softness ). The last time he’d gotten involved in the hunt for a Warden had been for naught, though, and the comparison weighed heavy on his chest - but he’d still kicked down every door and face for his maker. He’d used ancient contacts, he’d made promises ( never ones he could not fill, but certainly some that could cost him harsh ), any sort of bargain but it was fruitless. He’d slept eventually, head heavy on Kashvi’s skin, whispers of guilt, sadness, FEAR. War was trembling, and one of its longest serving soldier shook right along with it.
But it has been a week. No sign of Gabrielle, no clue on how or why it had happened at all, and no instructions from her on how to proceed. “See, this is what’s so damn incomprehensible.” The sentence starts without the context which lives in his head, but that’s not a new habit. He sits right on the edge between the living room and the backyard, patio chair engulfed in the warm light from inside, voice drowned by the low sound of music that Sol isn’t picking up on. The pushed back glass doors comply with the summer breeze, not quite comfortable at such hours. “There’s no measures in place. Why wouldn’t there be a plan B? C? The bloody alphabet and back.” They’ll hear you, his mind yells, but the house has been swiped for bugs on the daily, and the closest neighbours are offices, closed and empty. Solomon does ignore the pesky voice on his shoulder more and more these days, preferring to chat with the voice of the one approaching the glass doors. “I’m sure there’s one on her will, I guess, but what the hell happens in shit like this? So fucking reckless.” The criticism feels acidic on his tongue, but it has felt especially venomous in the later years. Eyes gaze up at his partner, staying there for a moment too long as he continuously inhales and exhales sharply, like someone about to open a dam of thoughts, yet no words come out. She knows this. She’s thought it too, we all have. Had the Wardens spoken about this amongst themselves? Had confused Angels whispered the same fear?
Solomon’s mother used to tell him that a fear would only become real once it was a sound, out into the world. The monsters under his bed were only his foes if he told the world that they existed, and that he was afraid. Her voice warms his brain with every inhale - sin temor, keep all your fear in your head where no one else can hear it. And he’d held it in, every childish scare, but also every atom shaking kind of fear. No, his mother could never forget his face when she was living across the ocean, only listening to him on the telephone ( because he didn’t tell her that ). No, his little sister, the new and accomplished one, would never be more preferred over him ( because he didn’t tell her that ). No, that first bullet hole on his leg couldn’t be the end of his less than two decades worth of life ( because he didn’t tell them that ). No, that hospital trip that told him his life would forever have to adapt couldn’t scare him ( because he didn’t tell them that, and even if he told it to himself, it would have gotten lost in the ringing in his ear ). It was a simple philosophy to get a restless child to sleep, but it has carried him through decades of a thorny life full of paralyzing fears that he refused to turn into reality. After a week of searching, however, it iss time to give that fear a corporeal form, even if it means it can now attack. “What do we do if she’s dead?”
Kashvi understands the weight of responsibility. All her life, she has carried her own responsibilities with a certain grace, almost effortless, though not at all. It comes with being only child in a family like hers, with being one of the oldest cousins, with being branded heiress in more ways than one. She knows responsibility. And when she watches it weigh on Solomon – who can hide so much less easily from her now, now that they have decided to live together permanently – she wishes to take it all off his shoulders, tell him it is not his to carry. But she cannot say that, because she’d carry that same burden if the roles had been reversed, though perhaps with less of the heaviness. Her loyalty to Gabrielle Warden had always been less strong than Solomon, after all, who might as well see the woman as a deity in her own right. The Wardens were proving to be more and more mortal with the days, though, and Kashvi does not take pleasure out of it. She does, however, feel proven right.
She looks at him as they sit, the heat at this hour still simmering. Skin flush, mostly bare except for the light, flowey fabrics, legs extended, all relaxation except for the crease between her brow, the pull of her shoulder muscles. “It makes no sense.” Gabrielle Warden must have had a plan, in the case of disappearance. In the case of her untimely demise. “Unless she was too arrogant to think that something like this could happen.” It’s what leaves them in limbo, the fact that they have been left with a gap where their leader should stand and no one stepping up. Saint and Remus a united front, which is warming to see, but also worrying. Her ambition has always been a strength and a vice at once, and it’s hard to not look at the place War has been left in and not see opportunity. Did others see it? Did Cemile sit at home, thinking about how she could protect her sister better if she took a leap? Did Domenico, Kai, even Rita? Would those that didn’t want to be here as much, like Liam, see this lack of concrete leadership as an opportunity? In the end, though, it’s not these worries that make her look at the empty Horseman spot with a hunger, but it’s her own selfishness. Her own righteousness. “Maybe she left no plan on purpose. Maybe she wants her children to fight it out.”
It’s something, at least, that Remus and Saint seem to not fight. Kashvi can see the strengthened bond between them and wonders if it will survive this blow to their family. She thinks, too, of Remus’ plans in Parliament, of the two children on the way. She thinks, too, of how similar Saint is to his mother — it might make more logistical sense for the youngest Warden to take to the throne, but then little change would be made. But she casts her thoughts aside, for a moment, gets up, moves behind Solomon. She pushes his body upright, softly, then takes to the knots in his shoulders. She’s quiet, for a moment, then, leans closer, thumbs pressing in the tendons of his neck, sensing the tenseness. “I don’t know.” It’s an admission. “It should be up to Remus and Saint, what we, as War, do.” Her hands rest, and she’s waiting a moment before she voices the but that is clearly coming. “But you’ve been here longer.” This, then, is where ambition and love go head to head and both win. Where she looks at herself and looks at Solomon, and puts his ambition first, not just because she thinks he’d do well ( he would ) but because she thinks him deserving, because she loves him. “You should have a say.” And more, so much more: but she doesn’t just say that yet. This is dangerous ground to be walking, after all, even in front of Solomon. Maybe that’s why she chooses to stand behind him rather than in front of him. “If there’s a gap to fill, why should we blindly fall in line for nepotism?”
