Ash

I couldn't decide if Raven could best be described as a tortoise or an ermine. The former had everything to do with his clothes--always some type of turtleneck with long sleeves that covered more skin that could reasonably be comfortable at this time of year. The ermine was those large, often startled eyes, his strange grace, and his penchant to hide somewhere around the house. He switched from collected to skittish at the flip of a coin, and I had yet to figure out what ticked him off.

The easy answer spelled Randy in big letters, but after our public argument at the pub, Randy had behaved as well as could be expected. I figured Mads might have something to do with the change as well, but I prefered to take full credit if anyone should ask. However, Randy's change hadn't done one bit of good if Raven's behaviour was anything to go by.

I remembered his fluttering heartbeat beneath my fingertips. How Raven had blinked with his wide eyes--how he'd fled the table at the pub. Since then, he'd scurried around unseen with such skill that wondered if he was still working for me.

I'd known from the start that this endeavour would complicate matters. I should have said no to Lara from the start instead of letting her persuade me to let someone inside the house. Now I was stuck with a guy I'd been determined to ignore, but desperately wanted to see.

Mads clamped into the kitchen, leaving a trail of soil behind her. She jerked when she saw me. "Jesus, you're a lurker these days, Ash."

"There's nothing lurky about standing inside my kitchen in full view."

"Well, you blend well then. I didn't see you." She aimed for the fridge in long strides. "What's for lunch?"

"It's not even 11 a.m. and you're already hungry? Did you skip breakfast again?" I smiled, well aware that she'd slept elsewhere.

"Oh, don't you give me that grin." She grabbed a wooden spoon from the bench and waved it in a mock threat. "Maybe it's time for you to get one of those flings from London if you're getting lonely."

"Hardly. It's not possible get a moment alone in this house."

Mads arched an eyebrow, and I knew what was coming. "You're ridiculously transparent. You're obviously in the kitchen to get a bit of company."

"I have nothing better to do." Which wasn't true at all.

"So, when are you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

She laughed, shaking her head as though she couldn't cope with my stupidity. "You want to ask me where Raven is hiding."

"Why would I ask that?" I'd practiced lying for years, but Mads had her ways. I hoped she wouldn't call me on this one.

"Because I've seen you these past days. You've taken long detours into rooms I think you barely knew existed before this week. Don't think I haven't seen you from the garden."

"You have been spying, in other words."

"Sue me, but that won't change that I'm right about this one." She looked awfully pleased with herself. "You've been all moony eyes since he got here, and I get it. He's a cute little button."

I misheard her at first which resulted in a choking sound.

"What?"

I couldn't really tell her that I'd heard 'bottom', because that wouldn't help me save face at all. "Nothing. And, I don't need to know where he is."

"Right. So if I tell you he's in the west wing bedroom where you first wanted him to sleep, you won't go anywhere near it?"

I recalled his reaction to the wallpaper. I'd wanted to put him as far away from my bedroom as possible, but that plan had gone to shit the second he'd mentioned arsenic.

"Look at that. You're smiling. You're not fooling anyone, Ash."

I pushed myself from the counter. "We're not having this discussion." That I found Raven attractive had nothing to do with anything. He was too young, too innocent, and too tempting.

If he'd been a regular hook-up in London, I would have sampled the goods and left it at that. Unfortunately I'd hired him for an unknown amount of time, and considering the size of this place, I doubted he'd be gone by next morning, if next month.

***

An hour later, I'd managed to forget all my good intentions. The bedroom looked exactly like I remembered it, old, worn and terribly green. Raven sat on the floor with his back against the bedframe, hunched over fraying pieces of paper. Absolutely focused, almost spindly in those fitted black clothes that hugged his thin arms and legs.

I cleared my throat, waiting for those large eyes to widen. They always did.

The papers fluttered, but the wary gaze I'd learned to expect had vanished.

"You have to see this." Raven smiled with his entire face. "These are letters signed by Charles the first. I can't believe it. First off, it's a formal summon to court, but listen to this: My dear and constant friend, now I see clearly that the Presbyterians disputes and contradicts boldly the consent of Fathers and the customs of the Catholic Church: and they hold that the Supreme Power is originally in the People to whom all Magistrats ought to account. Scotland must be protected from this treason. I remain your devoted friend. Charles R." Raven looked at me as though I'd hung the sun, while I had no idea what he was talking about.

"And what does all of this mean?" I tried to sound interested for once, if only to see that smile continue.

Raven's smile didn't falter even once. "This is dated before the Bishops' wars, when they fought over how to govern the Church of Scotland. Charles I believed in power, for himself, and for the church, not the people. It was a precursor to the civil war."

"And my ancestor was in someway involved?" I wondered if that was something to be proud of or not.

"I'm starting to think they were. Do you remember the comment in that diary entry I showed about being royalists. I think the Demaliers were, at least up to a point, but it's nothing surprising. They were of the peerage after all."

I wanted to ask him if all this reading in any way helped him determine the value of furniture and accessories in the house, but I didn't have the heart. I was nurturing a budding addiction to those smiles and the excitement in his voice. "It's quite strange to think my relatives were on speaking terms with the royals. Imagine me going up to Lizzie, chatting about the state of the world and our lost empire." I hoped to elicit a laugh this time--something to do with me and what I'd said, rather than words borrowed from centuries ago.

He did laugh, a quiet sort of thing, but still full of joy. "Lizzie. I can't believe you said that."

Reckless from the exchange and high on his infectious mood, I moved before I could stop myself, taking a seat next to him on the hardwood floor. "Can I touch them?" I pointed at the papers.

"Of course, they're yours." Still with that smile. He gave me the one he'd been holding.

The papers felt frail in my hands, ready to break apart. I wondered if this was what he saw, pieces of a life slowly fading from the world. That it had lasted this long struck me as a feat in itself. I doubted I would leave anything of note behind when I passed.

"How old are you, again?" I asked, wincing as I heard it. I'd been too wrapped up in spiraling thoughts that somehow made me think about my inevitable death. Mads would surely say I was coming down with a midlife crisis if I told her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ask."

He frowned. "Then why did you?"

I could almost sense what he was feeling--the worry that I judged him for being young.

"You have a full life in front of you." Yet another reason to stop thinking about his expressive eyes. "You have time to leave a mark for others to remember."

To my astonishment, he didn't appear confused at all after that cryptic statement. "I think we are all afraid of being forgotten. I've made it my duty to remember, even if others might not remember me. Each piece of history I'm fortunate enough to hold in my hands deserve its place in our collective memory."

My chest warmed in a way that wasn't at all comfortable or wanted. I reverted to what I knew best. Banter. "Even the junk you've found in this house? I know you've been in the cellars to poke around." It was safe and sufficiently lighthearted to scatter the intimacy I couldn't afford.

"This might look like junk to you," Raven brushed his fingers across another page, "but you never know what might prove important. How are we to judge value of something that will outlive us?"

The snarky side of me wanted to say 'it's only a letter', but I was beginning to understand how much this meant to him. Not the why, but at least the how. The why deluded me because I couldn't see how a young man, who should live as if he'd never considered death, would want to look back instead of forward.

"How long have you been interested in old things?"

He visibly relaxed, which only made me realize that he'd been tense before. "Since I was a child. I got it from my mother. She owns a small shop where she sells various things she's picked up across the country."

I couldn't help but smile. I pictured him as a small boy behind a counter, staring owlishly at the customers. Then, I realized he hadn't actually told me that. Like always, information about himself came in snippets.

"And the rest of your family?" I asked, hoping he would give me something more.

His gaze flickered to the windows, and within seconds, I had lost him.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me. I just thought we could even the score. Here you are, delving into my family secrets, and I know nothing about you." Again, I'd meant it in a teasing manner, but he appeared to retreat even further.

His voice grew quiet. "I can stop reading them if it bothers you."

"That's not at all what I meant." I clapped his shoulder, hoping in someway to brush this over. "Maybe I should just leave you to your work. Can't help you focus that I'm sitting here staring over your shoulder."

He nodded slowly. "I do have some work left."

When I finally thought he was getting more comfortable around me, I had to go and destroy it all. And to top it off, my fucking knees ached as I tried to stand. Way to make a guy remember his age.

I was on my way out when Raven's voice halted my steps. "I can't tell you more about my family because there is no one else."

When I looked over my shoulder, he was already busy reading and I had no idea how to respond. He was alone. So very alone, and I was the wrong guy for this on so many levels. I knew how many hopes I'd shredded over the years, how many promises I hadn't been able to keep. I was not a reliable source of comfort. Far from it.

A/N I don't know what it was with this chapter, but damn, I had the feels all the way through. I have no idea if that translated to what you actually felt while reading, but anyway. I'm happy :) This chapter from Ash's POV was mostly written to help me wrap my head around his character, but there might be more ones in the pipeline, we'll see. 

Do you want to see more of Ash like this? 

xox