A General Truce

The Guardian rarely came to visit his residence, even though the Lady Lara-Le now resided there, and Wynmacher knew it was more a matter of the bitterness toward his wife leaving him than any resentment towards a man that he had been close friends with throughout high school and university. The man may have not appreciated him for stepping in as he did, but he was unaware of the extent of the problems until the woman had overstepped the boundaries he had tried to make, and before he knew it, they were engaged in adultery when he was only trying to help tie their marriage back into some sort of order. Actually, that the man even bothered to look his way, no less forgive him, and tolerate his presence was some sort of small miracle.

So it was some matter of surprise when he answered the doorbell and found Locke standing out in the hall embarrassedly, a sleety coat in one arm, slowly making a puddle on their doorstep, and a wrapped rectangular object in the other. Wyn didnÕt even question the why, the motives, the timing. He just let the man in and hung his coat up for him on the rack. The place had sparse decorations that reflected the holiday season, and Locke didnÕt know if it was Lara or WynÕs decision to leave the place so empty and cold. Given the manÕs apologetic look, it was probably more the womanÕs intent to keep aesthetics over tradition.

Speaking of which, the Guardian looked around the room, his ears straining for the faint sound of a baby sleeping, or being attended to by his ex-wife. The place appeared to be silent but for the crackle of the fireplace (artificially generated by the geothermals rifts that they were able to process, partially contained on Angel Island, captured under the Lava Reef Zone, and piped over to Echidnopolis) and the hiss of old Michaelmas music. ÒI donÕt suppose-,Ó Locke started, and Wyn waved him down. ÒSheÕs out with the other ladies at the Auroreum for some sort of womenÕs function. It was my idea for her to take Kneecaps.Ó He could tell by the quirk of the manÕs mouth that Locke desperately wanted to say something on the idea of nicknaming their child something so foolish and probably detrimental to their development. It went unvoiced though.

ÒIÉ I should come back later then,Ó Locke tried weakly, already lurching for the door. Wyn intercepted marvelously. ÒHeavens no. YouÕve saved me from eating dinner alone. Come in. ItÕs been ages since IÕve seen you last. I guess the stresses of the job are pretty constant, huh?Ó One strong arm was already wrapped around the smallerÕs shoulders, turning him around pretty easily despite Locke dragging his heels (he knew that he really didnÕt mean it, otherwise Locke would be out the door by now) and into the kitchen. In reality, he didnÕt have that much prepared. He was well aware of LaraÕs engagements, and didnÕt bother to cook for himself when it would be dinner for one. A Guardian as a dinner guest, on the other hand, meant he could work something up to the fullest extent of his abilities and take pleasure in his talents while providing a meal for them both. ÒWhat do you want for dinner???Ó

ÒYou actually intend to cook for me?Ó It was a flat-lined, almost dubious accusation on the part of the Guardian, and the chef wasnÕt certain if he had intended it to be insulting, or if he was honestly that unsure about preying upon someoneÕs kindness. That was how Locke usually viewed gifts and other shows of affection. Like he was preying upon them, like they only gave him attention because he would be the next Guardian, and that he wanted something given through merit rather than through thankfulness or greed.

ÒYes, I intend to cook,Ó he assured him, with all the cheer he could muster. ÒAnd I intend you to stay, and eat, and have a good time.Ó He hoped he would, at least. The way the Guardian looked at him after that made it seem like he was going to bolt for the door at any given moment. Wynmacher didnÕt want to pull the friend card on him in enticing him to stay Ñ claiming that he never was able to see him anymore, and protesting wounded feelings. It would seem too much like emotional blackmail to do so to someone he had been close to, and with the skittish Locke, it might influence their interactions forever. ÒÉIf you so desire. I canÕt force you to do anything.Ó The other man gave him a long look before nodding guardedly. ÒWould you like me to help?Ó It wasnÕt so much a question as an order; Locke was already tugging his gloves off and rolling his sleeves up. On any other occasion, Wyn would have tried to protest that he was a guest and that he didnÕt need to be doing any work in anotherÕs household, but right now he understood that it was as good a condition as any for the war-wearied Echidna to remain. ÒCertainlyÉ pick out what you want for a salad. I was going to make a figgy pudding. Any particular meat youÕd prefer?Ó

He noticed how easily the Guardian integrated himself into the kitchen, rooting through the fridge for greens and toppings as if he belonged there. Wynmacher wasnÕt a psychologist, but he theorized that the commanding air was put on to make up for his social shyness. As the son of the Guardian and one expected to become so himself, considered royalty in Echidnopolis and by most given governments, Locke probably wasnÕt used to people treating him as one of their own, as just another guy, which would lead to discomfort in socializing, constantly unsure of what to do in any given situation. Certainly given the awkward courtship that Lara-Le endured, his parents had never given him any indication of how to properly woo a lady.

The distraction almost made him miss what Locke was saying, and he struggled to catch up. Ò-DonÕt eat meat anymore.Ó He cocked his head, confused, and was happy to find that it was believable with exactly how lost he was feeling. ÒWhyÕs that?Ó The other Echidna gave him a pathetic, disbelieving look, like he didnÕt believe that his host really cared that much about what he was saying. ÒÉTwo reasons. I donÕt want to be dependent on meat-based products, which, in the event of my capture or during further times of duress, would bring withdrawal symptoms and prove to be harmful to my form for lack of themÉÓ He sighed, and looked away. ÒThatÕs the easy, common answer. More importantly, isÉ is that I can feel them through the Chaos Force. And in feeling and interacting with them, it brings some form of connection. I canÕt force myself to eat something that IÕve felt live, feel, and think.Ó

The chef nodded, wide-eyed. He had never considered that the baser animals could perhaps contain any spark of emotion or vitality that made them better than foodstuff or transportation. ÒNoÉ no I totally understand. WowÉ IÕm sorry for appearing so callous, Locke.Ó He wasnÕt sure what the visible twitch and look of horror was for, but then realized that he had forgotten to pay his dues of respect and refer to him by his title. Poor man. ÒIÉ ermÉ I mean GuardianÑ,Ó He was interrupted by a very drained-looking Locke. ÒMy name is perfectly fine, Wynmacher.Ó He turned back to his work quietly.

Perhaps his social faux pas was allowed, but he now felt like their conversation had come to a dead halt. He chopped at the figs quietly, struggling to think of something to talk about. Here he had the man in his apartment, alone, after twenty odd years, without threat of some sort of brutal fight breaking out between Lara and Locke, or the baby whining and breaking up any sort of reconciliation. And even though the man said that he forgave him, he was never truly sure that Locke was alright or had moved on past his wifeÕs divorce. A nice friendship broken up with societal obligations and a low slight of stealing his wife.

ÒSo, umÉ what about animal by-products? Dairy products orÉ or whatever else they offer?Ó He gave Locke a winning smile, the same one that had appeared on all of his photos and cards during his run as a football player. The familiar sight seemed to set him at ease. ÒI believe that if theyÕre treated well, then you can accept the gifts that Aurora bestowed them with. Certain species experience discomfort if they are not milked, for example, and so itÕs more beneficial to do so than to deny for both parties. IÉ I just canÕt consume their meat. It seems as wrong to me as eating one of my fellow man.Ó After a slight pause, Locke looked up back at him and returned a small smile. Conversation proceeded painlessly after that.

Dinner was quieter, thanks to a lack of interruptions, and Locke looked like he was enjoying the meal, which was a relief to the self-conscious chef. They spoke about their high school and college lives, and where they had gone from there, their occupations and a little on the stresses of such work (Locke didnÕt open up enough to really let him in on what he felt on the matter, but Wyn was certain that it was difficult), cooking, and Lara. Locke was happy enough that the man was taking care of his wife, and was interested in the development of the child, whom he continually referred to as Knecapeon. 

He briefly brought up Knuckles, but it was apparent that the current Guardian would always be a source of contention between his ex-wife and the man. The decorations to his quills, and the ceremonial garb he had taken to wearing (if apart from this night, as he seemed prepared to make an appearance that was more nostalgic than foreign) also interested Wyn, and he managed to get Locke to speak for at least a minute on the reasons why he had decided to do something so permanent, something that he had previously derided other Echidnas for doing. That the man would want to remember the wars and all that he had done and failed to do for his people was something that touched Wyn deeply, even if it had done worse for Locke, and forced him to almost constant vigilance. Being able to take a night off alone was something remarkable.

It was dark outside, and the place was dominantly lit by the fireplace by the time that they were finishing off their bowls of the spiced figgy pudding that Wynmacher produced from the oven halfway through their dinner. Despite all that theyÕd managed to accomplish in bringing things back a little closer to their former friendship mark, the end of dinner had Locke looking twitchy and nervous again. ÒDo you know when your wife will be coming back?Ó His bare fingers were tapping nervously against the table, gloves stuffed into his pocket haphazardly. Ahh, the source of the anxiety was Lara. Wyn wasnÕt even surprised by this point.

ÒI assume it will be soon. SheÕs out with Kneecaps, and he doesnÕt last long without his Ôba-baÕ.Ó Locke couldnÕt help the smirk from lighting up his face, not exactly condescending, but not fully understanding why the population would baby talk to anything that looked less developed than it. ÒHe really took a liking to you. If you stick aroundÑ,Ó Locke waved his hand. ÒI donÕt think I should impose. IÉ IÕll just leave my present with you and get back to Haven. Sabre could use a break.Ó

Wynmacher caught his hand, amazed at where all the courage on his part was coming this evening. ÒPlease stay, just a little longer.Ó He looked away, and was pleased to find another topic. ÒWhatÕs in the box?Ó The slow smirk slipped back, the one Wyn wasnÕt sure what it meant, but knew heÕd never seen before Ñ no, that was incorrect, when Locke was busy killing Dingos and letting them chase him over the Island, he had the same look in his eyes and on his face. It was a very focused, dark expression. ÒYouÕve provided the figgy pudding, and I provided the cup of good cheer.Ó He blinked at him. ÒThatÕsÉ very charitable of you, Locke.Ó Any opportunity to say his name.

The man began to walk back to the door, slowly. ÒIÕll just leave it for you and your wife to enjoy.Ó He couldnÕt help but laugh at that, which made the Guardian stop and turn, confused and suspicious. ÒLara-Le doesnÕt drink. She canÕt drink. She stopped after Kneecaps. YouÕd be wasting the opportunity, good sir. I sorely lack someone to share a cup with me, you never visit anyway Ñ it would be mutually beneficialÉÓ Something in the look Locke gave him indicated that he had done very well, but he wasnÕt sure what test he had just passed. ÒOne glass, then.Ó Wyn was barely able to look at the bottle Ñ some sort of spiced apple wine, just like the old carol Ñ before the foil was wrenched off, the cork out, and the yellow-orange fluid out in two glasses. He didnÕt know whose idea it was to sit out in the living room, on the couch over by the flickering fire and the artificial fur rug, but thatÕs where he found himself, in a daze of happiness at how well the night had gone, sipping drinks with the most recent member of the Brotherhood.

Something in it tasted a little strange, between the sweet flavor of the distilled apples, and the aromatic spices of the cinnamon and nutmeg and whatever else he didnÕt know was in there. He was taking slow and careful sips, but next to LockeÕs full glass, he felt almost shameful, like he was guzzling. Without as much as a word, Locke reached over and filled his glass again, letting him take in more of the cold burn. Wynmacher could swear, the way that the Guardian was gazing at him, over the glass, was just as enflamed and seductive as the wine he was drinking. His heart throbbed in strange ways just thinking about that, though he was well aware of the impossibility of such thoughts.

ÒLockeÉ IÉÓ Words were difficult; he had no idea if he was drunk, or if the Guardian had done something to the drink beforehand. The world was too warm, his body too sensitive. His heart felt like it was lurching about, and he reached out and caught the only thing he could reach, which happened to be one of the GuardianÕs foremost quills. Locke had the decency to look surprised, though Wynmacher questioned why he was so close, so quickly. Without quite knowing himself, he tugged the man down by said quill, lips hovering a breathÕs touch away from meeting each other. It was Locke that bridged the gap, a small, tender moment before ravenously attacking. Their wine had probably ended up on the carpet; it was an easy stain to remove, and he was more focused on the weight settling atop him, the hands grabbing into his shoulders and kneading his tunic, the lips that were constantly moving, devouring him. He wasnÕt sorry. Through the haze, even his rational mind was interested and pleased that they had come together. So one hand came up over LockeÕs shoulder blade to pull him closerÉ

Many hundreds of miles away, another Guardian was focused intently on a single monitor, not bothering to check up on the progress in the Legion, or how the city was building itself back up after the Enerjak onslaught. Another one joined him after a moment, scanning the screens for which one might have his grandson. ÒHow has Locke made out with the Lara Situation?Ó Sabre gestured to the screen. ÒSee for yourself.Ó 

Their limbs were entwined by this point, one wrapped up in the other, garments strewn on the floor, but clearly with a way to go before indecency manifested. Thunderhawk blinked and peered in closer. Yes, that really was his grandson, and yes, he really was seducing his ex-wifeÕs husband. ÒMore like heÕs making out with Wyn,Ó Sojourner pointed out, finger poking the screen where the indiscretion was coming to light. ÒDidnÕt you guys expect that the chick would be there when you spiked the booze?Ó The next moment had everyone present wiping their faces in consternation. ÒYouÕre telling me thereÕs something in the alcohol?Ó Spectre raised an eyebrow at the group crowding around the view-screens.

ÒAs far as IÕm aware, there isnÕt,Ó Thunderhawk said doubtfully. ÒSojourner suggested we put something in there to smooth things alongÑ,Ó The younger waved his hands before the glares and accusations started. ÒI didnÕt do anything, man! Someone must have done something, though, because heÕs making time with another guy, and I donÕt think our Locke would seriously go that way with some guy, let alone WynÉÓ

ÒWe can analyze the contents later and determine if there were any significant additives,Ó Sabre continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ÒOtherwise, I wouldnÕt interfere with his actions unless we are totally certain that he is acting under the influence and would greatly regret his actions later should he discover what he has doneÉÓ Their patriarch laid a hand on his shoulder, staring intently at the screen. ÒI have no doubt that there was something added, from the way that hisÉÓ Spectre sniffed. ÒHis willing cohort is acting. The man might have a will like a dead fish, but even he might raise some sort of fuss about the situation unless his impulses were thusly dampened by some form of suppressantÑ,Ó ÒDun think itÕs suppressing him much. He seems a lot more enthused about things than drowsyÉÓ Sojourner shrugged.

ÒI should think the fact that Locke didnÕt have any should count for something,Ó the purple Guardian tried, and all eyes were riveted on him. ÒUmÉ if you replay the section from where he opens the bottle, he takes, at most, a sip of it. I donÕt think anyone has ruled out the thought that he could haveÑ,Ó Sabre looked aghast, but contemplative. ÒThat he even continued throughout the night, aware that Lara wasnÕt presentÉ if she was the reason for his appearance, then he would have left the bottle for them, or come when she was. Assuming that he drugged the wine himself, his actions make it apparent who his real target is.Ó

The Guardians watched the scene quietly for another moment. ÒNÕ now heÕs making off with the man,Ó Sojourner commented quietly, continuing the joke, long dead as it was. The two on screen pawed at each other, clearly discussing something with terse words, before Locke leaned in and hefted him up, carrying him off with him beyond the scope of the camera, down a hallway closer to the front door, much to the astonishment of his family (and the amusement of one Sojourner). They would be having a stern talk with him in the morning, if Lara-Le didnÕt get to him firstÉ