Chapter Text
There were rabbits who kept getting into the garden at this time of year, and it made Zeno crazy, so Ivan had offered to help him build a fence and was now crouching in the dirt, his hands wrapped around the rusty wire as they worked to set the fence.
The sun was hot - hotter than it should have been so early in the year, but that was the Commonwealth for you, and he had learned not to complain. Uncomfortable nonetheless, Ivan wiped his brow with the back of one hand, lifting the brim of his hat slightly and smearing mud into the fringe of his hair.
Malcolm was across the greenspace, gathered with some of the men as they went about the arduous work of planting trees with a half-broken auger in the hot sun. His shirt was off, and Ivan was able to surreptitiously enjoy a view of his husband's sweat-slicked back, his muscles glistening in the sunlight. Malcolm had become so strong in the time they'd spent here - the chores of caring for a homestead had made their mark on him. Everything here had made its mark on Malcolm.
Perhaps growing tired of his shoveling, Ivan watched across the yard as Malcolm straightened up and stretched, the black tendrils of Fascinus' tattoo curling along his torso as he turned his body. Ivan felt his breath catch in his throat momentarily, and he quickly turned his eyes back to his own soil, if only to avoid the embarrassment of being caught staring.
A bell rang out from the kitchen window, and Ivan gratefully set aside his tools and headed towards the house for lunch. Malcolm met him on the way, and bumped Ivan gently with one hip, then kissed him on the cheek. Ivan made a face and kissed him back. Keith Vance slipped by them to go and kiss Charlie, who had appeared in the hallway, balancing little blond Lemon on one hip.
~:~
The men all ate at the table in the main dining room; the carriers gathered at the tables scattered around the screened-in porch. Ivan tried to prepare a plate for himself, but was preempted by George, who cut in front of him and placed a full meal squarely in his hands.
"Well, you obviously won't take my advice about working in the hot sun," he began, "But maybe you'll at least listen to me when I tell you to eat something or you're going to pass out."
Ivan tried to look annoyed, but felt too much love for his friend and grinned instead.
"Thanks." he answered, simply, and began to examine the plate.
"Nothing on there you don't like." George assured him. "No onions, no cucumbers. And I made sure the meats and fruits were on opposite sides this time."
Ivan grinned.
"It's not my fault, you know - "
George raised a hand to cut him off.
"You've told me a million times. I get it."
Ivan had planned to answer back, but Miller appeared in the doorway, looking annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared daggers at the pair of them.
"Alec," he began, putting as much disdain as possible into that name, "Is cutting the cakes into eighths, not twelfths."
Ivan and George both nodded somberly.
"I'll deal with him - don't you worry." George promised, while Ivan worked hard to suppress the urge to laugh. Miller frowned, as if he felt the problem weren't being taken seriously enough, but ultimately turned and left the two alone. The moment he was gone, the two fell into laughter until Ivan managed to calm himself.
"Alright. I think we should step in; Alec's got no idea what he's messing with when it comes to Miller and birthdays."
George nodded.
"Agreed. Wouldn't want to terrify the new couple on their first week here, would we?"
"Of course not. Who would want to do that?"
~:~
"Ivan."
Malcolm's voice had that particular, familiar tenor to it, and Ivan's belly seized up momentarily before he could remember that it was OK, that things were fine, that it was just Malcolm alone, and that what was in the past was in the past.
"I'm here." he answered, and moved out into the main part of their suite, dressed in black underwear and a fitted V-neck, still toweling his hair dry. Malcolm, who had just entered and was setting things down on the desk by the door, paused, tilted his head and looked at Ivan with an undisguised desire. The setting sun cast their apartment in a dim glow, giving Malcolm a mysterious, mischievous look. Ivan took in the view, then raised an eyebrow at his husband.
"Had a good day?"
"Very good." Malcolm agreed, and his voice was low and dark and had some meaning in it that gave Ivan pause; he peered up from under the towel.
"You buried him?"
Malcolm disconnected the last of his tools from his belt and set it on the desk.
"He's gone."
Ivan blinked. A shudder that felt like a ghost ran through him.
"Thank you."
Malcolm turned to look at him, and his eyes were those same dark eyes that he'd had the first night that Ivan had seen him by the jeep.
"Don't mention it." Malcolm's eyes flickered away. "Dinner's on. You hungry?"
"Yes." Ivan answered, too quickly, and so he corrected himself. "Sort of."
Malcolm paused, mid-motion, seeming to think something over, then continued to kick off his boots.
"Alright. Dinner it is. Just let me get washed up first."
Malcolm stood and headed for the shower, but Ivan intercepted him.
"I can join you, if you like." he offered, shy gray eyes presenting nakedly to Malcolm's dark ones. Malcolm seemed to consider this for a moment before answering.
"Come on, then."
Ivan let Malcolm strip and go in first, stepping in carefully behind him. Malcolm handed him the soap and a cloth, then turned back to the water flow. Ivan soaped the cloth and drew it first over his husband's neck and shoulders, muddying them, then rinsing them clean.
"Are you OK?" he asked, eventually.
Malcolm shrugged, the water sluicing and bending to accommodate this motion.
"I've buried men before. I w's more worried 'bout you."
Ivan pressed a kiss to his husband's shoulder and said nothing.
"You alrigh'?" Malcolm inquired, his accent thickening. Ivan nodded, vigorously.
"Couldn't be better. I mean, you know what it was like - what he was like." Ivan bit his lip and slid soapy fingers over a birthmark on Malcolm's hip, "Whatever it was that got him...the old man had it coming."
They passed another few minutes of silence, with Ivan soaping and rinsing Malcolm's body bit by bit, stroking and inspecting every inch of him for any hint of change or injury. The water surged down around them, swirling away the mud in the tub, and Ivan reflected that he'd have to clean it again later. Malcolm had been hurt, Ivan suddenly realized, as his reached a red, raw scrape on his left knee and soaped around it, gently.
"It was a bear that got him, right?" he asked, suddenly, nervously. "George said they thought it was a bear."
Malcolm shifted his stance in the tub and tilted his neck to pop it.
"Yeah." he said, "It was a bear."
~:~
"So," Malcolm began, as they were lying entangled in bed in the dark, with his hand on Ivan's hip and the carrier's hand tracing the lines of Fascinus on his skin, "You got something you want to tell me?"
Ivan startled, and blinked up at Malcolm, then swore.
"Goddammit. George."
Malcolm laughed a full, hearty laugh.
"He told you?!" Ivan demanded.
"Naw, he ain't that bad. Told Tom and I overheard. Got a big voice, George does."
Ivan made an irritated noise.
"And 'sides, I think I knew anyway."
Ivan made another, more irritated noise.
"You knew, and you didn't tell me?"
Malcolm laughed and Ivan nudged him with a bare shoulder.
"How'd you know?"
"You ain't missed dinner in 6 weeks." he answered with a wry grin. "And it was almost 40C outside last week and I didn't even hear you complain. Figured it was either that or some kind of miracle."
Ivan rolled his eyes.
"Guess that ruins the surprise, then."
Malcolm shook his head and drew Ivan closer.
"Nope. Still a surprise." he leaned in for a kiss. "Still a delight. Still excited. Still proud. Still ready." he kissed Ivan once more. "Still can't believe you didn't tell me."
"Well." the carrier answered, testily, "You know now."
Malcolm grinned fondly down at his mate, his carrier, his husband, his sweet and irreplaceable and mostly-healed Ivan.
"Yep. I know now."
~fin~