Long Overdue

[Rister Graas S6]

Wyron glanced at the light scrape of a boot against stone, flashing a grin in greeting upon seeing Jon looking back at him from the other side of the bars. “Jon,” he followed up with the verbal greeting as well, dropping the controller he had been using to race little electronic cars around a track back in his lap as the cars wound to a stop. It was a child’s toy really, but had proven to be quite entertaining. He had enjoyed testing the limits of the little cars and comparing the physics controlling them to the ones he knew from driving real cars. The entire cell was pretty comfortable truth be told. Sparse, yes, but the mattress was comfortable, the blanket thick, the food delivered by the house-elves the same as what was being served in the dining room, and there were two large braziers with blazing fire on either side of the bed. It was enough. And Jon was definitely a better visitor than the bunch of Cartiers that had snuck by. And while Wyron appreciated the twins intent to help, he had not appreciated the visit to a doctor when their escape plan had blown not just a wall of Wyron’s previous cell to smithereens but had also taken out one of his knees in addition to milder cuts and bruises. There had been others swinging by to check on him – Tristan and Stephen – and people who reported to him. Dad had sent him to the cells, but that hardly excused him from his duties as the Graas spymaster after all. Which was also why Wyron was able to simply snap his fingers for the cell door to unlock – and the expression on the twins faces when he had done it while a report that needed him to go out himself had come in while he had been giving the twins a dressing down of the century – for Jon even as he scooted over a bit so that he could take a seat if he so wished.

“Have you spoken to Dad already?” he asked instead, the thought suddenly occurring to him. No one had gotten an answer as to why Wyron had been condemned to the dungeons, but he had no doubts that Jon would get an answer out of Dad. Would no doubt get it out of Wyron himself as well. The real question here was whether he had already spoken to Dad, who had put his anger and irritation into a nice logical format you couldn’t help but agree with, or whether he had come down first. “He… took issue with one of my calls on a mission,” Wyron offered anyway, drawing one of his knees up to his chest and looping his arm around it, “I… Well, he has a point. However I still would do it. Part of my job is to make sure my agents are safe and I would like to point out that I didn’t get hurt.” It had been a risk, but Wyron maintained that he hadn’t been so the point was moot.

“He’s making a point. A fair amount of points actually,” Wyron murmured, his eyes falling on the track for the little cars again even as he dropped his head back to lean against the wall. It was subtle enough reminder, hidden the format of a children’s toy, but Wyron knew his father. Rafe was protective, very much so. The entire fact that Wyron was currently sitting in a dungeon cell due to taking a risk, which Rafe said had put his life in risk for a negligible benefit in assuring the safety of one of his agents was telling enough. Dad had ached for him when he had lost his arm and his career in the crash. But while everyone else had walked on egg-shells around him, it had been Dad who had made sure a car with keys in the ignition was waiting in the garage and the one who had made Wyron aware of the fact. It had taken getting back in a car, driving again, for Wyron to get over the accident. And he could read the point Dad was making here. Or he was going crazy and overthinking things. “I think I might need to talk to your brother,” he mused out loud, rolling his head against the wall so that he could look at Jon.

“I don’t really have the right to demand that though, so if you tell me that’s a bad idea, I’ll drop it,” he recognised easily, suspecting that Jon wouldn’t have much trouble to guess which brother Wyron meant. Just as he would trust Jon to be able to be a better judge of whether that was a good or bad idea. And whether it even could be set up. As such Jon also deserved the full picture of what was going on in Wyron’s mind. Even if it sounded mildly - greatly - like getting his affairs in order. But then he was the spymaster, he had been taught and trained to always prepare for any eventuality. “I’ve tried my best to stay out of his way, but I think we’re long overdue a conversation. Much as I’ll hate having it. I think I owe him an apology. I won’t apologise for not being… well, whatever he wanted or deserved. I will, however, apologise for having made things harder on him. And you. And I do have a question I’d like to ask him. I can live with not measuring up and him – you – returning the ring. But there would have been easier ways to make his point beyond binding myself to him and then rejecting me. He could have just told me no. Oh, he told me I should look around, that he wasn’t what I wanted, but he never told me a straight-out no. I would have heeded that. I’d like to think I would have listened at least. But the rings are precious. He would have known it from you, from the Cartier's own traditions about your cuffs, so why did he pick up my ring in the first place? That was... cruel. And unlike what I do or did know of the man. That is the one thing that doesn’t make sense to me and the one question I would like to ask.”

[Philip Garwin]

"Well hello there, troublemaker." Jon returns the greeting warmly, his smile wry. He's been lucky, he supposes. Avis is blunt and quick to action and overly confident in her own vast intelligence, all of which make for a devastating combination at times, but she has never been quite the mischievous force that her brothers can be - or that the triplets were in their youth. Jas, however, has reaped that karma in spades. Tristan and Stephen are both fully capable of raising hell purely for the sake of it, and Jon would swear that Kellen and Landon are far worse than he and his brothers ever were. Leo might have disagreed, he muses nostalgically, but the man had never met his great-grandchildren. It is a constant source of private amusement that Rafe's sons are generally more overtly troublesome than Avis, given that Rafe had always been infinitely more sensible during their adolescence barring the occasions Jas and Jon had roped him into their schemes.

Jon shakes his head, entering the cell to take a seat next to Wyron. "No. Julien told me what his boys had been up to when he came to collect them; I have no idea why he thinks that the lecture about not damaging property will sink in this time when it hasn't before, but he's determined to keep trying. So upon hearing that a jailbreak had failed, I thought I'd come down to see the prisoner myself." He'll visit Rafe afterwards for his version of events but sometimes it's much easier to hear the entire story directly. "So you did something potentially dangerous and harmful to keep someone else safe and now your father is feeling protective and worried," Jon summarises knowingly. "That's becoming as much of a habit for you as explosions are for Landon. Do you think that you could have approached the situation differently and achieved the same outcome or was this your only option?"

"I suppose it's too much to hope that you mean Lucas," Jon mutters under his breath. He loves Jas and Wyron both but he's had to learn to separate the two completely in his heart. His split loyalties would have torn him apart years ago if he hadn't. It has been indescribably difficult to live with the knowledge that his husband resents his brother for hurting his son, that his daughter struggles not to hate her uncle for not returning her brother's affections. Harder still to live with the cautious stalemate between Wyron and Jas, the careful planning that they both put into never having to force their presence upon the other. Jon has no idea how Tristan dances that fine line between his father and his best friend but the younger man does it well, and with such skill that Jon has never seen the toll that it must take on him.

"You have every right," Jon corrects after a brief moment of hesitation, a familiar weariness creeping over him as he chooses his son over his brother once again. This whole situation just makes him feel old and tired and useless, as if the years are creeping up on him too fast. He's tired and the cracks in the Cartier family are starting to show at an alarming rate and, honestly, sometimes he feels as if he would be quite happy to close his eyes and let it all go. He can't though, because he may have lost the ability to be an effective Head around the same time he realised the future that Rafe had chosen for them both by destroying his ring but he's still a half-decent father and his kids sometimes still need him. "You have every right to demand answers, and there's a lot that you don't know. There's a lot that he couldn't have told you without permission." He fiddles with the signet ring that he still wears on his right hand, rubbing his thumb over the Cartier crest and then across to the invisible engraving etched into the bottom of the band. There are some secrets that only Jon and Jas still know, secrets that had remained so only because of the assistance and energy of people who loved them. Jas would have taken it to his grave - and Jon would have done the same, if not for Wyron.

"Here." Jon works the ring off his finger before he can change his mind, offering it to Wyron in the palm of his hand. "He's at home right now so either I can get him here or you can go to him but either way you'll need this. He won't tell you anything if he thinks he's betraying me."

[Rister Graas S6]

Wyron merely scoffs in response. He was always the quieter and slyer one when Drake, Avis and he were kids and always the one who slipped away – not that it kept him from getting into trouble. That was much the case now as well. While Drake and Avis were expected to and did take on public roles of authority, Wyron ruled from and in the shadows. “I take offence at being called property,” he's quick to point out instead, giving his best wounded expression to Jon, “I'm wounded. You'll need to make it up to me. Talking Dad into making peppermint-chocolate melt cake would be a decent beginning.”

“The twins seemed somewhat startled this time though. Have they had the experience like this before where their actions directly hurt someone they do care for?” Wyron asked, tilting his head and cautiously bending his knee a bit. It was alright. Sore, but that would pass in time. “All things considered, this might have been the easiest way for a spymaster to learn that lesson. Even though the Cartiers are still a fair way off of having someone who can call himself that. He has potential, yes. But he has much too learn and he is rash in a way I don't recall ever being. Which might work for him once he learns to harness it, but for now is just a liability.”

“No,” Wyron says sharply, pointing a finger at Jon. “No, you don't get to come in here and be all reasonable and question my choice. I made the call and I stand by it. When I'm out on the field my life – others lives – depend on me being able to make split-second decisions and follow them through. You are not making me question one I made. It posed a risk to me – yes. I wasn't harmed though. Not like it was the first time I was in danger nor would it have been the first time I got hurt. It's what I do. It's what I am.” And for all that Wyron had often been the one keeping to the background until he felt secure he knew the big picture of the situation, he had also been the one slipping in to prevent his siblings or friends or relatives from getting hurt. “So I'm not questioning my call.” Even if the fact Wyron didn't exactly argue that it was the right call, rather pointing out he couldn't doubt himself was probably telling itself about the necessity of it.

“I like Lucas. He's my go-to Cartier really, when all the rest drive me insane to remind me there is some sanity left in the family,” Wyron allowed with an unapologetic grin. He is slightly startled to see Jon's crumpling though. There isn't really any signs, but it almost seems as if the man's folding in on himself. “No. I have the right to ask questions, but that doesn't mean I have a right for answers,” Wyron says, his eyes pensive and just a tad tired as he watches Jon for a moment, leaning over slightly to nudge him with his shoulder. To offer a simple point of contact to ground Jon.

The offered ring gets a glance and then a shake of his hand as Wyron simply leans heavier against Jon's shoulder. “No, I don't want your secrets. I hold enough secrets and whispers already, I'm content to let any of yours lie at rest. If this is what it would take, I'll live without my answers.” Everyone needed to trust someone. And Wyron trusted his family. Right here and now he put his faith wholly in Jon and he would not pry. “Besides this is eerily reminiscent of when Tristan and Stephen come clambering for my attention and I have to knock their heads together and call them idiots and make them think, because they are making a big deal out of something that really isn't all that horrible really, if they'd just take a moment to think. I guess I now know where they get it from and why Lucas is my sanity threshold for the Cartiers,” he adds a moment later with a wry quirk of his mouth, “But I really don't want to call you an idiot, dad.”

Turning his head to where it was leaning against the cell door Wyron purses his mouth thoughtfully. “Regardless, all of this is starting to get ridiculous. Even Dad is pointing it out by now,” he mulled, with a vague gesture towards the little cars, “So I think Jasper and I actually meeting and hashing it out is the best way to shove everyone else into moving on – if you have a better idea, I'm all ears. I don't think I should just drop on him with all this though. I suspect he'd appreciate some forewarning, ergo this conversation here happening,” Wyron added with a pointed glance at Jon. He hadn't gone into this wanting Jon's secrets, but to see if he thought this would be a good or a bad idea and to have someone who could warn Jas. “It would probably better for me to go to him with this. The castle... I feel as if the castle would put him on the edge with this. So his home turf. His house. Or maybe Flick's. As I really don't care.”

[Philip Garwin]

Jon raises both eyebrows pointedly, waiting for Wyron to realise the glaringly obvious flaw in his own question. His youngest son has never been unobservant. "Yes," Jon answers in a dry drawl, "because you may have noticed that those boys are hardly the cuddliest of Cartiers, even by our standards. They don't have a problem with collateral damage for the most part, unless Julien or Gen tell them that they should, because it's rare for that collateral to be important." Kellen puts a better face on it, at least has the sense to project a genial facade that carries him through most social situations, but Jon has known those boys since the day they were born and he has spent his entire life alongside someone equally guarded and distant. Beyond Gen, the twins probably need only one hand between them to count the number of people outside of their blood family who truly matter to them. It's a mindset that would have made them ideal additions to the criminal half of the family, if not for the fact that Kellen doesn't particularly enjoy hurting people and Landon just finds it a waste of time to kill someone himself if he can build something that will do it for him.

"Do you really think Kellen would take the time to stage a jailbreak for just anybody?" Jon questions mildly. "Much less go through the effort of convincing Landon to help." He lifts a hand to swipe away a stubborn swatch of soot resting on Wyron's shoulder, dark brown eyes amused. "It was probably because of the penguins," Jon confides with a laugh. "That and Kellen's irrepressible need for praise. Do make sure to point out the better parts of his plan at some point, please. He meant well - and I don't think that they always get the recognition they deserve, not in comparison to people like Rin or Tristan or my grandson. They're brilliant in their own way, in a way we're not entirely familiar with, but that shouldn't detract from their brilliance as much as it does."

Jon hums soundlessly, his mouth curving into a smirk. "Yes, of course. How terrible of me to come in here and be reasonable. My mistake." He tucks his foot under his left knee, shuffling slightly to face Wyron squarely. "I used to ask myself that question a lot, after I graduated and was learning how to manage my new position within the family," Jon tells Wyron slowly, the memories coming to the front of his mind easily despite it feeling like a lifetime or two ago. "I had no idea what I was doing - I certainly wasn't respected, being a bastard who was only permitted to use the Cartier surname because my father had swallowed his extensive pride and begged. They stripped the three of us of the right to acknowledge our mother, not that we found it a hardship. So instead of being pureblood bastards, we became even lower: the bastards of a half-blood and a muggleborn so easily forgotten that he didn't even remember her name. And then the tables turned, the position of power shifted, and still no one respected us but they had to at least pretend now which certainly wasn't easy for anyone. We hadn't killed, hadn't been trained, but here we were giving orders and implementing changes. After every mistake, every bad decision, I would ask myself if I could have done anything differently or if I had played my hand in the only way I could. So if you can honestly say that you wouldn't do anything differently, that this was the best way to achieve the best possible outcome, then I'll walk you out of here and I'll deal with your dad. Making the hard calls is hard enough without being reprimanded for it afterwards."

"Lucas is everyone's favourite Cartier," Jon concedes, laughing quietly. Even when they were younger, his brother never let the reality of their status bother him. They have always known that they were bastards - Aunt Ashlyn would never have permitted Dad to shield them from that even if he had tried, and certainly numerous others had always been all too glad to throw it in their faces - but Lucas has never seemed affected by any of the slurs. Perhaps it comes from being a Gryffindor, which was always a favourite theory for Jas, and Jon has to admit the possibility of it being true. If nothing else, being Sorted into a Gryffindor gave him such a tight bond with Liatris, who has always been ferocious in the protection of the people she loves.

Jon lifts a hand to cuff the back of his son's head fondly. "Cheek," he huffs good-naturedly. "I might be old and idiotic but I could still show you a thing or two." There is something bewildering about having this secret compared to one of Tristan and Stephen's childish squabbles, as if it couldn't rearrange all of their lives as they knew it. "We were young and stupid but we made a pact that if anyone ever asked, we would consider telling the truth." Jon turns the ring over in his hand, eyes distant and lost in memory. "I never anticipated that it would affect you, not until it was too late and the damage had already been done. We thought it would be Julien, perhaps, who came asking. He's always been the logical one. He never did, but you have - and you do deserve answers, Wyron. Take the ring. I'll set up a meeting at Flick's; it'll give her an excuse to demand that Kester take her out somewhere nice."

[Rister Graas S6]

Wyron hums and shrugs lightly. “It is quite fun. Especially for a teenage boy as I quite remember,” he added with a grin. Drake, Avis and Wyron had had quite a few mischievous little adventures while growing up and with the whole castle and its grounds to play in... They had had fun. Probably safest to leave it at that. “And while they aren't quite teenagers anymore, they aren't very far from it either,” he added, even as he inclined his head to acknowledge Jon's point. “I will. Once my knee's no longer sore. It was certainly unexpected.”

“I saw no harm in it. Especially as the birds aren't trying to turf me out of bed. And George needed a, well, if not a friend then at least someone besides me and Cayden to speak to. And his brothers occasionally,” Wyron mused, before sighing with a shake of his head, “Next I'll try to convince him that it's safe to sleep in a bed rather than spend the rest of his life on a blanket under a table.”

He listened to Jon's story calmly. He knew most of it anyway – it wasn't like he didn't know the Cartiers family history. Or couldn't appreciate the challenge of building yourself up from nothing. He had had to do it more than once on himself, even if he had always had the family backing. Of course, being a Graas' and being the Head's son, the expectations he and Drake had had to live up had been no easier at times. But he appreciated Jon's point. “Didn't we just have this conversation about you not being reasonable?” Wyron questioned with an arched eye-brow, “I don't regret what I did. But it was a risk and had Cayden or Kellen tried to pull it – I'd probably be angrier than Dad was with me. So it's a fair point.” Wyron spread his arm and shrugged while wordlessly making the point that while he might not regret his choice, he was choosing to willingly stay in the cell. It wasn't exactly like he had been locked in, the key thrown away and forgotten – as also evidenced from the fact that he had been the one to unlock the cell door for Jon.

“Mmmm. He still carries peppermint around,” Wyron agreed approvingly. He didn't have that much of a sweet tooth usually, but peppermint had always been the one thing he just didn't seem to get enough of. “And, of course, we have claimed you for the Graas's now. Sorry. Nothing you can do about it, you're locked in ever since Dad managed to trick and tease you into making a honest son of Drake and I.”

“It's hardly cheek if it's true,” Wyron pointed out with an unrepentant grin. “Thank you,” he added more seriously as Jon agreed to set up the meeting, “I think that'll be neutral enough ground for Jasper not to feel on edge. And Flick would probably do just about anything if Drake asked. And as you're setting it up already you can talk to Jasper yourself – or have a powwow with all three of you – and decide what you want to tell, if you think it's important. But I'm old enough by now to know the value of just trusting someone. And that's what I'm doing here. So no, I'm still not taking your ring.”

[Philip Garwin]

"Please don't remind me; the three of you were absolute terrors once you hit adolescence. Particularly when Tristan and Stephen came over." For all of his grumbling, Jon's tone is light and teasing. He was more than capable of handling five teenagers, even ones as rowdy and troublesome as those. Tristan and Stephen, when working in tandem, had always proven remarkably persuasive when it came to dragging Drake and Avis into their schemes. As Jon remembered, Wyron had needed less coaxing than his older sister. "The plan itself was probably Kellen's, I would guess, but the execution is distinctly Landon. Too much fire and explosive material for Kellen."

Oh god. Jon grimaces noticeably at Wyron's offhanded comment. "I realise that taking one's protégé to bed isn't entirely unusual but please, for me, never make that a reality. Let Kellen fill his bed with penguins. It's the safer option by far." Julien has never had to deal with his sons bringing anyone home and, level-headed though the man is, he isn't level-headed enough for that eventuality to be Wyron. Not to mention the potential volatility of Landon's reaction to having to share his twin brother with another person. That will certainly be a sight to see.

"I've grown used to being the reasonable one," Jon answers complacently. "Between you, your dad, and your siblings, not to mention my own siblings, someone has to be the voice of reason." It is...reassuring in a way to know that Wyron is aware of the risk. Considerably more worrying still, however, that he is aware and conscious that he would be furious with another who took that risk in his place and yet still chose that path himself. He can't dismiss the niggling similarities between his youngest and his brother, both of whom will push themselves to the breaking point and dance along the very edge of that cliff even when they're about to slip off.

Flick has rather grown used to her home being used as neutral ground; his younger sister won't bat an eyelid at being asked to clear out for a while. There's a high possibility that Kester is in Scotland again - Gen always tags along on more of Cayden's jobs when her parents are living separately - but Jon has no problem with being the one to take her out for the day or else delegating that to Drake, who has always been adept at drawing a smile from her. "Flick doesn't know," Jon says flatly, "and neither does Lucas. After your meeting with Jas, you'll be the fifth person to be in on the secret - and two of them are dead."

[Rister Graas S6]

“Yes, but I was always absolutely adorable at the same time,” Wyron pointed out with a grin. He had his pride and his easy confidence as a Graas that was born and bred into each of the members of the family. And so the veneer of confidence and care for himself was so easy to slip into that no one ever seemed to question how honestly it actually was. Wyron was also one of the best and burying his hurts deep within himself and putting on a good face.

Jon's suggestion earns him a sputter and a horrified look from Wyron. “Oh sweet Merlin, no. Not planning on bedding Kellen. Ever,” he snapped with a shake of his head, “Though perhaps don't tell Kellen that. We don't need the boy taking out another contract of the Graas's. Although could you imagine the fallout?” Wyron can't help but grin, even as years of habit rise to the fore and offer him plans and counterplans and backup plans without needing to consider. “Oh well, if he does, I'll just get Tristan and Drake and Stephen and Julien – or if he has an issue with it, we can always give Avis polyjuice potion, she owes me anyway – and we can strip down in the twins beds just to cut down on the number of any future contracts.”

“I thought we covered it. Lucas is the reasonable one. Or me,” Wyron pointed out but rather than pursue the topic he simply looked at Jon. He could see easily enough Flick not knowing, but far as he remembered it was rare for the triplets to have secrets amongst each other. Well, not that he had either been the confident of any of them, but even so. He had promised to trust though so Wyron didn't push and instead nodded and simply said a quite genuine: “Thank you.”

[Philip Garwin]

"It's time then." Jas speaks for the first time since Jon had outlined the situation, his grave tone breaking the tense silence. "I think this is the longest we've ever managed to keep a secret and now the truth is going to come out." He pauses deliberately, watching his brother with deep, dark eyes. "You've thought about what this will do to Avis? Rafe has only just got her to ease up on the reins a bit before her plans for world domination ruin us completely. She learns about this, she'll go right back into her tailspin and that'll be the end of us."

Jon has already considered that possibility - has spent decades thinking about the ramifications if their secret ever came to light, in truth - which is the only reason he can just scoff at his brother's solemnity. "If the truth comes out, the Cartiers won't be her problem anymore."

Jas tips his glass in acknowledgement of a point well made; water, Jon notes, not Scotch, and left-handed despite a lifetime of hiding his dominant hand. Jas' gaze is dark and bitter, almost as telling as the tense lines around his mouth and eyes. Being mostly forced into retirement because of his injuries has hardened Jas further, no longer filling him with undirected fury as it had while Jas was still adapting to the reality that the nerves in his right hand are essentially dead but still ruining him to some extent. Avis had him reassigned to longterm undercover espionage several months ago - which Jon understands, because Jas is already nearing the age at which he would have had to reevaluate his options anyway and his damaged hand had simply forced that choice to be made for him - but watching Rin take first pick of the assignments that once would have been his alone is taking its toll on his pride. Jas can eat as healthily and exercise as often as he likes, Jon decides sympathetically; one day he'll just have to accept that Avis has made her decision and nothing will sway her.

"Are you sure he's the person we should be telling?" Jas questions, seemingly idle if not for the sharpness of his expression. "Gen tells me about Rin, you know. About the risks she takes and the stitches Tara puts in her and the way she has to cling to the empty promise that no woman will ever mean more to Cayden than she does. His son has made her reckless and ruined her potential. That's who you want to let in on our secret?"

Jon casts his brother an exhausted glare and Jas subsides somewhat mutinously, now that he knows that Jon is serious. "If I thought you meant that," he murmurs with a dangerous quiet, "then we'd have a problem, you and I. My son and my grandson have no more damaged Rin than our entire family has - and what manner of fool do you take me for, to believe that she would ever confide in Gen or Tara? Rin discusses Cayden with no one."

The prospect of telling the truth has them both on edge, snappish and short-tempered. This is a secret that has travelled with them since their final year at Hogwarts and the idea of the repercussions that accompany the truth is enough to cause concern, to say the least. When Jas extends a hand across the table, Jon takes the peace offering and clutches at his brother's fingers wordlessly.

"It's so stupid," Jas hisses fiercely. "What we did isn't any worse than murder or torture or blackmail but, of all the things our family do, this would get you locked up in Azkaban for the rest of your life. Maybe Avis too. How does that make any sense?"

"To be fair," Jon comments on a broken laugh, "the murder and torture would get us all locked up too. Maybe we don't admit to that part." Jas rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smirk. "He deserves to know," Jon finishes quietly. "Telling him won't make anything any better but he still has a right to the truth. If he tells Avis or Rafe or Tristan, we'll deal with that too."

Jas makes a noncommittal noise, his left index finger tapping the air above his brother's wedding ring. "You willing to risk your marriage for this, Jon? Hell of a risk to take just to try and clean up another one of my messes. You said it yourself: it won't make anything better, for anyone."

"Saturday afternoon," is all Jon says in return, pulling his hand away as he stands. "Flick's house. Don't keep him waiting."

[Rister Graas S6]

The portkey brings Wyron to Flick's house at exactly three minutes before noon, Wyron having timed it like that on purpose. However familiar Jas was with his sister's house – and despite all the time since their actual last conversation – Wyron guesses that the man would still appreciate the time to look over the house again and settle in position. In fact he wouldn't be particularly surprised to find Jas perching on roof with a weapon and wand at hand to guard the door would Wyron glance up. You didn’t grow to be old as an assassin without a healthy dose of paranoia. The thought brings a faint curl of amusement to Wyron's lips even as he pointedly doesn't glance upwards and instead crosses the courtyard to enter through the unlocked door.

He paused for a moment in the foyer with an idle glance around. The house was devoid of everyone but him – and Jas if the man was already here as Wyron suspected – which was most likely for the best. But it did also mean that there was no convenient house-elf to pop out of the ether and provide directions. Oh well. That was hardly an insurmountable obstacle. Stepping forward, Wyron pushed open the door to the dining room, pausing with a curious tilt of his head in the doorway. The tea-set laid out on a side-table was wrong. Well, not wrong as such but that large upended mug definitely didn't go with the delicate teapot. Jon then. Or Misty – the house-elf had always had a soft spot for Wyron. Not that he minded. He could use a cup of tea as lately he felt as if he couldn't shake the chill from his bones no matter what he did or how hot he actually was. Plus the mug would give him something to do with his hand while talking to Jas.

Pushing away from the door-frame, Wyron crossed the room to the tea, turning theh upended mug the right side up and picking up the mint chocolate treat underneath. Popping the sweet in his mouth, Wyron tucked it between his front teeth with his tongue as he let it slowly melt there. He deserved a treat after the morning he had had. A wake-up call at two for work – because even sick, Wyron was the best there was – and then a meeting with her doctor only to learn that he wasn’t responding to treatment. With a small sigh Wyron tapped a pattern he used for tea against the teapot and inhaled deeply – the undertone of spices in the tea telling him that it was one of his own blends that Drake's wife had once had mixed for him as a birthday present - as a puff of steam and the smell of freshly brewed tea wafted from the pot. Pouring the tea into the mug, Wyron wrapped his palm around the surface of the mug. He would take the rest of the day for himself he decided while inhaling the aroma of the tea. Spend it lazing in the sunshine. Maybe at the small groundskeepers house he owned tucked away at the corner of a vineyard he owned. Or maybe he'd go to New Orleans and see Mary Rose. The alligator had started showing herself a lot more ever since her little adventure to Italy. Of course she had also been far more aggressive ever since.

Crossing the room again, Wyron extended an index finger to divert a small burst of magic to the doorknob as the door opened before him. He'd take the rest of the day, but first he had to get through this meeting with Jas. It would be an interesting one. It had been a long-long time since he and Jas had actually talked. Oh, they had caught glimpses of each other – the warehouse the latest – and Wyron had run the intel on a lot of his missions. But then neither was likely going to be the same man the other had once known. Wyron certainly wasn't. Years of his work had left its marks on his psyche and body and the illness had left its own impression on his face and body. Oh, he still had the fine bone structure of a Graas – would need to do more than slam face-first into a hard brick wall to loose that – but there were lines there and he knew he was looking gaunter than ever. He might still have his fine features, but even if once he might have entertained a hope he could have at least been physically attractive to Jas, that was unlikely to be a possibility anymore. With a wry grimace Wyron lifted his mug in a mocking salute to himself as he caught his eye in the mirror and turned towards the next door. He'd check the sunroom and the back garden it led to next as it was a semi-decent day. Or maybe he'd just sit down on the steps to the garden with his tea and let Jas be the one to find him instead.

[Philip Garwin]

This is ridiculous. The whole situation is absurd. Jas doesn't pace as he waits, although he badly wants to. He has better control over his impulses than that. Instead, he sits in one of Flick's overstuffed armchairs, all straight lines and sharp angles despite the chair being specifically designed to draw people back into reclining comfortably.

"I remember a young man who would sprawl himself over any item of furniture in the house," Flick comments fondly as she bustles past to collect the miscellany that resides in her handbag whenever she leaves the house. One such item is a thin stiletto blade, which she pointedly holds up for his inspection before tucking it away between her purse and her favourite lipstick. His sister has always been very clear that she will never be a Cartier in any way but Jas had trained her himself. She knows how to look after herself, if need be. "What happened to him?"

For her, for his sweet sister who guards herself and her daughters from the worst of the Cartier influence but welcomes them into her home regardless, Jas manages the same sort of smile he would have given her decades ago, long before life became this complicated. The young man she's talking about died a long time ago, was already fading by the time she came into his life. Flick is practically incandescent today, her smile brighter than it has been for a long time, and he would feel every bit the monster he calls himself if he ruined that for her. She and Kester have their problems, in that Kester spends a a lot of his time in Scotland and Flick doesn't like the majority of her in-laws, but no one makes her happy in quite the same way that Kester does. For that alone, Jas would forgive a hell of a lot of sins.

Once she has everything collected, Flick puts a hand on her hip and gives him her sternest, most parental stare, the one that was used most often during Gen's adolescence. Jas knows it well; he and Rafe have witnessed it often as Gen's godfathers. "Try not to break anything in my house," she lectures firmly, "no drinking, no fighting, no shouting. The pair of you have hurt each other enough," she finishes quietly as she leans in to drop a kiss against his cheek. "Try not to make it any worse."

"Don't worry," Jas assures sardonically. "He'll have all the power after today." Jon had brushed his worries aside but Jas can't shake the feeling of uneasiness that clings to him. It's probably just paranoia, but his heightened sense of caution has kept him alive this long. He doesn't know Wyron, not anymore. He remembers a kid letting Stephen trail after him and Tristan, a good brother to Avis with mischief in his smile, a young man saying words that Jas could only hear as lies or the confused emotions of the young. When he thinks of Wyron now, he can picture a younger Cayden, eyes burning with hate and betrayal, and the quick flash of a man framed by blood and pain. Logical Jas knows that he should be able to trust Wyron. He loves Avis and Jon, he's Tristan's friend, and he saved his life. Jas also knows that he hurt Wyron without even meaning to, without knowing that he could, and that revenge is a powerful motivator.

Jas can feel the exact moment that Wyron crosses the property line, but only because he and his brothers had been the ones to anchor some of the wards protecting the house when Flick had first moved in. He could escape with Wyron being none the wiser, he knows. Jas has at least three different escape routes mapped out in his mind whenever he enters any building; paranoia keeping him alive again. He doesn't though. He stays in the sunroom, Flick's favourite room, and waits, patient and unmoving.

"My brother tells me that it's story time," Jas says quietly when catches sight of Wyron in the corner of his eye. "So sit yourself comfortably and we'll begin."

[Rister Graas S6]

Jas was in the sunroom. Of course he is. Wyron isn't entirely sure whether to be pleased or irked by it. So instead he ignores it, idly sweeps his thumb back and forth over the mug and and steps forward. “Jasper,” he greets evenly, well aware that no one calls the man that anymore. But that one extra syllable helps to create a distance between the man himself and between the man who threw him aside. Silly little protection it is, those three extra letters are what had allowed Wyron to keep running the intelligence on Jas's missions, despite the obvious pain and hesitance that had been on Avis' face the first time she had asked after Wyron had run. Because Wyron was the best and so was Jas. Still was Wyron suspected, even if he knew the list of injuries the older man had.

There is a second arm chair set angled just right to the one Jas sits in, but the armchairs are in shadow. So Wyron ignores the seat, instead hooking his toe around the leg of a padded footrest as he passes Jas' seat – not quite close enough to be caught even if Jas were to reach out his arm but not circling the chair either - and hauls it to a spot of sunlight right next to the glass wall and sits on it. Ever the cat, he can almost hear Dad's voice in his mind as he settles in, stretching out long legs and leaning his back against the glass to be warmed by the sun while holding his mug tucked close to his chest so that the rising steam could warm his neck and the underside of his jaw. It's a vulnerable position really with the glass behind him, but the sun makes up for it. And there's a brazier next to him that Wyron considers thoughtfully but chooses not to light just yet. But hopefully it will go some way in making Jas feel less threatened. Even before he got ill Wyron was unlikely to pose a physical threat to the man – sure, he knew some self-defence and how to look after himself but he didn't kid himself enough to even entertain a thought it would help him a moment against Jas' training. It was unlikely the man would be able to catch the cat, should Wyron shift, but then that was another secret Jas knew about him anyway.

For a moment he simply studies Jas, idly noting the stiff way he's holding him. Maybe it would have been better to do this at Jas' home where he would feel safe? But no. That might associate the place with this meeting and Wyron wouldn't begrudge the man a place to rest and hide from everyone. That's why he had his nooks and crannies around the world. “Yes, because Jon obviously thinks I don't hold enough secrets already,” he responds with a tilt of his head – a gesture he had inherited from his father, he knows – while not entirely able to keep the irony out of his tone even as he huffs in amusement. Straight to the point then. Not surprising, really. He doubts Jas was eager for this meeting. Even as he speaks he lifts the mug of tea towards Jas stallingly however. “If I may make a point before that? I asked for this meeting because I had a question for you. Well, a question and... a plan? A proposition? A second question? However you wish to call it and depending on what you'll make of it. It was Jon who thought I need to hear the story, so I'll listen. I would however still like to ask my two questions afterwards,” Wyron elaborated, in the opes that Jas wouldn't just rattle through the story, jump up and run away. The last was a bit unfair perhaps, because Wyron was the one more likely to run. But then Wyron really thought that he could forgive himself this one because he really didn't know what to make of all the conflicting emotions tugging him every-which way as he watched Jas for a moment longer, before spreading his arm in a wordless gesture that the floor was his.

[Philip Garwin]

Jasper. He never has been able to definitively identify why Wyron calls him that. Formality? Punishment? Certainly Dad only ever broke out their full names when they were in trouble. A way to lay claim to a part of him that no one else uses? Wyron is still every bit the mystery he was when he first stood there and quite calmly told Jas that he was in love with him. Utterly calm and without drama in a way that no love Jas had ever been witness to before had been. He knows himself well enough to know that he wouldn't believe such a confession even now, not without proof - and proof he had certainly gotten, which he hadn't expected in the slightest.

"The Cartier family is rooted in secrets," Jas comments lightly. Secrets upon secrets upon secrets, like a snake eating its own tail. Lies and secrets are their first line of defence, and few are as damaging as the one Jon has asked him to share. He had expected questions, had braced himself for them, but the mention of a proposition catches his attention and shifts his gaze directly to Wyron for the first time in years. Whatever it is he'll do it, Jas knows. It's been so long since he felt useful in any real way. "You can ask once I've finished," he allows easily, "although Merlin knows that you may not wish to once you've heard." Of all his sins, this isn't the one that weighs heaviest on his heart but it certainly ranks up there near the top of his biggest regrets.

"It's not a long story, not truly, and you already know most of it. Your facts are just a bit...skewed. The best lies are rooted in truth, after all. So you're familiar with the story of the three Cartier bastards, and I'm certain you can imagine the treatment they received from their pureblood peers. Pureblood supremacy hasn't much changed since then." Jas can still taste the humiliation and anger that had festered within him, can still see the corresponding flash of frustration in Jon's identical hazel gaze. "So we, Jon and I, decided when we were just fourteen that we wouldn't stand for it any longer. Lucas had always been better at ignoring what Jon and I called the injustice directed towards us; perhaps the Cartier anger doesn't run quite so deeply through him or maybe he just has better control. But as teenagers, neither Jon nor I had much control to speak of at all - we took to kicking the shit out of each other sometimes just because we couldn't stand it any longer. So we decided that Jon would steal back our birthright from our second cousin, Marcus, and his incredibly stuck up prick of a son." Despite the self-control he prides himself on, Jas finds his hands curled into fists, blunt nails cutting into the skin of his left palm. His right hand can't quite close that far, which causes his jaw to tighten further as he forces his hands to straighten with slow deliberation.

"We both started training then, in our own ways. I already enjoyed gymnastics and duelling - anything physical that could distract me from the judgement around us, really - but then I threw myself into it. If Jon was going to be Head, he would need someone to guard his back. Jon had the more mind-numbingly boring training, which I had absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Diplomacy isn't particularly my strong suit." Jas shrugs. He knows his faults, and he had been far worse as a teenager. More than a little bit of Tristan's showmanship comes from Jas, although no one who hadn't known him in his youth would suspect it. "Then we messed up. Marcus died - with no help from me - and we had a short window in which to obtain the Head's ring before his son did. Jon wanted to plan it out properly: a grand reveal which, incidentally, would have drawn your father's eye. My brother took a while to grasp the idea of subtlety. I disagreed; we were running out of time so it was the time for action, not planning. So I went myself, successfully thieved the ring and made sure everyone knew that Jonathan Cartier was to be the next Head of the Cartiers."

"It shouldn't have mattered," Jas says, his voice rasping a little. He isn't accustomed to talking for so long. "Everything we knew about the Cartiers indicated that it shouldn't have mattered. But it did, and I don't think any of my children would be surprised to know that now. Of course leading the Cartiers would fall to whomever took the right." Just as Jon had, Jas eases his signet ring from his finger and offers it to Wyron. "There's a crown engraved on the inside of the band, which is the primary difference between my ring and Jon's, and now Avis'. As acting Heads, their crown is on the outside. Not that we knew that at the time, of course. We just knew that Jon couldn't wear the Head ring without nearly dying. He had every right to hate me for stealing his future from him, but he didn't. Perhaps because he knew I didn't want it or maybe just because I worked so hard to find a way to change what I had done. We went to Dad and Leo in the end, begging them to find a way to help us - and then Leo told us that it was worse than we even knew. I had stolen the ring, which made it mine, but I had done it in Jon's name and he was masquerading as the Head whilst we desperately tried to fix things. Did you know that bloodline theft is punishable by a lifetime in Azkaban?" Jas enquires politely. "I didn't, not back then."

[Rister Graas S6]

Wyron acknowledges Jas's promise to let him ask later by crossing one ankle over the other and then he simply listens. The stigma of being pureblood bastards with a muggle not that far down the family tree isn't an unfamiliar matter, Jon had touched upon it as well. And while Wyron doesn't understand, not really because he has never faced it, he can empathise. And he can not prod or can choose to simply listen and try to understand rather than try and offer empty words because he doesn't understand it on that instinctual bone level. So that is what he does. He keeps his eyes level and calm – and steady on Jas's face even if he can see his hands moving in his peripheral vision – and listens.

Jas' easy admittance of not liking diplomacy earned an appreciative quirk of a smile and the ring received a glance with raised eye-brows before Wyron simply looks back into Jas' face as he listens to the rest of the story. And then listens to the silence that stretches and then stretches some more while Wyron's gaze remains as steady as it has always been. Finally, when the silence is already uncomfortable, Wyron sighs, takes a sip of his tea and raises his brows at Jas and asks: “And?”

Wyron has never been one to react impulsively, his work having trained any natural leanings towards hotheadedness out of him permanently. Not that he's feeling any particular impulse to act now. It's selfish. He did come here today, so wrapped up in himself, in his questions, his own pain at being discarded that Jas's story isn't enough to cut through it. Oh, he'll think it through later, will run it through his mind backwards and forward and be pissed and angry and scared for Jon and Jas and have the emotions. But right now he's able to simply blink back at Jas. “I am aware of the punishment, yes,” he responds politely to the one question Jas had asked him, “And I realise that you're waiting for me to react, but I admit that I'm not entirely sure what you expect me to do? I'm not even entirely sure why Jon thought I'd need to hear this story.” Because Wyron had told Jon that he wanted to ask about Jas taking up his ring, so why would Jon think this story would answer the question? Because Jas had stolen one ring and so it didn't matter? No. It was an ugly thought, an insinuation Wyron thought Jon had meant at any point so he discarded the thought.

Even so Wyron sighed in surrender, took another sip of tea and then tipped his head back, closing his eyes as the sun hit them, heedless of the fact it left him unaware and with his neck on full display in a room with an assassin. He had never managed to scrounge up any fear towards Jas as a kid and was finding it just as impossible to fear the man now as an adult. His thumb idly rubbing at the scar on his chest behind the mug, Wyron considered the story he had just been told for a moment. “I trust Marcus' son is dead?” he asked after a moment. Because hopefully Jas and Jon – or their father and Leo at the very least – would have known better than to leave a loose end even while panicking. If not, well... “Because I'd rather have the afternoon to myself, but needs must,” Wyron finished as he lowered his face and opened his eyes again before shrugging as Jas as their eyes met again, “I'm not going to hurt my father. Either of them. Nor my sister.” Nor Jas really. Because however conflicted he might feel while looking at the man, however angry and hurt he still was for having been discarded the way he had been... he loved the man.

“I don't know enough to guess at the oath and the bloodline – seeing that you are a Cartier as well – mess between you and Jon. You are the best at what you do, but I think Jon did probably make a better Head, a public one at least, than you would have made. As you said, diplomacy isn't your strongest suit and having the Head of the family hidden makes an odd amount of sense considering the family business, But regardless of everything you are the de iure Head of the Cartiers.” And actually saying those words out loud surprised Wyron, made him reach back in his mind to re-examine memories to wonder if it had ever shown in any interaction, any action. “So have you actually thought about what happens after you die? Do you really think the family – that Avis – would notice the vacuum of power when the Head dies? That no one would probably even guess to come to claim your ring? That the Cartiers would then loose the family Head and be left as just stewards of the once Cartier house?” And by Merlin, this actually did feel like something coming from Tristan and Stephen again, where Wyron had to do the thinking about the consequences. He would call Jon an idiot the next time he saw the man. Purely on principle. “Or is someone coming to claim the ring and Headship, however hidden or public?”

Wyron lowered his eyes to his mug, wetting his lips absently. “I have listened to the story, the secret now so I return to my previous question – and? I don't know why Jon and you thought I need to know this, bloody mess of a situation as it is – so what do you want me to do about it?”

[Philip Garwin]

"That entire section of the family tree was destroyed a long time ago," Jas confirms vaguely. He doesn't go into detail, but then he doesn't need to. Wyron knows who he is and what he does. It makes no difference that Marcus' son and his wife had been the first kills of a very long list. If nothing else, it served as a very clear message that Jon was in charge and there to stay. They should have issued a similar warning when Avis took her father's place, Jas reflects sadly, but hindsight is a terrible thing. None of them had anticipated an attack on a pregnant woman; no one could have prevented what happened to Julien's girlfriend.

"There was never any question of my being the Head," Jas dismisses with a shrug. "I have on occasion disagreed with the way that Avis handles things but she does the job with far more grace than I ever could have, as did Jon." Jas was always the physical one, the child who couldn't sit still and always needed to be doing something. It was why he excelled at gymnastics and sports, and why he and his brothers had caused so much trouble as kids. "I think learning that Rafe had ashed his ring damaged something in Jon though, which is why Avis had to step up so soon." The realisation that his insistence on being Head had cost him years with Rafe, and hurt them both deeply, in addition to damaging Jas hadn't been easy for Jon to bear.

Jas fixes Wyron with a sharp, chiding gaze. "I am not my youngest sons," he chastises firmly. "We were young and stupid, yes, but we have had decades to figure out how to clean up after ourselves. Do not make the mistake of thinking that we would take such risks with our family, with our children." He still has his pride, undimmed despite the shadows he lives in, and Jas never could stand to be underestimated. "My ring goes to Avis when I die," is all he says. Some secrets have to remain with him, even if Jon had asked for full disclosure. "Julien would make a fine Head if he had to but he hasn't been trained for it in the way that Avis was. Besides, I dread to think what would happen to the family once Landon inherited the ring. I was never suited for it but I think he would actually be worse."

"Jon didn't want me to tell you so that you could do anything about it," Jas corrects softly. "I believe he wanted you to understand. I told you once that I had a tattoo, do you remember?" He has more than one, actually, but the one he's referring to rests against his spine, slightly to the left. "When we performed the ritual that gave Jon the power to act as the Cartier Head without me having to sign off on every single thing he did, it required a price to be paid. Cartier rituals and artefacts always do. Usually it's blood, but in this case we share the same blood. So instead it carved out the things that made me who I was - my animagus form, any enjoyment in showing off, my cuff, and the peace that I could find in a good book mainly - and replaced them with an undying devotion and loyalty to the Cartier family. I could delegate my duties as the Head, but only if our family magic was assured that I could never love anyone more than the family."

Jas smiles emptily, letting Wyron peek at the void that exists behind his eyes when he looks at anyone who isn't blood-related. "I am quite literally incapable of love, Wyron. The promise that you matter, that you are important, has always been all that I can offer you. It has been so long that I don't even remember what passion or attraction feels like anymore."

[Rister Graas S6]

“We are, all of us, a little damaged,” Wyron murmured, mostly to himself really. He usually tried not to meddle with the relationship between his father’s though – whatever had been done was long gone. And it had worked out in the end. Jas’s admonishment earned a wry smile, but Wyron bit his proverbial tongue to keep from retorting that maybe Jas should stop acting like his sons or grandsons, if he didn’t want to be treated as them. He could keep his peace and his calm as he listened to the rest of it. Avis getting the ring was… a solution, he supposed. It would hurt Avis however, would hurt her relationship with Jon. Would hurt her relationship with Wyron should she learn he knew before she did. But that wasn’t for him to fix. Not now. So Wyron made himself put the thought aside and simply focused on Jas for a moment. It seemed as if he owed the man an apology now more than ever.

“Thank you,” he settled on a moment later, turnings his eyes back to Jasper, “You might not care or think it much, but sometimes it needs to be said anyway. And I can say it, whereas Jon and Avis perhaps can’t. So thank you for carrying this and trying your best not to hurt my stepfather and sister.” It couldn’t have been easy to carry this burden, to bear the Head’s ring and yet submit to the decisions of someone else. It’s a wonder it hadn’t ripped Jas apart a long time ago. “And I am sorry. An apology I have been due to you for a long time. I left to give you whatever space and time you needed – and have travelled for far more reasons than you – and to stay out of your way. It hasn’t quite worked out the way I wanted and has made things more difficult to you, for which I do apologies. Little as it might do. And something I do want to discuss, but later.”

The void Jas presents doesn’t frighten Wyron either. It’s the same one he sees in his brother. The same one he can see in so many of the men he calls his sons when the pain becomes too much and they hollow themselves out until there is no more left to give. It is something he has known for as long as he can remember, something that has always been a sign of home and safety rather than actual danger. Years of work and pain have created a hollow in him where an echo of the same void resides. “Ah,” he murmurs instead, the smile tinged with just a hint of sadness lingering on his face, “But you never offered that. Never offered a promise nor companionship, not beyond what I guess you thought you needed to because I am important to your family.” And that sounds almost painfully familiar an echo of a different conversation ringing in his ears. He had asked Rin whether friendship and companionship had been enough. It would have been for him. He can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him even as he closes his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m still going to use my resources and skills for the Cartiers and no friendships will end based on you making or not making any promises.”

“That does actually lead me to the question I wanted to ask, something that has been bothering me for a long while now,” Wyron asks instead, “Why did you decide to pick up my ring that night? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking why you – or rather Jon – returned it. I’m well aware that I don’t exactly count amongst the people you care for. If anything, I suppose I should apologise to you again, because I suspect Avis was hopeful for me when breaking up your marriage to Valerie, who was a part of your family. I’m not asking you to love me or make any promises. You didn’t want the good times, I’m certainly not going to make you martyr yourself for the bad ones. All I’m asking for is your reasoning. There would have been… easier… options to tell me no.” Wyron let his arm drop to his side, the mug clinking quietly as it touched the floor leaving him open as he finally reopened his eyes to seek out Jas’s, ignoring the phantom tinge of pain echoing from the still vivid scar he had on his chest. “All I’m asking for is why, Jasper. Why did you choose to pick up the ring?”

Wyron paused, a self-deprecating smile lingering on his face. “Well, I suppose out of purely personal interest I should also be asking whether you happened to take an oath at any point when either claiming your ring or getting your tattoo that would have triggered a clause about you, however incorrectly, actually caring and so reflecting a curse to me.” Wyron knew that Jas didn’t care, didn’t choose to do so when emotionally he couldn’t, beyond what duty of care he supposed he owed to someone his family members cared for, someone who was useful for the family. But a curse wouldn’t be able to read the nuances of human emotion and might have triggered on Jas picking up the ring regardless. And while the curse might have been muted by returning the ring, leaving even a mild curse to fester for years could lead to some pretty unpleasant results. “But I can’t really find myself caring all that much to be honest. I can’t even remember what it felt like to have a day when I’m not in pain.”