𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐒𝐨𝐂

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍.

xiv: mirror on the wall 

Natasha Van Doren stretched herself awake, the muscles in her arms straining. Everything felt sore, her brow hot and sweaty. Someone had folded her blankets in a neat pile, and left an uncapped a milk bottle by her side. 

She downed the milk, wiping away the white moustache on her upper lip with the back of her hand. "You're awake," Kaz said brightly, turning back towards her. He'd changed from his black attire into a white shirt and a loosened tie. 

He wasn't wearing a hat; not even his gloves, still he kept his hands protectively behind his back. When Kaz turned she caught sight of them. He had long slender fingers, ribbons of scar tissue creating a beautiful winding pattern from his wrist to the tips of his middle finger. 

On his palm was a crescent scar, butchered with faint lines, possibly from constant scratching. Kaz's eyes followed hers and he burrowed his hands into his pockets, standing with his back against the wall. 

"Why do you wear gloves?" Natasha asked, as he reached across the table for the pair. They were stitched to the exact skeleton of his hand - skin tight. "I assume it isn't for the aesthetic," She nodded her head towards his hat. "That things works all the magic," 

His lips twitched. "Easier to pick pockets," Kaz said easily, taking the empty milk bottle from her hand and chucking into a waste barrel. "Besides it works for my appeal. People like to think I'm a demon, a creature with eight fingers and talons. Fear is my lever," 

"Matthias," Natasha stated. "He calls you Demjin,"

Kaz turned back to her. "Isn't far from the truth," He shrugged, running his tongue over his teeth. He was proud of his dominance over Ketterdam, how his name caused people to shudder and mothers to draw their children back indoors. 

Besides, Natasha enjoyed his boasts. It distracted her for parem, and if anything, she liked Kaz Brekker. His stupid gloves, and his obscure riddles. 

Even in his silence, Kaz Brekker told a story. He always paused at the right moments, holding her attention taut and concluding on cliff hangers that made her incredibly distraught. 

"That's a horrible fucking story," Natasha swore, crossing her arms over her chest. Today she was particularly sick, coughing and spluttering and passing out hourly. 

Kaz handed her a hot towel, and she unbuttoned her blouse, placing it against her collarbones. "Why does the man always have to save the girl? If he let her do her thing, they could have killed the bad guy in the first sentence," 

He laughed quietly, drawing a stool and sitting upon it. "What would you propose then?" Kaz asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Tell me a story Natasha Van Doren. Amuse me," 

"The only thing that seems to amuse you is kruge," Natasha mumbled, making herself comfortable on pile of washed sheets. Still, she blinked hard, conjuring a story in her mind. "I have one," 

Kaz gestured his head for her to continue, spreading his legs apart, and propping his elbows on his knees. He tapped a long finger against his cheek as he waited for her to begin. "I don't know if it's a real story," Natasha said quietly. "I remember it in my dreams a lot, if not every single day," 

She looked down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers. "I don't remember where it happened. But I was high up, dangerously high," Natasha didn't realise the slight raise in his shoulders, attention spiked behind his eyes.

 "I was wearing a skirt, sort of a stupid for climbing. It was cold too and I didn't even have a scarf. It was black and the night was worse, not a single star in the sky. I remember a gun," She laughed at the thought, it all seemed so obscure. Yet, deja vu lingered upon every words.  

"I was with someone. A boy, similar to you, but a lot nicer. His hair was curlier and he smiled a lot more, it was as if it was constantly etched upon his lips. I liked his character, he was lovely," 

Kaz leaned back in his seat, thoroughly pleased at her recollection of memories. "As much as I love this, this isn't a story, it's more of a love sick description of a boy you don't even know is real,"

Natasha scowled. "Shut up I haven't finished," He mimicked locking his lips and stamping the key underneath his boots. "Now where was I?" She readjusted the rag on her collar, water dripping down the front of her shirt. 

"We were huddled close together, heads back to back. I guess we were hiding from something, the guns there to protect us. The boy cried out, pointing to a shadow in the distance. No matter how many times it's replayed in my head, I never make out its features," 

Kaz swallowed hard. He knew exactly the day Natasha was describing. Cold August, hiding from the stadwatch after robbing the day's markets dry. The skirt she was wearing was red silk - awfully see through, when climbing beneath her he squinted his eyes extra hard. 

It was their third heist together, the biggest of them all - at the time. They'd stolen a few hundred kruge worth of goods, stashing them in the safe house, soon to become the Crow Club. The stadwatch had chased them through the capital, and Kaz and Natasha had ran through the night. 

"The shadow drew its gun first. I heard it,"

 But she hadn't. 

Natasha had heard the cock of Kaz's own gun; the shadow wasn't Stadwatch at all. It was an elderly man, greying with a wispy beard. Kaz still remembered pushing Natasha behind his back, to make sure she never realised her mistake. 

"And I shot the shadow. It fell backwards and I remember feeling so cold. I knew I had killed him, but I couldn't bring myself to cry. The boy didn't either, but he stopped smiling after that. Every time he appeared in my dreams, his smile was rare, a moment captured in my imagination," 

"It could be real," Kaz said, stretching back in his seat. "Maybe you are a murderer, Van Doren," He grinned at her horrified expression. "I'm not judging you, I've killed a few people, all of them deserved it," 

She gaped at him as if he had a hole through his head. "I'm not a murderer," Natasha quickly defended. Her posture changed, tall and regal, the scowling look of a mother disciplining a child. Kaz hid his grin behind his hand. "I'm not like you," 

Kaz Brekker laughed, bearing his throat to the ceiling. "Perhaps not yet," He said, "Time is it's own God. It only ever hastens when we want the moment to last forever; slows and runs sluggish during our most painful days," 

"Brekker, if you weren't an utter bastard you'd make quite the poet," Natasha said, offering him the greatest grin she could muster. The moment was tense and familiar, yet again a repeat of history she couldn't quite locate. 

A vein in his jaw twitched, as if he were itching to say something. "Well then," She buttoned her blouse, neatly folding the wet rag. "To my detested story teller," She threw the rag towards him and he caught it deftly in his palm, with a mirrored smile. 

A/N

- This chapters parallels is to chapter nine of Best Beloved. Haven't edited of the chapters yet, so apologies. There relationship is slowly starting to move along, however nothing is serious until they're on Ketterdam's soil. When they're off the schooner the events of Crooked Kingdom with a tailored plot will be the theme of this fic.

- rosa <33