The Lightning that Jumps Between

Nine

Ethan's heart was thudding rapidly in his chest after he'd doubled back to his room and grabbed the leather-bound journal from its shelf. He clutched it as if seeking reassurance, passing through the long hallway and grabbing the second cup of coffee on his way. The first cup had been moved when Karl suggested they take their late-night coffee musings to the parlor.

Ethan, delighted, asked if Heisenberg was becoming domesticated and wanted to cuddle on the sofa. Karl had responded with widened yellow eyes that he was tired and the stools in the kitchen were uncomfortable.

Close enough.

Rain cascaded down the blackened windows, filling the blond's head with its static sound. Why was he nervous about showing Karl these sketches? He'd rifled through the other man's journal without batting an eye, and had seen an inkling of Heisenberg's inner genius with the blueprints and anatomical artwork contained therein. Twisted genius, perhaps, but still impressive.

Ethan realized that he had never willingly shown anyone his journals, not even Mia.

It struck an odd chord within as he made the connection, turning into the hauntingly large, shadowed parlor. His journals were his own solace inside his head, the place that he came to when working out problems. He never wanted to burden others with these musings, found the idea terrifying. But then, so much of his marriage had been begging Mia for answers, that he'd never considered his unwillingness to focus on himself. That had caught up to him, hadn't it?

Karl had already started the fire (begrudgingly, and while complaining, but Ethan insisted-heavy rain and summer wind was the perfect excuse to be cozy) and now the brunette lounged on the antique sofa, enjoying his cigar.

The strange feeling of sadness, longing, confusion was compounded by the joy Ethan felt at seeing Karl sitting there staring into the fire. The armor of choice-hat, glasses, gloves, were cast aside. His white button up shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, which were peppered with hair and old scars.

He sat in the same position as the King had taken earlier that day; one ankle was draped over the other knee. Karl's left arm extended outward, stretching over the back of the sofa, while he held the cigar in the other hand. It was a rare sight; Heisenberg relaxed, lounging. Quiet. Looking into the flames contemplatively. Although Ethan could tell from the dancing of the dark fingers, the way Heisenberg chewed on his lip and jiggled his raised foot at the ankle-the energy was still there, coursing through him as it always must.

Thanks to the dancing shadows and no other light in this room, Ethan could almost see a hint of the young man from their time together in the Mold's realm. The orange-red of the fire seemed to erase the harshness of the scars and lines, instead highlighting his cheekbones and those wonderfully thick lips. Gray strands didn't stand out in the dim light, his hair appearing darker, with reddish tones thanks to the fire.

Ethan was staring. Heisenberg's eyebrows lifted as he turned his eyes upward to the blond quizzically. His expression was so serious and Ethan so stunned into silence, that he was surprised to hear the good-natured humor of the other, his accent lilting as always.

"See anything you like, Buttercup?"

Ethan actually chuckled as he fought to move his legs again. He sat beside the brunette and grinned when Heisenberg paused, cigar in mouth, to pull Ethan's long legs over his torso.

"You did want to cuddle."

"They're nice legs," Heisenberg said defensively, running a hand over the outside of Ethan's thigh as if to prove his point. His eyes lighted on the journal, and before he could inquire, Ethan thrust it toward the other. He was about to lose his nerve, he realized. His heart was still beating rapidly.