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Chapter Text

Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, was not having a good day.

That happened sometimes, sure. But when on top of that, Rufus Drumknott of all people seemed to be messing with you, chances were that this already annoying day was about to get much worse.

Vimes pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to recollect himself, so he wouldn’t simply scream in frustration.

‘Come again?’

Rufus Drumknott, alas, did not appear to reconsider his position. ‘I said I was afraid you couldn’t go in there, commander.’

Breathe, that was the trick. Just breathe.

‘What do you mean, I can’t go in?’

Vetinari’s secretary remained calm like a block of granite, and it was infuriating. Gingerly and apparently with all the time in the world, he pushed his glasses up his nose before he spoke. ‘How else would you like me to phrase it, sir? His lordship was very clear on the matter.’

‘His lordship does realise that the whole city is drowning in chaos?’

‘Indeed. I am to inform you that he has already conferred with the Archchancellor.’

‘Great. Now he gets to confer with me. The Commander of the bloody Watch.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

Did breathing actually ever help anybody? Or was it just a big joke everyone else was in on?

‘Why?’

Drumknott could convey withering amounts of indignation simply by looking at you over the rim of his glasses. ‘His lordship is under no obligation to disclose his reasoning to me, sir. But I am to let you know that he trusts you to keep the city under control while he handles the wizards.’

Vimes stared at him. He considered marching past the small man and storming the Oblong Office by force, but barging in on Vetinari despite his express orders might end with knifes stuck in soft bits of his body.

‘Bloody stupid bastard,’ Vimes muttered under his breath and stormed down the stairs. ‘What’s gotten into him this time? Trust me? Yeah, this has trust written all over it! Bloody hell.’

Underneath his rage, though, the tooth of uncertainty gnawed. The Patrician never refused to see him. On the contrary – at times like these, he usually ordered him in more promptly and more often that Vimes ever found necessary. This sudden newfound trust in him was highly suspicious. But goddammit, nothing he could do about it right now, was there? And he really had enough to worry about…

It was eerily quiet in the Yard. Watchmen were needed all over the city, so nobody had time to hang out in the office. Only Angua held the fort, collecting information, dispatching people to where they were needed and generally keeping an eye on things.

‘How is everything, captain?’

As Vimes poured himself a coffee, she wrinkled her nose at it. But he didn’t mind that it had been going stale in the pot for hours, he needed the caffeine. Truth be told, he desperately wished for something stronger… But at least he was somewhat in luck. The coffee turned out to be one of Dorfl’s brews. The golem didn’t even drink the stuff but was eager to take part in coffee duty anyway. He meant well. And truth be told, Vimes kind of liked the viscous, tarry liquid he produced. It had personality.

‘Er… Chaotic, sir,’ Angua said. ‘I believe that describes it best. Carrot’s down at the Guild of Lawyers to help with the crowd. Things are getting heated but I’m sure he’ll manage.’

‘If he can’t, nobody can.’

‘And I have sent small squads to every temple. They are also pretty busy as you can imagine, but the overall mood is better and less prone to outbursts, currently. Everyone else is patrolling, especially in the more precarious parts of town. In case people need immediate help.’

‘Well…’ Vimes worked on gulping the thick liquid down. ‘Seems like that’s all we can do for now. His lordship has spoken to the wizards and I’m absolutely fine for him to deal with them.’

Angua watched in horror as he drained nearly half his cup in one go. ‘What exactly did he say?’ she asked distractedly.

‘Well, to me: Nothing. He wouldn’t see me.’

She tore her gaze away from the coffee. ‘What? Why?’

 ‘Not a clue.’ Vimes said cheerily, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I don’t think Drumknott really knew either. Which is… odd.’

‘But maybe not our most pressing problem right now?’ Angua ventured.

‘As long as he deals with the bloody wizards he can do whatever the fuck he likes. Hell, it’s a blessing to be finally left alone. So, I’m actually putting that down on the list of good things. It’s short enough as it is.’

He grinned at Angua and hoped that it didn’t look as forced as it felt. He probably didn’t succeed, judging by the look on her face.

‘Captain, why don’t you go down to the Lawyer’s Guild and see if Carrot needs some help?’

He hadn’t finished speaking when her skin had already turned the colour of freshly boiled lobster. ‘I’d rather not, Mr Vimes.’

‘Wh- Oh. I see.’

‘Yeah... I mean, I know everybody knows. We’re not a secret or anything but… it would be a bit much. For me.’

‘No, yes. Of course. I understand. You could…’

They were interrupted by the front door banging open, followed by rumbling and shouting. Luckily, those noises quickly passed by the main office and descended down the stairs. Vimes took another sip of coffee and wondered if he might be needed in the cells. He knew what kind of people they were bringing in right now, and they always made his fingers twitch. They wanted to turn into fists and show them what it felt like to be on the receiving end of mindless violence. He gulped down more coffee instead.

‘Number thirteen, is it? And this whole mess has only been going on for what? Six hours?’

Angua ground her jaw. She was having violent urges too, Vimes was certain, but probably more along the lines of ripping throats out.

‘You know what we should do, sir?’ she said. ‘Talk to Rosie Palm. We need a safe place to go for the women who need it.’

Or maybe not so violent after all. Maybe that was only him. ‘Excellent idea, captain. You go ahead and do that. And give Rosie my best.’

‘Will do, Mr Vimes.’

When she was gone, Sam sank down in a chair and knocked back the rest of his coffee. He had been on his feet since the small hours because late last night some stupid young wizard had wreaked havoc upon the city. A spell at a Hogswatch party in the hall of residence had blown up way beyond the walls of the Unseen University. Its original intention, as it turned out, had been to probe whether another young wizard might reciprocate certain romantic feelings. But now, anytime people anywhere in the city, who were in love with each other, stood close enough, a magical mistletoe appeared above them. Which sounded very cute and romantic until you considered the consequences. True, for some couples the newfound certainty of each other had elevated their longstanding relationships. For some people it had revealed reciprocated feelings that both had believed to be in vain, and that’s why there was a run at the temples – people wanted to get married in droves.

Unfortunately, the spell also revealed where love had been lost, or when love was to be found where it shouldn’t be. Affairs had been disclosed and marriages crushed. Not everyone had taken that well. Violent crimes had skyrocketed, mostly against women by disappointed husbands. The Watch was trying to get ahead of any cases of domestic violence but didn’t always succeed. At least one woman they’d only about managed to save from certain death, and if Sam could wish for only one thing today, it would be that they’d always get ahead of actual murder.

Gods, he’d really like to talk to Vetinari about it. As annoying as he was, he got things done if Vimes only pestered him enough. He’d tell him what was going on at the university and when the wizards cold resolve all this. He’d know things…

‘Sir?’

Vimes jerked awake and pretended that he hadn’t dozed off during his ruminations. It didn’t help that the coffee mug he’d still been loosely holding in his hand tumbled to the floor.

‘Sorry, Mr Vimes, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

Carrot loomed over him like a giant, eclipsing the light from the window.

Sam sat up. ‘No, no, I was just resting my eyes a bit, captain. How are things?’

‘The crowd around the Lawyer’s Guild has been dispersed for the moment, because… Well, because the Lawyers insisted on their lunch break. I thought I’d use the time to write a report. Constable Visit will inform me when things are picking up again.’

‘Any casualties?’

‘Some slight injuries, nothing too serious.’

‘Good, good.’

‘Mr Vimes, sir?’

‘Hm?’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the Rats Chamber meeting?’

‘Rats Chamber…?’

‘Only Mr Slant has gone and you’re usually there, too. I mean, you should be, in this situation, shouldn’t you? I bet the guilds have… things to say.’

‘Moan about, more like. But no, Captain Carrot, I am not there because I have not been invited.’

What in the gods’ name was going on with Vetinari? He usually threw temper tantrums – or, well, the very dignified, elegant, sarcastic equivalent of a temper tantrum – when Sam didn’t show up to these, especially at a time like this.

‘Is everything alright?’ Carrot asked.

‘Yeah, sure.’ With a groan Vimes detached himself from the chair and stood up. His back protested sharply. Gods, he was getting old… ‘His lordship wants me to get on with the task at hand. So I’ll do that.’

‘Sir?’

‘Yes, Carrot?’

‘Wasn’t Angua meant to be here?’

His face didn’t betray any feeling in particular, but his voice had grown tense. She had been avoiding him, and he had noticed.

‘She’s at Rosie Palm’s to organise a safe house for women who need it.’

‘I can help with that. I have an understanding with the girls.’

‘Yes, I know. But actually, Carrot, I’d like you to go to the Rats Chamber meeting for me. Someone from the Watch should be there.’

Only for the fraction of a second his face showed a hint of disappointment – then he was chipper old Carrot again.

‘Yes, sir.’

He hesitated just for a second before he saluted and took off. Vimes felt a little bad about that, but he understood Angua’s wish not to meet him right now all too well. He could relate to her repulsion at public displays of affection, but more than that he believed to understand the doubt that secretly gnawed at her: What if the mistletoe didn’t show? What if her feelings weren’t what she thought them to be? Or, perhaps worse, what if Carrot didn’t feel what he thought he felt? And the worst thing of all was, you wouldn’t know who’d be to blame if the mistletoe didn’t appear.

Also, someone needed to know what was going on in the Palace.

Chapter Text

Angua felt uncomfortable walking the city streets. There were couples everywhere, and now you could actually see them being in love with each other. Like, all the time. She’d rather walk around the Shades in a moonless night than this. And it wasn’t just couples. People were going around holding hands in groups of threes and fours. At one point, she thought she saw a group of eight, all merrily swapping mistletoes around. The magic plants crackled when they appeared above two heads, floated there, and then dissolved into a gentle shower of snowflakes when the two people parted again. What annoyed Angua most, though, was their scent. It was syrupy sweet and clogged her nostrils up like molasses, rendering her sense of smell almost completely useless.

Two people met at a crossway and giggled as a mistletoe crackled into existence above their heads, then kissed. She rolled her eyes. How were people so carelessly flaunting their affections? She’d rather die. Sure, she loved Carrot, but nobody else had to see that. It made you vulnerable, demonstrating your love like that.

And as if fate had wanted to prove her right, a man who had been walking down the street stopped in his tracks when he came across a three-way couple – throuple, they were calling it, she believed – to shout abuse at them, claiming that their way of living was unnatural, and so onand so forth. All the usual accusations people who were unhappy with their own lives threw at those who were too obviously happy with themselves.

‘Hey!’ Angua interrupted him. ‘Keep talking and I’ll have a nice, warm cell in the Yard for you.’

He looked up and took a step back, when he recognised who she was. He sneered at her, then took off running into a side street. Bastard. Alas, the laws of Ankh-Morpork were quite protective of what people like him called free speech. She could hunt him down now, but he would probably get away with a slap on the wrist. That had been bothering her for a while now. It was time she talked to Mr Vimes about it.

‘You okay?’ she asked the throuple.

‘Yeah,’ one of them replied. ‘Don’t worry. We’re used to it.’

‘You shouldn’t be!’

The second one shrugged. ‘People did it before the mistletoe, too. Now it’s just more obvious.’

‘That doesn’t make it alright! Look, if him or anyone pesters you again, you’ll come to the Yard, yes? We’ve got to document these things to pursue them more thoroughly.’

They all shrugged again. ‘Yeah, right,’ the third one said, before they all joined hands went on their way.

Angua looked after them, gnawing nervously on her bottom lip. She got the creeping sense that what they had called ‘chaos’ would only get worse from here.

Sam Vimes was absolutely fine with not being allowed into the Palace. Extremely fine, in fact. He had enough on his plate. And who would want to be in a room with the likes of Downey and Boggis and listen to them moan? Who would want to try and follow Ridcully’s longwinded explanations about magic and spells and whatnot? Nobody in their right mind, that’s who. Carrot did his job well enough. He took notes even! Though Vimes was not sure his reports on the magical side of things were always accurate, the gist of it became clear: The matter was complicated, and it would take the wizards a few more days at least to analyse and dismantle the spell. Apparently, it posed a problem that it had been hitherto unknown and had been composed in an inebriated state. So nobody quite understood what it entailed.

Nothing Vimes could do about that.

So, he was fine with it. Very fine. So fine as you wouldn’t believe.

Except.

What the hell was going on? Not that he worried about Vetinari or anything, but… Well. This behaviour was odd. If Vimes had angered him in some way, then surely, he would have let him know. If Vimes had lost his trust, then he demanded to know what the last straw had been. This felt random, and Vetinari was anything but random. Something was off. And Vimes wasn’t good with letting things lie that felt off. So, after three days of nearly driving himself to insanity about it, to the Palace he went. They were having Rats Chamber meetings daily now, and Vimes was determined to be part of this one. So he marched up to the gate, only to be denied by the guards right away.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Vimes barked at them, but that didn’t seem to impress them.

‘His lordship’s direct orders,’ one of them said, and sounded rather gleeful about it. ‘We mustn’t let you in, under no circumstances.’

Vetinari had known, then, that Vimes would try. No surprise there.

‘Did his lordship explain his reasoning, perchance?’

‘We only get orders, not explanations. Just like you.’

Gods, he hated those stupid, useless clods. Vimes was one hundred percent sure that Vetinari only kept them as decorative devices. A Palace simply had to have dumb, muscly guards with halberds and showy helmets on display. It was only proper. So Vimes bit back a comment, which he knew would get him nowhere, and walked away. He walked and walked, and the more he thought about this whole thing, the more it vexed him. If Vetinari had a problem with him why not say it to his face? This, whatever it was, seemed entirely out of character. Another impostor, perhaps?

Vimes stopped in the middle of Sator Square. Something about this was undeniably wrong.

And he was going to find out what.

So he turned and ran back to the Palace.

Vimes knew the grounds well enough, and so he knew that there was a place at the northeast corner with the trees and bushes, where, with a little luck and skill, you could climb the fence unseen. Once in the gardens it was all a matter of recalling the guards’ patterns, avoiding the hoho, and sneaking in through one of the servants’ entrances at the back.

He managed to avoid meeting anyone on his way to the Rats Chamber by ducking into nooks and crannies and behind tapestries. When he turned into the right corridor, he just about managed to dive behind a statue as the door to the Rats Chamber opened and a crowd filed out, chattering and bickering and arguing and being altogether too busy with each other to notice him. Drumknott followed a few steps behind them, looking at his paperwork as he walked.

Through the open door, Vimes could see a slim black figure still standing at a desk, head bowed. Before he could think twice about this and the probably extensive collection of sharp knives the Patrician carried hidden on his person at all times, he slipped into the Chamber and closed the door behind him with a thud.

Vetinari jerked his head up. When he saw Vimes his eyes went wide, if only for half a second. Nonchalantly he stepped away from the desk and moved towards the opposite side of the room. Suspiciously nonchalantly.

‘You owe me an explanation,’ Vimes opened.

The Patrician lifted his eyebrow in dismay. ‘I do not owe you anything of the sort,’ he replied rather coldly.

‘Oh, really?’ As Vimes moved closer, the Patrician moved back, keeping the distance between them. For as long as he remembered, Vetinari had never retreated from anyone. Perhaps a smarter man would have backed off. He didn’t. ‘I think after all these years of being dragged to meetings and councils and parades I deserve to know why I suddenly have been sidelined.’

‘I thought you’d enjoy more free time, commander.’

‘How considerate.’ Sam still moved towards the Patrician, who still retreated every time he came closer. Almost as if he were scared of him. ‘But this ain’t the time for a holiday. You might not have noticed, but the city’s a mess. People are getting hurt. We need to do something.’

‘Things are being done, Vimes. The Watch handles this in an exemplary fashion, and I have given the wizards to understand that I expect them to deal with their mistake. Everything is under control, as far as it can be controlled.’

There was a stray chair behind Vetinari now, the one Downey usually occupied. Since he didn’t seem to be aware of it, Vimes took his chance and lunged at him. The chair only hindered Vetinari for a second, but it was enough to get a hold of him and push him against the wall.

He only sighed defeatedly, and didn’t struggle.

‘Explain,’ Vimes hissed. ‘Now.’

But just as Vetinari was about to reply, a crackling filled the air – the kind of crackling Sam had heard quite often during the last few days. When he looked up, a mistletoe just finished forming above them. It hung there as he stared, swaying gently in a magical breeze. When his eyes had finally informed his brain what it was they were looking at, Vimes stepped back in terror, bumped into that damn chair, tumbled, and caught himself with his back against one of the desks.

‘What’s going on?’

Delicately, Vetinari smoothed his coat down and straightened his collar, that Vimes had brought into disarray.

‘This is exactly what I have been trying to avoid, Vimes.’

‘What?’

‘I suspected you might not take it well.’

‘What?’ Panic gripped his heart and seemed to push it right up his throat. ‘Are you taking the piss? Are you setting me up?’

Verinari raised an eyebrow. Gods, that infuriating eyebrow.

‘Do I strike you as a person who is fond of practical jokes? And at a time like this?’

The mere thought was inconceivable. But there it was… Vimes stared at the mistletoe, then reached out to touch it. Bloody hell. It was definitely there and not just a figment of his imagination.

‘The magic’s malfunctioning,’ he muttered. ‘It’s a mistake.’

‘Ah. I fear that is not how magic works, commander. Once a spell is out there, it does what it was made to do. It’s like the laws of physics. They do not malfunction. They just are.’

‘But I… I don’t…’

As he became acutely aware of Vetinari’s eyes on him, he faltered. The Patrician was leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest and watched him attentively.

‘I’m not asking for a confession, Vimes,’ he finally said, surprisingly gently.

‘Well, good! ‘Cause I’m not confessing anything! There’s nothing to confess!’

‘Of course.’

It didn’t even bear thinking! Vimes had never cared much for romance. Or at least, he’s never had time for that sort of thing. The work always came first. Colleagues, suspects and bereaved widows didn’t make for suitable partners, and he hardly ever met anyone else. There was no space in his life for romance. And Vetinari of all people… Vetinari, who was cold like a marble statue and probably hadn’t felt attraction to anyone in his entire life.

Or had he?

The mistletoe, as Vimes was made to understand, only appeared when both parties shared the feeling. Which raised another question altogether. Dumbfounded, he blinked at the man opposite him.

‘Sir? Does that… does that mean… you’re…?’

‘Do I really need to answer that?’

Gods above.

‘With me?’

‘The mistletoe is right there, Vimes.’

Sam couldn’t help but stare at the man. He thought he knew him, but apparently, he had been wrong. All of this felt so entirely impossible that he expected to wake up any moment now. But he did not. And Vetinari kept looking at him with an infuriatingly serene expression as if none of this surprised him at all.

Because it didn’t.

Oh damn.

‘For how long?’

‘For how long what, commander?’

Vimes pointed angrily at the mistletoe above them.

‘That! For how long?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course it bloody matters! You knew! You bloody knew about… that.’

‘I did not know per se, Vimes, I suspected. A lot has changed between us ever since you undertook a trip to the past. Ever since young me met a John Keel that was you. I knew that there was… something. And I didn’t believe that this was the time and place or manner for you to find out.’

 ‘John Keel? But that was years ago.’

‘Three years next May, if I’m not mistaken.’

Vimes’ brain screeched to a halt.

‘Three bloody years? You have known for three years?’

‘Not quite yet. And as I said, I merely suspected. And I thought it better not to pursue this further. I imagined the feelings would fade.’

For the first time since Vimes had pushed him against the wall, his face showed a flicker of emotion and if Sam hadn’t known any better, he would have called it sadness.

‘But they didn’t?’ he asked.

‘No. It appears they haven’t.’

Again, silence. Slowly, Vetinari took his arms down, his fingertips lightly resting on the back of Downey’s chair, tracing the polished wood. The unbearable reality of this moment started to creep up on Vimes. This was not a fever dream or a joke or anything of the sort. This was real.

‘So what?’ he asked. ‘You were going to take this to the grave?’

Vetinari looked up while his fingers kept moving. ‘Ideally, yes. It would hardly be conducive to our work if we allowed feelings to come into play.’

Of fucking course.

‘Even you can’t be that cold.’

‘I successfully have been for the past three years.’

Vimes wanted to berate him further, to call him an idiot, hell, to slap him. But the anger evaporated as quickly as it had come as he saw a man standing there who had just admitted to quietly pining for three years.

‘That must have been awful,’ he said instead.

Vetinari’s eyelids fluttered, if only for a moment.

‘I managed,’ he replied matter-of-factly. ‘As I always do. So will you, I am certain, now that you are aware.’

Right. Sam wasn’t going to touch that conversation with himself with a ten-foot-pole right now.

‘Sounds lonely.’

Vetinari shrugged. ‘It’s the way things are. I cannot afford any romantic relations. I am married to my work, and my work only. And you and me…’ He shook his head. ‘Imagine what it could do to the city. And the city always comes first. Which is why I must ask you to not come near me in public, Vimes, not for as long as this spell is still in effect. Nobody can know.’

‘But…’

Vimes interrupted himself when Vetinari’s gaze flitted over his shoulder towards the door. The Patrician had already stepped away from him before he heard them too – footsteps coming down the corridor. The mistletoe dissolved into a soft shower of snow just before the door opened.

‘Mr Vimes?’

He turned around and tried to face Angua with a neutral expression.

‘Yes, captain?’

‘We need you at the Temple of Om. Even Carrot didn’t manage to calm them down.’

‘Who?’

‘The crowd. Just come have a look, will you? I’ll explain on the way.’

The city always came first – he couldn’t argue with that. But before he ran out the door, Vimes looked back at Vetinari. As if nothing at all had happened, the Patrician had returned to his desk and was focused on his paperwork. He didn’t even seem to notice Vimes leave.

At the Temple of Om all hell had broken loose. Figuratively, at least. The Watch officers present were doing their best to calm the crowd, to tend to the wounded and keep squabblers apart. Vimes had taken on the Head Priest, who had done nothing to defuse the situation. Quite the opposite, in fact.

‘It’s not right’ he still clamoured, as he paced the floor. Vimes and Angua had hauled him away from the people and inside the temple. ‘I have gotten used to a lot in this city, but I will not marry three people! Or four! That’s just insane! Has everyone forgotten the meaning of marriage? We should have never made an exception for the fag-’

‘Is that really the word you’re meaning to use?’ Vimes growled. ‘Because if it is you can accompany the captain and me to Pseudopolis Yard right away.’

‘You must know what I mean, commander! We made exceptions and now people think they can marry anything and anyone! We are a temple, for pity’s sake, not a circus!’

‘Doesn’t the book of Om allow men to have as many wives as they want?’ Angua asked. ‘Constable Visit once mentioned something along those lines.’

The priest blinked. ‘Well. Yes. But that is an entirely different matter, of course…’

‘Really? How so?’

‘Ah, well, it’s not done anymore, mostly. And we generally agree upon that these parts of the book of Om have to be understood figuratively and, of course, put in the context of the time they were written in…’

‘I don’t care,’ Vimes interrupted. ‘We live in Ankh-Morpork. People are free to marry whoever they like here.’

The priest jutted his chin out defiantly. ‘I do not have to marry anyone, commander. My temple does not bow to heretic law. And you can’t force us to. The Patrician takes freedom of religion very seriously.’

He was right, unfortunately. ‘The Patrician also takes hatemongering and instigating very seriously. You can do as you please in your temple, but you will not spread your rancour in my city!’

‘Please, commander, the people don’t need me to tell them what they do and do not tolerate. It was natural outrage at moral indecency, and I will not curb their righteous anger.’

‘Oh, will you not?’

Vimes felt his hands curls into fists all on their own. If Angua hadn’t stepped in his way, he might have lunged at the priest to beat some sense into him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, seemingly gently, but her fingers dug painfully into his joint and it took a lot of willpower not to yelp.

The priest seemed to have a vague sense of what he had just dodged. Still, he stood his ground, a shade paler than before perhaps, but unmoving. ‘My temple, my jurisdiction, commander. I have the law on my side. Om’s devout followers will fight to uphold it.’

‘The law, yes? You’re threatening me with the law?’ Vimes was glad Angua was there. Otherwise, this might have taken a really ugly turn. ‘I’ll tell you what: One more natural outrage on the city streets in front of your temple, and I’ll shut your operation down. How does that sound?’

‘Illegal, commander.’ The priest remained infuriatingly calm. There was a nasty grin hidden underneath his solemn expression that Vimes could almost see.

‘I am the law in this city,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t you forget that.’

‘Sir…’ Angua cut in.

‘Hm?’

‘You have an appointment at the Yard soon. We should get going.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, you do.’

Ah, he knew that tone of voice. He had taken things too far, then. The line still eluded him sometimes.

‘Fine.’

He gave the priest another look, but wasn’t sure it landed the way it was supposed to. The man was far too convinced of his moral superiority. Vimes was glad to get away from him.

When they stepped out into the street, he took in a deep breath. Carrot had managed to disperse the crowd, so that was something, at least. His report, unfortunately, did not refute the words of the priest: According to eyewitnesses, the violent reaction to the throuple, as it was apparently called, wanting to get married, had come from the crowd. At least, certain people therein. Actual stones had been thrown. Their identity, alas, remained unknown. Before Carrot went on to conduct more research among the populace, he gave Angua, who had kept her distance, a look, quick, but obvious, nonetheless.

‘How long do you think you can keep this up?’ Vimes asked her as they made their way to the Yard.

‘Long enough.’

‘Everyone knows about you two.’

‘I realise that. But… I don’t know. What’s private is private. You must understand.’

‘I think I do.’

They walked in silence for a while, although Vimes could tell by the way Angua breathed in air and then let it out again that she geared up to say something a couple of times without ever following through. Today was not a good day to test his patience like that.

‘Come on, captain! If you have something to say, spit it out!’

She cleared her throat uncomfortably before she finally spoke. ‘These magic mistletoes… They have a certain smell about them, sir.’

There was a pregnant pause, though Vimes didn’t quite understand who had done the impregnating.

‘Right. Does it bother you? Do you need me to put you on desk duty again or…?’

‘Ah, no, that’s not what I was trying to say.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look, Mr Vimes, that smell is very distinctive, right? And, er, I smelled it just now in the Rats Chamber. Where you and his lordship had been on your own.’ She bit her lip. ‘I just thought you should know that I know,’ she mumbled. ‘About you two. I won’t tell anyone, obviously, just so you’re aware. That’s all.’

Vimes couldn’t help the choking sound that escaped his throat.

‘Thank you, captain,’ he managed to squeeze out. ‘But it’s really not what you think.’

‘Oh. Alright.’

She didn’t believe him. Hell, he wouldn’t have believed him.

‘Honestly, we’re not… a thing.’

‘Okay. Got it.’

Gods, they probably were some kind of thing, as it turned out, just what exactly that thing was remained entirely mysterious to Vimes.

‘Whatever it is you’re thinking, captain, we’re definitely not that. It was a surprise, actually, the mistletoe. For me a least.’

Angua stopped to give him a puzzled look and it occurred to him that she had not been puzzled when she had assumed that he was having a secret love affair with the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. Uncomfortable perhaps, but not surprised.

‘Really?’ she asked. ‘I thought it was the reason you two hadn’t seen each other since it all had started.’

‘It was. It is. But only he knew about it. I didn’t. Honestly, I wish I still didn’t. Blasted greenery.’ He pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it with shaking hands. The mess at the temple had distracted him from how absurd this whole situation was.

‘That’s one hell of a revelation, sir.’

‘You can say that again.’

‘And now?’

‘What now? Nothing now. Me and him… It doesn’t bear thinking.’

Angua smiled softly to herself.

‘Hm. It’s not so bad, you know, being someone’s dog. Knowing where to go after a long day to… get a scratch behind the ears, so to speak.’

Vimes breathed in smoke as deeply as he could to feel his lungs burn and kept it there. ‘We’re talking about the bloody Patrician! He’s not scratching my anything!’

‘But you’re his dog already anyway.’

The smoke came out in a coughing fit.

‘Not in that way!’

Angua shrugged her shoulders lightly.

‘It all comes down to loyalty in the end, doesn’t it? Everything else is just a bonus.’

‘I’ve never asked for a bonus, and I’m not starting now, thank you.’

‘For what it’s worth, I think you two’d probably make a good fit.’

Vimes almost bit his cigar in half. ‘What?’

‘Look at Carrot and me. Nobody would ever say, we’re a good idea. If you could design these things on a drawing board, you’d never put us together. But it works. It’s good even. I think it’s similar with you and him. It doesn’t look like a brilliant idea at first glance, but honestly, you just work together. The gods know why. And I mean… he’s kind of attractive. For an old man.’

Vimes found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

‘Well,’ he croaked. ‘Thank you for your opinion, captain. But let’s get back to a more professional line of conversation if you don’t mind.’

Angua shrugged, and Vimes tried not to panic.

Chapter Text

The wizards were taking their sweet time solving the mess they had caused. At least it kept Vimes occupied. There were people to question and squabbles to settle. C.M.O.T. Dibbler had started to sell The Essence of Real Magical Mistletoe as an aphrodisiac, which seemed to cause bad bouts of pustules. He claimed it was a side effect of being madly in love. Aside from that, violence remained an issue, though the safe place at Rosie Palm’s had helped. Temples now only served people with appointments to avoid endless queues and large crowds. Still, some people wouldn’t stop heckling, and it was infuriatingly difficult to trace them. It was becoming a real problem.

The upside was that the chaos kept his mind busy. If it was given too many opportunities to think, a certain tall man crept into it, with his handsome face and his dark, attentive eyes… Good gods. Slowly, but alas unstoppably, Sam started to process what had happened – that Vetinari, Lord Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of this city, aloof and unfeeling, had confessed his love for him. In a manner of speaking, at least. As was their custom, the exact words had been lost between the lines.

There were a million questions he wanted to ask him about it, most pressingly: Why? Why would someone like him, well-bred, powerful, cunning, good-looking, be interested in someone like Vimes? Vetinari could probably have anyone on the Disc if the put his mind to it, why would he want a washed-up mess like him? Ah, well, but he didn’t want him, did he? He seemed as consternated about his feelings for Vimes as might have been expected. But they had been there for a long time now, if he was telling the truth. And really, what would have been the point in lying about that? Ever since John Keel…

Vetinari had been part of the revolution back then, he had fought for what was right. He always did that, in his own crooked way, Vimes found, always could be relied upon to be on the side of the people, even if he concealed his own soft heart as much as possible. And he was soft, wasn’t he? In his own way, if you dug really deep. Vimes believed to have seen glimpses of his true self. But then again, could you ever be sure that what you saw wasn’t exactly what Vetinari wanted you to see? Bloody hell, the way Vimes could drive himself mad thinking about that man. Almost as if he were in lo…

‘Mr Vimes!’

Nobby’s screeching pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked around, bewildered. Apparently, he had dozed off in his chair while he had signed things off. The ink had spilled over his desk and was dripping down on the floor.

Fred Colon arrived in the office, too, huffing and puffing. ‘The traffic’s gone mad, Sam! People from the outskirts are pouring in. The streets are jammed.’

‘What? Why?’

‘To test their love!’Nobby shouted with more enthusiasm than this situation warranted. ‘To see the spectacle!’

‘Fucking hell,’ Vimes groaned. ‘Tourism?’

Nobby nodded. ‘The news have been making the round. Now the iconographers are charging huge amounts of money to take pictures of couples with mistletoes over their heads. I’m gonna get myself one of those machines, sir.’

‘You couldn’t afford one with the prices they are charging right know,’ Fred interrupted. ‘It’s insane. Sir, the whole city is being overrun!’

‘Of course it is,’ Vimes sighed. ‘People are mad, they really are. We’ll have to shut the gates. It will only get worse if we keep letting them in.’

‘But what about the merchants?’ Colon asked, rightly so. ‘We still gotta let them in.’

‘Right. Yeah, you’re right, Fred.’ Vimes rubbed his hands through his face. He was tired. ‘We need to make a plan. And anyway, we can’t just cordon off the whole city without his lordship’s permission, can we? He will have a thing or two to say about that.’

‘Probably,’ Fred said. ‘I suppose you’d better ask him, Sam.’

It was already pitch dark when Vimes walked down Broad Way, a map under his arm. Carts were lined up on he road like beads on a string, barely making headway as he passed them on foot. Why were people like this?

As soon as the high windows of the Oblong Office came into view, Sam’s legs simply stopped, as if they had suddenly decided that it was entirely impossible to keep going. So for quite a while, he just stood on the street and stared. He imagined Vetinari sitting up there all alone in the flickering candlelight, and somehow his heart twinged at the thought.

It might have been easier to keep walking if he’d had any idea what to expect once he got to the destination. Not that he didn’t know what to expect of Vetinari: He would act the exact same way he always did and completely ignore the fact that a bloody mistletoe would be swaying over their heads. What Vimes didn’t know, though, was what to expect of himself. His own bloody brain was a wildcard sometimes.

But his apprehension didn’t matter. The city came first. And so he willed himself to walk on.

After the cold in the street, the Oblong Office felt like a furnace. The fireplace seemed to have been stoked recently because the flames were roaring. Vetinari had even taken off his coat and had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Sam had never seen him so in deshabille, as Rosie Palm liked to put it, not even during summer. For some reason, his mouth went dry. Probably the heat to blame for that.

‘Ah, Vimes.’ Vetinari looked up from his papers, his face perfectly neutral. ‘How fares the city? I hear the mistletoes are getting quite popular.’

Sam remained a few feet further away from the desk than he usually would. It felt safer. ‘That’s an understatement, sir,’ he replied, trying to keep his voice steady when a frantic heartbeat was rattling his chest. ‘Which is why I need your permission to close the gates.’

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. He really was a good-looking man, wasn’t he? Blast, Vimes could actually start to imagine the two of them in some kind of… bonus situation. It felt like a secret door had opened in his brain, one he hadn’t even known was there. And now he was discovering things behind it that had been stowed away.

But no. No, no, no, no. That was not going to happen. Not now, not ever. He was a professional. They were both professionals. Trying anything would be monumentally stupid.

The city always came first.

‘Close the gates, commander? And why would you do that?’

‘The city’s full. People are coming in from all over the place for the whole mistletoe thing. Carts and horses are blocking every street. We can’t let any more in or we’ll suffocate.’

‘What about the merchants? Are you going to starve us?’

‘No. Look.’ Vimes took the map from under his arm and moved towards the desk. As he approached, Vetinari rose from his seat to take a few steps back. He moved so smoothly that you could have thought he had intended to get up all along, not to hastily grow the distance between them.

‘Sir. Just look at the map with me, will you?’ Vimes said far more calmly than he felt. ‘It’s just us. Nobody will see.’

After a moment of quiet consideration, Vetinari inclined his head in acknowledgement. He rounded the table to stand right next to Vimes, who did his best to focus all his attention on unrolling the map. Just for a second, he believed the mistletoe wouldn’t show this time, and to his own surprise, that disappointed rather than relieved him. But then the crackling sound above his head came after all, and green twigs grew into his peripheral vision. He forced himself not to look up but keep his gaze glued to the plan of the city he had unrolled. When Vetinari stepped even closer to smooth the far edge of the map down because it kept coiling in on itself, a storm of butterflies kicked off in his stomach.

Focus on the city, Sam told himself. It’s all about the city.

He cleared his throat because it felt uncomfortably tight.

‘Most carts are heading for the university,’ he said, tapping at Water Way. ‘People believe the spell is strongest there. Dunno if that’s true but that’s where the traffic’s especially bad. Others are going for Ankh-Morpork landmarks to take pictures at.’ He pointed at the Plaza of Broken Moons, the Brass Bridge, Pseudopolis Yard. ‘There is no getting through anywhere in this area, basically, neither back nor forth. But we believe we can clear a way for the merchants in the south, from the Onion Gate across Goose Gate. It’s close enough to the Shades that traffic in general isn’t quite as bad there. Some people still do have a bit of common sense after all. If we close all the other entrances, controls will be easier. We’ll refuse anyone who doesn’t have anything to sell. And we’ll prioritize. Anything important or perishable goes first. In the meantime, we’ll try to unravel the traffic jam, but that will take a while. It’s really stuck. Does that sound acceptable, sir?’

‘You seem to have it all under control, commander.’

‘Not even in the slightest, but I’m trying.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Vetinari gave him a crooked half-smile, that for some reason, made Vimes’ blood rush in his ears. ‘I authorise you to do what you feel is necessary.’

With both of them poring over the map, they were standing exceptionally close. So close that Sam could smell Vetinari’s cologne, which had an undertone of lilacs… Oh, bloody hell. There was no denying now that the mistletoe was right. How on the disc were you aware of this for three years and didn’t do anything about it? That should for all intents and purposes be impossible. Vimes felt like the knowledge scratched unrelentingly at his skin from the inside. It was simply impossible to ignore.

‘Sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sure you know that coppers are a pretty superstitious bunch.’

‘I’ve heard that before, yes. But surely not you, commander? You are too…’

‘Cynical?’ Vimes suggested.

‘I was going to say intelligent.’

Sam felt his ears go red. ‘Oh?’ He furrowed his brow. ‘Really? You think so?’

‘I know so.’

‘Right. Er. Anyway, I am a copper. And I already stood under a mistletoe with someone and didn’t kiss them once. Twice feels like tempting fate.’

Vetinari looked him over. ‘Did you come here to trap me, commander?’

‘What? No! I…’ He sighed. ‘Aren’t you wondering what it would be like? I’m not trying to make us…’ What? Lovers? Partners? Boyfriends? Well, that all sounded awful. ‘Whatever. But I’m bloody curious. Aren’t you?’

‘Have you ever heard the saying about the curiosity and the cat, Vimes?’

‘That doesn’t really answer my question, sir.’

Vetinari didn’t move. He kept looking at him in silence until Vimes thought he had been frozen in place.

‘Alright.’

He said it so quietly that Sam hardly heard it, even though they stood mere inches apart. He blinked in confusion.

‘Come again?’

‘I said alright. In other words: Go ahead.’

‘Oh.’

Sam hadn’t thought he’d get that far. In fact, he hadn’t thought at all. Now what? Vetinari didn’t move, just looked at him expectantly. Vimes’ heart was beating out of his chest. So he breathed in deeply, tried to ignore the wild thumping against his ribcage, and very carefully placed his hands on Vetinari’s waist to draw him in.

Ye gods.

The touch alone was almost more than he could bear, even though there were several layers of fabric between them. He could feel the expansion of Vetinari’s ribs as he breathed and willed himself not to tremble – which was difficult when the Patrician rested his hands on his upper arms and followed Sam’s careful nudging readily, stepping so close that Sam could feel his breath against his cheek. Vimes’ heart stopped when he looked up into darkened eyes that studied him curiously. He almost collapsed to the floor with nervous excitement. All he had to do now was lean in slightly and push their mouths together.

Vetinari’s lips were warm and soft, and the butterflies in Sam’s stomach exploded into fireworks. The secret door in his mind was blown out of its hinges. There was no denying it now: He wanted all the bonus activities from the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork that anyone could ever think of. Which wouldn’t happen, of course. But for now, he allowed himself to revel in the moment. He allowed himself to enjoy Vetinari’s warmth as he nestled into Sam’s embrace, so that not even the twig of a mistletoe would have fit between them. He savoured it when Vetinari opened his mouth for him so their tongues could move together, gently exploring each other. It felt as if he was trying to melt into him... A hand came to rest on his jaw, a thumb gently stroked across his cheek bone. He sighed with contentment.

It was a bloody good kiss.

And then he felt a cold, wet touch on his face.

When he looked up, the mistletoe above them slowly dissolved into a cloud of dancing snowflakes. They powdered Vetinari’s raven black hair white before melting into it.

Panic gripped him – panic that somehow, by kissing him, he had managed to chase three years of longing out of Vetinari. But the Patrician looked up in surprise too while he remained in Sam’s embrace and did nothing to indicate that he might not enjoy their closeness anymore.

‘Ah, look at that, Vimes. The wizards must have finally found a way to reverse the spell.’

Thank the gods.

Vimes planted another kiss on Vetinari’s lips, carefully committing it to his memory. He had an inkling that he might need it. When he drew back, his eye fell on a single surviving snowflake languishing on the precipice of Vetinari’s ridiculously long eyelashes. As gently as he could, Vimes wiped it away – and almost jumped when Vetinari leaned his cheek into his palm, eyes fluttering shut at the touch.

‘About bloody time the bloody wizards did their job’ Sam muttered under his breath, transfixed by the man before him, so beautiful and soft. He gently stroked his thumb over Vetinari’s lips and wished the snowflakes would freeze this moment in time and he would never have to let it go again.

‘Well.’ Vetinari opened his eyes and stepped away. ‘Seems like we are on our way to a natural solution to the traffic problem. You can go to work, then, commander, and return our city to normal. Or, well, as normal it will ever be.’

Vimes’ hand still hung in the air, where it had cradled Vetinari’s face, and he quickly took it back.

‘Yes, sir. On it.’

Vetinari returned behind his desk and glued his gaze to the various files and documents on it. ‘I hope your curiosity has been satisfied, Vimes, because this cannot happen again. You know that.’ As if a switch had been flipped, his voice was businesslike again – cheerful but cold. ‘Although I would like you back on the Rats Chamber meetings. I suspect the guilds may not be pleased with the upcoming arrangements.’

Sam’s jaw tightened. He wished he could simply flip a switch that made him not care. Wouldn’t live be easier then? ‘Sir,’ he squeezed out as flatly as he could manage.

The wall outside the Oblong Office had never gotten a thumping like that before.

Chapter Text

‘Drumknott?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Have you ever been in love?’

If Vetinari’s secretary was shocked by the sudden and probing question, he commendably didn’t show it.

‘I certainly endeavoured to be, sir, in my carefree youth.’

‘Not anymore?’

‘It turned out that it wasn’t quite for me.’

‘Ah.’ Vetinari leaned back in his chair and looked Drumknott over, who had just brought him today’s Times. ‘Do you ever miss it?’

‘No, sir, not at all. I didn’t mean to imply that I deprive myself in any way. I simply have no desire for it.’ He eyed his boss cautiously. ‘I dare say it’s another matter for you, my lord?’

A heart-to-heart with his secretary certainly had not been on his bingo card for today. But it didn’t really surprise him either, considering how the week had gone so far. He ventured a dry smile.

‘Indeed. In fact, it is quite the opposite: No matter how much I try to elude the feeling, it seems to find me anyway.’

‘The Commander is quite a charismatic man, sir.’ Drumknott hesitated for the fraction of a second. ‘In some ways.’

‘Ah.’ Vetinari had to struggle to keep an even face. ‘Am I that obvious?’

‘Only to someone who has witnessed the aftermaths of your meetings with him for many years now, sir.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You always need just a moment longer to return to the agenda after he’s gone.’

‘I see.’ Apparently, he had been worse at hiding it than he had thought. Then again, Drumknott was exceptionally perceptive – it was one of the reasons he had hired him, after all. ‘It is entirely impossible, of course, to have any sort of a personal relationship with his Excellency.’

‘Impossible is a word I have never heard you use before, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.’

He had to pause for a moment. ‘Another interesting observation, Drumknott.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Vetinari sighed. ‘But we all must admit defeat at some point or other in our lives.’

‘I don’t know, sir. Sometimes a well-timed surrender may prevent defeat.’

‘You are in quite the philosophical mood today, Drumknott, aren’t you?’

His secretary looked at him as if Vetinari had suggested something very rude about his mother. ‘I couldn’t say, sir.’

‘No, of course not. Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything untoward.’

‘Sir.’ His secretary gathered the papers Vetinari had placed at the edge of his desk for him and left at a measured pace, even though he probably wanted to run.

After he had closed the door, Vetinari allowed himself an audible sigh. Three years of unsuccessfully battling an instinct that could not be controlled was exhausting. He rose to look out of the tall window with a good view over Broad Way. The traffic had, in spite of the disappearance of the mistletoes, barely subsided. The Watch was doing their best from what he could tell, but people started to bring fresh fruit, cabbage, and, on one unfortunate occasion, a heap of seafood, in their wagons to bypass the cordon, claiming they were merchants. At least, cost of living had sunk due to a surplus of foodstuffs. Simultaneously, the people of Ankh-Morpork made an awful lot of money from the tourists, so all in all, it wasn’t too bad a deal. Unless you wanted to go somewhere quickly.

Vimes hadn’t been back, though, and Vetinari hadn’t summoned him. Probably best for them both to give each other some space. Where their relationship was heading from here, Vetinari couldn’t say. As was so often the case, Vimes seemed unwilling to simply ignore a matter that was bothering him. And if he was perfectly honest with himself, so was he. But yet, but yet… He was a tyrant. He couldn’t have these kinds of relationships. The city demanded whatever attention he had to give.

Ah, but Sam Vimes and the city are basically one, a voice in the back of his mind piped up. If it could ever actually work with anyone, it would be with him, wouldn’t it?

‘Shut up,’ Vetinari said out loud and returned to his desk.

The Patrician had, unsurprisingly, been right. The guilds were appalled that the Watch was trying to regain a modicum of control over the situation. Most of them liked the tourism, the iconographers for example, but also Mrs Palm and her girls, who were fully booked and had raised their prices to astronomical heights. The merchants on the other hand felt they were regulated too heavily now and their wares too closely scrutinised. The Watch, they claimed, did not have the expertise to decide which goods were important for the city’s well-being and which were not. How on the Disc dared Vimes suggest that moldy bread wasn’t a vitally important commodity? If a businessman wanted to sell moldy bread he damn well should have the right to do so! Did he not know that some molds were worth a fortune, and we could all be lucky if a thriving mold industry would be established in this great city?

As annoying as all that was, Vimes was experienced enough to rebuff their arguments while his true focus lay elsewhere: He thought he could feel Vetinari’s eyes on him whenever he wasn’t looking, so he tried to catch him in the act – to no avail.

He was sitting on the other side of the room from him because, walking into the Rats Chamber, he had panicked. With bated breath he had listened for a treacherous crackling that never came. He wondered how the guilds would react to that… But luckily, it didn’t seem like he was going to find out. When Dixie Voom waxed on poetically about how romantic the whole mistletoe situation had been and how some of her dancers had just devised a program based on it, Sam tried so hard not to look at Vetinari that he felt it had to have been more obvious than simply snogging him in front of everybody. He closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure and this time, when he opened them again, he caught Vetinari looking, just for the fraction of a second.

This was going to be harder than he had thought.

The city, he reminded himself, the city comes first. Vetinari’s right – we can’t.

We shouldn’t.

Bleeding blasted mistletoes. He could have gone on happily not knowing. Vetinari could have gone on happily repressing.

Rats Chamber meetings would be even more hellish from now on than they had always been.

Back at the office, Angua was waiting for him with a grim face.

‘The cordon’s kind of working so far,’ she said. ‘But those who are already here won’t leave.’

‘Why? Why? What would compel anyone to stand in a traffic jam for three days for nothing?’

Vimes had thought that after nearly five decades in this city no height of stupidity could surprise him anymore. He had obviously been wrong.

‘Well, firstly, it’s taking the news about the disappearance of the spell some time to travel’, Angua explained. ‘And secondly: Murals with mistletoes on them have appeared everywhere. Someone has put them there specifically for it to be a place where people can get an iconograph of themselves. For money, of course.’

Vimes frowned. ‘But they can have that anytime, anywhere, for free. They just need to pick some mistletoe. They don’t have to clog my city for it.’

‘Well, yes, but the mistletoes on these pictures look very magical. Like, more magical than the actual magic ones.’

‘Who painted them there?’

‘An industrious iconographer, I suspect. The profession is growing rapidly. I think Nobby has taken it up, too. Carrot is looking into it but hadn’t had much success so far. It’s not unlikely that there are copycats.’

‘Right. Are you two, erm, are you alright? You and Carrot?’

‘Er. Yeah. We’re fine. Mostly. He understands. You know him. He always understands.’

‘You can understand something and still feel bad about it,’ Vimes couldn’t help saying. Like I can understand why Vetinari doesn’t want me. It still stings a bit.

‘Yes, sir. I know.’

They were interrupted by a rumble in the corridor, then Colon burst into the office. ‘Sir. There’s been a murder attempt!’

Vimes jumped up. ‘Godsdammit! I thought we were done with this.’ He donned his breast plate as he followed Colon out the door. ‘Where?’

‘At the mistletoe mural on Sator Square, sir. Carrot and I were there anyway, luckily, and could get in the way. But the attackers escaped into the crowd. Carrot is taking witnesses statements as we speak, but we need back-up. There were a lot of witnesses.’

‘Who did they attack?’

Colon grew even redder. ‘It was one of them five-way-cubes, or whatsit, and…’

‘A polycule?’ Angua interrupted.

‘Yeah. Like the ones who caused uproar at the temples.’

‘Blast,’ Vimes growled and started to run.

Carrot had the situation under control. The injured had already been carted off to the Lady Sybil’s. The attacker had not been caught.

‘There where several of them’, Carrot explained. ‘The attack was coordinated.’

‘Angua?’

She shook her head immediately. ‘Look at the crowd, Mr Vimes. There’s no chance I can pick them out.’

‘Some witnesses said they saw them wear the signet of Om.’

‘Of bloody course,’ Vimes growled.

‘The priest,’ Angua added.

‘And his enraged citizens, I suppose, yes.’

Finally, proof. Or at least the closest to proof they had come so far.

‘Shall we arrest him?’

Vimes gnawed on his lip. It was tempting, but… ‘We have nothing watertight. Anyone can wear the signet of Om, they don’t have to be in cahoots with the Head Priest. If we arrest him now, we won’t be able to keep him, and the others will scatter. I don’t feel like he is inclined to reveal their identities.’

‘So… We need to catch them red-handed?’

‘And follow them, yes.’

‘A trap?’

‘A trap.’

It took a couple of days to make the preparations. They were in the middle of going over the strategy for the last time, when Vimes was called into the Oblong Office. As the message arrived, he gladly noticed that he felt no apprehension about being in Vetinari’s vicinity again. No, he felt rage. Now he called him in? Now? He smiled grimly. Rage was good. Rage was familiar. He knew how to deal with rage. So he stomped into the office with all the anger of a man being called away from an important job.

‘I hope it’s urgent, sir, ‘cause I’m busy.’

Vetinari was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back. When he turned to face Vimes, his mouth curled in distaste. ‘I am aware, commander. Busy getting ourselves killed, are we?’

Ah.

They had quietly leaked that a Watch throuple would be photographed later that day in support of the victims. They hoped the attackers would sense their chance at making a big impact and give up their cover. It wasn’t surprising that his lordship had caught wind of it. He smelled any wind that broke in Ankh-Morpork, no matter how small.

‘Dunno what you mean, sir.’

‘They will see your trap coming, Vimes. They’ll be prepared.’

‘So will we.’

If he didn’t know it any better, he’d say that Vetinari looked… worried. But no. No, that couldn’t be.

Could it?

‘Sir, it’s my job. I’ve been in dangerous situations before, sometimes put there by you, I might add, and you’ve never complained before.’

Vetinari’s face took on an impassiveness that obviously hid something. ‘Of course, commander. But with the city being as crowded as it is, you may put the onlookers in danger.’

Ha! As if he had ever cared about civilian casualties.

‘The attackers don’t care about the onlookers, sir. If anything, the crowd will make them bold, they’ll assume it will be easy to vanish. Having a god as their back-up is making them cocky.’

Vetinari sighed. ‘I hope you have thought this through thoroughly.’

Was he doubting him? After all these years of service to this bloody city and to him? The nerve on the man!

‘I know how to do my job!’ Vimes growled. He tried to stop himself from saying the next bit, he really did, but it came out anyway. ‘If not trusting me is what you meant when you said that any kind of… involvement between us would make it harder to do our jobs properly, then yeah. I agree.’

Vimes could almost hear Vetinari’s jaw grinding.

‘Thank you for your assessment, commander, and for confirming my misgivings about anything in the way of romance between us. You are dismissed. I expect my city to be back in order shortly.’

‘Sir…’

‘I believe I dismissed you, your grace.’

There was a sharpness in his voice Vimes hadn’t heard wielded against himself in a long time, and it hurt more than he was willing to admit. Dismissed, yeah? Well, fuck him then.

He didn’t bother to hit the wall on his way out.

Angua wondered how her life had gotten to a point where she was queuing for hours in the cold, just to get an iconograph taken in front of a mistletoe mural. The only consolation was that Carrot and Cheery were there with her. Especially Carrot. She found his presence comforting. He was leaning down to whisper into her ear from behind.

‘I know this makes you feel uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘Cheery and I could handle this, if you…’

‘No!’ She was surprised at herself for how fast she responded. She turned to face him. ‘I mean… I do mind, I can’t help it. It’s not you, Carrot, I just don’t like big public gestures. I’m sorry.’

His eyes were soft, and he smiled at her gently. ‘I know. And it’s fine. Really. Which is why you don’t have to. I happen to know that Nobby would be willing to step in.’

‘Well, that would do nothing for our credibility.’

‘How do you mean?’ Carrot asked so earnestly that Angua genuinely couldn’t tell whether he was making fun of her.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Anway. It’s fine. I am fine with standing under that mistletoe with you. Honestly.’

Well, that was half a lie. But the joy in his face was real and, gods, she had to admit that it warmed her heart as the whole queue shuffled about a foot onwards and carried them further towards the spotlight.

‘Carrot, I…’ She took a deep breath, then raised on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, ‘I love you.’

The face he made rewarded her courage.

‘I love you, too,’ he whispered back, and it made her heart flutter. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at herself but she couldn’t quite deny that it felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest.

Vimes found it hard to concentrate. Sator Square was stuffed so full of people it was nigh impossible to move, and they were penned in by the ongoing traffic jam in the surrounding streets. Honestly, it was a disaster waiting to happen… But they had come prepared. Watchmen in civilian clothing were positioned at strategic points. Everything was going as planned.

They had needed a throuple. It couldn’t be civilians because it was dangerous. It couldn’t involve Nobby, even though he was probably the only one who’d jump at the chance, because, well… it needed to be believable. It couldn’t include Vimes, otherwise they could just as well have the word ‘trap’ spelled out on their foreheads. Fred would probably faint at the mere suggestion. When they had considered every option there seemed to be only one logical choice. So Angua, Carrot, and Cheery were very slowly making their way up to the mural. When they finally arrived, Cheery’s cheeks were so red they clashed horribly with the artfully painted scene behind her. Angua looked like she was walking with a metal rod up her… spine. The only one who made an appropriately joyful impression was Carrot.

Just for a second, Vimes imagined walking up there with Vetinari and made himself laugh. They could never be this. They would never be anything remotely like this. Obviously. Damnit, why was it so difficult to not think about that man? Right in front of his mind’s eye, Vetinari’s face floated around like a ghost. It had that fleeting moment of worry etched firmly into it – honest, proper worry. For him. Because Vetinari was in love with him. Gods, even thinking about it choked him up. He couldn’t help but remember their kiss, how Vetinari had felt in his arms, how soft the skin of his cheek had been against his palm…

Blast. He had to focus. It wasn’t only his life on the line in this operation.

Bloody Vetinari, bloody mistletoes, and bloody feelings. It had been so much easier when he hadn’t known about them. How could you know and not do anything about them? How the fuck did Vetinari deal with that?

Didn’t matter. It was over anyway, that much was clear, at least.

Breathe.

Focus.

There.

Angua, Carrot, and Cheery had positioned themselves in front of the mural. Things were moving along. He heard the iconographer shout instructions at them. Stand there. Look here.

Focus.

Breathe.

Who was moving suspiciously through the crowd? Where did the sunlight glint on a knife? Were they really passing up the chance to make an example of the Watch, who had been a thorn in their side? Were they…

There.

A commotion at the far end. That was Visit’s post. And sure enough, the sound of a whistle. The whole crowd started into motion. Vimes had anticipated that it would be difficult to get through, but bloody hell, this was like being caught in a slow-motion hurricane. There was almost no chance of going into the direction you wanted. Not if you tried to push through anyway. After a while of fighting against the current, Vimes learned to catch the right waves that carried him roughly in the desired direction. He heard shouting. When he caught a glimpse of the mural, he could see Carrot stepping between the iconographer and a figure in a dark robe. Angua was nowhere to be seen. He could just about make out the top of Cheery’s helmet and another dark figure moving towards it with grim determination. He shouted and drew his sword and that made the crowd part in front of him readily enough. Cheery was distracted by two distressed children who had probably lost their parents in the churning masses. She had no idea she was under attack. The figure lurched. Vimes ran.

He got between them. That much he knew. Because the sharp, debilitating pain in his leg was a good indicator of a knife being stuck in there. His thigh quit its service, sending him down on his knees. His vision went dark. Beyond the void, he heard more shouting. Then the crowd was gone, as were the voices, and there was nothing left but darkness.

And in the darkness twinkled a single snowflake perched on a long, black eyelash.

Chapter Text

Vimes came to in a hospital bed. The first thing he noticed was Mossy Lawn’s face looking rather relieved. It was the face he made when someone had just had a close call. Who had it been this time? Sam heard something about losing a lot of blood but couldn’t piece together who Mossy was talking about, exactly. The pain from his thigh made it difficult to concentrate. Honestly, it felt like it was on fire. Why did it hurt so much? And what was the foul stuff Mossy made him drink? He didn’t have time to ask before he drifted off again.

The next time he woke, his head was clearer, the pain duller. Cheery was there, alive and uninjured. He was grateful that he didn’t have to ask any questions for her to give him a detailed account of what had happened. Which was a lot. Most of the attackers had been caught, Angua had been able to track down the rest. They had incriminated the Head Priest of Om enough that he would likely be convicted for incitement, aiding and abetting. Apparently, there had also been a flaming public speech by Carrot about the dangers of intolerance, which had been well received and even printed in the Times. Vetinari had announced that hateful speech was to be severely punished in the future.

The public interest in the murals had doubled overnight because who couldn’t resist a good Real Evil Deed Story? People loved those. But luckily, Hogswatch was just around the corner. It was getting even colder, snow was coming, and everyone was anxious to be at home with their families during the holidays, so slowly – very slowly – traffic was starting to dissolve.

Sam had wanted to ask more questions but a nurse came in and deemed it unhelpful for his healing process to be dealing with such things. He didn’t have the strength to convince her otherwise.

There was more sleeping and drowsing.

The next time Vimes came fully awake, it was dark. His throat was as dry as the desert Om had wandered through, apparently to give bigoted idiots an excuse to be assholes. Was there water anywhere…? He gently tried to move and immediately got punished for it by a sharp pain in his thigh. It felt like being stabbed all over again. Ah, well, he wasn’t that thirsty anyway… He might not have been actually awake even, because he saw something move in the shadows that he knew couldn’t be there. Something man-shaped. Even in his exhausted state no one would have been able to sneak into this tiny room without him noticing. No-one, except perhaps for…

‘Can’t you knock on the door, sir, like a normal person?’

His voice rasped through his throat like sandpaper and threw him into a coughing fit.

Lord Vetinari stepped out of the shadows and raised an eyebrow. ‘I would have, Vimes, but I wasn’t allowed to.’

Vimes blinked. ‘You weren’t allowed to?’

‘Nurse Agatha was quite clear on the matter and not very impressed by the word tyrant. I suspect she might not know what it means.’

Ah. Nurse Agatha. He remembered a stout woman in white who had been fussing over him and had been very strict about visiting hours and the volume at which guests were allowed to speak. She had seemed to be the kind of immovable object that made any force reconsider whether the label ‘unstoppable’ was actually suitable for it. No patient would die of over-strain on Nurse Agatha’s watch, though they might well die of boredom.

‘Yet you’re here.’

‘Well observed, Commander.’

‘Why?’

Vetinari didn’t answer. He walked up to the bedside table and lit the lamp on it. ‘You look terrible.’

Vimes snorted. ‘I have been stabbed. What’s your excuse, sir?’

Vetinari did look horrifying. The man who could easily retain his vigour after days without sleep showed deep lines around his eyes. Again, he left Vimes’ question unanswered and instead poured water from a jug on the bedside table into a cup and passed it to him.

‘You’re here for the I told you so, aren’t you?’, Vimes asked.

‘No.’ There was a spark in Vetinari’s eye and the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. ‘Though I did tell you. And you didn’t listen. There is nothing new under the sun.’

Vimes slowly drank the water. Across the brim of his cup, he watched Vetinari as he clasped his hands behind his back and ambled towards the window to look out. It was not quite the impressive move in here as it was in the Oblong Office and so it didn’t conceal the fact that all Vetinari tried to do was hide his face.

‘I simply wanted to make sure you’re being well-cared for, commander.’

Vimes put his cup down. ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ He paused and inclined his head thoughtfully. ‘No, perhaps not.’

Vetinari turned to him, and if Sam didn’t know any better, he would have thought him to look nervous. Was he fidgeting with his fingers hidden behind his back?

‘You’re rushed and reckless actions have given me cause to… reconsider our current arrangement.’

Holy hell, was he sacking him? Really? After everything? Now?

‘When faced with the possibility of your death, it became intimately clear to me that there are decisions I have made that I might come to regret.’

‘Sir, please, I’ve lost a lot of blood. I need you to make it simpler for me, ‘cause I’m not following.’

It had to have been the blood loss because for the fraction of second Vimes thought that he had seen a tender smile creep on Vetinari’s face. But no, he wore his usual impassive mask as he approached the bed. Then he took something from the inside pocket of his coat and raised it above his head. In the murky half-dark of the room Vimes couldn’t quite see what it was.

Has he come to kill me? Cleaner than just sacking me, isn’t it? Probably shouldn’t have kissed him. Ah, what am I saying… It was worth it anyway. One of the better things I have done with my life, to be honest.

Vimes closed his eyes and braced for the kiss of a dagger that never came. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open. Vetinari was sat on the edge of his bed now, with a stiff back and a tight jaw. Their gazes met briefly, and then Vetinari looked up. Vimes eyes followed. There, from the high metal frame of the headboard, hang a bunch of twigs. No, not twigs exactly. Something green, dotted with pearly white berries…

It wasn’t magic, this time.

‘I’ve heard it’s bad luck to not kiss underneath a mistletoe,’ Vetinari said quietly.

Vimes stared at him in amazement. Vetinari held his gaze, and it was hard to tell in the dim light, but Vimes thought that the slightest shade of red dusted his usually pale cheeks.

‘Well, I’m not getting up, sir, I’ve just got stabbed,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to get down here.’

It seemed to take an eternity until Vetinari did indeed move. He leaned forward and reached his hand out towards Sam’s face. With the gentlest of touches, his fingers cool and soft, he traced the scar that ran along Sam’s eye, then his fingertips danced lightly across his cheek and jaw. Finally, he carefully pushed Vimes’ chin up and leaned in to kiss him.

Vimes sighed as their lips met and refused to feel embarrassed about it. He allowed himself to relax into the pillow and let Vetinari lead this time. The Patrician slipped his tongue into his mouth very carefully, making Vimes’ whole body prickle. He could have died right now and been absolutely happy.

And then, a terrifying whine made them both jump. Vetinari was on his feet immediately. He had drawn a dagger, the gods knew where from, and his body was so tense it thrummed, prepared for a danger he could not see. Gods above, just when you thought the man couldn’t get any more attractive… Typical. The things Sam wanted to do to him… But not now.

‘Sir, hide! Fast!’

Vetinari looked at him in surprise, but to his credit, didn’t question him or even hesitate. He melted into the shadows so smoothly that even Vimes, who knew he was there, could hardly make him out anymore. And not a second too early. Nurse Agatha burst into the room like a steamroller.

‘Now, what’s going on here?’ Without further ado – or any ado at all, really – she pulled Sam’s blanket to the side and grabbed his wrist, to which a tiny imp clung and whined at a volume you wouldn’t have expected of anything its size. As soon as it was removed from the patient, it stopped.

‘Pulse at 127 beats per minute,’ the imp announced loudly to the room. ’59 beats above normal resting heart rate.’

Nurse Agatha clicked her tongue. ‘My my… You are supposed to rest, commander.’

‘I am! I… dreamed.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘That must have been a very exciting dream.’

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he merely shrugged and tried to look helpless. Nurse Agatha took his pulse herself, looked at his wound, then shook her head when she couldn’t find anything amiss. She squeezed the imp back around Sam’s wrist. ‘Try to get some more sleep, commander. And no excitement!’

‘I’ll tell my dreams, mam.’

‘You do that.’

There was a moment of complete silence after she had left and before Vetinari melted back into view. Vimes felt heat rise to his cheeks.

‘Don’t you dare be smug about this!’

‘Smug? I wouldn’t dream of it, Vimes. I’m never smug.’

‘You look smug.’

‘That must be a trick of the light.’

‘Come here and let me kiss it off you.’

Vetinari smiled, then nodded towards the imp on his wrist. ‘Perhaps some other time, commander. Lest your heart rate rise once more to alarming heights.’

‘Definitely not smug then, sir?’ Vimes growled.

Silence fell. The smugness vanished from Vetinari’s face and was replaced by… uncertainty? No, that couldn’t be it, surely. This was Vetinari.

‘What happens now?’ Vimes croaked.

‘Excellent question, commander.’ Vetinari hesitated but then sat down on the bed again and glanced at the mistletoe. ‘I don’t know. I will admit that I lack experience with these sorts of things.’

‘Yeah. Me too.’

‘Then, even though it goes against my nature entirely, Vimes, I would suggest that we refrain from making any plans and see where this takes us.’ He hesitated, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Something Vimes had never seen from the Patrician before. But then he regained his composure and leaned down to whisper in Sam’s ear. ‘Come see me when you can.’

Vimes shivered as the words ghosted across his skin, and when he opened them again, Vetinari was gone.

The bloody bastard. He threw his head back into the pillow and groaned.

Chapter Text

It took another three days until Vimes had annoyed Mossy Lawn thoroughly enough to be tentatively released from the Lady Sybil’s. While the worst of the whole mistletoe disaster had passed, the Yard was still swamped with the aftermath. Vimes had reports to write and sign, arrests and search warrants to issue and trials to prepare. He didn’t mind it. Keeping busy was a rather convenient way of avoiding the Palace and its inhabitant. Because what if… No, he was simply not going to think it. See? Easy.

Until of course, there was another bloody Rats Chamber meeting.

Vimes spent the time, during which Downey rambled on about one thing or another, to watch Vetinari whenever he thought the other man wouldn’t notice. If he was somehow interested in Sam’s presence, he certainly didn’t show it. He didn’t address him in any way except to ask him for professional comments. But then again, what was he expecting? A romantic moment of prolonged eye contact? A secret smile? A bloody wink?

When everyone else filed out of the room, Vimes remained in his seat. This was it. Time to find out what was what. Not that he had any idea about how to start this conversation – he only knew that one needed to happen. When it was just the two of them left and the door had closed behind him, Vetinari occupied himself with his notes for another while. It took him ages to look up.

‘You’re still here, commander.’

‘I can leave if you’re busy.’

The Patrician seemed to consider this for a moment, then closed the file in front of him, got up from his seat and walked over to him. Right next to Vimes’ chair he leaned back against the table. His hands curled around the edge, fingers tracing the wood underneath.

‘How is the leg?’

‘Fine,’ Vimes growled. ‘Though they all keep making a fuss. They won’t even let me do my rounds.’

‘Could it be that Dr Lawn told them to keep an eye on you?’

Shrugging, Vimes looked away, just so he didn’t have to admit it. ‘He’s too bloody cautious. It’s his job, I suppose.’

‘Hm. So your leg is not the reason that you have kept me waiting.’

Vimes gazed up in surprise. Underneath the impatient tone of a tyrant, who was not used to be kept waiting, there was the wavering voice of a man who wondered why.

‘I’ve had about two dozen trials to prepare.’

‘You have staff for this.’

‘The whole Om conspiracy thing is important.’

‘I see.’

The tiny tear in Vetinari’s usually impenetrable mask rebuilt itself quickly. When he moved to walk away, Vimes instinctively reached out to get a hold of his thigh. Hastily, he drew his hand back when he realised what he had done. But Vetinari had already stopped and looked at him curiously. Vimes cleared his throat.

‘I… I wasn’t really sure… Look, they gave me stuff against the pain in the hospital, and it made my head go funny. At one point I thought I saw three Nobbys tapdancing. I figured… Maybe you weren’t there at all that night. Maybe I’d made that up.’

You could see Vetinari’s jaw joint move tensely under his pale skin.

‘Would you prefer that?’

‘What?’

‘If you could deny it ever happened, Vimes. Would you prefer it?’

‘Ah.’ It would make life simpler again, wouldn’t it? Just pretend it had never happened. ‘No,’ he said, and immediately felt the creepers of fear reach around his heart. ‘Do you?’

He held his breath during the pause that followed. You never knew with Vetinari and his stupid ideas of what a tyrant should and should not be. But as Vimes stared at him, his eyes softened.

‘No,’ he said. ‘In fact, I…’

Relief propelled Sam out of his chair, regardless of the pain in his leg. He lunged at Vetinari too quickly for his brain to catch up and pressed their mouths together.

The sound Vetinari made at the contact, a small, surprised hm! in the back of his throat, was beautiful. He tumbled backwards under the weight of Vimes’ onslaught and had to catch himself on the table behind him. But as soon as he had found a wide-legged stance to steady himself while leaning on the edge of the desk, he grabbed Vimes’ hips to tug him closer and kiss him back just as hungrily. Vimes allowed himself to be pulled in between Vetinari’s thighs. The Patrician had to be able to feel how rapidly Sam’s heart was beating because his chest was pressed so tightly to his. If the hospital imp had still been wrapped around his wrist, Vimes’ pulse would have exploded its tiny head.

They slowed down a bit after they had settled into their positions. Vimes gently kneaded Vetinari’s thighs as they kissed, careful to avoid the wound that the gonne had left there many years ago. He’d had to ask him about that… If the pain ever truly went away. But that was a conversation for another day. His focus right now was on the feeling of Vetinari’s tongue in his mouth, the taste of his lips, the scratching of his beard against his skin. It was hard to believe how natural it felt. Kissing Vetinari felt right. And hot. Gods, it was hot. Holding the most powerful man in the city and, arguably, one of the most powerful people on the Disc in his arms was exhilarating. Sam’s cock twitched and strained against his trousers as Vetinari slid his hands underneath the seam of his shirt, so he could stroke his back. When his fingernails gently scratched across his bare skin, Vimes couldn’t help but shudder and moan into his mouth.

Some sick instinct in him felt embarrassed and demanded to be put back in control. So Vimes reached his hand between Vetinari’s legs – and found what he had hoped for: Through multiple layers of fabric, he felt something hard twitch against his palm. He grinned as he squeezed the quite considerable bulge, and it didn’t fail to elicit a reaction. Vetinari startled and gasped, then bit his lip, as if surprised by the sound that he had made. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes dark when they looked at Vimes from under his long eyelashes. Sam shivered with excitement. He kept rubbing Vetinari’s cock through his clothes, noticing with some satisfaction that his cheeks flushed an even deeper pink. His grip around Vimes’ hips tightened almost painfully.

‘You should not overextend yourself, your grace,’ Vetinari teased, somewhat shakily. ‘Doctor’s orders, I believe.’

Doctor’s order, huh?

Somewhere in the back of his mind Vimes understood that Vetinari was egging him on on purpose, but he really couldn’t care less. He growled deep in his throat as he claimed his mouth with new fervour. That shut him up alright. Vetinari had to catch himself on his hands when Vimes leaned his weight into him, pushing him backwards, kissing him like he wanted to devour him. He couldn’t deny how much he liked having power over the man, especially because it was so freely given to him. He started to fumble with the buttons of Vetinari’s coat, though only those at hip-level because otherwise they’d be here for days. They sufficed to allow him access to the buttons on the trousers and breeches. Then, finally, he could push his hand inside and take hold of Vetinari’s cock. The Patrician shuddered at the contact, closed his eyes, and let his head drop forward.

‘Vimes,’ he muttered breathlessly and without any apparent goal other than to taste his name on his tongue.

Ye gods.

When Vimes started to stroke him, Vetinari lifted his head and locked eyes with him. His lips, shiny from kissing, were slightly parted, his breath heavy, his brow wrinkled, but his gaze was glued to Sam as he jerked him off. Fucking hell. Vimes knees buckled at the sight. Quickly he decided to make a virtue out of necessity, so he gave into gravity and sank down to the floor. When he looked up from where he was kneeling, Vetinari still looked back. He was dishevelled, his coat hung partly open, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was tousled, and gods, wasn’t it the most gorgeous he had ever looked? Smirking, Vimes freed Vetinari’s cock from his trousers, and after a quick moment of appreciating its size, he took it in his mouth.

Vetinari’s deep groan vibrated through him like an earthquake. He turned his eyes up to peer at him – and found Vetinari looking back, of course. He smiled as he slid a hand in Sams hair, cradling the back of his head. Gently, he pushed him further down on his cock until the coarse hair at the base tickled his nose. Vimes happily followed his lead but couldn’t quite withstand the challenge of staring Vetinari down as he did.

And Vetinari looked away first.

His eyes fluttered shut and, sighing, he leaned his head back, exposing his throat. Vimes would have gotten up to bite his neck, if his mouth hadn’t been full already. And gods, was it full. It was a proper feat to bob his head up and down without gagging, so Vimes took his eyes off Vetinari and concentrated on that, making good use of his tongue. It earned him small, needy moans, quiet at first but getting louder. Who would have thought that the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork could produce such deliciously sweet noises? It sounded suspiciously like he was trying to suppress them, but couldn’t, making it the most arousing thing Sam had ever heard: Havelock Vetinari losing control over himself. He could have listened to him moan forever, knowing it was his mouth that made him do it.

Vetinari’s panting got ever faster and shallower, and it spurred Vimes on. Then, suddenly, he convulsed over him and grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair so tightly it hurt. But Sam didn’t mind it. His own cock throbbed in rhythm with Vetinari’s as it filled his mouth with waves of thick, salty liquid. He swallowed it eagerly and yearned to touch himself at the same time to get his own release.

Not yet.

His injured leg smarted as he rose from the floor, but he hardly felt it. He pushed Vetinari down on his back and leaned over him to bite his neck after all. And gods above, the Patrician bloody whimpered as teeth nicked his skin, causing Sam to almost spill on the spot. He grunted and resumed their kissing, tongues sharing the salty taste of Vetinari’s cum. With one hand, Vimes kept himself propped up over him, with the other, he fumbled his own trousers open and released his cock from its constraints. For as long as he could remember he had never been so horny. So he grabbed Vetinari’s hand and moved it to where he wanted it. Slender fingers curled around him with exactly the right amount of pressure, and he fucked the sleeve they created with erratic thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. Vetinari was watching him again, ever so intently, watched how he fucked his hand – and then reached his other down to squeeze Sam’s balls. That was more than any human could bear. Vimes cried out and trembled as he came, still propped up over the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork.

Dear gods. This was the closest he had ever come to having a religious experience.

Spasms shook his whole body. Vetinari’s hand remained on his cock throughout, and Vimes knew that he was watching him as he writhed.

When his trembling finally subsided, he gently rested his forehead against Vetinari’s and tried to catch his breath. A hand curled around the nape of his neck, fingers lightly played with his hair. Sam could have remained here forever, but his arms where about to give out, and even after everything, he didn’t dare to simply collapse on the Patrician. So he used his last ounce of strength to push himself up and back, tumbling ass first into his chair, still breathing like he’d just run a marathon. His injured leg was protesting, but he did not care in the slightest. It had been absolutely fucking worth it.

Vetinari sat up shortly after, rebuttoned his coat and smoothed his hair back. He would have looked fairly collected had it not been for the blush still on his cheeks and the white stains on his coat.

Vimes bit his lip. Seeing Vetinari marked by him was surprisingly satisfying, even if it was only temporary.

The Patrician raised an eyebrow at the smears, then took a handkerchief out of his pocket to first clean his hand, then dab at them.

‘Really, Vimes, how am I going to explain this to the dry cleaners?’

‘I’m sure you’ve had worse stains to explain,’ Vimes muttered. He was still floating slightly above the physical world, which might have been due to the orgasm or the overexertion or both.

That was until he heard the door to the Rats Chamber open behind him.

Hastily, he put himself away and crossed his legs, right before Downey came into view. The Head of the Assassins’ Guild stopped when he realised the room wasn’t deserted and blinked at them. An awkward silence rang out louder than a whole orchestra.

‘Forgot my watch,’ Downey mumbled and went on to the seat he had occupied during the meeting. There lay indeed a silver pocket watch, that he quickly snatched. He nodded awkwardly at Vetinari as he went on his way.

Only when the door had fallen shut behind him, Vimes noticed that he had been holding his breath.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

‘Succinctly put.’

‘Think he noticed anything?’

‘For an assassin, Lord Downey is remarkably unperceptive. He probably believes that he merely interrupted a conversation that was not meant for his ears. Even so. Going forth, we should perhaps refrain from any… activities of this kind in semi-public rooms with unlocked doors.’

Vimes ears grew hot at the phrase going forth.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That is, if you are still interested in pursuing this any fur-‘

‘Yes.’

Vetinari allowed himself a discreet smile, which quickly faded into the impervious mask of the Patrician. ‘Very well. I still need the files on the upcoming trials, Vimes. Please make sure I have them on my desk by tomorrow.’

Vimes heaved himself out of the chair. ‘Yes, sir.’ He leaned in to steal another kiss, and relished in how readily Vetinari gave it to him. ‘Always happy to be of service.’

‘Oh, if only that were true,’ the Patrician sighed, but there was a sparkle in his eye that hinted at humour. He caught Sam’s chin between index finger and thumb and kissed him once more, the subtle scent of lilacs mingling with stale cigar smoke and sweat. Vimes still had to wrap his head around the fact that they could simply do that now, hold each other and kiss and… well, various other bonus activities. It seemed too good to be true. And honestly, he wasn’t really the kind of person to believe in happily ever afters.

‘You think we’ll manage?’ he asked quietly. ‘You know, to have this together and still make work… work.’

Vetinari’s eyes allowed some softness into them. ‘I suppose we have no other choice but to find out.’

Vimes nodded. ‘Yeah. Alright. Fine. Let’s do that.’

When he left the Rats Chamber, Vetinari’s smile still shone in his mind’s eye like a diamond. And in his pocket, his hands clasped around the small bunch of mistletoe that had hung over his hospital bed.