Feather and Flame: short stories from the Guarded universe

Thirty (or Forty)

A/N: the first of these three (at least) little stories is for Jackie, of course. For always getting me that promo. And for being one of the best friends a bear could ask for, haha! Enjoy!

*****
Happy Birthday to me," Mitch whispered and looked down at the cupcake in his hands. He was sitting on a bench near the boat dock at Lake Tahoe, watching the sailboats ease out for their sunset cruises. He came here every year on his birthday, to submerge himself in memories he normally tried not to dwell on. It was one of the few indulgences he allowed himself.

It was hard at first, to go even a day without thinking about them. Sleep was a torment because of the dreams, good and bad. Wakefulness was painful because of the constant ache anytime he thought of his angels. But the weeks and the months passed and soon he could breathe without the stabbing sensation in his ribs.

He made a new life for himself, taking good care of the money Mario had invested for him. He was resurrected after being declared dead, and spent a couple of years with his family in Texas, feeling that he owed them that much. Explaining to them where he'd been and how he hadn't aged had taken subtle use of his hypnotic power, but it couldn't be helped. And after the horrors of Hell, Mitch felt like he had a different perspective on temptation. Knowing that he had survived a decade of that darkness and torture made him sure he was strong enough for anything, even the seductive pull of his vices.

After contenting his family, he moved to Seattle, for no other reason than he knew no one there. He made regular visits to Los Angeles to see his old friends, and to play the role of godfather to Kirstie's sweet children, but focused instead on carving out a new existence, which didn't have a ten-year gap or freakishly youthful skin to explain.

He worked as an assistant director for a small playhouse and went by the name of Mitchell Richard Kirk, as a tribute to the men he loved. It was a poor choice at first, being a daily reminder of what he'd lost, but like the rest of it, it faded over time.

It had been almost seven years now since his return from the pit, and he was right on the borderline of happy. He could go weeks at a time now without being swept away by grief or impatience. Only these annual trips to Tahoe where it all began made him truly emo, but even now, staring down at the chocolaty cupcake, he could find only peace in his soul. Nevertheless, he could feel tears slipping down over his cheeks.

"So how old are you now?"

"Gah!" Mitch said, jumping and scooting away from the figure that had joined him so stealthily on the bench.

"Shh, no one else can see me," Scott said with a glittering smile. "They'll think you're having a breakdown!"

"I'm not convinced I'm not," Mitch said, putting a hand on his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"It's your birthday. I always look in on you on your birthday."

This statement both touched and aggravated Mitch. "What? Why wouldn't you say hello?"

"I'm not really supposed to," Scott admitted. "But you seemed...sad. And Alex is off training with Kevin, so he isn't here to stop me from being impulsive."

"Oh." Mitch could think of no other words, stunned as he was.

"So why are you sad today?" Scott prompted, and Mitch brushed at his tears.

"I'm not sad exactly. Just...wistful. Most people are in a very different place in life when they are turning thirty. Or forty! How old am I?"

"You don't know?" Scott laughed.

"I look thirty, I guess..." Mitch touched his forehead, which was uncreased, and then his hair, which was still naturally jet black.

"You look twenty-five at best. You look amazing." Scott's tone was genuine and Mitch smiled a bit.