Exit Signs I Missed (A Dark Artifices Fanfiction) ✔️

California Never Felt Like Home

Kissing Mark, Emma thought, was like doing anything else with him: shooting arrows, riding on a faerie steed, sword-fighting.

It was fun, exciting, and didn't require much thought. It was nice while it lasted, but she doubted she would long for it when she didn't have it. She doubted thoughts of it would seep into her mind, invade her every action, push her towards the next kiss, the next time she could talk to him, touch him or even just catch a glimpse of him.

Because deep down, no matter how much she knew she shouldn't yearn for it, she was still waiting for her next kiss with Julian.  Still wanting hopelessly, pointlessly, and irrevocably for Julian to kiss her, touch her, tell her he loved her.

By the Angel, why couldn't she just be happy kissing Mark? Why did she still think of Julian, even with the older Blackthorn boy's hands in her hair and lips on her skin and body against hers? Was there something fundamentally broken about her, wrong with her, that the one she loved was the one she couldn't love and yet she could never love anyone else -

And then Mark's lips were on hers again, and this time the kiss turned hungry, insistent, as if he knew of her thoughts and was demanding that she pay attention to him. Or maybe he, too, had thought of someone else, Kieran, perhaps, and was forcing all his attentions on her, to distract from anyone else - and she was distracted.

She opened her eyes for a second to see his eyes boring into hers - one gold and one Blackthorn blue-green, but that was enough, wasn't it? Just half Blackthorn, half Julian, close enough without being him. She closed them again, blocked out her traitorous, awful thoughts, and moved her hands to wander beneath Mark's shirt, feeling the ridges and planes of his chest, the skin hot, like he was burning with fever. And she was burning too, searing as she pulled Mark's shirt over his head, the sensation of his hands tracing over her bare back alarmingly familiar, and she jerked away from him just as a voice echoed through the training room.

"You two know this is a training room, right? Not a bedroom." It was bitter, this voice, wry to cover the hardened, scarred pain, but she would know it anywhere. Julian.

And on some level she was happy to have him there, happy that he knew about them, because some part of her was insane, some part of her would always want Julian to be the one she kissed, some part of her was so in love with Julian Atticus Blackthorn that it was impossible to imagine being with anyone else in any capacity ever, as long as he drew breath. Not when he existed, not when he painted, not when he was ruthless and merciless and could turn rivers to blood all for his siblings, not when he was nearly everything to her, not when he was everything that made him Jules.

"Of course I did," Emma said matter-of-fact-ly, raising her chin in a self-righteous manner. "Don't know what he was thinking."

Jules smiled a little; she was glad, since recently he had been more likely to frown than grin. "Yeah, Mark, what were you thinking?"

To his credit, he shrugged. "I have not the slightest idea."

"Anyways," her parabatai said. "Cristina was asking for you. Something about shopping?"

"Huh. That's weird. I thought she had enough clothes-" Emma started to say, her eyebrows drawing together.

"She also said that a bunch of her clothes were ruined by demon venom yesterday. She wasn't in gear, so she wasn't expecting it, but she's fine," Julian added.

"Oh, okay. I'll go, then." Emma could tell Julian was lying, from the slightest inflection in his tone, and also, she knew she would have been told if Cristina had had her clothes ruined by demon poison. They almost always went out together on patrol.

But who was she to deny Jules anything, when she had hurt him so badly? What kind of person would that make her?

She didn't want to find out.

:::

"Why did you do that?" Emma snapped at her parabatai. She put on a mask of frustration, mingled with mild anger, at being interrupted.

"Don't act like you don't know why, Emma, don't act like you don't know how I feel about you." Julian's voice was desperate, as if he was drowning and words were going to save him. As if she could possibly do anything about his pain that wouldn't further it in the end. "By the Angel, Emma-"

"You love me." She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from touching him, to throw up a makeshift shield, to keep her hand near Cortana, which was sheathed at her side. "This doesn't have to be complicated, Jules. Mark makes me happy. You love me. Don't you want me to be happy?"

He looked like he was fighting some internal battle, like he was banging up against a wall he had built himself. "Of course I do." His eyes were shuttered now, perfectly blank. Dead inside, and Emma thought this must be what people looked like when they stopped fighting.

It killed her, but Emma had almost died a thousand times, by demons of Malcolm or her own recklessness. This wasn't new.

And she'd have to feel it a thousand times more. "With Mark... I can be normal. We like the same things. We have fun together. He's your brother, Jules." Emma emphasized the word brother, watching the pain it put on Julian's face. "After Malcolm, and everything that happened, I just really need something... Different."

When Jules looked like someone had dug out his heart with one of his pancake-flipping spatulas, she swallowed. Part of her felt like this was the end, the end of her being an actual person, because she was good at hurting people. It was a skill she'd devised over the years, violence a part of her daily life, but she'd never imagined that she would have to hurt Julian on purpose, Julian, who was a part of her, a part of her soul.

"Okay," he said. Simply, starkly, like okay was all he'd ever be, never anything more.

She knew she wouldn't be either.

:::

"Hey," Mark said, looking up when she arrived at the rooftop. "How was shopping?"

Emma smiled, in spite of her dark mood. He was getting better at this, being human. "Fine. What did you do?"

Mark blinked, a brief panic flitting across his face before he became composed again. "Nothing of import."

And there was the faerie in him resurfacing, rearing its (very charming) head. She wondered if he could ever be at peace, with the two sides of him always warring with each other.

Emma crossed the roof, sitting next to Mark on a spread-out blanket, and resting her head on his shoulder. He smelled like electricity, a burned-out fuse. She felt like she was burned out, zapped to a crisp, jittery and exhausted.

They leaned against each other, the meagre space between them still enough for secrets, filled with the words neither of them was willing to admit. Emma felt out of place these days, lost and wandering without Julian to anchor her. Mark looked the same right now, as she turned to face him, like he didn't know what he was looking for, only that he couldn't find it.

"I saw Kieran today," the second-oldest Blackthorn confessed, turning his face away from hers as if it pained or embarassed him to say it.

"Oh," Emma said, because what did you say to somebody who had had an encounter with their ex that they most likely still had feelings for? "Do you... Did you have a good time? Did you talk, or something?"

"I..." Mark was just as wary of the topic as she was, but went on. "No, we did not."

Oh. Something akin to surprise or betrayal sprung up inside Emma's chest, and what she said next was typical banter. "Kissed, then?"

Mark didn't reply, just leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss hard and swift, so short it hardly registered, grabbed her hand, and led her over to a faerie steed, gleaming chrome and onyx and obsidian, the night sky without the stars. They clambered on, her back resting against Mark's chest, and ascended into the darkness in silence.