0500 hours. Spectre Manor, Kitchen.


It wasn't yet sunrise.

Balfour smoked a cigarette as he stood by the open door of the kitchen, which let out to the back terrace of the manor and then the dark wilderness beyond. He leaned against the frame and breathed out a stream of grey-white smoke while a fire in the stone oven crackled away to keep cold out.

An owl had come to Atreus late last night with the message that his sister would soon be going into labour. Like most Spectre children - himself included - the bairn would be born under this roof, by a competent midwife (and few were as competent as Carol Kemp). That had been hours ago. He and Johann were still here.

Away from the kitchen, in the drawing room, Balthair Spectre sat by a door that led into Nathaira's parlour. The old wizard had been there to greet every child in his adult lifetime and when Balfour last saw him, he was patiently reading an old book with a sense of practiced ease. Not a spot of restlessness.

Carr, mither, Grizelda, and the midwife were in the parlour. They'd prepared it for the birth - even though it was a premature one - and the labour had been a very long one.

Lil Cameron was born nearly an hour ago according to Carr, when he left Knox's side looking a bit harassed to tell them she wasn't ready to see anybody yet. A mother's prerogative. Balfour had abandoned his post by the mantel and come to the Kitchen on the pretence of fetching tea but he didn't yet think to touch the kettle. They didn't need it anyway. Everyone who resolved to stay up for Knox were plenty awake now.

He tapped the cigarette, flicking ash on to the porch step, and looked around his shoulder at a sound.

"Needed a smoke. Anything yet?" The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at Johann with the uneasy manner of someone not used to waiting quietly. Balfour turned away from the night. "I suppose I'm officially an uncle now."

Johann shook his head, covering a yawn with a pale, long hand, stretching the other up lazily as he ventured into the kitchen. He had a particular soft spot for the room. It wasn’t so formal as a dining room, and breakfast was far more entertaining shared with a clan crammed shoulder the shoulder passing the jam and butter. Such a stark contrast to his own solitary upbringing, he couldn’t help but feel fiendishly jealous of the Spectres. Nobody had grown up lonely, as far as he could tell. In the dark before dawn, the fire burning low, almost embers, he could picture them all at the table. Another to join them now as well. Luckiest child.

“No suppose about it,” he replied to Balfour, voice in his boots for spending a night talking intermittently to pass the time, “Uncle Balfy.” The corner of Johann’s mouth curled up in amusement at it, trying to imitate the young Spectres, pitching his voice up and attempting the accent. “All the cuddles and dirty nappies you could ever want.”

He chuckled softly, stockinged feet making their way across the floor. His shoes were long since discarded after their arrival, enabling him to curl up on furniture. None of the Spectres seemed all that comfortable to relax, and Johann had felt a mix of excitement for Knox and Carr and of being involved, but a wish to be out of the way and not impose. The whole process of babies coming out of women was downright frightening.

“Suppose we should be used to it soon,” he uttered quietly as he drew closer, inhaling the cold air, looking up at the sky over Balfour’s shoulder. “Enough children due, weddings planned…” He gave a sleepy smile, looking to his love fondly, “might be responsible enough for our own one day.” His right hand fingers reached out to replace Balfour’s auburn curls behind his left ear.

He laughed lightly, affection stirring in his chest at the familiar nickname bequeathed him by the younger cousins of the Spectre Clan. Although she would never be able to speak it, Lil Cam will be the first with the right to that word: uncle.

Balfour watched his partner draw closer and thought about how perfect it was to see him here in the manor. He suspected that the novelty would wear off once Johann had visited here with him often enough but even now, thought they had been up and down many a time, it sent an excited trill right through the older wizard. This could be them for the rest of their lives. Looking at Johann, right here, for the rest of his life.

After briefly losing his sight earlier this month[1] it was near impossible not to look at Johann whenever he was in the room. Bal wanted the sight of him always imprinted in his mind. He smiled, unconsciously.

Lately, Balfour was prone to doing that. Smiling without thinking about how or why.

His left hand rose, interrupting Johann's attempt to fix a stray curl and pressing it to his cheek. Their own children...! The smile broadened sentimentally.

"Oh, yes?" he murmured before kissing the inside of Joh's palm. "How many did you say you wanted? Five... six....?" A quizzical eyebrow went up, cutting through his sleepy countenance with amusement.

The subject was not uncommon, often one whispered about in the aftermath of their nighttime pleasures: those strange and impossible moments before sleep claimed either men, when they could speak about anything at all. A slight shiver passed through him at the thought.

"We could give seanair a run for his money." Balfour half-joked in a soft voice before letting go of Johann's hand and chuckling lightly. "Certainly enough rooms in this place for it. Knox is always telling me it's too quiet here nowadays."

1.	Beast Division Misadventure - 5th March

Balfour’s cheek was cold but warmer for a moment of touch, the cold air of the estate only tickling.
“A house full.” Johann replied fondly, though naively, “as many as will have us, and are happy, any way.” He’d always wanted a sibling or two when he was little, but it wasn’t to be. As far as Johann was concerned, his parents had just settled with one. Up until more recently he’d figured he might never manage to be a father, and please his own late one, and his mother with a grandchild. Marrying Hannah wouldn’t have changed that. But with Balfour, well, he adored the way he was with the bairns, envied his ease. His lover was happy with children, doted on Alex, on all his little cousins. Johann wanted him to be happy to have his own to dote on.

“… Knox is always telling me it's too quiet here nowadays."
“Then we should visit more often.” Johann replied quietly, serious. His thumb caressed the top of Balfour’s cheek gently. They had been together just over six months now, and the Spectre Estate was already cemented as a place of safety to Johann. Knox had said it herself, he was welcome with or without Balfour, and London felt unstable on the darkest of nights. Johann tried to picture this very kitchen on nights where Balfour slept dreamless beside him, and he struggled to find it, eyes playing tricks on him as the jellyfish bobbed across the bedroom ceiling at Atreus.

“Got to get some practice in while we can still hand them back...” He uttered quietly with a grin. He drew his hand away and tucked himself closer to Balfour, looking up into the sky, seeking out the warmth of the other man despite the jumper he was already wearing. He stifled another yawn, but it crept into his voice. “Promise each other we’ll be better to our own than ours were to us.”

A house full.

Balfour wondered if his partner realised how many rooms there were in the manor - a house full would be intimidating, to say the least! But nothing, he supposed, that neither of them couldn't handle if they were together. Not to mention the full force of friends and family to assist. No. Not impossible at all.

He hummed pleasantly at Johann's touch, eyes half-closed for a moment. "Much more often," his tone was one of easy agreement; and something underneath that was less confident.

There had been something Knox mentioned about that. Balfour's arms drew around the other wizard's waist, relishing their shared warmth whilst thoughts fell through his mind: it no longer buzzed with worry about Lil Cam. His niece had been born, alive and healthy. He pondered on the distant future instead.

        “Promise each other we’ll be better to our own than ours were to us.”

Balfour kissed Johann abruptly, nearly disrupting the tail end of that sentence. His mouth had an urgent press about it - wet and impatient in spite of tenderness. He pulled back and raised one hand to his lover's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "We'll be fantastic," he said in a hushed voice.

Better than Wolfgang Storm. Better than his own father, nearly twenty years ago, threatening to cross him off the clan wall.

"We'll have to visit them in Cumbria, after the wedding." Balfour's gaze shifted lower, not quite meeting Joh in the eye. "She's off to be Mrs Rosier in capacity if not name...." he smiled a little at the fact that his sister would not give up the Spectre surname after marriage. "I think we had better move up here after that."

The Scotsman looked up then, a very slight crease in his brow. "Unless you'd prefer we stayed on a bit longer in London? Although, I mean, we could still have the flat there for weekends."

Oh! Oh! What was that for? Johann was a little surprised at the abrupt kiss that followed so closely his words were almost interrupted. He realised a beat later with Balfour’s reassurance, that it was just that. That they both promised each other there and then that they would better their fathers when they became parents. It was agreed, confirmed, sworn. He smiled happily at it all, even if he thought to himself I’ll follow your lead.

Balfour’s thoughts were in all places, Johann realised, following his words from one thing to the next. It was usually Balfour playing catch up as Johann jumped from one thing to the next, forgetting to mention the two points between which he’d discussed in his head without saying aloud. Whereas Johann’s thoughts seemingly leaped, Balfour’s meandered, and Johann knew a lot of them were internalised, pride and strength in figuring things out inside. He liked to hear though, his specialist subject to research would always be Balfour.

“Mrs Rosier.” Johann tried, pouting a little, tilting his head, both of them gazing elsewhere as they considered the next chapter for Balfour’s soon to be married sister. They would be happy, Carr was a good man. Johann was well aware that once a baby appeared, the time and attention of the parents were entirely swallowed up by the tiny bundle, tending to its every input and output. It must be both exhausting and utterly frightening. Johann had only just mastered feeding Balfour’s menagerie and learned enough recipes to feed them both the past three, four months. Of course they would visit, lend a hand where they could.

“I think we had better move up here after that.”
“What?”
“Unless you'd prefer we stayed on a bit longer in London? Although, I mean, we could still have the flat there for weekends."
“Here? Us?” Johann’s sleep-deprived mind struggled a moment to piece together the fact they had talked about this before, but at the time he’d felt it was years in the future, not months. His eyebrows were arched, and his body had stiffened a little, more out of surprise than any fear. “You know I’d follow you wherever.” His face returned to its usual tension, and he squeezed back.

“Won’t it feel strange?” He asked, looking up into the sky, “Living with your parents, Balthair?” He turned back to Balfour, “That sounds wrong, I don’t mean it critically, just, you’ve lived so long on your own. Now’s the time to come… home?”

He felt his lover's bearing change, a moment of surprise cutting through their combined tiredness. Balfour smiled fondly to himself at the reaction - and then a wider smile on being told Johann would follow him wherever. Good. Because he wasn't certain if he would be able to survive anywhere without the other man. Life would hurt if Johann were not around, every breath a hollow and painful burden to take.

A laugh escaped him at the conjecture that followed, and he leaned in to very quickly kiss the side of Joh's face.

"Living with my...." Balfour's auburn eyebrows were raised in surprise at the idea; he couldn't imagine staying with them again at this point of his life. He slid his hand up along Johann's neck to tease a dark curl by the nape, all the while shaking his head. "Did I never say? They've no reason to stay once Knox is gone - she's only the caretaker for when I return."

Of course their parents and seanair hadn't left Nathaira to run the place alone. But Balfour wouldn't have that problem anyway: he had a partner and he was clan heir, something he only recently had come to embrace in its full meaning.

He could recall telling his bedmate all of this, once, but it must have been one of their drowsier nights - not untouched by sleeping potions.

The Scotsman hesitated, reaching down to take both of Johann's hands in each of his own. "It's only coming home if you come with me. You know that, don't you?" he bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "We'll have the place to ourselves-" Balfour explained in a light and teasing voice, "- when there aren't Spectres visiting anyway. Think we can do it?"

Ah, but he knew that they could. It wouldn't be easy. The Spectre Estate - even with house elves to help - meant having run of the manor and the grounds. And then throwing all those crowded clan parties or rituals. Helping Benneit[1] run the Hippogriff farm. Hosting relatives.

Balfour couldn't understand what had gotten into him that he felt this was what he wanted now, after a life of running away from such responsibilities. He suspected it had something to do with falling in love with Johann Storm.

1.	Isla and Alistair's father, Benneit Spectre

“Did I never say?” Maybe, maybe not. Johann didn’t usually forget important things like this. Unless he was comatose.
“They’ll move out just like that?” He asked, surprised. How could someone give up this wonderful view and acres of land when they had grown up with it? Then again, the man he was pressed against had done just that, and was now talking about coming home.

Balfour took Johann’s hands, and the German turned to regard his lover carefully, tearing his eyes from the stars and the dark land.
“It's only coming home if you come with me. You know that, don't you?” Johann nodded, the corners of his eyes closing up with the enormous smile blooming below his cheeks.

“We'll have the place to ourselves… Think we can do it?” To say that Johann’s mind was completely elsewhere on that line was an understatement. He caught himself calculating the number of rooms, glancing inwards to the kitchen, and then realised that was not at all what Balfour meant. Grief! He blushed, visibly.
“Look after the place?” He asked hurried, “Yes! Of course. Nothing I can’t learn, nothing you can’t do.”

The distant sound of a door opening and closing made Johann glance into the kitchen again, anticipating an interruption, but none came. Still, it brought his mind back to the new life within the old walls.
“Very much a new chapter,” he remarked, squeezing Balfour’s hands and returning his gaze. “I wonder who the next small human to arrival here will belong to?” He thought aloud, and gave an involuntary shiver from the cold and the possibility. "The thought both petrifies and excites me, if it’ll be on your - our watch. Brr… I need to invest in more jumpers to prepare.” Johann’s toes curled up on the back doorstep and he stepped inside, releasing his grip on Balfour after pulling his hands gently to encourage him in too.

“So how does it all happen? I feel you have told me, but I might have been half asleep… you just rock up here with your suitcase and favourite gay German and the others all pack their bags and run for the hills?” As he backed into the homely Spectre kitchen he drew his ebony wand, pointing it at the kettle without needing to look, his eyes not leaving Balfour in the doorway. “Has it even happened in your lifetime?” Johann added, thinking aloud, while the kettle hopped into the sink. Johann turned away to pour water into it by hand, "What with your father not inheriting from Balthair?”

He liked when Johann looked surprised. It did wonderful things to the other man's countenance. Balfour was momentarily confused by the blush induced by his question but, realising down which rabbit hole Joh's mind had disappeared, he laughed and felt his ears burn at the very idea - there was no doubt about it that they would have to christen each room once they'd moved in.

Something the other Spectres certainly did not need to know about.

       “I wonder who the next small human to arrival here will belong to?”

It was a fair query. Knox had gotten the ball rolling, the first great grand child. Who was next? Balfour shrugged in response, though he eyed his retreating companion with a speculative look: some day. A family. He shut the door gently, locking out the mild breeze that had brought a chill into the kitchen.

His gaze continued to follow Johann as he pulled out a chair at the great table to sit down with a sigh. "There's a ceremony. It's stiff and boring, you'll see - got to get into our clan tartans and all that." Balfour ran a hand through his hair and crossed his legs, quite content to watch Joh make tea.

A pang of guilt prodded at him: he assumed everyone knew clan business but needed to make a conscience effort to start explaining himself more often.

"When I... when seanair made me heir, after my father threatened to cross me off, there was something like a handing over. I signed the manor over to Knox as caretaker because I was still training. Now we have to sign it over back to me, and draw blood over the clan stone in our cellar[1]," he flexed his fingers unconsciously: they had last drawn blood from his palm.

Somewhere above them in the large house, there were footsteps. Faint, but he heard them as he always had in youth - people were rising early even if it would be some time before they would all sit for breakfast.

Balfour smiled tiredly at Johann, tilting his head to the side. "Don't worry about them moving out. They all have other homes. Balthair has a cottage in Aberdeen where he and Artis lived, and my parents a place in Skye. I imagine they'll be away before Knox leaves for Cumbria..." he trailed off, looking down at his hands. Blistered, rough.

"I should have taken over a long time ago. My grandfather is old," the dragon handler studied his nails with the air of a slightly abashed schoolboy. "It just seemed like an awful lot of space for one wizard."

1.	The Spectre Clan Treasury.

Johann replaced the lid on the kettle and brought it over to the fire, waking up the embers with a graceful wave of his ebony wand as he hung it above them. There was a certain comfort and nostalgia for heating water with flame than magic. Made the tea taste better, he was convinced.

Balfour had taken a seat at the table and began to explain tartans and caretaking. Johann remained stooped by the fire as he listened, enjoying the growing warmth, wriggling his toes on the flags.
“… draw blood over the clan stone in our cellar.” Johann straightened up, catching the flex of Balfour’s fingers.
“Sounds painful.” He uttered, moving to prepare the teapot on the long table, toasting the back of his legs with their proximity to the fire. The cold wizard was feeling all the warmer now as he messed with tea.

Johann smiled fondly as he listened to Balfour explain about his family moving on. Spectres scattered all over Scotland - and Cumbria, but still calling this place home.
“Still a lot of space for two.” He agreed, happy at their conversation. “It will still feel a little like we’re evicting them, but equally they’ll be back here for every other weekend for something or another.” Johann reflected, glancing behind him as he heard the first pops and rattles from the kettle. “Won’t seanair be … lonely?” Johann asked thoughtfully, not consciously noticing his use of the name to refer to Balfour’s grandfather presented him as one of them. (Balthair Spectre was a far more wonderful man than Johann’s remaining grandfather, Medgar, who Johann had never cared for.) “Being there without Artis?” He added, fiddling with the teapot lid between his fingertips, looking to Balfour for confirmation the older wizard would be alright. Though he supposed Balthair would find living with them excruciating, given their predilections.

The kettle began to sing gently in the fire behind him, and he turned to pay it attention. Making tea was a familiar, homely and reassuring routine. Tea for shock, tea for comfort, tea for nerves and excitement, tea for family. The ritual varied from place to place, but it was always a pleasure to brew.
“Artis is a good name.” Johann mused, allowing his magic to do the heavy lifting of the hot kettle, guiding it over to above the teapot. “Means bear, or rock,” he elaborated, his smile returning, though his brow was lined with concentration of not pouring boiling water over the table, “I looked it up after you first told me about her. Balthair’s rock in name and love.”

        “Won’t seanair be … lonely? Being there without Artis?”

The corners of Balfour's eyes crinkled pleasantly at how comfortable Johann is, talking about the clan - and the fact that he was at all so concerned for his crabby grandfather. But it was a reasonable question to ask and the wizard watched the ritual of tea with only vague attention. Another part of him was thinking about Artis.

Seamnhair. He'd been sixteen when she passed away, a thin and boney frame that Balthair did not allow anyone else to touch. Bal remembered flinging open the windows in the manor and stopping the clocks and throwing velvet coverings over their framed mirrors.

"He'll be fine." The Scotsman answered in a quiet way, returning to the present with glazed over eyes and a pensive frown. "Bit like me, never really alone even when he's alone." It was something the two wizards had in common - they surrounded themselves with animals and friends and relatives.

His frown dissipated somewhat as Johann brought up how Artis had been seanair's constant. Balfour felt guilty to listen, as he had once implied[1] to Balthair that they might someday use that name for one of their own.

That was even before the pair of them had been muttering about children, half-asleep. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Yes. Rock in a storm. You would have liked her, darling. Sharp as a tack and utterly terrifying - bit like you. I can't imagine seanair ever recovered, to be honest. I wouldn't have."

Balfour nudged the chair next to him, pushing it out as Johann approached with the teapot and watching him with a tender eye. "Do you really like the na--"

       "Bal? Johann?" Carr had appeared at the archway whilst they weren't paying attention, looking worse for wear in a battered old dressing gown and tartan slippers. "She's ready."

1.	Grey Between the Lines - Feb 6th

Knox laid against the cushioned back of the tartan divan in her parlour, which had been dragged over to the small fireplace where her bridge table would usually be placed. Soft blankets of cashmere and merino wool were heaped on and around her, Midwife Kemp having tactfully gotten rid of the many towels they had needed for the long labour before she gave them their privacy - the window was slightly open to let in a bit of fresh air as it had gotten stuffy over he hours. Her mother lay by the window seat: she'd fallen asleep there but nobody rose the old woman.

Dried buds of lavender had been thrown into the flames, only two or three, to lightly fragrance the space. Cleansing

Knox was holding Lil Cam - the bairn swathed in cream muslin cloth - and speaking to Balthair when her brother and his partner entered with Carr. Seanair stood from an armchair with a quiet smile at them; he held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. "Sithuad[1]," her grandfather beckoned fussily at the three wizards.

There had been no wail. Nathaira's daughter was mute in the most thorough sense, and with her babe eyes closed to the world she was also blind. Her wrinkly face was set restfully. All cried out. Knox looked up at Carr first and then Balfour.

"Uncle Balfy," she whispered; her countenance, underneath the loose bun of auburn curls tumbling down, was exhausted but fond. "Say hello to your niece -" Knox glanced at Johann now, somewhat surprised and amused to find that he too had stayed up with the others. "- and yours. Uncle Johann?"

The witch sniffed, unconsciously, siting up a bit straight to hand the bundle over to Balfour. "We've yet to give her the whiskey," she explained whilst Balthair joined them all before the divan.

1.	Scots Gaelic - Come on

“… I can’t imagine seanair ever recovered…” Johann’s features softened into a sad expression, the thought of being without Balfour crossing his mind as he tried to imagine how Balthair felt after losing Artis. There was a pang in his chest and a heat behind his eyes in an instant, and the newly filled teapot in his hand drooped towards the table as Balfour nudged out the chair.

They didn’t get to pour the tea, interrupted by an exhausted Carr inviting them to meet little Cam and congratulate Knox. Johann was happy to greet the unspeakable and offer a pat on the back for their new arrival. He skipped back to the kitchen table to scoop up the mugs and the teapot. Tea should not be wasted, and more people might drink it now!

Though as Johann discovered, soon after, Spectres drank whiskey, before six in the morning, when babies arrived, and even the baby too. His excitement about making tea for everyone instead of allowing Griselda evaporated. There was a small, pink, wrinkly thing in Knox’s arms. Johann hung back, respecting the fact this was a family moment. Knox must be exhausted and then some (something on a base level Johann could empathise on, but dear gods not the other sense) and in a room filled with wizards, and this was Balfour’s moment. Johann’s heart was excited to see his love’s reaction just as much as he was to see the new life.

“-and yours. Uncle Johann?”

Johann, too busy staring at Balfour, snapped to, looking down at Knox and Cam in confusion.
“Wh-?” The full word didn’t make it out of his lips, his tired voice had been swallowed up on remembering his manners. He .. he wasn’t an uncle? He’d never be an uncle… he… he felt odd for being included, even if the Spectres had assumed he and Balfour were to be joined at the hip for the rest of their lives. This wasn’t about him this was Knox and Carr’s moment, and Balfour’s, and Balthair’s and… he very nearly missed the comment about the whiskey.

“Congratulations,” Johann managed, smiling gently at Knox, “She’s darling.” Ok, bit of a lie there, Cam was a weird wrinkly thing who was a bit of a funny colour for being newly entered into the world, and Johann was unaccustomed to this but knew he could admit later to Balfour and make him laugh, “and you’re radiant,” he paused, eyes to the ceiling trying to recall an English synonym, “glowing,” he tried. Merlin, did babies really look like that? It had hair!

He paused, tilted his head, “Hello!” He offered, complete with appropriate sign, not that, as he had read, babies could see anything in focus for a while. They were just worried about breasts. Proof most heterosexual men did not grow out of childhood infatuations.

Gods bless his sister.

He took great care in holding the small, silent bairn in his arms while Knox thanked Johann for his kind words in a quiet voice. She looked tired but whatever rest she'd taken after the arduous labour gave the witch a glimmer of her usual self-awareness. The fact she'd called Joh an uncle as well - her careful way of trying to include everyone in the birth of a few generation. Balfour hoped she would go away on a fantastic honeymoon after the wedding.

A well-deserved rest for their constant host.

       "Hello!"

Oh, no. Balfour felt something in his chest dissolve sentimentally at this and exchanged a look with Johann, his expression adoring. "She really is gorgeous, Knox...." he murmured - the baby seemed to squint up at the two wizards, not so much gorgeous as she was grumpy. "Scotch all ready then? You'd better take her back."

As carefully as before, he lowered Lil Cam back into her mother's arms and watched as Balthair came forward to proffer the glass of whiskey. Carr sat at the edge of the divan next to Nathaira and dipped the index finger of his right hand into the glass.

       "Someone had better go fetch her godmother," the Unspeakable remarked. "Aisling's in the conservatory I believe."

Grizelda, always attentive, appeared briefly to confirm she would find their lovely cousin. Balfour smiled as their head house elf disappear into thin air. He slipped his hand into Johann's and squeezed. They would wait to perform the ritual[1]. Nothing could ruin today, it was too good to be true: standing here in a house full of his loved ones. This was more than he could ever ask for.

1.	Scottish tradition - dripping a wee bit of whiskey into the mouth of a newborn baby.