aiko's otter den

raise your weapon - Dusk threw away his past, his life, everything, to become a spy to preserve order. He’s now got to don the look of a family man and get a wife and child, all to prevent a war! Meanwhile, Bam is a beleaguered law secretary, struggling with identity. Miseng is a child looking to stop running. Hijinks will ensue. SxF au

Now with art by yole!

---

Chapter 4

Khun needs to trust his instincts. He tells himself this over a cup of tea (one of his teachers ruined coffee for him forever, the fucking prick) and a newspaper. Bam is sitting quietly next to Miseng. He’s perfectly relaxed, watching a documentary with wonder in his eyes. Miseng, who had complained that morning about watching a story about history, now leans against his thigh, watching and occasionally asking questions.

He’s not sure if that speaks to Bam’s effectiveness or his own ineffectiveness at raising children.

This documentary is important, he knows. Every child needs to know the history of the City of Gold. Everyone needs to know the basics of civics and civility, but every documentary about the City of Gold had been drilled into his skull at least a dozen times by now. They bore him.

And Bam, technically being his new wife now (husband would be better, but they live in interesting times and Khun knows the laws around gender and sexuality here), likely defies the ethics in these videos.

Sure enough, Miseng nods off eventually. Bam gently runs his fingers through her hair as she snores. Khun sets the paper down. He wonders if his own father had been like this before he had child number twelve. He doubts it. His mother was always working, his sister was always working—

Why are you thinking about this now, Dusk? He scolds himself as Bam scoops Miseng up. “I guess it was pretty boring for her. Most of her classes won’t be exciting, however. She’ll have to learn the discipline.”

“In my experience,” Bam murmurs. “That was what school was for.”

Khun, who has never been educated, can’t help but disagree inside. “Sometimes it comes from lived experiences.”

“Usually at the cost of something.”

They’re not arguing. At least Khun doesn’t think they are. He feels too relaxed and the quirk of a smile on Bam’s face is soft and warm. “I suppose you know from experience.”

Bam had warned him the day before he’d moved in (and charmed the landlady) that his brother was having a very mild anxiety attack and was probably trying to find where they were. Since he was a civil servant, he wouldn’t exactly have any trouble tracking them down. So Khun knows. It’s fine, frankly it’s the least of his problems. If he fucks this up, he’s going to have to kill them, dye his hair and find some other way to do it.

Ugh. And it all relied on a hyperactive six-year-old.

No pressure.

Bam regards him and leans over. “You should sit down, Khun-ssi. No need to overwhelm yourself before it even starts.” He presses a gentle hand onto one of Khun’s shoulders. “Sit down and drink some tea. I was nervous about my brother’s entrance exams, but all it did was upset him. With children, with our children, they need to know they’re safe to be afraid around us, not with us.”

His expression is warm and sad with knowing. Khun almost regrets lying to him.

“You should try to call me Aguero,” he says instead.

Bam just smiles and doesn’t do that.

---

Someone dies at the hands of the Thorn Prince that night.

Khun recognizes the victim a little. A famous politician’s business broker. Lower than the target of a Ten Family head.

“We’re lucky we moved you out when we did,” Khun says, watching Bam adjust his hat and then his skirt. He’s very practiced at it.

Bam blinks, fighting back a yawn. How strange, he’d gone to bed earlier than Khun himself. “Why so? Was the rent going to go up?”

“There was a murder a few blocks away?” Incredulity fills Khun’s mouth, uncontrolled.

Bam’s head tilts. For someone so good at child-rearing, he was oblivious to his own safety, wasn’t he? “Oh!” He taps his cheek. “That one from last night! That one was rather horrid.”

“You make it sound like they happen all the time.” He’s worked outside of the metropolis for a decade and it’s probably true, but he has been too busy to look into much of it.

Bam nudges Miseng into place as casually as breathing. Miseng pouts but remembers to mumble “Mama,” under her breath. Bam’s expression never falters throughout their place in line.

“It depends on where you lived.” Bam dodges a woman swiping at their child, scolding and getting off any dirt. “My brother and I used to roam those areas, but then, our parents were very determined for us to stand on our own feet.”

“Not to rely on the authorities?”

Bam laughs, sweet and airy and elegant, just like Jahad would want to see from those who produced potential wonderful individuals in society. “They’d have rather we didn’t, you understand.”

Khun likes this Bam a lot better. He’s much more surefooted than the woman who had looked down at her shoes.

He wonders what that freedom is like.

Gah, Dusk, you’re losing focus. You can’t lose focus outside the mission. What is the matter with you?

---

The test starts the same as it does every year.

Hundreds of families fumble over themselves to make their child stand out. Boys for support, girls for the princesses. Even of those who made it today, those who gained gold stars were of the minority, let alone ten. Most graduated with three or four, but the best of the best were where they were for a reason, and they started here.

It was time to see who rose and who fell.

“These all survived the preliminary education test, yes?” Lero-ro’s eyes turn from the window to his supervisor. Hansung Yu sips coffee with the patience of a master.

“Quite a few more than last year, it looks like.”

Quant Blitz gives them both an annoyed look. “What does it matter? This test wipes ’em out, most of the time.”

Hansung chuckles and Lero-ro turns from the window. “You just don’t want to grade papers.”

Quant sputters.

The trouble is, that Quant isn’t wrong. The intellect test didn’t mean much. Most parents cheated and cheated well enough to not get caught (some argued that was the point), and plenty of intellectual children joined here. But most of them didn’t have the physical prowess or emotional acuity that lent well to the strenuous exams as they got older. Most people apply to the Academy for the paid education and materials, not for the sake of their child.

Sometimes it was for the marriages. If only they knew.

Others who did their research, it was for the shinsu. The immensely powerful shinsu. Again, if only they knew.

The first few groups pass through with minor incident. One trips and rips their clothes, and the father saves it with a little well-timed needle and thread. Basic but good.

Hansung continues to drink. How he hasn’t had the runs consistently escapes them all.

The other teachers are watching other candidates from other windows, noting down passes and failures with cheers or boos. They sent some off to do interviews. Quant may never do interviews. Not after last time.

A little pink creature zigzags through the crowd, tripping adults and children alike into the grass.

“Oh, one of the zygaena is loose,” Lero-ro murmurs, almost to himself. “One of yours, Hansung-nim?”

“My eels would never run loose.” The pure offense in the man’s voice gets a few titters, at least. “Those are a Yeon family breed. There are some fancies that even I avoid.”

Lero-ro avoids rolling his eyes only by remembering he would see it in the window. The man knows where he sleeps. “Of course.”

He watches the pink dot. People expected bigger creatures and monsters that threatened to eat their precious ones. Those are their own threat, of course. Still, no one expects something small to trip them up.

Once they trip the brick suddenly explodes mud and dirty water everywhere, or the smaller shinheuh tugging them into walls.

Most of the current group is panicking. One group moves a bit erratically. Their little one dashes forward, racing around and around. She’s intently focused on following something -the baby zyganea, perhaps? — but her legs aren’t strong enough. Then her mother appears and tosses her, gently, elegantly, right in time for the pink dot to slam right into her arms.

She lands safely in who is likely her father’s arms. They’ve even changed their clothes so smoothly, it was like they’d always been wearing that outfit. The child gently pats the zygaena’s flower and sets it down.

Hm.

Lero-ro smiles.

What an interesting crew.

---

Miseng reminds herself, this is all a lie.

She doesn’t have a mama and a papa. She doesn’t have two papas. Everything is a lie for the sake of world peace. She’s doing this for the sake of papa’s mission and so she’s not running through orphanages anymore. Miseng will never get back to that lab again. Everyone wins!

And yet, her papas have warm hands. Even through gloves, papa is very strong. His thoughts race a mile a minute, focused on the room, the walls, and the people in it.

The words we can do this ring like a bell in her ears, tolling and tolling. We. She’s never been a part of a group like this before. Even if it’s fake, it’s nice.

Da’s thoughts are quiet. There’s an occasional soft, how beautiful or tax money goes to this, but mostly he’s running through the script they’d all practiced.

A soft mama and papa died for this dances in Miseng’s mind, but it doesn’t seem to come from da on purpose. It’s like the voice that said he was a man and an assassin. He doesn’t think about that.

Her papas have lost both of their families then. It must hurt a lot. She doesn’t think that she’s ever had one, except for—

Well, she’s gone now.

They sit on squishy chairs in the meeting room. Three people, one tall, one short, and one in a big furry suit, meet them. Miseng likes the tall one immediately. He looks scary, but he feels fun! The small one… she can’t hear him at all. And the furry one… he gives her a headache.

The questions are simple at first. Da talks softly about being a law secretary. It’s boring, and he admits without hesitation that he hopes to be home with Miseng full-time one day.

It’s a lie, she thinks, but the words burn warm in her heart and stomach. Because even if it is a lie through and through, da means it. He would love to, but he can’t. Miseng looks at her hands.

Then papa says, “I was young during a time of war. Families, friends, soldiers… everyone suffered. In my career, I want to help those people. I don’t want my daughter or any other child to endure that sort of agony.” He smiles bitterly as he speaks, unlike how da just looks solemn and kind, fiddling with a ring he played off as “unsafe to wear at work”, whatever that means.

It’s hot. Her face is hot. It’s a lie and her face is hot. It feels so real and nice.

The two blond misters look quiet. The small one smiles and shares a patient, amused look before turning right to Miseng herself. She swallows and makes herself look at him. “What about your mother, Miseng?”

The world stops.

“Hansung-nim,” chirps the furry one. “That’s not appropriate now, is it~?”

“Losing a parent is traumatic,” the man counters. “Replacing one can be more so. If you had to compare your mother’s, which one would it be?”

All Miseng can hear when she looks around her is raw white noise. Papa’s eyes are wide and she can’t hear anything. Da’s face is stone, blank but an undercurrent of hurt and guilt thrums under is she okay? Am I hurting her? Is she okay?

Her eyes sting, her stomach churns and Miseng feels the stupid, stupid baby tears rise, and she lets out a horrid whimper instead of the answer of I love mama, but she can’t because she’s never had a da before let alone two. How do you do that? She can’t compare a lie that must have changed her diapers to a truth that pats her head and makes the vegetables crunch right and listens to whatever she says. That’s her da.

The white noise builds and builds and builds, overtaking papa’s desperate low, keen to not do it to keep calm and everything — stops.

Papa stands between them and the adults. His expression is eerily still. His fist smokes as the table shatters down the middle.

Oh. Wow.

“I believe,” he says pleasantly. “That we made a mistake. My family would never suggest a school with such inappropriate teachers, who ask questions of that nature. Thank you for your time, but I must cut this short.”

Bam scoops her up and tugs them both out of the room.

“Sorry,” Miseng sniffles once they’ve made it down the stairs.

“It’s not your fault,” papa says fiercely, without looking at her. “It’s their loss. Understand?”

Miseng feels da’s grip on her tighten, warm and a bit scary. But… she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

← previous - next →