Page 61 of Dance in the Stones

They settled on the couch, Damon pulling Redford against his side. It was cozy with the fire crackling in the hearth - stoked by the castle, probably, since neither of them had touched it.

“What do you want to know?” Redford asked.

“Just talk about the first thing that comes to mind. What keeps you awake at night besides work emergencies and wondering if you were ever going to be comfortable in that caravan?”

Redford huffed a laugh at the memory. “I think about the castle and worry about whether we’re doing enough to protect it, and to honor what it was.” He traced patterns on Damon’s knee. “I think about leaving the FBI. Whether I’m ready to walk away from so many decades of solving problems.”

“Are you?”

“I’m getting there.” Redford shifted to look at his mate. “What about you? Didn’t you used to be on the racing circuit at one stage? Did you ever regret it when you gave it up?”

“Not really.” Damon sounded so confident. “That life was fun, but it wasn’t fulfilling. I was winning and making good money, but I also got the sense it was like cheating in a way, because my eyesight and reflexes were always going to be faster than anyone I was driving against.

“This sanctuary work and protecting people who need it is something that matters, and I can be who I truly am in this space. Plus I’ll get to watch you work shirtless when it’s hot, so really, I’m winning.”

“That’s your metric for a good life?”

“One of them.” Damon snuggled into Redford’s shoulder. “Do you blame me?”

After that, it seemed easy. Damon shared memories of the Underworld, and Redford talked a bit about his extended family he no longer saw. The fire in the grate kept burning, and their coffee mugs seemed to top up automatically.

Around noon, Damon’s stomach growled, reminding Redford they hadn’t had breakfast. “At least the fridge is full,” Redford said. “As you noted, we won’t starve.”

They cooked together, falling into the easy rhythm they’d developed over weeks of shared meals. Damon chopped vegetables while Redford seasoned chicken, and Redford could sense Damon’s pleasure at the simple domestic routine.

After lunch, Damon pulled him back to the couch. “We’re not done talking, yet,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Redford thought they’d done really well. They’d been talking all morning.

“I know you don’t want to discuss it, but we’re going back to the topic of your work again, or more specifically how you tense up every time Wilson texts, as if you’re waiting for proof he can’t handle things without you.”

Redford’s first instinct was to deny it. But Damon’s dark eyes held nothing but understanding and love.

“I thought I was getting better at it, but it’s hard letting go,” Redford admitted.

“The team was fine before you took your position and they’ll be fine when you resign.”

“Logically, I know that…”

“But it’s like you’re not registering that here.” Damon tapped Redford’s chest, right over his heart. “For some reason, you tie your worth to being needed. What happens when you’re just... you? When there’s no emergency demanding your attention?”

The question hit too close to home, and Redford looked away, his jaw tight.

“You’re enough without the job,” Damon continued softly. “You know that, right? You’re enough for me, for the castle, for this life we’re building. You don’t have to earn belonging by being constantly useful.”

Something cracked in Redford’s chest - that wall he’d built centuries ago, when he’d first left his clan and learned that value came from what a person did instead of who they were.

“I don’t know how to just...be,” he confessed. “That time we shifted and ran/flew across the heather is the first time in longer than I could think that I had done that.”

“And you enjoyed it, I know you did. We’ll do it again and so much more, but I do think you need to hand in your resignation.” Damon pulled him closer. “In your own time,” he added. “I’m not pushing you to do something you’re not ready for, but I do think you’ll feel more settled when it’s done.”

Redford traced the thin chain around Damon’s neck. “I love you,” he said. “I don’t say it enough.”

“You show it constantly.” Damon caught his hand, pressed a kiss to the palm. “But yeah, hearing it is nice too.”

“I love you,” Redford repeated. “Even when you’re impossible, and your hound is smug about knowing things before I do.”

“My hound is always smug.”