I Know My Call Despite My Faults

"--no, shhh," the young prince, still short at eleven but only a year or two shy of his next big growth spurt, had whispered aside to Jadeite. They'd stacked things up the wall and climbed on them and pulled their heads up just enough to see over the garden wall; the Venusian delegation was visiting Earth to discuss reinstating their former treaty, outside the confines of the Silver Millennium.

It'd be a step in the right direction, at any rate. Any extraterrestrial alliance would do wonders for improving the Earth's reputation as too young or too uncivilized for the system-wide planetary alliance-- and for improving the reputations of the heavens in the eyes of Earth's somewhat recalcitrant populace.

The thing is they'd heard about the fashions on Venus and that most of the delegation were women and girls.

One miss-step, one crashing clatter of boxes and preteens, one giant fuss, and two hours later, both boys are sitting on the roof of the castle at sunset, above Endymion's room, with apples and cheese and strict instructions to stay in that wing and not cause any interplanetary incidents.

Endymion's leaning on Jadeite as he peels his apple and flings the skin over the edge of the roof. "Worth it," he observes.

Jadeite is sitting cross-legged, feet tucked up under his calves, on the roof next to Endymion. He is trying carefully to balance some cheese on a slice of an apple he's already cut up, which works a little bit less well than he would like it to, since at least one of his slices of cheese has already committed suicide off of the roof itself. "Do you think they are going to /believe/ this counts as saying /in/ the wing? I mean, technically speaking, we are /on/ the wing." Not that he's actually concerned about being found. Again. /Again/.

"There's a tower behind us, so there's part of this wing higher than we are, and the balcony counts as in this wing too," reasons Endymion, shifting around in a way that's something more like oozing because it's steadily downward and slow and boneless. He gets to the point where he can put his block of cheese on his chest while he finishes cutting his apple up, and then he's basically diagonal with his head resting on Jadeite's leg and throwing pieces of apple core over the edge.

"So if they didn't want us on the roof, they should have specified. Besides, I'm pretty sure Kunzite doesn't actually care as long as we stay out of the way and don't even chance getting seen again. And I know Mother was annoyed but did you see how hard Father was trying not to laugh?"

"I'm glad that you've been doing well in your lessons on splitting hairs." Jadeite's voice is mild and without any venom in it, although it's also somewhat without the resonant-bell quality it will gain as he gets older. He doesn't mind the head on his leg, but he does shift his paradigm a little bit, at *least* so that he isn't dropping bits of cheese and apple into Endymion's hair. "I'm sure that's a skill that will help you a lot when you take over." He isn't even being sarcastic, not *really*, because it *will*.

Instead, he's quirking a smile, pale eyes sweeping out over the grounds like he might see the delegation they've been banned from bothering just wandering around in view. "*That's* because your father has a much better sense of humor. I'm far more scared of your mother."

One never knows. They might wander by. Where there's life, there's hope.

And the hope that they don't drop food on the delegation on top of everything else.

He sticks his tongue out at Jadeite, dark head tilting back and making a face sort of upside-down at his friend-- his guardian. His knight, his brother. "I'm only splitting hairs because I'm right," he insists. "We won't get in trouble. We're definitely following the spirit of the instructions, either way."

Not that it's really a concern on either of their parts, but in principle.

"To be fair, since my mother's the one who actually makes the policies and the treaties and the rulings and everything, my father can afford to show his sense of humor," he says, cutting off a piece of cheese and pairing it with an apple slice. "And I think she was so mad because she knows I know I'm going to have her responsibilities someday, and Venus doesn't take guys very seriously in the first place, unless they're really really good at what they do. But still... worth it."

If the delegation wanders by, it's almost a universal certainty that food will be dropped on them. If they are especially lucky, Jadeite will bite the cheese and apples into shapes before they go plummeting over the edge. "Of course, of course, and the *spirit* of the instructions is what everyone is concerned about."

He's definitely not actually concerned about *any* parts of the instructions. He's concerned about apple slices and bits of cheese. Practical concerns. Growing preteen tummy concerns.

"Yeah, but you and I both know you're going to be really, really good at what you do, so she doesn't need to worry." Jadeite doesn't seem to have much allowance for 'is mother, will worry'. "This is the time for you to get this out of your system. Then by the time you have to inherit the responsibility, you'll be bolstered up by a great childhood, something something something, right? She should appreciate the effort!"

"She should, but... she's also my mom," Endymion laughs, reaching his hand up to lightly punch at Jadeite's shoulder up there. "She actually worries less than she might otherwise because I have all of you. So basically we should be more careful and not get caught and I'm sorry I got you in trouble even if it was only a little."

Then he stuffs a lot of apple and cheese in his mouth all at once and hauls himself more or less vertical, shifting forward a little to look over the edge. Still no one down there, and the dusk is gathering where the sunset doesn't reach its red-gold and royal purple fingers.

After chewing a whole lot and swallowing, Endymion rubs the back of his head. "We've been in this wing long enough, right? I don't remember, did Kunzite say someone would come get us for dinner?"

Jadeite looks down to consider the ground again. He looks up to Endymion, eyebrows lifted. There's a light in his eyes that betrays how calm and placid his expression seems. "Kunzite couldn't *possibly* have meant for the *Prince* to go *hungry*." He points out, as if they've been left without rations for a week rather than having just finished off apples and cheese. He's on the verge of puberty and Jadeite's body, at least, knows that. There is not enough food in the *world*, sometimes. "We should definitely not bother him about it, he's got so much on his mind all the time, it makes him all stern. We should just go get dinner. Right?"

There's an answering light in Endymion's bright blue eyes-- gleeful and devilish, horribly eleven for all he's the Crown Prince of the planet-- which washes away any remnants of intensity and presence that may have been lingering in the wake of their scoldings, and the younger boy picks himself up off the roof and holds out a hand to hoist Jadeite up standing. "We should absolutely go get dinner. It'll be fine as long as we take the back passages to the kitchen!"

That profile, intent and casually decisive, in control-- the weight to his gaze, the sensation of his personal presence-- this boy's full of echoes of something.

Then he glances up and grins, and it's full of mischief, and that's even worse.

"Or we could leave, even though we're not supposed to, and get something interesting for lunch, as long as we're back in time. Up to you. Still a few hours off."

Once Jadeite's up and on his feet, Endymion crouches at the edge of the roof and carefully slides down to hang off and drop onto the balcony outside his room. "I've been looking forward to the stuff they're making for a week," he declares.

There's no hesitation. Jadeite allows himself to be pulled back to his feet, dusting off his front with his other hand. He follows Endymion to the edge of the roof, waiting until he's certain the Prince is on solid balcony again before he makes his own descent. Maybe he leaves little snowflake handprints on the eaves, maybe Jadeite isn't paying that much attention currently. He's straightening as soon as he's landed, peering around as if to look out for somebody who might betray their clever plan. "Do you think they have those little tarts with the dark berries in them? I do so like those."

"They must," laughs Endymion, sidestepping through the balcony door and scrambling for the secret passage behind a bookcase. He doesn't bother taking a candle or a torch; there's a golden glow ahead of Jadeite in the passage, accompanied by the sound of the other boy's running feet against the cold stone.

@};--',--'-,--

Now fourteen, and already tall, a little taller than Jadeite even, the prince is sprawled out across the end of Jadeite's bed with a book. He's not really reading it; his stomach's still roiling in the aftereffects of that much adrenaline and that much power use, and he can't focus on words.

He drops the book and props himself up on one elbow, looking up the bed at his pale and presumably sleeping guardian. He was sleeping when Endymion snuck in, anyway. "Are you awake?" he whispers.

He's been *exhausted*. Jadeite isn't sure if he actually almost died, but it *feels* like he did. Parts of him still try to convince him that he can feel that steel cutting into his body, so, *so* sharp and how do they ever expect him to do this to other people, now that he knows what it really feels like? Recovering from that kind of injury, not all of it physical, takes time, Jadeite figures. Even if his Prince did put him back together before things got too dire. It felt too close of a call to be comfortable with, if anyone was ever comfortable with being stabbed with broken bits of swords.

Then again, there's also part of him that feels like he's been sleeping through his duty, *literally* laying down on the *literal* job. The better he feels the less he can ignore that feeling, so when Endymion is calling to him, even in a whisper, Jadeite answers. "...yeah. I'm awake."

Endymion, blissfully unaware of Jadeite's work ethic problems, pulls himself up a little higher and props himself up on his fists on the bed. He gives Jadeite a reproachful look, keenly aware that he is in range to get kicked, and says in a low voice, "Well you should be sleeping!"

But then he sits, something resembling properly, and he pushes at Jadeite's foot under the blankets. "But I'm glad you're awake. You really scared Kunzite. You scared the rest of us too. I don't know how much you remember..."

Then he takes a breath and says fiercely, "But I need you, and I'll never not need you, so make sure if you get hurt you're always near me so I can fix it."

What he doesn't say is the unspoken thing that's always been true, that most of them never think about because none of them wants to: if you're hurt for me, because it's your job to guard my life with your life, and that's not fair. He's never afraid for his life, but he's always, always afraid for theirs.

Jadeite makes a sound that isn't particularly a laugh, letting his eyes slip closed briefly. It's easier than seeing that look on Endymion's face, or really allowing himself to think too long or too hard about the almosts, the narrow escape and the terrible what-ifs of the recent past. "You only want me to be asleep because then I can't argue with you."

He can breathe, right now, and nothing inside him shifts that isn't meant to, unless it's metaphorical. The young guard lifts one hand to push his sweat-tamped bangs out of his eyes. The other tries to pat at Endymion, weakly. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, my Prince." He says, but it means, I can't make that promise. I means Jadeite would fall on a thousand more swords, it's been his destiny for years and it's worked into the fabric of his soul and the structure of his bones. He will never make that promise, because he knows he would sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice *again* for Endymion's sake. "Not that I'm ungrateful. I appreciate being put back together."

It had, honestly, been just the two of them in the room. Endymion keeping watch over his guard. The two of them had been alone.

To all appearances.

At least until there were voices that moved up from whispers to low. Faint, small echoes on stone, instead of just the hisses of sibilants.

Kunzite is quiet on entering, and the door being closed behind him is almost silent. He looks like he always looks -- older than the rest of them, body early twenties, hair silver as an old man's but thick as a young one's, eyes old as stone. It's only about those eyes that it's clear he hasn't slept. Not that that's kept him from harboring the nightmares that Jadeite's been holding at bay.

He has a pretext, a glass in one hand that he crosses to offer the invalid. It's a flimsy pretext. He's terrible at doing these things without one. "He's right, after a fashion," he says to Jadeite, voice quiet and calm as it nearly always is (as it wasn't, in those awful moments, as it wasn't at all). "The other three of us could be replaced, if it came to it. You couldn't be. We need to be more careful with you."

Other things that Kunzite is terrible at: the words 'I'm sorry.'

It's the light of frustration in Endymion's blue eyes; he grips Jadeite's foot in his hand, about to say something else fierce and demanding, but he doesn't know what to say.

Thus it's welcome in more ways than one that Kunzite comes in.

The boy prince's gaze falls on him, reads; he pushes back against the wall to make room for Kunzite to sit on the end of the bed too, though there's a chair in the room that's even within 'doesn't need to be dragged' distance.

And then there's actual words and Endymion purses his lips silently, the spike of his irritation clear and plain in the atmosphere of the room. He doesn't NEED to say anything.

Habit, more than thirst, has Jadeite reaching up to take the offered glass from Kunzite. He makes a sound that's mostly thanks and immediately peers into it, trying to figure out what he's been given to drink. He doesn't expect anything more exciting than water, which is itself a bit of a pity.

He's not dwelling. Instead, he frowning at his own foot and the way it gets squeezed, and then more severely up at Kunzite. Maybe Endymion doesn't need to say something, but he has the others just for occasions where the Prince shouldn't *have* to act. So *Jadeite* says something, his tone a little wounded, evidence of the child still inside this boy pretending to be a man. "You aren't *replacable*, don't even say things like that!"

The peering wins another comment, and confirmation, from Kunzite. "Just water. I vetoed the various concoctions they /wanted/ to give you." There's a brief grimace from the one who was in residence before Endymion's healing powers woke, and had to suffer the full brunt of that kind of attention. "Same rule as Nephrite gets: anything stronger Waits till you're steady on your feet."

The prince has made space. Kunzite forgoes the chair, folding himself down to the empty edge of the bed. Closer than usual for him; he's often more comfortable at the outer reaches of the group, as if standing guard even when they're alone. In this case, though, that just means that he's not actually putting a hand on Jadeite, even through the blankets. "Mn. I don't mean that the way you're thinking. Look at the rest of us. A soldier, a sorceror, a ... whatever Zoisite is. There are other people with our skills. If you had to, you could find someone else who can do the same basic things we do, train him up, learn how to work with him. It wouldn't be the same. It would take a long time. But it would be possible.

"The way you work with people, Jadeite - short of our prince, I don't know of anyone else who can do that, and even he can only do it with a few people at a time. With our long-term goals," and 'our' is inflected just slightly differeently, enough to make it mean 'the kingdom's' or 'the royal family's' instead of 'Endymion's guards' or even 'Endymion and his guards,' "to establish more connections and more working relationships with the other planets... in the long run, your skills are going to be an absolute necessity. And no-one else has them. We have diplomats, yes. But none of those diplomats can make a crowd love them.

"If I fall over in a fight, the rest of you are good enough to close ranks and fill in. If Nephrite forgets how to work his magics, there are other people who can stand in for a while. But not one of us can take your place. Not for a day."

Idly-- so idly-- Endymion's attention's widened and become diffuse; he's still listening, still making his irritation known by his expression and the general haze of grumpiness rolling off him like fog, but he's not strictly paying attention to Kunzite and Jadeite right now.

Instead, he's checking to make sure that neither Nephrite nor Zoisite is close enough to hear, or even eavesdropping on purpose.

Abruptly, he scrambles off the bed, partly using Kunzite's shoulder as a launching-off point, and climbs up and out the window in a flurry of wild motion and bare feet. Before he even gets up there, there's a thump above the ceiling, and then a hoot of laughter, and then a lot of hissing and a shriek and two sets of teenaged feet running on the roof, and then relative quiet.

Endymion will probably be back in a few minutes.

By the time Kunzite is done speaking to the points of how *special* and *unique* Jadeite's abilities are, Jadeite is looking down at his knees like he's been chastized. His whole face has gone utterly red--damn that fair skin!--and he looks like he's so embarrassed he might *die*. All of Endymion's hard work is going to be for naught, because Kunzite is going to finish him off.

He doesn't know what he might have said in reply, because that is about the moment that Endymion catepaults himself right out of the window and starts scrambling around on the roof like a squirrel. Jadeite's face is left in a strange balance between annoyance, surprise, and longing. He wants to go climb on the roof *too*!

Kunzite is leaving it /entirely/ up to Jadeite's own judgment whether he's going to head out that window after them. Then again, Jadeite is still in the bed after that speech. If flinging himself at the ground to escape was not a sufficient temptation, scampering might not be, either.

Still. Endymion is gone, Zoisite isn't listening, if Nephrite was watching he'll be watching Endymion, and Jadeite is paying more attention to out-the-window. And therefore there is a brief moment in which Kunzite is sufficiently unwatched that he can come close to what he was trying to say. Even so, he can't look at Jadeite when he does it - he's turned around to look out the window as well, and there's a little of the same reaction in his face as in Jadeite's. A little. "What happened was my fault. You did the best thing possible. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Kunzite." Jadeite says, after a long silence, his voice subdued. There's still that musical lilt that it's always had, that continues to become more and more dangerous as he gets older, but he's pulled back the intensity on it. He isn't trying to use it to get anywhere, right now. He keeps his head tipped so that he can watch Kunzite's face even if Kunzite isn't watching him. "I should know my own powers, right? I should know where the line is, and if I step across it I should do it because I meant to, not because you told me to do it. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. I shouldn't have let you push. I'll do better next time."

(Except, he won't. He really, *really* won't.)

There is a moment in which, never mind that neither of them is speaking, never mind that Kunzite's regarding the window, their stubbornness is at war. Jadeite is insistent: he should know his own powers. Kunzite is insistent: his job is to know the other three's capabilities almost better than they know themselves. Neither one of them is going to give an inch on this one.

Neither one of them does. Kunzite doesn't yield the point; but his mouth twitches at the corner. "Endymion ever tell you about the time I almost got us both killed because I didn't know how forests worked?"

Jadeite shakes his head, although he doesn't stop looking at Kunzite. He presses his lips into a line, briefly, but Jadeite knows his brother and *people* in *general* well enough to know this is setting up for something larger and probably more relevent. He'll allow it. Quietly, he says, "No, I always just kind of presumed you knew the basic premise of trees."

If he sips at that water Kunzite so thoughtfully brought he might be able to avoid any more snark. Maybe.

Snark is taken deadpan at face value. Because, God help them, it's /correct/. "Trees, yes. Forests, no. Where I grew up, trees didn't happen much, and didn't grow close to each other." That may be the only time Kunzite has used the words 'where I grew up' in Jadeite's hearing. Most of the time, it's like he sprang into the world full-grown out of someone's head, already armed and looming protectively over Endymion. Nobody talks about whatever he did or was before. "So I missed some important signs that would've said to any reasonably educated person, 'this is not a place you want to be standing inside ten miles of, because there is something wrong with the ground.' Endymion was just a kid back then - this was before you met him. I managed to keep him from getting hurt when things went bad, but he had to patch me back together." He reaches to touch a place near the small of his back, one of his assorted anonymous scars. "When we got back out of that mess, I went to his mother and told her we needed more than just me. But it took a while to get out. I didn't feel that far off how you're feeling now."

Empathy isn't a thing Jadeite is used to Kunzite attempting. He's not at *all* used to Kunzite referring to having emotions at *all*. Emotions are his own purview, or Zoisite's, or even Nephrite's, in their own ways, but never their eldest-brother-psuedo-father-whatever-he-is. Surprise doesn't stay long on his expression because part of Jadeite feels it might hurt something inside of Kunzite that he hasn't any intention to hurt. "...like a glass bauble? Or like you should have known better?" Or, maybe, both.

"Both." Kunzite considers that, for a moment, in a more characteristically distant way. "Glass baubles aren't as fond of unconsiousness as I recall being at the time. Gets confusing, when your body can't figure out whether or not it's supposed to hurt. Goes away in a little while, though. Moving helps once you get to where you can do it. But like I should have known better: yes. That. You both lived through it; that's the important part. If everyone's alive, everything else can be fixed. But even when you did the best anyone could have, you can still chew your own arm off worrying about what you should have done."

"Maybe." Jadeite says, after a long moment spent thinking about what Kunzite has said. "But it was an accident. If anyone were to be injured, even to die, from an accident because of my powers, it should be *me*. It *certainly* shouldn't be *him*." There's no need for the young blond to explain who *him* is. "I guess part of me isn't actually upset. My job, my *real* job, is to keep him safe. I did that. Didn't I?"

*Now*, those deep-sea eyes are turning towards Kunzite, a little too fragile. *Now*, he's looking for approval, for reaffirmation that he did what he should have, what he was *supposed* to do, even if Endymion's love for him caused Endymion to also chastize him for it.

And now Kunzite's turned back to look at him, and his eyes are that familiar steel. Straightforward as a sword thrust, and with as much certainty and as little room for doubt: "Yes."

Nothing else. But the intensity behind it, the sharpness of the word, is some of the highest praise Kunzite gives.

The guardian in the bed is still young, in some ways, not as mature as Kunzite either in body or mind, even if Kunzite weren't wise beyond his years. He may be intuitive, he may be attentive, he may know exactly what that one word is when he receives it, but Jadeite has yet to really master what might in latter days be called the poker face. So, when Kunzite tells him *yes*, Jadeite's whole face just *lights up*, seeming somehow even more boyish than it already did.

That look is, itself, the most sincere *thanks* that *Jadeite* could give.

There are seriously cranky steps outside the door down the hallway, approaching at something resembling a jog. The last step slides to a halt and there's no knock, which means it could be any of three other people.

The person who sticks his head in the door is the oldest of those three, sixteen and too good for shenanigans, looking both arch and irritated, long hair absolutely perfect. "Zoisite," says Nephrite to Kunzite as explanation and Jadeite as apology: the most loaded single word since 'yes' about a minute ago.

That look is acknowledged as those looks are, Kunzite's eyes dropping for a moment, and then there are steps outside, and the pace of them has him half-rising even before the door opens.

And then there is that message.

He glances directly at Jadeite again. "I'll be back later." He's halfway to the door when he adds, "With something stronger." Because there will either be a story that merits it, or the need for commiseration, and either way, forget what the /doctors/ say.