March 12, 1890
The Augurey Beak Cafe

I don't see anything now
So just say what you want to say
It's kind of funny how I'm not listening anyway
-The Used

Holsten hated society events. They were always the same damned thing. Didn't matter if they were given some other name or description. They were always the same. Gentlemen dressed in suits that really were far too tight. Ladies trying to appear demure and innocent despite having their waists cinched in ridiculously tight and their breasts damn near ready to spill over. It was always a sight to behold and he hated every damned minute of it. But thanks to his brother's impending nuptials, he was back in town and his mother was expecting him to play the part of a proper upper class gentleman and not the reckless and wild cursebreaker. The only saving grace was that she did not expect him to remain the whole time. She'd come to learn over the years when and how to pick her battles with her youngest son. Seeing him dressed to the nines and with his hair styled with something other than dust and sweat was an accomplishment in itself. One that he'd parade about for exactly one hour and twenty-two minutes before he disappeared from the crowded London ballroom and found himself in the crisp night air. 

Sure, he could have apparated to his flat to change then headed to a pub but he quite enjoyed stretching his legs and getting some fresh air. It was the explorer in him that much preferred actually waking places instead if simply appearing there. But the minute he walked into the hazy Augurey Beak Cafe, he regretted not having stopped at his flat. 

It wasn't because he stood out like a sore thumb. No, he'd expected that. It was because of an all too familiar archaeologist standing at the bar. One that he really was not in the mood to be seeing that night. He even attempted to slip right back out of the pub, resigned to spending the night at home alone with a bottle of whiskey, but got intercepted in the process. 

An old cursebreaker acquaintance saw him and yelled out his last name while motioning for him to come to the bar. There was no way she hadn't heard his name being called and no way he could slip away quietly. Plan B would have to be enacted. He'd head to the bar, have a quick drink with the old acquaintance and pretend as if he hadn't even seen her. He'd leave and be in his way.

Besides, she'd never seen him done up in such a way so maybe she wouldn't even recognize him. He had to hope that was the case otherwise his night was likely to get even worse.

---

  

Jo leaned heavily against the sticky bar as she waited for her whiskey. The day, like most days lately, had been torturously long and boring. She knew rushing home to help Mars wasn't going to result in her happiness, but she hadn't thought the only help Mars would need would be in the shop. Between the dusting of already dusted antiques and the lack of interaction Jo was at her wits end. How Mars — or anyone for that matter — functioned in such an environment was beyond her.

Whiskey in hand, she made to turn back towards her solemn booth in the corner when she saw him. At first, Jo hadn't even thought it was him (why was he dressed like that?!), but then the shouted "Holsten!" echoed around the bar and there could be no mistaking him. Again, her eyes scanned down his form, taking in the perfectly tailored suit and neatly arranged hair, before turning sharply towards her booth. The Holsten she knew wouldn't have kept a secret like that.

The Holsten she knew wasn't flamboyantly wealthy.

What was he doing dressed like that in the Beak anyway? One look around the room proved he was more appropriately dressed for a gentleman's club than the likes of these patrons. Jo took one, then two long sips of her whiskey as she avoided looking in his direction. Let him say something to her, if he felt the need. Let him acknowledge the lies he told her when she was nothing but honest.

Then again, what did he owe her anyway? They were friends — nothing more. They had both been adamant about that fact.

  

Holsten did his best not to look in Jo's direction once he got to the bar. It was a little easier said than done as old friends seemed to flock toward him, most to take a jab at him for showing up to the Beak dressed the way he was. He joined in on the laughter, hardly phased by it. He'd known what to expect when he hadn't stopped at home first. But once the jabs had subsided enough, it was like he'd never been gone. Conversation flowed easily enough, just like the drinks.

Loosening the kerchief around his neck, he found himself actually sitting down at the bar. His plan to leave after one drink had quickly been abandoned. It seemed neither of them were going to acknowledge the other's presence. He could handle that.

But then someone jabbed him in the side, telling him if he was going to look the part of a rich dandy he may as well by a round for the whole pub. It wasn't normally something he would do. Not because he couldn't afford but because he wasn't a fan of flaunting his wealth, especially in a place like the Beak. Being put on the spot, however, he could hardly decline. Looking to the bartender, he did as he'd been goaded into but made a point that it would be only one round.

Then curiosity got the better of him as the drinks started getting passed around on his knut. His piercing blue gaze shifted to where Jo was sitting and before he could look away, she looked in his direction as well. Eye contact was made. Fuck.

---

  

She ought to have left as soon as she noticed him — disappear like she had from his tent two months ago. And she would have, were they in Sweden. Jo would have respected the pub (and country) as his territory and left well enough alone as soon as eye contact had been made. At the very least, she would've sat in a booth hidden from his line of sight, so he didn't have to mentally deal with her presence on what was already a rough day.

But, she didn't. And he didn't. And Jo had been itching for a fight for some weeks now.

She navigated around the other rowdy patrons over to him at the bar. "You're a long way from home." Jo commented dryly as she took the free drink and toasted him.

  

So much for ignoring each other's presence. He should have known once their gazes met. She was in a mood, he could already tell. But so was he and two could play that game.

"Except I've had a home here in London for over ten years," he responded just as dryly as she had all while toasting her with his own drink, "Just a few blocks away actually. Pass by here any time I'm headed to my flat."

Why he felt the need to divulge such information he didn't know. After all, they'd only shared the basics of information in the years that they'd known one another. Pillow talk had never been their forte and had always been minimal as it was. Their interactions were mostly physical after all.

---

  

Prior to this evening, Jo didn't believe there was much about Holsten that could shock her. He was a cocky bastard that was damn good at his job, and that was all she needed to know at the time. She hadn't needed to stop and ask about his financial status or where home was because what did it matter? They were coworkers who let out frustrations on one another sometimes. That was all there was to it.

Except, Jo thought they were friends. She thought the banter and drinks shared meant they shared certain details with one another. It stung worse than she imagined it would, knowing he trusted her less than she trusted him. And, perhaps he had been the transparent one all along. Perhaps her recent friendship with Alfred made her realize the value of a deeper connection. Perhaps, Holsten was as he always had been and she was the piece that no longer fit.

"Strange to think how that never came up." She replied, the surprise and ire evident on her face. "Considering how I've spoken of London countless times with you."

  

Holsten wasn't understanding where the anger was coming from or why she cared so much. She was the one that had up and abandoned him in the night without so much as a note. And even though they were simply friends, she clearly didn't respect him as much as he had her. Hell, he'd gone to help her instead of going straight to his own job. Weeks they'd spent together that he'd put off his employer. And then just like that, she was gone.

He'd tucked his tail and gone on his way. He'd finished his job in the area, brought back the requested relic and gone back on another job. Then another and another. He had to stay busy. That was the best route. Then the meter had come from his mom and he requested some extended time off. He was already regretting that decision.

"I rarely stay here," he said with a shrug before draining the last of his drink and motioned to the bartender for another. "Not that it matters," he continued on, "You would have just vanished from there like you did a tent." Of course, that was assuming he'd ever take her there.

---

  

Saturn read the letter from Earth first that night, having been up writing into the early hours. Jo's sat unopened until he was whisper shouting her name outside of Holsten's tent. And then...well, Jo didn't remember every detail of the hours that followed. She and Saturn hastily packed whatever belongings they thought to grab into their trunks and left at first light towards the nearest port. Not once in those hours had Jo even spared a thought towards Holsten in his tent.

She hadn't left a note.

"I didn't realize you were so...sentimental." She shot back before taking a sip of her whiskey. Jo was wrong for not leaving a note, but she wasn't about to admit it. Not when he outright lied about who he was for years. Her disappearing act was hardly a harm of the same caliber. "I had matters to attend to."

  

Holsten could help the snarl forming in his lips at the mention of being sentimental. That was the furthest thing from the truth. It was just common courtesy. If it had been their first time together, that would have been one thing. But Merlin knew how many times they'd spent time together. He'd lost track long ago. Not that he'd really ever been keeping track. He just knew that they were request offenders in each other's little black book and as such would have thought there would be more consideration for one another.

"Hardly," he responded to the mention of sentimental before shrugging. "Matters or not, I thought there was a little more respect for one another than just up and vanishing," he added, finally looking at her eye to eye, "Not to mention it's one awkward as hell situation to wake up with your colleagues at your dig site and having no clue how to explain why the fuck I'm still there and you're nowhere to be found."

---

  

"My twin sister's husband was trampled to death by a carriage." Jo hissed, her temper getting the better of her. She slammed the glass on the bar without caring for any of the whiskey spilling. Let her waste his bloody money. Hell, Jo was tempted to swat the glass from his own hands. "That's why I left, you bloody fucking arse."

Jo furiously glared at him as she continued, "you want to talk about respect? Where was the respect for me when you were lying about who you were? What respect did you show me every time you glossed over your upbringing in a fucking palace?!" She was making a scene, but she couldn't stop. "I ran home to help my grieving, pregnant sister, and you lied to me every fucking day I spent with you. You know nothing of respect."

  

Well Holsten hadn't expected that. But it still didn't excuse her from leaving a quick note. A simple scrap that said something came up, see you next time. It wasn't hard to do even in a time of distress. He still felt like he at least deserved that much from her. However, he hadn't expected such a visceral reaction out of her.

But when she turned it around onto him he couldn't help the annoyed bark of laughter that escaped him. Apparently they didn't know each other at all.

"I never once lied to you. If you had asked I'd have told you the fucking truth," he snarled back at her, his drink all but forgotten and the people around them slowly backing away but still starting intently. It didn't matter though, he was focused solely on her.

He pulled the loosened kerchief from his neck and tossed it down onto the bar. "Instead of jumping to bloody conclusions, maybe you should think with that big brain of yours," he said with a glare as he continued on, "I never once lied about who I was when we were together."

He took a step back and motioned to himself, the trussed up dandy with the perfectly styled hair that was starting to fall loose from all that was happening. "This is the bloody fucking lie," he finished, his own anger beyond apparent but there was still an exhaustion lurking behind his blue eyes.

---

  

Any normal, sane person, in Jo's opinion, would have mentioned a flat in London the first handful of times she spoke of its cobblestone streets. Holsten had listened to her ramble on and on about London, about Scotland, about every aspect of home (which, she realized suddenly, she missed terribly when abroad) and hadn't once said 'ah, yes! I know of the Beak! I live right near it!' If anything, he intentionally misled her to avoid sharing important details about his life.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. Why was it that those who had more money than they knew what to do with so fake? It was easy to say his perfect suit with its perfect tie wasn't how he saw himself when he had another life to slip into. Perhaps that was what irked her so terribly — he had access that she never would, and instead of doing something with it he threw it away as though it were nothing.

"Yeah, okay. Will that be all, Mr. Falk?" Never before had Jo used his last name to address him, even now it felt wrong on her tongue. "I'll be on my way. Thanks for the drink

  

It was beginning to look as if there was no salvaging whatever it was they had. It was a bit of a shame considering just how well they knew each other physically. Holsten would certainly miss it but he knew how incredibly stubborn he was and it looked as if she was, too. Neither of them was going to admit defeat.

He was ready to leave himself, having even picked up his glass to finish the rest of his whiskey when she spoke again. Her tone and words caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He hated being referred to as that. Mr. Falk was his father. His oldest brother maybe. But never him. He was Holsten, Falk or even Holly but never Mr. Falk.

"No," he said, perhaps a bit too sternly as his hand shot out to grasp her around the wrist to stop her from leaving, "You don't get to just up and leave again." He wasn't even sure what more there was to say but for whatever reason he wasn't ready for it to be the end.

---

  

As though his touch seared through her skin (how many times had he held her wrists in other positions?) Jo snatched her wrist out of his grasp. Up and leave? It wasn't as though she left South America willingly. Mars' husband was dead! Her sister was a twenty-one year old widow with one kid around her ankles and another in her stomach. Jo had little choice but to go home. Up and leave. She scoffed at him. Fucking arsehole.

"What, Holsten?" Jo demanded. "What else is there to say? You're a bloody liar and I'm a runner." Nothing he said was going to convince her differently. Trustworthy men didn't allow her to rattle endlessly about a city they had a fucking flat in. "Your friends are waiting."

  

He hadn't lied. Holsten would hold on to that until his last dying breath. But it didn't matter. What was done was done and he wasn't about to beg at her feet for forgiveness. Especially if she couldn't admit fault as well.

With her pulled away, he put both hands on the air. It was then that he felt the burning stares and heard the silence of those around them. He took in a deep breath and shook his head.

Running his hands through his hair, he loosened the waves back to his preferred style. "No, I've had my fill of society tonight," he said with an exhausted sigh before throwing whatever money he had in a pocket to cover the drinks, "Enjoy your night Jo." Then he turned to leave with the crowd parting so that he could go without hindrance.

---

  

She stood motionless watching him leave through the parted sea. If not for the eyes shifting from his departing form to her and back to him again, Jo would've been content to let hin disappear out the door and out of her life. As it was, the patrons watching her almost expected her to go running after him.

Jo drained whatever whiskey remained in her glass and hurried after him. Rumors were likely already swirling about the two of them, so she couldn't call out for him to stop. Instead, Jo followed him as best she could as he walked (presumably) towards his flat. Holsten had just turned onto a quieter street when she was finally close enough to call him without shouting. "Hol." She called, hoping the familiarity would be enough to make him stop. Why she was still chasing after him she didn't quite know. Maybe she simply didn't want to lose his friendship as she was certain she'd lost Zelda's.

"You don't get to be angry about me leaving to care for my family. You just don't." She said as soon as he'd turned towards her. "She's my sister. Anyone else and I wouldn't have left like that, and you know it."