- in fucking Barcelona

Serafíne

Thursday Sera sent Hawksley a text that says:

you know everything

and maybe:

how did that greek guy kill that hydra thing

Maybe he responds with a link to fucking wikipedia Jesus Christ Sera it is the 21st century. Maybe he's out of reach or out of touch and it slips beneath his radar, and the story of Hercules and his second labor and the wikipedia referral is supplied by someone else: Dee, who breaks off chattering with Em about the next round of roller derby playoffs this weekend to Look Things Up on her own phone, or Dan who directs Sera to the proper place with a certain affection that she shrugs off. Maybe he calls her and just tells her the fucking story because he does know everything or at least knows a hell of a lot and reads and thinks and thinks and thinks about things and Things for hours in ways she cannot quite comprehend.

--

Saturday night, though, or at the outside Sunday morning, Hawksley gets a phone call. The old-fashioned sort. Whether the phone rings through to voice mail or Hawksley answers, the first words out of the consor's mouth are the same:

"Hey man, it's Dan. Is Sera with you?"

Hawksley

Hawksley is in Barcelona.

He is not in Vegas any longer, because he came back from that wretched place of decadent apocalypse some time ago with Sera. He is not in Paris, where he went next, nor Egypt, where he went because -- as he put it -- he missed it. He is in Barcelona, and he has not been checking Ginger and he has not been checking in with anyone because that is how Hawksley exists. This is why Hawksley was Awakened, booted from his Tradition, married, divorced, and let back into his Tradition on a trial basis all before the tender age of 25. He is not, has never been, and may never be the sort to take kindly to fetters of any kind.

It's very odd to him when he gets the texts from Sera. He doesn't get them for a while, and then he calls her back and he's warm and amused and tells her the story in this rambling half-drunk way because he is half-drunk and unless she comes right out and tells him, he has no idea that Anything Might Be Wrong. He just tells her about Iolaus, and he spins off into stories about Heracles and Iolaus being lovers and Heracles giving Megara to Iolaus because he was a fuckhead and at some point he remembers what Sera was asking about. He is actually not drunk. He is somewhat stoned.

It does not stop him from thinking and thinking and thinking.

They say goodnight, or good morning, whatever the time difference is, and she goes back to her life, and Hawksley goes back to his, and yet it warms him and settles him that she reached out, as though now she's just at the periphery of his mind where before she felt unreasonably, absurdly far away.

--

He is in the future by a third of a day. It isn't much, if you compare him to, say, Australians. On Sunday morning which is his Sunday afternoon he gets a phone call and it's a known number because he keeps thinking that maybe at some point Dan would like to fool around -- also because when one hangs out with Sera, one needs to know how to get in touch with Dan. He puts it to his ear, Dan says it's him and Hawksley smirkingly says I know but Dan isn't listening because Dan is asking the stupidest question.

Hawksley actually takes the phone away from his ear, frowns at its screen, then puts it back. "What?"

Dan repeats himself.

"Of course she's not with me, I'm in fucking Barcelona, did --"

He stops to think of whether he sent Sera a ticket or something while high or drunk or if he told Collins to do it or something, but wouldn't Dan know if Sera had needed a ride to the airport? Wouldn't he know something?

Hawksley feels an icy fingertip trace its way down his spine, loving and sensual and revolting. He confirms to Dan that he doesn't know where Sera is but

"I'll find her if I can."

And hangs up.

A moment later: "COLLINS!"

Serafíne

Dan would, in fact, like to fool around sometime. Oh it's complicated because there's Jer and Dan likes Jer and that night Sera broke her fast and fucked Hawksley in his goddamned Porsche without any protection or discussion of the same was the first night the two of them actually had sex. It was great. And Dan likes Jer (that guy) alot but Jer has slightly more conventional expectations and they aren't exclusive except it is heading that way except that it will probably never quite get there.

Because Sera. Because Sera will always be the constant in Dan's life. Jer tells Dan that he gets that; he thinks Sera is this strange mad muse and is mostly-okay with Dan's attachment to her but the fact is, Jer thinks it is all pretty transient or maybe cute or a function of age or - or something. Jer doesn't Know.

Maybe he never will.

--

Hawksley has been traveling the world. Sera wanted to ask him for PRESENTS, and specifically DRUGS. You know, hashish from Morocco or - but Dan told her no, Sera. Christ, do you want to get him beheaded? They take that shit seriously in places like Egypt. Sera is pretty sure that Hawksley would never let anyone behead him but, the practical warning was enough to keep her from asking Hawksley to bring her awesome new direct-from-the-source drugs from whereever he was partying. She sends him sporadic where r u now texts and the odd picture. The band on stage together. A piece of obscenely hilarious graffiti that caught her eye. The occasional weird-butt-dial. It happens to the best of us, at the strangest times and in the oddest places.

Sera does not mention that Something Might Be Wrong. He calls her back and it is Friday and she's feeling better and she's so-pleased to have him call her back. Tucks the phone against her shoulder and twists around in her bed. He's drunk or maybe stoned. He's a little bit stoned, and she's sleepy, just waking up, regardless of the hour and it makes her happy to hear him, to detect that little bit of looseness beneath the texture of his voice that tells her that he's a little bit fucked up. He tells her about Iolaus and Heracles and Megara and fuckhead heroes and gets off and then back on track and Sera laughs and mentions the play Lysistrata tangentially. She doesn't remember the name, so much as the sex-strike and the characters' mention of ancient sex toys but Hawksley can tease apart and identify the play and author from the pieces of it she remembers.

The Greeks, man. Sera says could fucking handle being a Greek but only if she got to be a dude or a goddess.

Or fucking both.

So, it's a warm, lovely little conversation. Sera's feeling better; she doesn't know what is coming yet, just yesterday but even so, she would not mention that anything's wrong. Before they say good night or good morning, Sera tells him things that a man like Hawksley does not need anyone to tell him, because he knows all these things because maybe fucking hubris but whatever. Sera always says what she feels and she tells him that he's a fucking genius. He's so fucking smart. There's this sweet tinge of wonder to her voice; he can feel the admiration which is just flat-out admiration, sleepy and sure. How does he know so fucking many things? Sera can hardly fathom it.

--

Sunday morning. Sunday afternoon.

"Shit." Dan curses quietly beneath his breath when Hawksley says he's in Barcelona. He's not the sort to panic, and he does not do so now, but he does not have to stop and think about whether or not Sera might've flown out to meet Hawksley in Europe. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, Dan remembers that he has Sera's contacts backed up on his computer.

Hawksley's in Barcelona. Dan does not tell him about the blood in her room; the illness. Any of it. There is a degree of circumspection there, a quietly respectful withholding. Because who the fuck needs that shit? Really? Hawksley'll find her if he can.

"Okay, thanks. I'm giving Sid a call. I'll let you know if she turns up sooner."