#a long way to healing

Here is my first fic for the @grishaversebigbang !  It’s been a lovely journey writing the kanej story that’s been in my head since i finished crooked kingdom years ago ♡  I hope you enjoy it, and the lovely art my team-mates made for it! And special thanks to my beta-readers for your help!

Beta Readers:@franklevesque
@silvercloud-18

Artists: @kayadraws[X]
@cassecorrea [X]
@art_by_alyssa04 [X]
@tiaragloryart [X]
@corvidinacape [X]

Rating:Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa (romantic), Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey (platonic)
Additional Tags: Post-Book 2: Crooked Kingdom, Canon Compliant, Healing, Apologies, Meeting Inej’s parents, Inej and Kaz learning to be close, First Kiss, Domesticity, Comfort, Character Study
Summary:

“Kaz opened the door, and the sight of her was almost enough to make him forget everything — the pain, the guilt, the turmoil of emotion this day had been. A string of tension snapped, releasing him. She was at the window, dark hair loose to the wind, casually perched on it just like she used to, before everything. The crows she’d taken the time to feed fretted around her, recognizing her careful fingers. A younger one had nestled in her lap, and gently, she petted its ruffled feathers.

‘Pretty’ was nowhere near enough. She was every beautiful thing in the world.

Kaz found the breath he’d lost, and felt a tired smile bloom on his lips.”

——

Six months after the events of Crooked Kingdom, Kaz Brekker begins to heal. It starts with a long-owed apology to a friend, and the return of the Wraith in Ketterdam.

[Ao3 Link]

| Chapter 1 under the cut |  

Kaz had never thought about what would happen after he avenged Jordie.

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected to live this long.

He’d survived, somehow. He’d lived through plagues and suicide missions, through every unforgiving odd the Barrel had thrown at him, again and again, he’d clung to the painful scraps of his life kicking and thrashing. Whenever he’d considered giving up, whenever pain had pierced through his leg, vengeance had kept him alive. Vengeance had kept him walking. But his vengeance was over, now, and Kaz Brekker was still alive.

It was a cold morning on the fourth day of winter, and he was turning eighteen.

He hadn’t intentionally kept track of Kaz Rietveld’s birthdays; those of his rebirth when he’d emerged from the harbour had always seemed more significant. But try as he might, he hadn’t been able to forget the smell of cinnamon cake in the morning, the excitement in Jordie’s eyes as he’d handed him a poorly-wrapped gift, the gentle sound of his father’s voice wishing him a happy birthday.

Nobody knew he was turning eighteen today. The omission was intentional. Someone could have used the information to track him back to his first life, and anyway, he’d never wanted the Dregs to give him their best wishes, or — Saints forbid — gifts. Up until now, this day had only served to fuel his anger more. It had reminded him of Jordie, which had reminded him of Pekka Rollins and of the boys they’d been before he’d killed one and ruined the other.

Today, there was no anger burning in Kaz’s chest. Nothing as simple and clean as that.

But the grief was still there.

He still missed Jordie. His voice still rang in his ear, shivering from the cold. He still remembered the hot chocolate he’d bought him, the warm cup between his hands; he still heard his laugh, his reassuring bravado. He still saw corpses whenever he closed his eyes. It wouldn’t be fair to say that avenging him had done nothing — it had quieted some of the rage, but the ache lingered, still, and Kaz missed his brother like he missed walking without pain.

He missed other people, too.

Inej was the most obvious absence. Lately, Kaz’s life was separated in two: when the Wraith was in Ketterdam, and when she wasn’t.

When she was in the city, even if she wasn’t by his side, the simple knowledge of her presence soothed a restless ache within him. And when he saw her? When she was perched on his window, looking at him with kind determination, when she told him of a job she needed help with — then, he felt like himself again. Kaz Brekker. A dangerous, faithless man who had somehow found himself on the path of something sacred.

He didn’t believe in saints or gods, but he believed in Inej’s purpose, and if she needed him to be Ketterdam’s monster while she terrified the oceans, he would be just that.

When the Wraith was at sea, however, Kaz was never certain she’d come back. She was strong, and dangerous; dangerous people died, too. Being strong didn’t save you from the storm. Being quick didn’t help when canons started firing. Any day her ship might sink, or Inej might simply decide she was done with Ketterdam.

He wouldn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure what kept her coming back here. She had never fit in Ketterdam, in the Barrel — she was entirely too good for this shithole.

Kaz, however, was exactly what this shithole deserved.

He’d known he would miss Inej the moment she’d stepped foot on the deck of her ship (earlier than that, perhaps he’d known it from the start), but he hadn’t expected how much he’d miss Jesper, too.

Jesper’s presence was one he’d taken for granted. He was so lively, his laugh just a little too loud, hands and legs constantly in motion: an energy Kaz would have found irritating from anybody else, yet one he’d come to rely on. He’d come to rely on him, not just because he was a good man and an excellent sharpshooter, but because while Jesper laughed and fidgeted, Kaz didn’t have to think about corpses in the water. And when Jesper looked at him with something like admiration, when he joked about his scheming face or his clothes, or when he talked too much, cared too much, hoped too much — when Jesper was around doing all of that, Kaz did not feel alone.

He felt very alone, now.

He hadn’t known he could still feel that way, after everything.

***

Kaz spent three hours looking for an excuse to visit the Van Eck estate.

‘Why do you always need an excuse, Kaz?’ murmured Inej’s voice in his head, gentle and taunting all at once.

Because I’m a coward.

Because I’m too proud.

Because I’m not sure I’d be welcome without one.

He eventually found one adequate enough. Jesper had apparently left a coat behind, one made of expensive Zemeni fabrics in turquoise and gold. He’d forgotten it in the Crow Club’s cloakroom months ago, but the courier Kaz had sent had decided to keep it to himself (never mind that it clashed terribly with his pale, reddish complexion). Now the courier had a broken nose, and Kaz carried a bag that contained Jesper’s neatly folded coat.

The walk to the Geldstraat was a painful one. With every step Kaz leaned more heavily on his cane, and with every step, he thought of turning back. The coat kept him on his track. It was a task more tangible than the words he needed to say — a clear, easily defined objective.

He had to bring Jesper his coat.

He could do that.

Seeing the Van Eck mansion brought in a mix of conflicting feelings, but the most potent one was pride. His crew had irreparably smeared the Councilman’s reputation and given control of his fortune to the son he hadn’t wanted; the sweet taste of that spite would refresh Kaz for many years to come.

A well-dressed domestic welcomed him into the towering estate.

“Kaz!” shouted Jesper as he ran down the stairs two-by-two. He sounded shocked and didn’t look exactly… happy to see him, but at least he didn’t seem angry. Kaz wouldn’t have blamed him if he was.

He nodded. “Jesper.”

He held out his arm, awkwardly handing him the bag.

Jesper took it, extracted the coat, and smiled. “Ah, I was wondering where that went!”

“The courier I sent tried to steal it.”

“So I see Dirtyhands has come to right this terrible wrong himself,” he grinned with no small amount of sarcasm.

Kaz felt the twist of a smirk tug at his lips.

“Thanks,” Jesper went on, slipping on the coat with a fanciful twirl. He looked great in it, of course — Kaz had the sneaking suspicion that Jesper could look good in anything. “Is that why you came? Because your courier stole my coat?”

Kaz hesitated. “In part.”

Jesper squared his shoulders, as though bracing himself for a fight.

“Alright.”

He led them to a small living room, furnished with expensive carpets, lush armchairs, and a particularly decadent chaise longue. They’d changed the floorplan of the estate somewhat since the last time Kaz had broken in there, but he could still make his bearings easily, instinctively looking for points of entry and exits.

There was no reason why he’d need to make a rushed escape from Jesper and Wylan’s home, but survival was a habit he couldn’t afford to drop, even amongst allies.

Jesper leaned on one of the cabinets, while Kaz, whose knee was now hurting too much to pretend he could stand, took one of the armchairs, containing a sigh of relief as he stretched out his leg.

Jesper’s fingers drummed on the wood of the cabinet.

“You seem to be doing well,” Kaz said, which sounded like meaningless small talk, but it was true. Jesper had filled up since the last time Kaz had seen him. His hair had grown, the coils meticulously styled, and his skin had a healthy glow to it. It was probably the consequence of Jesper’s new life in the lap of luxury, but it also reminded Kaz of how Nina looked after using her powers.

“Yeah, I am, actually!” Jesper grinned, dropping on an armchair close to Kaz’s in one elegant motion. “Turns out I’m surprisingly good at this whole businessman gig.”

“It’s not surprising.”

Kaz had some opinions about the difference between crooks and merchants (or lack thereof) and he’d always thought Jesper would excel in either profession if he could get his gambling under control. He was versatile, adaptive, brave, and uniquely smart, even if he often tried to hide all of those qualities under a veneer of cheap jokes and expensive charm.

He suspected Jesper sought to be underestimated on purpose, so that he might surprise and never disappoint. But Kaz had never underestimated him.

Not that he’d ever told Jesper any of that.

Maybe he should have. Maybe, if Kaz had valued him out loud as well as in his mind, if he’d been the kind of friend Jesper could trust enough to confide in, to ask for help, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the desperate situation that had almost cost Inej her life and Colm Fahey his livelihood.

Maybe. Or maybe not. There was little point in rewriting history.

Jesper eyed him strangely. It looked almost like one of those old yearning glances he used to throw his way, when he hoped for more than Kaz could give. But whatever Jesper had hoped for back then, he was done hoping now. He looked aside.

“So where do you live, these days?” Jesper asked, fretful anxiety swirling under the airy words.

“Same as always.”

“What?” He gaped at him, leaning forward. “Are you messing with me? You still live in that tiny room up in the Slat?”

Kaz made a dignified expression that was definitely not a pout, and said defensively, “It’s not a bad room.”

“It’s a great room if you’re broke as shit and neck-deep in debts,” Jesper snorted. “Not if you’re a millionaire. Did you lose all your earnings already? Spent it all on girls, I bet.”

Kaz huffed something like a laugh. He wasn’t completely wrong. He’d spent a lot of his money on one girl in particular.

Rather than confessing that, he replied, “Still a terrible gambler, I see.”

“I’ll admit it was a hopeful wish more than a gamble. So?”

“My money’s fine. It’s been put in several lucrative investments.”

“Ugh.” Jesper pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Look. I don’t expect you to suddenly know how to have fun, Kaz,” he drawled. “Not everybody can have my impeccable sense of style and bottomless joie de vivre. But what’s the point in investing to earn more if you don’t allow yourself to spend some on the bare minimum of comfort?”

An acerbic retort was on the tip of Kaz’s tongue; he barely silenced it in time. Six months ago, rageful and exhausted, he likely would have spat the defensive words and cursed himself for it afterwards; today, he could be smarter than that. Even if Kaz didn’t appreciate being interrogated, Jesper was asking a reasonable question. He tried to think of a reasonable answer.

Why hadn’t he left the Slat? He could have bought himself an apartment, one where he’d have more space and privacy. He certainly had the means. Was it because the small confines of his room were familiar? Close enough to the Crow Club? Because he’d made it liveable, and he felt some kind of responsibility for it? Was it simply because he hadn’t had the time to change, hadn’t felt the need?

It was some of these things, perhaps. But most importantly, it was:

“I don’t feel safe when I’m comfortable.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

Jesper’s eyebrows shot up, looking suddenly soft and vulnerable — looking heart-broken.

“Kaz…”

“Don’t,” he said, quiet and clipped. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t pity me. “Whatever you want to say. Don’t.”

It was unfair to cut him off like this, and even more damning besides.

Jesper’s shoulders slumped.

“Right.” His smile was bitter — nothing like the charming grins and warm smiles he usually gave away like flowers. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Silence weighed over them, thick and uncomfortable.

Eventually, Jesper sighed.

“So. What is it you need? Is it for a job?”

That hurt, somehow, even though Kaz knew he deserved it. He’d never tried to talk to Jesper outside of work before — those interactions had always come from Jesper and his relentless, ever-forgiving kindness. Even now, Kaz itched to respond to his disappointment by proving him right, by saying something hurtful, by being the heartless barrel boss he’d carved his entire life around.

But he hadn’t come all this way to fight Jesper. He didn’t want to fight Jesper. If they fought now, if Kaz was cruel to him as he had always been, he was fairly sure they’d never see each other again. And perhaps that would be for the best, Dirtyhands would think so, certainly, one less distraction to worry about, except — distraction from what?

Pekka Rollins was gone.

Jordie’s grief wouldn’t leave.

And Kaz had missed Jesper, weak as that admission made him feel. He’d missed him. That was why he was here.

Kaz swallowed, gloved fingers clenching into fists.

“I came to apologize.”

Jesper’s entire posture stilled, frozen. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, and right now, Kaz could almost read the emotions as they washed over him. Shock. (Understandable.) Fear. (Why?) Hope. (Unwarranted, but so very Jesper.)

And a clear invitation to go on.

Kaz had practiced the words on his way there, but he still struggled to string them together.

“I’m sorry for all the times I was rude and cruel to you,” he said. “It was on purpose.”

Jesper let out a short, incredulous laugh. It almost sounded like a sob. “You know that makes it worse, right?”

Kaz nodded. “I know.” He gripped the cane between his legs, finding in it some phantom support. “When I joined the Dregs, I didn’t want to make friends. I didn’t want to rely on other people. Not the gang, not anyone. But you…” His grip tightened. “You were very hard not to befriend.”

Jesper was stiller than he’d ever seen him, giving Kaz his full, undivided attention. The bright focus of it was more overwhelming than Kaz had prepared himself for.

“Even when you say something nice,” he said softly, sadly, “you make it sound like an accusation.”

“It’s how I felt. I resented you for it.”

“For being your friend?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, incredulous. “That’s fucked up, Kaz.”

“I know.”

Jesper had no response to that. He looked at the ceiling, seeming deep in thought. Then, he leaned forward.

Decisively, he repeated the question from half a year ago.

“Who’s Jordie?”

The decaying muscles of Kaz’s leg twitched, sending a jolt of pain through him, a hurricane of ghosts and corpses and fetid waters. The very mention of Jordie’s name was a tidal wave — he wanted to run, he wanted to drown.

But this was what he’d come here for.

To make amends.

“My brother,” he admitted, so quietly it was a wonder the word could be heard at all.

A million questions shone in Jesper’s eyes, but he left Kaz the space to speak.

He’d never talked about this to anybody but Inej, on that ship to the Ice Court, and Pekka Rollins, when he’d taken his revenge.

But Inej was at sea.

Pekka Rollins was gone.

And Jesper deserved to know, at least some of it. He’d helped Kaz, saved Kaz, trusted Kaz. He deserved some pieces of who he really was, even if the pieces were broken and jagged.

“We grew up on a farm near Lij,” he began, voice low. “After our father died, Jordie took us to Ketterdam. He tried to take care of me, but he…”

Kaz closed his eyes, desperately trying to keep the demons at bay. He wasn’t doing a good job of it; their cold fingers were grabbing his wrists, clawing at his throat, dragging him back into the depths of the harbour. He tried to focus on the room instead, the leather of the armchair, the throbbing pain in his leg, Jesper’s grey eyes fixed on him, unwavering.

“He trusted the wrong people,” Kaz managed to utter, “and we paid the price.”

“So that’s why I make you think of him?” Jesper said. “Because I’m not trustworthy enough—”

Kaz cut him off. “You make me think of him because I care about you.”

Jesper stared at him like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Every…” Kaz went on, hating the tremor in his voice. “Every fucked up thing I am today is because I once cared about someone, and this city took him from me. I promised myself I’d never be that weak again.” He noticed he’d started trembling — with a sharp gust of shame, Kaz forced his body to still. “It’s not an excuse,” he spit out. “I’m not looking for your forgiveness. I just wanted to explain, so you could… So you’d know.”

When Kaz looked up to him, Jesper had tears in his eyes.

But it wasn’t pity — not quite. It was a lot more complicated than pity, and perhaps that made it easier to accept.

“Thank you… for saying that,” Jesper murmured. “And thank you for not asking for my forgiveness.”

Kaz nodded stiffly. “Forgiveness is earned, not asked.”

At that, he smiled. “That sounds suspiciously like one of Inej’s proverbs. She said something like that to me, once.”

The bastard of the Barrel most definitely did not blush. “She’s a bad influence.”

“Clearly.” Jesper looked to the floor, his fingers drumming on his thighs the way he did when he thought intensely. He leapt up from his armchair, and served himself water with lemons from a pitcher. “It’s pretty amazing, what she’s doing, isn’t it?”

“Hunting slavers?” Kaz asked.

“Making a difference.”

Pretty amazing was somewhat of a euphemism for how proud Kaz felt when he thought of what Inej had accomplished in the past six months. She’d taught herself everything there was to know about sailing, picking it up as easy as she’d learnt how to be the best spider in the Barrel, and gathered herself a competent, trustworthy crew. Last month, the Wraith had taken down her first slavers’ ship. Quiet as the night, they’d slipped aboard, freeing the children and killing every last member of the crew.

Officially, the slavers had caught a bad storm on their way to Ketterdam — courtesy of the tidemaker Inej’s fervor had inspired to join her crew. But already, rumours of a vengeful phantom ship were spreading, and Kaz had heard the urban legends being whispered around West Stave.

Inej was only just starting, but they would learn to fear her soon.

Kaz gave Jesper a half-smile. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d also fancy changing the world.”

“Well,” Jesper replied, embarrassed, “maybe not the world; I do have some measure of my own limitations.”

“You could,” Kaz said simply. “You could do anything.”

They’d broken into the Ice Court. They’d stolen a Fjerdan tank. They’d bested some of the most dangerous and richest people in the world. If Jesper wanted to change things, who could stop him?

Jesper pressed his lips on the rim of his glass, looking thoughtful. He put the glass down. “What about you? Isn’t there something you’d like to change?”

Wasn’t there ever another dream? echoed Inej’s voice. At the time, he hadn’t been able to give her an answer. He still couldn’t.

How was he supposed to know, after all these years?

“I’m not much of a dreamer, myself,” Kaz said. “But if you find your path, and you need a conniving bastard to get there…”

“You’d help me?” Jesper said, somewhat hesitant. Like he’d never considered that possibility before.

Isn’t that what we do? Isn’t that what I owe you, after everything?

Out loud, Kaz simply said, “Yes.”

The sounds of steps drew near, followed by a small, polite knock.

The door creaked as Wylan entered the room, looking as flushed and shy as Kaz had ever known him, though that might have been due to his presence; the merchling had always been intimidated by Kaz. He must’ve been less tightly-wound when he was alone with Jesper — Kaz couldn’t see how the relationship would work otherwise.

“Hey, Kaz. Long time no see,” Wylan said, sounding sheepish, as though he was an intruder in his own home. “We’re serving lunch. Do you…” He trailed off, looking at Jesper with an unspoken question.

Jesper turned to Kaz. “Want to eat with us? The cook’s cuisine is decadent.”

His tone was not uncertain, exactly, but it was cautious. Back in the day, Kaz had never accepted anyone’s offers to spend casual time together, to the point where even Jesper had stopped asking, or at least, stopped meaning it when he asked. This was a genuine offer, but it was also a test of their new boundaries.

Are we the kind of people who can have lunch together, now?

Kaz was surprised to find that he wanted them to be — and what a strange emotion, to want. After so many years of need, he was still getting used to that softer, much more unsettling feeling.

But his leg was aching, and he already felt too raw, too overwhelmed by everything he’d said and hadn’t said in their conversation.

So, Kaz said, “Not today.” However, he added, “I could come next week.”

Jesper beamed. “Dinner on Saturday?”

And though Kaz couldn’t quite believe it himself, he agreed.