Ice Cream by Firelight

The Victorian Mansion slumbered, and no other sound echoed except the birds in the attic and Ambrose’s soft snoring (Geoff, the butler, was in Scotland for the week with his niece Alex.) whilst down the corridor, Fitz tossed and turned in the silent throes of another bad dream.

The same, however, was not true five minutes past three.

The grandfather clock had rung out its chimes thrice, and Ambrose, light sleeper as he was, stirred at the creak of floorboards and stairs. He groaned. It could only be his little brother Fitz. This was identical to the past two weeks Fitz had begun living in London with his big brother. Night in, night out, the house went to bed, the clock chimed, and Fitz awoke to slip outside into the slumbering city. London. Ambrose meant to speak to Fitz about the nightmares, the mumbling in his sleep and the shouts in the night that no one talked about. But it ended up being awkward. Fitz subtly steered the conversations away from asking how he was.

Never mind that Fitz had uni classes in the early morning. Never mind that MI6’s spies had reported Kasim’s collusion with a terrorist network to take down three commercial airplanes in the coming month. How to capture them his team mulled over at every meeting, and Ambrose continued to mull over it at home as he kept watch over his taciturn ward. Fitz’s attempts to cope with their uncle's past abuse showed in his music; he’d play the piano in the afternoon and then disappear into his room for a few hours. Again, Ambrose didn't know how to broach the subject when Fitz avoided it and acted like it was normal.

Despite needing to make up for lost time, the brothers went on as if this was the new normal…and that’s not how being back together was supposed to be after a decade of not speaking to each other. Of course, Fitz was glad about their reconciliation and their uncle’s disappearance, but he refused to open up.

And so, Ambrose coaxed himself out of his warm sheets to slip on his tailored suit and leather shoes. He padded down the corridor, blindly reaching for the light switch to the entrance. Flick! The light over the front door caught Fitz pulling a windbreaker over grey sweat pants and a rumpled white shirt. Fitz jumped and jerked his head about in search of the cause. He saw Ambrose at the top of the stairs.

“Oh.” He exhaled in relief. “It’s you.” He ruffled his hazel hair, making it go over his eyes and stick at odd ends.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well, you did.”

Instead of giving Fitz the lecture he expected, Ambrose glided down the stairs to grab the peacoat from the rack.

“Ambrose. What are you doing?” Fitz furrowed his brow.

“We’re going for a walk.”

“At this hour?” Fitz scratched his ear.

“I could say the same to you.”

He pulled his head back and opened his mouth.

“Come on.” Ambrose opened the door. Fitz gave up and flipped on his flat cap

before he plodded out into the chilly outside world. The keys jangled in the lock of the front door.

The younger brother bounced on the balls of his feet, cold hands clenching in the warm pockets. What was Ambrose thinking? Usually, he called Fitz outright and said what he needed to. Fitz knew Ambrose cared, that his big brother was trying to do right by him and not let him get into his own head too much. It wasn’t either’s fault that Uncle Maurice had been paranoid, and being orphans left them on their own so life was new and uncertain.

Ambrose pocketed his keys and beckoned Fitz to follow. Fitz snapped his head up and trotted up the street to catch up. He kept his head down, puzzled and tentative. “Where are we going?”

“Ice cream. Gino’s.”

“Erm… Why? Do you want to talk about…” He glanced at his brother. “I-I mean are you mad? Am I in trouble?”

“No, of course not.” Ambrose huffed with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Fitz relaxed his shoulders. Then what was this about? Where was the expression of concern or the coaxing of his thoughts? Why was he so…patient and easy about it? He sighed in resignation as they walked on down Queen Anne’s Gate.

“I’m worried.” Ambrose glanced at him.

There it was.

“We’ve barely spent time together since we’ve gotten to London. It’s a new city to you, different than Chicago, takes a while to adjust, but I spend the day stopping terrorist attacks and you spend the night fighting sleep. I hear you slip out every night for a walk with your enemies watching you, and I haven't mentioned it until now.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “I know. Sorry. Not wise, but he is presumed dead and I’ve been keeping my head down.” He shrugged.

“Luckily, Kasim, though he may be watching you, doesn’t perceive you as an immediate threat to his criminal organization. He won’t touch you unless you act against Orbis.”

Fitz nodded. “O-out of curiosity, other than watching over me, is there another reason why we are going out for a walk in the middle of the night?”

“I told you. We don’t spend time together as often as he should, so we’re going out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re both awake. You’ve ventured out under the cover of night before, and since there’s no time like the present, we might as well hang out and have a pint.” Ambrose gestured.

“You mean a scoop.” He cocked his head.

Ambrose chuckled, suppressing a smirk.

“You do mean a scoop, right?” Fitz widened his eyes.

Ambrose scratched his eyebrow.

Gino’s was across St. James Park in Soho, no more than a fifteen-minute walk. The little bell jingled as the brothers entered the ice cream parlor. It stood open all day and all night with Gino and his family taking shifts.

“Buona notte, Gino.” Ambrose ran a hand across his chin.

“Ahh, buona notte, miei amici! Or should I say buon giorno?” Gino’s rough hand clasped onto Ambrose’s.

“The sun’s not up yet.” Ambrose quirked his brow.

“Eh. You’re not wrong.” Gino scratched his oily head.

“I’ve told you about my little brother Fitz.” Ambrose gestured to the lanky teenager observing the Impressionist paintings on the walls. “Fitz.”

“Hm?” He turned his head. “Oh, hi.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Fitz pressed his lips into a thin smile.

“Well, Gino, if you’ll give us a minute, please. We’ll go over to the freezers.” Ambrose nodded.

“Va bene.” The Italian waved freely.

Ambrose and Fitz walked over to the cold displays. “Would you like anything particular?”

“Erm, no. Go ahead. Ice cream’s not really my area.” Fitz half-heartedly raised his shoulder. “Meaning, I have no experience. I’ve never had ice cream exactly,” he said matter-of-factly with pronounced gestures.

Ambrose shrugged his lips. “Never too late.” Ambrose thought for a bit before getting an idea, taking 12 pints, each of a different flavor, and paying at the counter while Fitz looked on with a lost expression. Gino always insisted on giving Ambrose a deal on the ice cream since the latter once helped him out of a bind and got Gino’s son a good job in the government.

“Mille grazie, Gino.” Ambrose shoved his wallet back into his coat.

“Prego. It was good to see you, Ambrose.” Gino included two spoons in the order.

“You too, Gino. Catch you later.” He winked. “Fitz.” For some reason, his brother was intently studying the paintings again.

“Gino, I was wondering. Who did these?”

“Oh, le opere d’arte? My daughter, Nicolletta. She paints at the Royal Academy of Art on scholarship.”

“She’s a brilliant artist, Gino. Would you tell her for me?” Fitz turned to Gino with a small but genuine smile.

“Of course.” Gino scratched his stubble, pleased with the compliment and wondering at the enigmatic air Fitz held.

“Good night.” Fitz nodded in salute and walked out with Ambrose as they headed to Hyde Park. Ambrose unlocked the gate to the fire pit under the pavilion.

“What are we doing here? And why did you get so much ice cream?” Fitz watched as his brother set down the ice cream on a bench and lit the bonfire.

“I know the owner who gave me a spare key, and like I said, we’ve never spent some proper time together since you’ve arrived in London.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Too busy, Fitz. We’ve got eleven years of catching up to do.”

“And when in London…”

“Do it with ice cream.”

“Ha ha, not fish and chips?”

“That too, but not tonight.” Ambrose took out a blanket from a hidden cupboard and started opening the pints of ice cream. Fitz grabbed a spoon.

“So, what’s the procedure?” He watched his reflection in the mirroring silver.

“The procedure.” He grinned. “Well, we talk and eat ice cream. Simple as that. You taste and tell me what you think. And then you can decide which one’s your favorite.”

“Ah. Sounds like a plan. Where do we start?”

“Simply.”

“Meaning?”

“We’ll start with vanilla and then work our way up to more complex flavors.”

“Ahhh, so that’s why simple people are called vanilla.”

Ambrose laughed and shook his head. “Oh, brother.”

“Yes?” Fitz smirked.

They chuckled. Fitz spooned the vanilla and nodded appreciatively. “This is good. Not bad.”

“Mmh. Gino’s uses strong vanilla bean extract. So, how are your studies going?” Ambrose held out the dark chocolate pint.

“Ooh.” He licked the spoon. “They're going. My repertoire is challenging enough, and I have multiple compositional projects. It’s busy.”

“If it weren't, you’d make it so. Yes, I like the chocolate too.”

“Oh, Ambrose, what can I say? I’m a man of occupation. I need work. I thrive on it.”

“Yes, you do.” Ambrose tilted his head. The cinnamon cedar logs crackled warmly at their feet as the ice cream pints stood in the brother’s shadows to prevent them from melting.

“How about you? Catch any terrorists lately?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Is that coffee flavor?” Fitz began exploring the flavors on his own now. “

“Go ahead. I think chocolate and coffee would go well.”

“Let’s see. Hmm. Yes. Sorry, let’s carry on talking.”

Ambrose huffed in amusement, glad that Fitz was enjoying himself. “The current project is unstable. Everyone at the office is trying to identify when and where a certain disaster will take place. That’s all I can say.”

“Well, if I can unravel my uncle’s nefarious dealings, I’m sure I can offer any assistance you require.”

“I am not letting you jump into too many things at once. You’re still in recovery from your brain surgery.”

Fitz flapped his lips. “It’s been four weeks.” Fitz went for strawberry and the rocky road next. Ambrose indulged in chocolate and coffee a bit longer. “And the doctor and I both agree you could use a few more. I gave you a pass for university so you don’t climb up the walls.”

“Well, I think I’m doing rather well with—what’s sea salt caramel?”

“Oh, it’s like candy with various sugars, heavy cream, and butter. Good with salt.”

“Oh. Mhmm. I’m leaning towards this flavor—With my recovery.”

“Told you. You are, Fitz. I don’t doubt it, but you’re already sleeping rough, and taking on some cases would throw off the delicate balance you’re treading.”

“You know me, master acrobat.”

Ambrose chuckled, taking a spoon from the sea salt caramel. “God knows, you should’ve taken a vacation first.”

“About my sleeping rough.”

“Yes?”

“You know why I don’t talk about…my time back in Chicago.”

“Enlighten me, dear brother.”

“Well. It’s not something I’m used to. I trust you, but…”

“You don’t know how to talk to about it?” Ambrose supplied.

“Yeah,” he tilted his head, “and putting all of it on you wouldn’t make me feel free to do so. It’s complicated. I don’t think either of us is ready.” They swapped pints again, blueberry crumble for lemon cake.

“You think it’d weigh me down?”

“I know you’re strong,” Fitz jabbed at the cold cream, “Ambrose, but you care too much about me to be indifferent to my…issues.”

“But how do you know how I'd take it if you don’t try?” Ambrose quirked his lips innocently.

“A gut feeling.” Fitz wrinkled his nose.

“Well, you know I’d never make you talk about it, and I would never get angry if you don’t.”

“I know. I’m still getting used to this…new normal.”

“But you must talk to someone about it. Some time.”

“ When I’m ready.”

By this time Fitz and Ambrose had gotten into the red velvet, chocolate hazelnut truffle, and cookies and cream. It was like being at the bakery and ice cream parlor at the same time. Best of both worlds.

“Well, your opinion?” Ambrose set down his spoon and stretched his back.

“I liked the vanilla.”

Ambrose chuckled.

“Eh, though as I did also enjoy black cherry and the caramel salt thing.”

“Sea salt caramel.”

“Yes, that. Strawberry was a bit too sweet but otherwise lovely. I also quite liked the chocolate and coffee combination, or the chocolate hazelnut chocolate with coffee. I wouldn’t mind gorging on that. I think it’s my preferred combination. You?”

“Oh, red velvet, always. There’s that raspberry-vanilla flavor (and now and again actual bits of raspberries), hints of cacao, bits of brownie, and the delicious sweet cream cheese, which is my favorite part. My mouth waters at the thought.”

Fitz laughed deeply and heartily. “For a professional chef and precocious health nut, you certainly are a dessert man.”

Ambrose followed in laughter. “I do concede. I nearly got too fat for my liking during my days at uni.”

“Hence your health initiative.”

“An agent has to keep shape.”

“Ha, Fatbrose.”

“What?”

“It’s the nickname I would’ve used to tease you back then.”

“Ohh, please spare me. That’s what one of my colleagues teased me with.”. Ambrose rubbed his face.

“All good fun, I’m sure.”

“What about the other three?”

“Delicious all the same, rocky road is on the near level of sea salt caramel.”

“Let me guess. The marshmallows?”

“Takes the cake, yeah. The lemon one, cookies and cream, and the blueberry is ice cream and cake in one bite if ever I felt to indulge particularly. But…as I said, ever since I’ve discovered coffee, chocoffe ice cream (Ambrose snorted in amusement at the ‘invented’ flavor name), I wouldn’t mind it being a regular. Then there’s black cherry and sea salt caramel.”

“We have our winners, then.”

“I never knew you’d be a red velvet man.” Fitz gestured with his hands.

“I never knew you’d be so obsessed with caffeine.”

Fitz snickered.

“Next time you’re trying pistachio and chocolate mint chip.”

“Next time. Woah. This is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it?” Fitz smiled as he gazed into the warm fire pit, the dancing flames reflecting in his pupils.

“If you’re not averse to it.”

Fitz sighed and lay back. “I, for one, am not.”

“Then, yes, this will be a regular occurrence. And we won’t need to get so much ice cream because we have narrowed down your preferences.”

“Hmmm. The experiment has proven successful. You know, Alex will be ecstatic when she sees all the ice cream in the fridge. It’s her favorite food.”

“Food?” Ambrose shut one eye.

“Food.” Fitz nodded to the side.

“Psh.”

Ambrose and Fitz continued eating but kept to their singled-out flavors.

“Hey, Fitz?”

“Hm.”

“Promise you’ll wake me the next time you can’t sleep.”

Fitz answered with ice cream melting on his tongue. “Ambrose, it’s not a big deal. I like to walk. You need your sleep.”

“Yes, it is a big deal. I don’t want you to think you need to be alone in this.”

Fitz swallowed his bite. “I’m not seeing ‘a professional’.”

“I never said anything about that. I only mean that you stop acting like you're walking on glass around me. Whether or not you talk to me about what you’re going through, I will be fine. We can just sit together and be. Like this.” He motioned between them.

Fitz took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll wake you next time, and I’ll try not to isolate myself when I’m…in a mood for ice cream.”

Ambrose understood the code. “That would be acceptable.”

Fitz yawned once they finished their pints.

Ambrose packed the ice cream back into the thermal bag.

“Ames?”

“Yes?”

“This was nice.”

Ambrose rubbed Fitz’s shoulder. “I know, Fizzy.”

Fitz hummed softly, content for the moment. Ambrose surprised him the more they went on together. Maybe he was right. Maybe even “hanging out”, as he put it, was enough for now. Maybe at times actions and silence were needed more than words of sympathy or consolation.

Also, bonfire ice cream in the winter wasn’t a half-bad idea. He quirked his lips into a fuller smile.