[ When the memories come back — all at once, for everyone, flooding in to fill the wide gaps between any slower specks of recollection — they don't instantly come accompanied by the return of everyone's sending crystals. That might take five minutes or might take an hour or might take several days. It doesn't matter, because Bastien's gone faster than five minutes anyway.
He doesn't try to guess where Byerly might be this time of day. Out, most likely, but that could mean anything, anywhere, so Bastien goes home. And he'd turned over his key with everything else, so this time he does break in, reassured by their neighbor looking directly at him while he forces the window open and going about their business like that's fine, like they totally know who he is and assume he lost his key.
The dogs are not indifferent to his arrival this time. Whiskey even works herself up to some wriggling. So regardless of how long it takes, when Byerly arrives, whether that's down the stairs or through the door, Bastien's on the floor with them, and he doesn't immediately look up. ]
[ Maybe there is some memory of his beloved that comes back too slowly, because Byerly searches for Bastien in all the wrong places. He tries the crystal, sending message after message, as though Bastien would make it some priority to retrieve that object he's not even that fond of. And he searches the Gallows - makes that his first place to look - and only then tries Lowtown, some of the likely spots, and finds Bastien nowhere. And all the while, the panic grows.
If there is one thing that might break what exists between them, it is forgetting. If there is one unforgivable act, one thing that would destroy Bastien's heart, it's forgetting that he exists. And so Byerly fears that the silence, the absence, is because Bastien has gone.
The only reason Byerly returns home before heading out to the stables (to find out if Bastien had left town altogether) is to feed the dogs. Never had it crossed his mind that Bastien would come home. And so he nearly shouts in surprise when he finds him there, hunched over, on the floor. ]
Mon cœur -
[ He stands there, heart thumping, mouth dry, praying to the Maker that Bastien will lift his face so that Byerly can read his expression. What will be there? Betrayal? Anger? Sorrow? ]
[ The wait was long enough that Bastien is now lying on the floor, belly-down, letting Red wrestle and bite his fingers while Whiskey's stretched napping against his side. His voice is mild as he says, ]
Hello.
[ Knowing there is nothing anyone could have done to prevent this does not help. Knowing exactly what he is doing — because he's done it before, worst of all when Byerly died, pulling into himself for a month — does not make it easier to stop. That it isn't the first time maybe makes it harder. The first time a floor gives way beneath you and sends you crashing into the cellar, maybe you chalk it up to bad luck. The second time, how do you go back to walking on it freely, without careful mistrust keeping you braced in case you're dropped again?
He does want to trust the floor again. But knowing that he wants to doesn't make it easier, either.
So when he looks up, there's no betrayal or anger or sorrow, any hints of those trapped behind a wall of half-conscious certainty he needs to stay used to dealing with that shit on his own, because he could be on his own again at any moment. There's only an affectionate, faintly amused mask. The hijinks they get up to here in Riftwatch! Hilarious. ]
I cannot believe you let a raving burglar sleep on our couch.
[ Of all of the things to start with - of all of the things to say - By wants to weep. He wants to grab Bastien by his collar and shake him until his head comes off. He feels - ]
This isn't some game.
[ The words come out in Orlesian. Country Orlesian; his mother's Orlesian. ]
It wasn't some fun.
[ Because that mild, warm little smile makes him feel afraid. How many people saw that exact smile before they never saw Bastien again? Before he changed his name and disappeared? ]
[ Bastien tilts his head — and here, roundabout, is the betrayal and anger, after all, in the way the mild warmth (like a Spring day, still a little brisk) doesn't recede in the face of Byerly's unhappiness. ]
I'm sorry.
[ Equally Orlesian, urban and urbane. ]
You didn't seem to be suffering, though. [ Less resentful than an attempt at comfort, sort of. At least on its face. Shhh, says his tone; it's fine, it's funny. ] Whoever you dreamed up to own my clothes — was he better looking than me?
[ Byerly isn't often so raw. He's let go of much of what made him a spy, true enough, but he is still a spy. Though he wouldn't be so perfect or so polished as Bastien, he could hold it in. But he doesn't.
He crouches on the ground instead. Gets closer to Bastien. Lets him see the red rims of his eyes. ]
Don't you see that? I couldn't imagine any life without you, and so I invented you.
[ The smile slinks off of Bastien's face in defeat: all right, they won't have a laugh about it. He pushes up onto his knees, earning a grumbling huff from Whiskey when it robs her of some of the warmth she'd been leeching from his side, and makes Rat Red give one of his hands back so he can touch Byerly's face instead. ]
I know. I know. I left a hole and you were trying to fill it. It's okay. I'm only teasing.
[ The shorter hair above his ears. The plane of his cheek. ]
I would have seduced you away from him eventually, anyway.
[ He wouldn't have. He would have kept his distance, the disconnect between their memories of each other a wound that scraped open again every time they spoke, until he lost his last scraps of hope. Then he'd have left. But they don't have to talk about that. ]
[ Sharp. Obstinately overly literal. His hand stays on Byerly's face despite it, for beat, then another, before he pulls that back as well.
Don't lie to me. Bastien's tried so hard to never lie to him. Any other day, any other mood, and that request would stop him in his tracks and make him think about himself. But right now he would rather not. ]
What do you want me to have done? Tracked you down to beg every day?
You want me to have tracked you down to beg every day.
[ Bastien will pet Whiskey, scratching at her rump while she continues licking Byerly's hand. He has Rat Red pinned down with the other, letting her try to wriggle free — she loves it. Maybe the effect of Bastien's tense, chilly expression combined with using both hands to entertain the dogs would be funny to an onlooker with no investment in this argument. ]
If I keep having to live without you, Byerly, I am going to learn how to do it without cracking up every time. I'm sorry if that's a blow to your ego.
[ Bastien pauses his pursuit of coffee to turn back to Byerly and make a wordless gesture that communicates, yes, see? He's come back. Everything's fine now — or would have been, if By hadn't insisted on talking about it like this. Out loud he says, ]
You weren't going to fall back in love with me,
[ with some mocking emphasis, like that's a childish thing to propose in the first place. ]
[ Simple. Catty. His rifling through the cabinets and one-handed wrangling of the kettle is quiet and controlled. ]
Everything had to be just right. You had to know enough to think I was interesting and not like me enough to be frightened of it. You had to be afraid of something else so I could be what you needed. I had to throw myself at you for a year —
[ A little hyperbole, as a treat. ]
Maybe I could make it that way again, but I would have been — what do you call it when you know everything about someone who doesn’t even know who you are, and you use it to make them like you?
[ Byerly's certainly never spoken to him like that before. Fuck you is for saying through a laugh. Bastien's still for a moment, looking at him, the briefest stutter in his little performance before he turns to proceed with his coffee as if it's normal. ]
It isn't about being selfish or weak. It's just how it was.
[ He puts a cup down loud enough to make a noise. That's practically slamming, from him. ]
And I was in the Gallows. We weren't allowed to leave. I didn't have a sending crystal. And you weren't going to fall for a madman waiting for you at the ferry like a puppy every day. I don't know what you want me to have done.
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