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contact part deux
if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message
[ Between relief at not having to have the discussion that breath seemed to portend and tickled surprise at what Byerly says instead, Bastien winds up laughing—like a schoolboy, even, despite having never been one. ]
I love you, [ is half-laughter and said offhand, like a thank you. ] And those are the only conditions. We have a deal.
I love you, [ is half-laughter and said offhand, like a thank you. ] And those are the only conditions. We have a deal.
[ It is such a quick shift that for a moment she is lost, left holding onto the thread and balance of her side of a conversation that of a sudden has ceased.
Antiva. We are in Antiva. He is young, and he has killed a man.
She draws the hand she holds to her lips for a moment, then shifts in his lap so she can curl herself closer. Can wind an arm up over his shoulder and cradle his head against hers. ]
Ah, mon coeur.
[ A soft sorrow, yes, but not of her guilt. It is for him, and a life forever changed. ]
She left you to bear it alone?
Antiva. We are in Antiva. He is young, and he has killed a man.
She draws the hand she holds to her lips for a moment, then shifts in his lap so she can curl herself closer. Can wind an arm up over his shoulder and cradle his head against hers. ]
Ah, mon coeur.
[ A soft sorrow, yes, but not of her guilt. It is for him, and a life forever changed. ]
She left you to bear it alone?
No.
[ Those years ago she would call herself so—and worse—in bitterly blaming herself for her own shame, and he would never let her. She will not let him do it now. ]
It was hers, for using and betraying you.
[ Those years ago she would call herself so—and worse—in bitterly blaming herself for her own shame, and he would never let her. She will not let him do it now. ]
It was hers, for using and betraying you.
[ He shakes his head. ]
I thought I was being some defender. A proper chevalier. Any little fop who thinks himself that grand is comical indeed.
[ Well. ]
Not that I forgive her. Monster that she is. But as the saying goes, you can't cheat an honest man.
I thought I was being some defender. A proper chevalier. Any little fop who thinks himself that grand is comical indeed.
[ Well. ]
Not that I forgive her. Monster that she is. But as the saying goes, you can't cheat an honest man.
You would not let me say such things of myself.
I let myself believe that I, a Comte’s fifth daughter, was the grand heroine of a tale.
I was a fool to want so much to be such a one, to be loved as one, and for the crime of my foolishness I deserved my betrayal; he was a monster, yes, but were I honest, it should not have happened so.
[ She doesn’t believe it anymore, but even now that disbelief is so fragile that for a brief flash of a moment, in saying it, part of her does. ]
I was a fool to want so much to be such a one, to be loved as one, and for the crime of my foolishness I deserved my betrayal; he was a monster, yes, but were I honest, it should not have happened so.
[ She doesn’t believe it anymore, but even now that disbelief is so fragile that for a brief flash of a moment, in saying it, part of her does. ]
[ She is quiet. Then a nod of acquiescence, small, against him. ]
I will not.
But I will not let you drink that poison any more than you will let me.
I will not.
But I will not let you drink that poison any more than you will let me.
Do not think death and ruin did not follow me because of what he did.
[ She shakes her head a little. ]
I will not say it is the same, and I will not absolve you of that blood. But neither will I let you say believing her lies was your fault.
[ A pause. She curls her fingers into his hair. ]
Would you have done it, had you not thought you were protecting a woman you loved who needed you?
[ She shakes her head a little. ]
I will not say it is the same, and I will not absolve you of that blood. But neither will I let you say believing her lies was your fault.
[ A pause. She curls her fingers into his hair. ]
Would you have done it, had you not thought you were protecting a woman you loved who needed you?
[ A little nod.
A long breath. ]
Do you think less of me, that I will hear these things and still love you?
A long breath. ]
Do you think less of me, that I will hear these things and still love you?
[ Her head tilts unconsciously in her surprise.
Loki had been scathing when she’d finally seen what he had never wanted her to see; when she had known what he most loathed of himself and had the audacity to love him still. It had nearly ruined them.
She did not expect that, from Byerly. But she did not expect this either. ]
Why?
Loki had been scathing when she’d finally seen what he had never wanted her to see; when she had known what he most loathed of himself and had the audacity to love him still. It had nearly ruined them.
She did not expect that, from Byerly. But she did not expect this either. ]
Why?
[By the time Byerly arrives to work the following morning, his coffee is already sitting on his desk (still hot, of course) and Benedict is at his own, his pen scratching industriously.
He nods a pleasant greeting to the Ambassador, and seems for all the world as though the previous day never happened.]
He nods a pleasant greeting to the Ambassador, and seems for all the world as though the previous day never happened.]
[ It's so small. How can her heart jump at something so small as the press of his nose in her hair? But it does, and she pulls his hand to bring his arm tighter around her waist. ]
You will not speak offhand affection to me when I go so far as to demand it of you, my Byerly. Nor do you take more of what I would so readily offer you than you can hold.
I do not think you could allow yourself to weave pretty twisting falsehoods to trap me, and if I left, I think you would too easily let me go.
[ The soft stir of his breath like this draws so much of her attention that she could not tell him where they were, if he were to ask her now. ]
I am no limed bird, because you can see no other reason I should choose to stay.
You will not speak offhand affection to me when I go so far as to demand it of you, my Byerly. Nor do you take more of what I would so readily offer you than you can hold.
I do not think you could allow yourself to weave pretty twisting falsehoods to trap me, and if I left, I think you would too easily let me go.
[ The soft stir of his breath like this draws so much of her attention that she could not tell him where they were, if he were to ask her now. ]
I am no limed bird, because you can see no other reason I should choose to stay.
But I'm afraid that I do.
[ His voice is low and rough. ]
I want you - so powerfully, Lexie. The thought of not being near you is agony. The knowledge that that's how it will be someday - Maker forgive me, but it makes me want to lose this fucking war, sabotage our every effort so that this will go on forever.
[ He swallows unsteadily. ]
If I would do that to Riftwatch, to the South, what would I do to you?
[ His voice is low and rough. ]
I want you - so powerfully, Lexie. The thought of not being near you is agony. The knowledge that that's how it will be someday - Maker forgive me, but it makes me want to lose this fucking war, sabotage our every effort so that this will go on forever.
[ He swallows unsteadily. ]
If I would do that to Riftwatch, to the South, what would I do to you?
[ Oh.
It hits her low, that roughness. Would have made her breath shudder without words like those, but with them—
Sometimes it is warm, when she wants him, and she is coy, or sweet, or playful. Sometimes it feels vast, and deep, and bigger than her body and she has to be careful how she looks at him lest it be too much. And then sometimes it is like this: a flashfire through the dry brush of her, the sudden heat of it sucking the air from her lungs.
In the time before they were lovers again she would grit her teeth and tense herself around it, trying to starve it until it burnt itself out and left her to repair the char. Now that she is allowed to touch him, her speed is such that her wings streak the air when she flies, hands darting from their places to turn and hold his face. It is not elegant, when she surges to kiss him— her nose is pushed too close against his, her fingers grip rather than caress. Both kiss and the sound she makes before she smothers it against him are things of raw passion. The kind of feeling that would make her wonder how much of herself she truly owns, if she could wonder anything at all. ]
It hits her low, that roughness. Would have made her breath shudder without words like those, but with them—
Sometimes it is warm, when she wants him, and she is coy, or sweet, or playful. Sometimes it feels vast, and deep, and bigger than her body and she has to be careful how she looks at him lest it be too much. And then sometimes it is like this: a flashfire through the dry brush of her, the sudden heat of it sucking the air from her lungs.
In the time before they were lovers again she would grit her teeth and tense herself around it, trying to starve it until it burnt itself out and left her to repair the char. Now that she is allowed to touch him, her speed is such that her wings streak the air when she flies, hands darting from their places to turn and hold his face. It is not elegant, when she surges to kiss him— her nose is pushed too close against his, her fingers grip rather than caress. Both kiss and the sound she makes before she smothers it against him are things of raw passion. The kind of feeling that would make her wonder how much of herself she truly owns, if she could wonder anything at all. ]
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