[ A thoughtful head tilt and nod, for that lesson. It's not one Bastien was ever taught. ]
If any of your duties are leaving with the tide, By, I can carry them over for you.
[ He drapes his scarf around his neck but doesn't wind it around, since he'll be stopping by the office below before going outside again. Of course there are other tides—two moons to cause them—and other ships headed for Orlais. But this ship is carrying someone he trusts (relatively speaking). And he'd like to leave. He'd like to go somewhere where he can spread his own feelings out to look at without having to navigate someone else's or control his face. ]
But I think you have some time before anyone who knows you expects you to be awake, ouais?
[ Yes. That's true. He could get away with it for a little while. But -
But what would he be left with if he did wiggle out of work? That gnawing fear. Lexie's grief and unhappiness. Unhappiness that he's caused, fear that he's brought about...Maker, they do need to talk of it; he knows that. But oh, he doesn't want to. ]
And maybe I should lay abed a few days. See what it takes to get fired. Better that than the future that lays ahead of us, eh?
[ Much better. Much, much better.
He swallows lightly. ]
If I do go to work - [ To Lexie - ] Will you at least stay with me?
[ She curls so she can kiss the top of his forehead— easily managed without the restrictions of her customary dress or dreamed bindings. ]
Yes.
[ As it happens, she has some unfinished needlework here, left for the evenings when he returns late. There are thoughts sewn into all of the small flowers and threading vines. There will be some more. ]
I shall sit in the corner and embroider as if I were your lady's maid.
[ Bastien smiles a little, pleased that they seem to have made peace, and then he turns neatly away. He’s not envious of the kissing, exactly. He could have; he didn’t. But he is envious of the ease of it, when he wouldn’t have been able to, himself, without the question of how might Alexandrie feel about it hanging like a veil between his mouth and Byerly’s cheek.
But it’s fine. He’ll kiss him later.
He thinks about trying to say something funny about needlework, or maybe reminding them again not to waste the cake, he means it—but he settles on a quiet, unobtrusive, ] Salut, [ and sliding out the door. ]
So: what now? Off to work? With her in the corner, like his lady's maid? That'd be a pleasant thought - simpering at her, gossiping like the princess whose company she keeps - except that that lightness seems impossible, now. He knows that's not what she wants. He knows that if she does that, she'll just be humoring him.
And what of it? Don't I deserve to be humored? The answer to that is, of course, absolutely not; his cowardice should not be indulged, lest it grow fat.
And so, after a moment, his gaze shifts away. And he says, awkwardly - ]
[ For all she'd demanded it just a few minutes ago, Alexandrie doesn't want to talk about it either. It hurts, and it feels stupid and small. It had felt stupid and small the moment she'd recovered her composure, but before that... inescapable. World-shattering. And she doesn't want to talk about it because she doesn't know why.
Alexandrie lets herself relax backwards onto the bed to watch the light on the ceiling again, because it feels far away. Like she could be far away, as she is when she paints. A watcher outside the world. It's safe there.
Maybe that's why the Maker won't come back until everyone in the entire world sings to him. Maybe if it isn't every single voice, every single heart, there will still be a chance that the ones he loves most will turn their backs on him, and more than anything he is afraid. Alexandrie has never loved the Maker. But she thinks now, as she looks at the light and yearns to be sung for, that she could love him if he were afraid.
[ He closes his eyes briefly at that. Takes in a breath. ]
I don't - want to make you afraid.
[ More than that: If he makes her afraid, it will shatter him. If he makes her afraid, he will want to cut out his own fucking tongue. But that's not the sort of thought you speak aloud to someone you're trying to calm, is it?
He turns, pulls himself from the bed. He should, at the very least, put some clothes on. His arms are freezing. ]
[ She stays where she is, and looks at the light, and misses the weight of his head when he leaves. Feels a bit as if she has fallen here, as she had seen the echo of Madame de Cedoux fall, and that she cannot move because she is broken, it's just her body doesn't know it yet.
She folds her hands and rests them in the space he'd left. ]
I do not want to be afraid.
But I am.
[ She closes her eyes. ]
Maybe I am afraid because I am the one who comes to you. Lay my body bare, or my heart, and put myself in your space where you cannot ignore me. I did it then, and now... now I feel as if I pursued you to exhaustion and you... gave up and let me have you.
[ A breath, because she wants to know the answer to what she is asking, and because she does not. ]
Which of you began it. Your affair with Bastien, before we were together again. Did he come to you, or you to him, or did it simply happen to the both of you at once.
[ How did it start? He knows that he should probably have a clearer memory of it, of who really initiated. But the first time they'd really spoken it aloud, defined what it was, was when Byerly came to Bastien and said that things were changing. ]
Something that just happened. We started screwing around. And then later realized that it was something rather larger than that.
[ I am. He stares down at his feet, his hands stilling. I am afraid. One part of his heart screams that he told her, he told her that he was a poor man to have around. He told her that he was difficult and cold and clumsy in the ways of love. That he would be injurious and incapable. He told her that he wasn't worth the trouble; what right has she now to get upset, that he told her the truth? That his promises weren't just coy lies designer to make him a more enticing prey? And the other part of his heart just wants to weep until there's no water left in him and he expires like a dry man in a desert.
He forces himself to resume the progress of pulling on his shirt. ]
[ How can he not understand. How many ways can she say it. ]
Because when I see you together I think you would seek him. I think 'he would go to Bastien with his heart in his hands.' And then I think 'he would not come so to me. He would not ask me, nervously, if I loved him.'
You looked at me once as if I were a precious thing and you could not believe your fortune. Now you look so at him, and... it goes hard.
[ She wants to curl into a ball again, because she can feel the cold fingers of her fear reaching for her again, wanting to grip again, make her do something else she will hate when it is done. She tries to breathe again, instead. ]
Everything else was awful. But for a little while I dreamed that you held me as if there were nothing else in the world that mattered, and I was solace rather than burden and I—
[ By's lips press together. For a moment, he struggles to give voice to what's in him. What comes out is: ]
Bastien is fragile. More fragile by far than you or I, when it comes to matters of the heart. He could be easily shattered. So perhaps I pay him more mind, yes, I'll confess it, but it's because he needs it. Truly needs it.
[ Then he runs a hand over his face, and says on a breath out: ]
And if I held you like you were all that mattered, in that dream, it's because you were the only thing I loved left alive. We talked about this. You know that I can't give you all of me. Even if he weren't here, I couldn't.
How many times have you watched me fall to pieces. Watched me break, watched me run. Watched me do both again just now, over a mere gesture of comfort and welcome. I ruined my own life and burned swaths of yours for matters of the heart, but I do not need to be paid mind. Not truly.
[ That pulls a laugh from her, short and bitter and hollow. ]
Yes, you are here. You are here telling me I do not need what I say I do, as earlier you were here saying you care for his needs because he tells you them.
And then you are confused when I say I am afraid that you do not want me.
I will try to be less of a wave. [ A breath, long and deep. ] But if I am to be successful then I cannot yet see you with someone you do trust, someone whom you feel free to love in a way we cannot yet have.
[ She looks down and shakes her head slowly. ]
I cannot be here if he is too, not when this is how things are between us. I will go mad.
It does not bother me unless I am there to see the both of you. I am happy that you are happy with him, truly, but to see the difference so acutely makes me jealous and despairing, and it is then that I behave wretchedly.
It could not be. Even if things had not happened as they did, we are neither of us what we were. What is ours now is to find out what is left, and if we wish to keep it.
But it was beautiful.
[ She is crying again, but it is slow. And she is still smiling. ]
[ Or maybe it does. He doesn't know. Sometimes it makes him feel righteous and furious, at times when he's backed into a corner, makes him feel like someone who was wronged; sometimes it just makes him feel ashamed, to have drawn that out of her. He still doesn't really understand it, not fully. On an intellectual level, yes; he understands the Game and the moves that one makes, and he understands her fear. But it's still so difficult to comprehend in his heart. He's always scrabbling for what he did wrong, that she thought this was the way of it. ]
I was a fool back then. It would have happened at some point or another.
[ That much, at least, is true. Though it likely would have been less agonizing if it had come from someone else. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If any of your duties are leaving with the tide, By, I can carry them over for you.
[ He drapes his scarf around his neck but doesn't wind it around, since he'll be stopping by the office below before going outside again. Of course there are other tides—two moons to cause them—and other ships headed for Orlais. But this ship is carrying someone he trusts (relatively speaking). And he'd like to leave. He'd like to go somewhere where he can spread his own feelings out to look at without having to navigate someone else's or control his face. ]
But I think you have some time before anyone who knows you expects you to be awake, ouais?
no subject
But what would he be left with if he did wiggle out of work? That gnawing fear. Lexie's grief and unhappiness. Unhappiness that he's caused, fear that he's brought about...Maker, they do need to talk of it; he knows that. But oh, he doesn't want to. ]
And maybe I should lay abed a few days. See what it takes to get fired. Better that than the future that lays ahead of us, eh?
[ Much better. Much, much better.
He swallows lightly. ]
If I do go to work - [ To Lexie - ] Will you at least stay with me?
no subject
Yes.
[ As it happens, she has some unfinished needlework here, left for the evenings when he returns late. There are thoughts sewn into all of the small flowers and threading vines. There will be some more. ]
I shall sit in the corner and embroider as if I were your lady's maid.
no subject
But it’s fine. He’ll kiss him later.
He thinks about trying to say something funny about needlework, or maybe reminding them again not to waste the cake, he means it—but he settles on a quiet, unobtrusive, ] Salut, [ and sliding out the door. ]
no subject
So: what now? Off to work? With her in the corner, like his lady's maid? That'd be a pleasant thought - simpering at her, gossiping like the princess whose company she keeps - except that that lightness seems impossible, now. He knows that's not what she wants. He knows that if she does that, she'll just be humoring him.
And what of it? Don't I deserve to be humored? The answer to that is, of course, absolutely not; his cowardice should not be indulged, lest it grow fat.
And so, after a moment, his gaze shifts away. And he says, awkwardly - ]
Should we...talk, then? About - all that?
no subject
Alexandrie lets herself relax backwards onto the bed to watch the light on the ceiling again, because it feels far away. Like she could be far away, as she is when she paints. A watcher outside the world. It's safe there.
Maybe that's why the Maker won't come back until everyone in the entire world sings to him. Maybe if it isn't every single voice, every single heart, there will still be a chance that the ones he loves most will turn their backs on him, and more than anything he is afraid. Alexandrie has never loved the Maker. But she thinks now, as she looks at the light and yearns to be sung for, that she could love him if he were afraid.
Softly: ]
I am frightened to.
no subject
I don't - want to make you afraid.
[ More than that: If he makes her afraid, it will shatter him. If he makes her afraid, he will want to cut out his own fucking tongue. But that's not the sort of thought you speak aloud to someone you're trying to calm, is it?
He turns, pulls himself from the bed. He should, at the very least, put some clothes on. His arms are freezing. ]
We don't have to. Just - you wanted to before.
no subject
She folds her hands and rests them in the space he'd left. ]
I do not want to be afraid.
But I am.
[ She closes her eyes. ]
Maybe I am afraid because I am the one who comes to you. Lay my body bare, or my heart, and put myself in your space where you cannot ignore me. I did it then, and now... now I feel as if I pursued you to exhaustion and you... gave up and let me have you.
[ A breath, because she wants to know the answer to what she is asking, and because she does not. ]
Which of you began it. Your affair with Bastien, before we were together again. Did he come to you, or you to him, or did it simply happen to the both of you at once.
no subject
[ How did it start? He knows that he should probably have a clearer memory of it, of who really initiated. But the first time they'd really spoken it aloud, defined what it was, was when Byerly came to Bastien and said that things were changing. ]
Something that just happened. We started screwing around. And then later realized that it was something rather larger than that.
[ I am. He stares down at his feet, his hands stilling. I am afraid. One part of his heart screams that he told her, he told her that he was a poor man to have around. He told her that he was difficult and cold and clumsy in the ways of love. That he would be injurious and incapable. He told her that he wasn't worth the trouble; what right has she now to get upset, that he told her the truth? That his promises weren't just coy lies designer to make him a more enticing prey? And the other part of his heart just wants to weep until there's no water left in him and he expires like a dry man in a desert.
He forces himself to resume the progress of pulling on his shirt. ]
Why does it matter?
no subject
Because when I see you together I think you would seek him. I think 'he would go to Bastien with his heart in his hands.' And then I think 'he would not come so to me. He would not ask me, nervously, if I loved him.'
You looked at me once as if I were a precious thing and you could not believe your fortune. Now you look so at him, and... it goes hard.
[ She wants to curl into a ball again, because she can feel the cold fingers of her fear reaching for her again, wanting to grip again, make her do something else she will hate when it is done. She tries to breathe again, instead. ]
Everything else was awful. But for a little while I dreamed that you held me as if there were nothing else in the world that mattered, and I was solace rather than burden and I—
I weep to have woken from that part.
no subject
Bastien is fragile. More fragile by far than you or I, when it comes to matters of the heart. He could be easily shattered. So perhaps I pay him more mind, yes, I'll confess it, but it's because he needs it. Truly needs it.
[ Then he runs a hand over his face, and says on a breath out: ]
And if I held you like you were all that mattered, in that dream, it's because you were the only thing I loved left alive. We talked about this. You know that I can't give you all of me. Even if he weren't here, I couldn't.
no subject
How many times have you watched me fall to pieces. Watched me break, watched me run. Watched me do both again just now, over a mere gesture of comfort and welcome. I ruined my own life and burned swaths of yours for matters of the heart, but I do not need to be paid mind. Not truly.
no subject
[ Frustration rises. And then, with a puff of breath: ]
And, frankly, no. You're resilient. He's not. I'm not. You are.
no subject
Yes, you are here. You are here telling me I do not need what I say I do, as earlier you were here saying you care for his needs because he tells you them.
And then you are confused when I say I am afraid that you do not want me.
no subject
Because I don't trust you, Lexie. [ A noise of taut unhappiness - ] Not yet. And you come at me like a wave, and I don't know how to swim.
no subject
[ She looks down and shakes her head slowly. ]
I cannot be here if he is too, not when this is how things are between us. I will go mad.
no subject
What are you proposing, then?
no subject
It does not bother me unless I am there to see the both of you. I am happy that you are happy with him, truly, but to see the difference so acutely makes me jealous and despairing, and it is then that I behave wretchedly.
no subject
[ A bit of the tension goes out of him. ]
So - not that I must...choose.
no subject
[ Another headshake, and she sits up to rest her chin on her knees and manages a smile. It is tired and sad and small but it is a smile. ]
I ask only for the kindness of not being made to witness what I wish for and cannot have.
no subject
It's never going to be what it was. You know that, right?
no subject
But it was beautiful.
[ She is crying again, but it is slow. And she is still smiling. ]
Thank you for the swing.
no subject
You were the second person who ever loved me. In my life. [ Just his sister, and then Lexie. ] It - was - important to me.
no subject
Softly: ]
You were the second person who ever looked at me like I was something more than I thought myself to be, and the only one who was not lying.
It was important to me too.
I am sorry I repaid you as I did.
no subject
[ Or maybe it does. He doesn't know. Sometimes it makes him feel righteous and furious, at times when he's backed into a corner, makes him feel like someone who was wronged; sometimes it just makes him feel ashamed, to have drawn that out of her. He still doesn't really understand it, not fully. On an intellectual level, yes; he understands the Game and the moves that one makes, and he understands her fear. But it's still so difficult to comprehend in his heart. He's always scrabbling for what he did wrong, that she thought this was the way of it. ]
I was a fool back then. It would have happened at some point or another.
[ That much, at least, is true. Though it likely would have been less agonizing if it had come from someone else. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)