contact part deux

[bouchonne]

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

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[coquettish_trees]

I said what.

[bouchonne]

That I reminded you of him!

[coquettish_trees]

[ Even from how she sits she’s fast. On her feet in an instant and reaching to hold his face; thumbs slanted across his cheeks, fingers curling into his hair, everything about her taut and intent. ]

You have never reminded me of him. Never.

[bouchonne]

But -

[ He looks at her, slowly lifting his gaze to hers. His beautiful eyes are anguished, narrowed with pain as tightly as they'd have been if it were a physical torture he was enduring. ]

You said as much. And what I did to you -

[ Treated her like he had. Captured her, drugged her, humiliated her - ]

[coquettish_trees]

Never.

[ Her eyes are sharp and fierce in their earnest focus. ]

You are not like him. You are nothing like him.

Tu as compris?

[ Her fingers curl harder. ]

Est-ce que tu m’as compris?

[bouchonne]

[ The muscles in his jaw jump. He presses his eyes shut. ]

Not so different. [ A miserable half-laugh - ] Didn't that confirm it for you? The dream? That the only difference between him and me is that people are able to see me coming.

[coquettish_trees]

Regarde moi, Byerly.

Even in a dream where it may be that we made ourselves out of the pieces of ourselves we think ugliest for the enjoyment of some demon you were not like him.

What was it, in this dream, that caused you to capture me.

[bouchonne]

Some sort of resentment, deep down. I ought to have known that you weren't really involved with any grand force for elven liberation. I likely did know, in truth.

[ He can't quite meet her eyes, despite her command. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ She won’t push any farther. Instead she lets her grip loosen slightly and strokes his cheek once with her thumb. Still here. ]

I imagine the resentment had to do with my having hurt you very deeply and then making an attempt to have you killed.

Do you know why he chose me?

[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head. But: ]

Pride. He wanted to demean people whose degradation would make him look grander in comparison.

[coquettish_trees]

And I had done nothing to him. He chose me because I was vulnerable: alone, young, inexperienced, overawed that he should even deign to speak with me.

Did you find it a light-hearted diversion to do as you dreamed you did? I cannot recall you laughing at my helplessness.

[bouchonne]

[ A hesitation.]

No. It was agony.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She nods slightly, strokes his cheek again. Then closes her eyes for a moment to put herself together carefully so she can speak the next without shuddering at it. Looks at him again. ]

You know well enough what Rolant does to helpless women who have done nothing. What do you think he would have done to one who had done him the injuries I had done you.

[bouchonne]

[ He closes his eyes and leans slightly into her hand. Though as he does: ]

I am sorry. You should not be the one comforting me. Let alone...suffering through thoughts of him to do so.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She shakes her head, lets her hands relax from holding to simply framing his face. ]

I am the one who hurt you. If you would rather another offer you comfort I shall understand, but... any balm I can be, I wish to.

[bouchonne]

It's not that I would prefer another. I simply - We were talking about you, not about me.

[coquettish_trees]

[ It is as soft as her hands: ]

If you believe I have ever thought you similar to him, then we are speaking of us.

[bouchonne]

[ He lets out a soft breath. Now, he raises his eyes to hers. ]

It is the same fear. You say that loving me makes you afraid, but what you're afraid of is a fear of your own vulnerability. That you could be hurt again by someone you trust.

[ By me. He hesitates, then, and admits: ]

I could not even think to compare, but - Leander terrifies me, and I know that some part of it is that he's like Richars. That some part of it is the shadow of another man. These things stay with you.

[coquettish_trees]

Yes. It is that.

The same fear, but not a fear of you. It is the openness necessary to love, and to be loved, and what I was taught that leads to.

[ Her eyes are doleful and sincere. ]

I will flinch, my Byerly. I will be afraid. But when I do, when I am, it is due to what is in me, not what is in you.

[ She smiles, small, and it matches her eyes. ]

Will it hurt you too much to see it, while I am letting myself learn something new?

[bouchonne]

[ He swallows, looks away again. ]

But it is something in me. Others have seen it. Many others. Even recently. Maker, Athessa - Athessa accused me, before, of - monstrous things. Jenny Lou. Others.

[coquettish_trees]

Oh.

[ It is soft and full of heartache for him, more breath than anything. Her hands move from his cheeks to take his and gently tug at them in an attempt to pull him back to bed so she can better hold him. ]

Come tell me.

[bouchonne]

It's foolishness.

[ Though he does allow himself to be pulled. ]

Nothing of note. Nothing I should wail about.

[coquettish_trees]

It is of note. You hold on to these things— or they to you.

[ She walks herself backwards with him until her legs hit the bed and she can sit, settle herself back against the pillows, and keep pulling to see if she can get him to settle against her. ]

What anyone thinks one should wail about has long been irrelevant to me, [ she sounds wryly self-aware rather than apologetic, ] I do it when there is wailing in me and I think that the proper order of things.

[ And soft again, for him. ]

But you may whisper instead, if you like.

[bouchonne]

[ A beat, and then a long breath out. ]

It shouldn't bother me. I profit when someone thinks me villainous. It's to my advantage.

[ He does allow it, lets himself be pulled back. There's stiffness in his muscles, but he leans lightly on her, like a hunting dog. ]

And when someone says, what a louse, what a useless drunken fool, it's amusing. But when someone says that -

[coquettish_trees]

[ She could guess, she thinks—what it is, why it stays—but instead she is quiet and waits to see if he will tell her instead. ]