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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[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head bitterly. ]

If that mirror of me had a heart, let it serve only as a target for your dagger. Believe me. In my dreams, I am - not a good man.

[ But it doesn't matter. They're not here to debate his phantasmagorical self. Instead: ]

If your husband returns - or if you go to this man - I would like him to prove himself good first. In some way. [ He scratches uncomfortably at his desk. ] I don't think I typically ask overmuch of you, but I would like - for my heart - some reassurance of your safety. [ A breath out. ] I know you want me to just trust that he's a good man because you love him, but you love me, so.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Stubbornly: ]

And you are a good man.

[ She doesn’t stand, but at least she turns to look at him, the obstinacy replaced with soft appeal. ]

Try to know him? You need not be friends, but at the least…

It is different for him here. This is not his world. He has no standing to protect, those he was driven to prove himself to are gone. Everything is lost and there is nothing he can do to regain it; he has little need to be other than the man he is.

We are none of us perfect, none of us unscarred. We have all done somewhat we regret, and we have all been unused to friendship. To love. Have acted from that lack.

He tries to make his future different. Give him the chance to.

[bouchonne]

[ His look towards her is mingled uncertainty and exasperation. ]

I was not the only one who prevented friendship.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She shakes her head. ]

I do not accuse you of being such. I know well enough that my husband was neither a trusting nor forthcoming man, and that he little sought friendship. It is simpler, safer, to have enemies. Tevinter is as Orlais in that regard, and there is more death at the end of their games.

[ She folds her hands in her lap, sits a little straighter as she slowly collects the pieces of herself again. ]

Even with what little I know I do not think it will go the same with this Loki. Should he care for me I will ask of him the same I have asked of you.

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug of acquiescence. ]

That would be something. I don't require his kindness for myself, mind. I just need to know that - That he is a man of good intentions. That he would not - [ He hesitates, then comes up with a reasonably low bar: ] Take your blood for blood magic. At a minimum.

[coquettish_trees]

My—

[ A start, but she quickly thinks better of launching again into defense of the man she had married. Instead she closes her eyes and lowers her head for a moment with a sigh. ]

Find out for yourself, however it is you need to. I ask only that it is done in good faith.

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles bitterly. ]

Do you think I harbor intentions of bad faith?

[coquettish_trees]

Do you not already think him some nightmare of my husband’s from whom you must needs have proof he shall not draw my blood for some malefic purpose?

[bouchonne]

So you think I worry about those things because - what. I'm some petty, spiteful creature who hates your joy?

[coquettish_trees]

No.

[ Gently: ]

I think because you are worried about me and care for my joy that you will wish to protect it. Protect me. And that it will prompt you to seek first for dangers in him rather than good.

[bouchonne]

And that strikes you as bad faith?

[ It's a petty squabble. But words like that from her hurt disproportionately. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ It's so hard. It's so hard to hear the way he hurts through the noise of her own, and there never seems to be anything to say that might be a salve for both. Seems the choice is always to let her hurts go unattended, or let his.

Alexandrie presses her fingertips delicately to the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, cupping her own face for a moment while she breathes so when she speaks it will be gentle rather than a snap, so when she lowers her hands again so she can look at him there will be nothing but a plea for understanding in her eyes. ]

Which do you have faith in? His good, or his bad?

[bouchonne]

I don't have any faith in him. One way or the other. He's unpredictable.

[ A stiff shake of his head. ]

But I do think that it's far better to anticipate danger rather than safety, as a rule. [ A rough breath. ] I should think you and I should know that better than most.

[coquettish_trees]

I have come to think that more often than not whatever it is we look for in the world, in another, we can find.

[ She is quiet. Smooths her dress rather purposelessly over her knees. ]

I am doing that now, [ she admits. ] Looking for the things in you that might hurt me, rather than looking for what is kind. Searching out the ways I am not seen, not heard, not loved, rather than the ways I am. I have been trying to prove my fears real rather than my safety, and it is not better. It is horrible.

[bouchonne]

[ He looks down, melancholy at that thought. Ashamed. In some way he wants to offer comfort when he says: ]

I do deserve it. And if you see those things, at least then it's harder for me to disappoint you.

[coquettish_trees]

I do not care if you deserve it; I do not want to continue making myself afraid as I have been.

I do not want to make myself safe from you. I want to make myself safe with you.

[ She looks up at him with remorseful eyes. ]

I am sorry. That I have not trusted you.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly, so clever in so many things, so perceptive and cunning, so stupid when it comes to the roiling and complicated emotions inside himself, doesn't understand this apology. Doesn't fully understand all of what she's saying, the emotions and logic behind her revelation. So he watches her, puzzlement cutting through his unhappiness. ]

You're here without a chaperone. That's trust, isn't it?

[coquettish_trees]

[ Her look in return is every bit as puzzled as his. ]

Y—es. But trusting you to behave honourably is not of a kind with trusting that you love me.

I have no fears of the first. I believe it entirely, and so I do not look towards guarding myself from the possibility that you might act in any other way.

I am afraid that I am not loved.

[ Softly, half to herself: ] I am always afraid I might not be loved.

Since I am afraid I have watched you as I might watch someone whose intentions were entirely unknown, who might well pose a threat to me. In my fear I have looked for signs that I am right to be afraid, and not at all for signs that I should feel myself safe. I have ignored your kindnesses in favour of any small thing I could call cold. I have ignored the time you have chosen to spend with me, the parts of your heart you have given me, and paid attention only to all the moments you are gone and the parts of your heart you share only with him.

[ She shakes her head a little, again speaks quietly. ]

I am making both of us miserable and it is because I have given my trust to my terror instead of you. I am sorry for it.

[bouchonne]

[ He watches her as she speaks. Puzzlement gives way to gradual understanding, and then to quiet sadness. And then, because it's Byerly, to guilt, and to - ]

I - If I were better at showing kindness, you wouldn't feel that way. If I could just find the right words to soothe, or - I could make it better if I were better.

[ Even though he feels that that's not entirely true. Even though at times, when he wants to be able to sway her emotions, she's beyond him. Even though there are times when her heart is beyond him, even though he wishes he could touch it directly. Make her happy. ]

I feel like I'm just - always failing you.

[coquettish_trees]

No, my Byerly.

[ Murmured, as she smooths her skirts again and finally— unsteadily— raises from the ground so she can go to him and touch his hand. ]

It is in me, this fear. Something in me still believes it keeps me safe. It would not matter what you did, I would find a way to feed it.

[ She lifts one of his fingers, puts it down again. ]

I think such things; that I am always failing you.

[bouchonne]

Then -

[ He looks up, miserable and desperate. His fingers close around hers. ]

If that's true - [ a big if ] how does it get better?

[coquettish_trees]

I—

[ Alexandrie closes her eyes, tries to feel only the way his hand folds around hers. Tries to remember it better, brighter, than she remembers every time she reached for him and he would not reach back. ]

I try very hard to stop looking for ways to hurt myself with you.

[ To let go of the very first armor she had to craft in the wretched aftermath of the betrayal that had plotted the course of her life.

She opens her eyes, smiles small and soft beside the tear that tracks down towards her chin to fall. ]

And you try very hard to be patient with me.

[bouchonne]

No.

[ His voice is soft, unhappy; he shakes his head. His expression is pained. ]

You cannot - It is not your fault alone. It is not your fault. [ It's him. It is him. He knows it is. His failures, his shortcomings, his stupidity, his wretchedness, his evil, his selfishness - She is, after all, a wonder, brave and strong; he's a fucking piece of shit. It's why every time, with every fight, he's sunk further and further into self-loathing, wondering why he can't simply fucking do it right, why he's so hurtful and cruel without ever even trying. ]

You shouldn't try to spare my feelings. I know I'm - not satisfactory.

[coquettish_trees]

Stop, Byerly.

[ Her voice is soft to match, and she lifts their hands to her mouth so she can kiss his fingers and whisper there. ]

Stop.

[ She shakes her head, presses another kiss against his hand, and pulls it to her chest to hold it there. ]

Tell me instead everything that you can think of that is true, that you want me to believe. That it hurts you when I doubt.

[bouchonne]

[ But he shakes his head, says - ]

Maker, Lexie, it doesn't matter if I hurt. Nothing could matter less.

[ Which, of course, is the heart of so many of their problems. He is unwilling, or perhaps outright unable, to see his own unhappiness as being of any sort of consequence. But that doesn't mean it isn't there. ]

What matters is how to make you feel comfortable. I - I know I should try to -