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[amescastaignede]

FOR: @drrutherford WHEN: Christmas eve, 2023. Flashback. Canon. EVENT: Mistletoe 2024. WHERE: (starting @ Gideon's)

There was a quiet kind of peace that settled over Amélie, especially as the embers of a fire died out in the fireplace. She hadn't bothered to stoke it further, with them leaving within the next hour. Yet, as her eyes landed on the flickering lights of Gideon’s tree, the corners of her mouth upturned. Every muscle in her body softened, hands tracing absentminded patterns on the blanket draped over her legs.

How she wished it would snow.

Life wasn’t a fairytale, not the kind she found in the novels she devoured each night before bed, when she wasn’t otherwise...entertained by her boyfriend. Gideon. The thought still brought a smile to her mouth every time she thought about him. The question she asked herself, she'd so often heard about the honeymoon stage. But Amélie still very much felt like she was in it.

Life wasn’t perfect, but in that moment, it felt pretty damn close. The anxieties she'd once burdened herself with had long ago given way to...this. Happiness, contentment. The ability to feel at home in someone else’s space. His space. To be soft. Feminine. Herself. To feel above all else—safe.

But the excitement that was building in her sternum as she clutched the envelope in her hand was enough to feel like a shaken up bottle of pop. Money, her salary, to be exact, was far less than Gideon's and it was always on her mind.

Extravagance wasn’t something she could offer. Not that he'd ever made her feel like she needed to, it was hard not to notice.

But Gideon didn’t need extravagance. That was one of the things she loved about him the most. For him, it was never about grand gestures or price tags....it was about thought. The actual damn intent. The little things only someone who paid attention would notice. And that, Amélie knew, was where she shined.

The Art of noticing.

She’d told him only two things: to bundle up and be ready to spend some time outside. She'd had to pull some major strings with Felicity...but it'd worked.

Soon, the two of them would be at a private, intimate concert of Zach Bryan. Fifty people max, with a table and meal provided. There'd been no tickets left, and the price had been sky high. But a few bats of her eyelids, and a near constant moan every time she walked into the office and Felicity had caved.

She’d planned every detail, down to the sweet little surprise she knew would make his night, which was wrapped up and placed in her bag.

"We should get going. We need to make it by seven thirty."

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12 Days of Christmas 2024: Amélie Castaignède

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"I'm glad to hear you're doing well..." she wanted to say more: but should she? It felt like she was in this situation constantly since she'd arrived here. Adriana had made her feelings known, Lara...was Lara...and Damon -- he'd always been good to her, the same as Yvonne had. "Time really has gone by quickly."

In both the regard of the baby, and her depature from their family. It felt like only yesterday, she'd spoken to Yvonne in the early stages, once she'd told people...how time had changed. The mention of the London Advocate, though, raises those alarm bells. It's the stiffening in her shoulders, glancing in Yvonne's direction as her lips soured but she pushed it into that smile: she felt it, that shift, as she did with everyone who was close to Gideon. She'd broken his heart, she was the one who walked away...so that made her the villian. Or was it simply because she felt that way, and Amélie was projecting on to everyone else.

She'd always liked Yvonne, truly...so with caution, she relaxed.

It's all in your head, Amélie, she tells herself.

"Yep, I still work for them," that smile, tighter than ever. "I'm..." how was she? It wasn't like she could exactly be honest. "I'm doing okay, I guess. Working, nothing extrodinary." she didn't come from their world...how could she compete when her days were...of a girl living in a dilapidated apartment in Islington.

"Better, thank you." Yvonne wrapped her fingers around her glass of wine and returned Amélie's smile. "I got your well wishes. I've been meaning to send out thank you notes, but with a newborn time just seems to disappear." That and she wasn't exactly sure to to say to her brother's ex-paramour. Which with how many her brothers seemed to wrack up in this city shouldn't be difficult at this point.

"And how have you been doing? Still working for the, London Advocate, was it?"

[amescastaignede]

@drrutherford

michiel husiman & victoria pedretti

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Victoria Pedretti as Dani Clayton The Haunting of Bly Manor, The Way It Came

[amescastaignede]

'You made me want to be more noble, too... I suspect you have that effect on everyone you meet.'

Not his sisters, though. It was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said, but she kept her lips closed. Gideon already had so much going on. The added burden on what had occurred in her stay here would've done little to calm him. And, if there was one thing she'd always loved...it was being able to be that for him. Even if she wasn't anymore, not really. In blue eyes that'd offered oxeygen even when she felt like she was drowning, lost at sea. His hands that'd anchored her so she'd no longer drift alone.

Following those particular thoughts, the ones she could never quite explain away...that battled every moral she had, like the army at the enemy gates...was the idea of who stood behind those very gates: his family. The mob. But when she looked at Gideon, all she saw was the man she'd loved, without doubt,

There'd been rhymth and reason to her feelings: and they hadn't gone away.

"I think you're forgetting something," a smile, real, meant for only him. "You can be exactly what I am...whether others agree, whether I do...find your reason to make a change, something...anything? It can be small: and you can be noble too..." because you're a good man. But she doesn't need to say it again, he knows.

This closeness has heart hammering at her sternum, her hands tucked in his can't seem to help the way she now grips onto them, like they're a lifeline straight back to Gideon. But in those eyes, that she's currently losing thin shreds of nobility he talks about...it isn't her's that snaps first -- but his.

When his lips find her, momentarily, Amélie freezes. It's in those first few seconds, the barest of moments before she snaps back to five months ago when she'd stolen kisses like they were candy, and collected them like her favorite flowers. His taste, his smell, the scratch of his jaw...all things she loved. Loves. Still does. Her internal mind blanks, as she follows the desire she's had for a long time.

Hands finding his chest, fingers curling into fabric: she gives in. She feels the heat that threatened to consume her...but had it eve been different? Even if the months that'd passed...seeing him? Nothing had changed in the way of her feelings, only her resolve had strengthened....but when they’re this close? For all her resolutions, all the prayers whispered in her now lonesome bedroom, she lets herself lean into it...

and selfishly, she wanted to stay here. To take. To scared to break this. Even if it was a fleeting moment, that would break every step forward they'd made.

Moulding her mouth to his, she doesn't hesitate anymore.

It’s everything she remembers, and more. The tenderness that Gideon has always offered, the longing that spills from him into her in a way that leaves her breathless, trying to match him in every way. Because every movement he makes, draws her closer. She knows it's wrong: knows that every second she let's herself stay in his arms, she’s unraveling every reason she walked away in the first place.

But oh, fuck -- how she misses him. How she needs him.

The world, her world, tilts dangerously, and she doesn’t stop it. She....can't. She's trying to fight desire, but as strong as she's been for months...for a minute, she doesn't want to be. It's his hand finding her hip, the gasp she lets out into his mouth as her lips part: the way his name falls from her lip a siren's call.

"Gideon..." but it's not telling him to stop...dangerously, she's attempting to add fuel to the fire. Shifting, hands finding his hand as they claw through...and then, like water dousing a fire -- she hears the faintest echo of her own voice in the back of her mind: Someone has to do something. A silent barrier she can’t bring herself to enforce. So she doesn't. Ignores it, because desire has clouded that sense of judgement, and Amélie wants him. To remember him...to feel this.

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'You made me want to be more noble, too... I suspect you have that effect on everyone you meet.'

Not his sisters, though. It was on the tip of her tongue, ready to be said, but she kept her lips closed. Gideon already had so much going on. The added burden on what had occurred in her stay here would've done little to calm him. And, if there was one thing she'd always loved...it was being able to be that for him. Even if she wasn't anymore, not really. In blue eyes that'd offered oxeygen even when she felt like she was drowning, lost at sea. His hands that'd anchored her so she'd no longer drift alone.

Following those particular thoughts, the ones she could never quite explain away...that battled every moral she had, like the army at the enemy gates...was the idea of who stood behind those very gates: his family. The mob. But when she looked at Gideon, all she saw was the man she'd loved, without doubt,

There'd been rhymth and reason to her feelings: and they hadn't gone away.

"I think you're forgetting something," a smile, real, meant for only him. "You can be exactly what I am...whether others agree, whether I do...find your reason to make a change, something...anything? It can be small: and you can be noble too..." because you're a good man. But she doesn't need to say it again, he knows.

This closeness has heart hammering at her sternum, her hands tucked in his can't seem to help the way she now grips onto them, like they're a lifeline straight back to Gideon. But in those eyes, that she's currently losing thin shreds of nobility he talks about...it isn't her's that snaps first -- but his.

When his lips find her, momentarily, Amélie freezes. It's in those first few seconds, the barest of moments before she snaps back to five months ago when she'd stolen kisses like they were candy, and collected them like her favorite flowers. His taste, his smell, the scratch of his jaw...all things she loved. Loves. Still does. Her internal mind blanks, as she follows the desire she's had for a long time.

Hands finding his chest, fingers curling into fabric: she gives in. She feels the heat that threatened to consume her...but had it eve been different? Even if the months that'd passed...seeing him? Nothing had changed in the way of her feelings, only her resolve had strengthened....but when they’re this close? For all her resolutions, all the prayers whispered in her now lonesome bedroom, she lets herself lean into it...

and selfishly, she wanted to stay here. To take. To scared to break this. Even if it was a fleeting moment, that would break every step forward they'd made.

Moulding her mouth to his, she doesn't hesitate anymore.

It’s everything she remembers, and more. The tenderness that Gideon has always offered, the longing that spills from him into her in a way that leaves her breathless, trying to match him in every way. Because every movement he makes, draws her closer. She knows it's wrong: knows that every second she let's herself stay in his arms, she’s unraveling every reason she walked away in the first place.

But oh, fuck -- how she misses him. How she needs him.

The world, her world, tilts dangerously, and she doesn’t stop it. She....can't. She's trying to fight desire, but as strong as she's been for months...for a minute, she doesn't want to be. It's his hand finding her hip, the gasp she lets out into his mouth as her lips part: the way his name falls from her lip a siren's call.

"Gideon..." but it's not telling him to stop...dangerously, she's attempting to add fuel to the fire. Shifting, hands finding his hand as they claw through...and then, like water dousing a fire -- she hears the faintest echo of her own voice in the back of her mind: Someone has to do something. A silent barrier she can’t bring herself to enforce. So she doesn't. Ignores it, because desire has clouded that sense of judgement, and Amélie wants him. To remember him...to feel this.

Partially out of his control.

He doesn't miss the emphasis she places on that word, a trickle of guilt in his chest as he wonders how much she blames him for being unable – or rather, unwilling – to cut his family off completely. Or maybe it isn't Amélie who's blaming him, maybe that's his own conscience, perpetually torn between the people that he loves.

Maybe all of this would be easier if she hated him, if she wished never to have met him. It might sever the cord between them at long last, give him greater reason to keep his distance and leave her in peace. But instead, Amélie leans into his touch. Instead, she holds his gaze with her doe eyes, and further melts his resolve.

"It is noble... You stand for something in a world where most of us stand for nothing." He feels the full weight of culpability in saying those words, in fearing himself to be squarely in the second group. "You made me want to be more noble, too... I suspect you have that effect on everyone you meet." If Gideon smiles, it's a bittersweet thing.

What he wouldn't give for it to be natural, to find and follow a moral compass as easily as Amélie makes it look, simply by existing.

Take for example, right now. Amélie says she wishes she could be stronger, wishes she could choose him. And he wants to listen and do the right thing, prove himself worthy of being just as noble as she is — but all he feels is the hunger that those words ignite; the craving in the pit of his stomach that wants and wants and wants. All it takes is the brush of her hand against his jaw and all sense of nobility snaps as he leans forward to capture her mouth with his own. There's no need for an answer or 'I miss you too'... It's in the pressure of his mouth on hers, the fingers that slips from her hair to find her hip.

'You're still a good man,' she'd avowed, and he doesn't know if that's still true... If it has ever been true. Doesn't know if this is what a good man would do, months after she'd put an end to their relationship. If a good man would tighten his grip on her waist like he's doing now, or kiss her like he's dying for air.

But then, he's never pretended to be any other kind of man.

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Gideon had spoken of how Yvonne wasn't like the rest of them: that she'd broken away, in a similar way to how he had. And if Amélie knew one thing, it wasn't like Gideon to lie to her...so she'd accepted it as he'd said it. However, the reservation of the close connections Yvonne kept to her family, like her brother, was enough for Amélie to have kept her distance in the wake of the end of her relationship. It was a surprise to herself, however, when her eyes had found the other woman...she managed a real smile.

Of all his family, Yvonne had by far been her favorite. And she missed it.

But much like her choices regarding Gideon, she felt similarity with her, too. It was hard, though, when she found herself relaxing in her presence, shoulders loosening when she'd realised who it was. "You, too, Yvonne..." Amélie turned, making her way over, closing the few steps between them. "How've you been keeping?"

She'd wished her well after the birth, but it'd been about as much as she'd reached out...it hadn't felt appropriate. And Amélie had needed time.

It would have been easy to leave Amélie to her own devices. Breakups happened all the time and though Yvonne hadn't pushed Gideon for details, this one clearly affected him. Amélie had kept her distance too, though what reasons did the two of them really have to cross paths without Gideon pulling them into each others' paths?

And yet, when Amélie went off on her own during night three, Yvonne followed after her. The other woman was kind and while she was no longer embroiled in the Rutherfords, her family was far from the only group of people that would eat the reporter alive if given the chance.

"Hey. You look well. It's nice to see you, Amélie."

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"One day, you'll stop apologising for things that are partially out of your control." Partial, because he stayed beside them. She'd never asked him to come with her, to leave his family — she couldn't, not for a girl he may one day realise wasn't perfect, and find her...dull. Old fears rose like ugly demons, and she tried her best to batter them down.

He wasn't hers anymore. And she loved him too much to be the reason for breaking up a family...especially after the loss of her brother. No matter how bad they were. She still loved her brother, that much she knew. Although she'd never asked him to leave his family behind...she hadn't kept her feelings quiet about her intolerance after his revelation. And more than anything, Amélie had wanted him to come with her. But those last words were enough to have her eyes snapping up to his, head shaking instantly. "I could never wish to have not met you."

They both harboured such guilt, Amélie felt, and if he was anything like she was...the hole they'd left in her departure felt like it's grown into something vast. Selfishly, she wished to fill it with him...but she couldn't...no matter how much she wanted to. What she wished, more than anything, was that Gideon could see the man he was...and for all the good he did...he could be so much more if he didn't walk beside them.

She prayed, to the Lord every night, that he might find his way.

“Integrity...I, uh, ha...yeah” she echoed, though she sounded displaced...unhumored. “You make it sound noble.” that same hollow laugh escaping her, “It wasn’t, Gideon. Maybe it's pride...I don't know, all I know is...” I love you. "someone has to do something." And maybe, just maybe...it was her?

It's the rising of his hand, the reverberating warmth, the feeling of soft hair being pushed behind her ear as she lets out a shuddering breath and instinctively leans, before she catches herself...lips parting. Like a spell, she finds herself bewitched by a man who'd held the ability to do so for a long time. And still did, it seemed.

That...had never been an issue for the two.

“I wanted to be stronger, for you...more than anything — I really did...” keeping his gaze, though it threatened to undo her. “I wanted to be the kind of person who could choose you without hesitation, without any fear. But I wasn’t. And that’s not on you, Gideon. That’s on me.” it had not been Gideon that had walked away...but her.

And that weighed heavily on Amélie. But she did it because she believed in her cause. She believed in the movement she was going to make. Even if it killed her. Even if it tore her heart apart...but that did not, under any circumstance, seem to stop her from loving this man. And maybe that's why she understood him a little better now...because she knew why he couldn't walk away from a a family he loved. It was all the same. But that didn't mean she could stand by and watch it at his side.

He's so close, as her chest heaves and she draws in deep breath. "I walked away, but it doesn't mean I don't still miss you." it's selfish, she knows...but she needs him to know. For a moment, however long it may last...she latches her own gaze to his features and recommits them to memory, like a well painted picture. “I don’t regret meeting you,” she echoes, repeating what she'd said earlier. "Anyone who does is an idiot, okay?" and that smile, sad but tinged with this broken hope she'd had or them.

Her free hand reached up, ghosting the brush of his jaw. "You're still a good man."

'I don't have to survive you.'

Those words are like a mirage in the desert, like the promise of water to a man dying of thirst. Tell me that's true, tell me that you really feel that way, Gideon wants to beg of her. Wants to plead for the absolution that would make it easier to sleep at night, and keep the ghosts of their former relationship from haunting him so often in his dreams.

But he can't ask that of her... He has no right.

So instead he says; "I wouldn't blame you if you felt that you did... After everything. Or if... If you wished you'd never met me." It's true. Such a confession might've embittered him months ago, closer to their breakup, but he wouldn't fault her for it, now. If nothing else, the distance has helped him accept how unfair it was to expect Amélie to be okay with his familial circumstances, with their garish connections, especially after the pain her brother's choice had caused her. He hates that it's the truth, even now, but at least he's able to accept his own culpability in it.

Still, there's some selfish part of Gideon that feels reassured her decision hasn't come easy. 'Whatever you're not changing — you're choosing.' His ex-girlfriend remarks, and he waits for each word to drop from her lips as if he's mining rare diamonds from the pitch dark of a subterranean path. '... And I sometimes hate myself for choosing this.'

"You gave up something you wanted, because of something greater that you believe in... I haven't come across too many people in my life who have such integrity." More than integrity, it's the gumption to follow-through on a principle no matter the cost, and no matter how much easier it'd be to simply change the rules once they become inconvenient; to be as inconstant as the wind.

But Amélie is a fortress, even though she may not look it... Amélie is a fortress, even when she doesn't always feel like one, herself. It's what draws his fingers up to push her hair gently behind her ear, even though he has no business touching her anymore.

But he doesn't have her fucking strength — because if he did, he wouldn't be here in the first place. "I still think it's one of the very best things about you... Maybe I didn't have the guts to say that when we were breaking up, because I wanted–... Because I hoped you'd change your mind." He smiles sadly, gaze tracing over her features, long since memorized like a well-loved book. The nostalgia weighs so heavy between his ribs he's afraid they'll crack from the weight of it. "You deserved to know. You still do."

[amescastaignede]

FOR: @mobscene-starters EVENT: The Camp Out - 2024. WHEN/WHERE: Night Three. | Evening. | Lake.

A glass of champagne in hand, courtesy of a guy she'd spoken to for a good ten minutes a little while ago, some lad around her age named Benjamin. He'd been sweet enough, checking that she was okay and having a good time before she'd bumbled off with his friends. Amélie had to admit that while her social anxiety wasn't at its finest moment, he'd been calming.

So when she'd found herself in the quiet of the lake, amazed to find no one else here: she'd taken a moment to relax in silence until she heard the crunching of pebbles behind her. Turning her head, she came to a stop, as a lifted her glass, slightly. "Evening." her voice remaining quiet, in true Amélie fashion.

[amescastaignede]

The apology, again, almost had Amélie commenting: but she refrained.

It was his way of dealing with his guilt, as she tried to find ways to cope with hers.

"Never underestimate the stupidity of man." Amélie said, voice low to not let those who might be lurking by overhear. A huff of a laugh that was anything but humored broke through, though the smile that tugged at her lips felt lighter. Even if the feeling was fleeting: she'd always been honest with him, in her thoughts — sometimes the constant barrage that left her mouth when she was on a tangent...she'd never filtered it in Gideon's presence. Not as their relationship had progressed.

Had she survived that little she didn't know? The breakdown had been one for the ages...she wasn't sure the last time she'd lost control in such a way, and she prayed she didn't for a long time — but that resolve, even while her hands slightly shook, had been slammed into place when she'd made the decision to release a piece, guerilla style. "I'm still breathing..." There was a lot to be said when Amélie found herself alone with mob organizations in a somewhat secluded place. Of which, she also didn't fit in. Adriana had made that crystal bloody clear. "I don't have to survive you." it was how she kept herself from saying too much, even when she wanted too. Surviving his family, though?

She wasn't sure about that yet.

Amélie knew Spencer had for a long time because of Alexis...and she'd heard the tales. It was hard not to. Shoulders lifted into a shrug, weightless looking. "If it hadn't been you, I might've found it funny..." lips lifting into a smile that resembled nothing of the sort. But she did mean that. It just sucked to be the person out of everything because of her own choices.

Her morals dictated her life, but she kept them because of her faith.

His confirmation, though she felt guilty, settled the churning in her stomach.

Before she knew it, she was telling him far more than she should and then he was moving, like a knight in shining fucking armour and she was, as she always was, weak at the knees. The dip of the bed, the way she could smell him...If she looked at him, she'd crumble. And it would be unfair. But her willpower wasn't ironclad, even that had its weak spots. And that soft in his voice, the way it licked up her spine and reminded her of when he'd been hers. 'It's okay, Lia...' and when doe eyes found his, closer than they'd been in a while...her breath hitched. Lost for words, before she darted them away.

Bad move, Amés. Stupid, stupid girl.

Then, like a fool, she couldn't stay away.

"Someone said something to me at work recently, an interview I was doing. I think it applies in everything we're doing....both of us," The interviews had been nothing, relegating her to the worst possible stories...she wasn't blind anymore. Her eyes were wide open: but this phrase had stuck with her. "Whatever you're not changing — you're choosing." His hands, just like she'd remembered them...the warmth, a reminder that his touch wasn't cold towards her. "And I sometimes hate myself for choosing this."

"I'm sorry." He echoes, feeling a bit like a broken record. It may not be directly Gideon's fault, but he can't help feeling sorry anyhow. "... Surely Felicity could've found someone else to cover the event. Don't quite understand why she had to choose you for the job." It seems needlessly cruel for Amélie's boss to make her attend a weekend like this one, knowing she'd broken up with the son of the man on whose property it's being hosted. But then, he's never pretended to understand Felicity Woodward.

"You've survived us though..." He means it, but the words are bittersweet. There'd been a time, not so long ago, where he had wanted Amélie to grow closer to his family, to be part of them — not to have to grit her teeth to endure a weekend with them. He smiles sadly. "Three whole days... Surely that counts for something."

"Well... A man's friends do reflect upon him. Wouldn't want you to think that something like that is so trivial to me." Not that he hasn't had several no-strings encounters in the past, but his relationship with Amélie had been significant enough that he's needed to mourn it more than he's needed to find another body to warm his bed in the aftermath. Besides, given he'd been her first, given she'd saved herself for something meaningful, he'd loathe for her to think she might feel used by a man with so callous an outlook on physical intimacy. He's been that man before... But not with her.

'No one else?'

She sounds shocked, which brings the ghost of a smile back to the surgeon's lips, although it doesn't reach his eyes. "No one else." He confirms, grey eyes roving over her features as she begins to tell him that it's the same with her, as she begins to say that she's not over... Them. Despite his intentions to respect her privacy and give her her space, Gideon feels drawn, stepping towards her as if pulled by a magnet.

"It's okay," He murmurs, cutting the space between them, unsure what it is he's even trying to reassure her about. But there's so much emotion welling in her eyes, he can't help it. He needs to say something, anything. Gideon perches on the edge of the bed, reaching out for the pale hand that trembles in her lap. "It's okay, Lia... You're okay."

[amescastaignede]

Victoria Pedretti as Nell Crain The Haunting of Hill House, The Bent-Neck Lady

[amescastaignede]

The reminder of their ending was enough to crack the fragile shell of her ever-broken heart. It was hard to keep such a thing quiet, and in the weeks that'd followed...she'd felt the shift in her life. Before him, there'd been a hole...and now he was gone: there was a gaping cavern.

Everytime she lost someone -- it grew.

"She's aware -- London's very small." Everyone knew. Subjected to the rumours, and the shifting eyes of those in the London Advocate. But she knew that Gideon had nothing to do with it. Of that she was certain. "Works been interesting...different."

How much could she say now? The need to reach out, to feel that familiar warmth she'd grown to love: had craved when she'd woken in a morning, and missed when she said her goodnights...it'd killed her to walk away. But was it fair? When it was her that pushed him away...she was the one who'd walked when he'd told her about his family. Finally confided in her. Amélie had agonized, reasoned and argued with herself to attempt to find a way to make it work...and at the end of every day she'd came to same conclusion.

That it wasn't enough.

Standing here, though, it had her questioning everything. As she did everytime she was close to him...could smell him, in proximity to a very flimsy bed. And...it was as if she was being tested. While her morals were solid, there was only so much restraint she had.

Snapping back to the present, his explanation for the t-shirts...his mates. Spencer, namely. Wrapping her arms around herself, as if a blanket to protect herself from whatever may come. Once, his arms had been that. "You shouldn't apologise for other people's...immature actions," Amélie stops him, hand raising, though her voice sounds weak. "It'll get you nowhere. And it's not your fault...it just..." destroyed her? "Shocked me. Initally."

That smile, if he looked close enough was teling. Her mask, flimsy, at best.

It's the next thing that stops her, eyes finally snapping to his. Looking for the lie...braving the fact that she hopes she doesn't find one there...and when she doesn't...her whole being relaxes. "No one else?" it's not something she really wants the answer too...but it happens out before she can stop herself. Amélie couldn't deny that it hadn't been on her mind since their breakup.

But more so after the t-shirt incident.

"I...me either." head shaking. "I couldn't...I'm not..over..." she stops herself. Amélie didn't believe she would get over this. Them. And still, she doesn't continue, doesn't want to be unfair. But she wants it all in the same breath. How she'd have to atone for that sin.

When her eyes find him though, all her expression says is: I still love you.

It isn't just a habit.

It's that I miss you. It's that I needed to know that you're okay. It's that I wanted to see whether you'd still flinch when you look at me. Except he can't say any of that without risking her discomfort, so Gideon merely gives a faint nod.

"Well, I'm sorry that she's forced your hand. I hope for your sake she's prepared to pay you handsomely for it. Does she know we..." He doesn't like saying the word. Broke up. Like their relationship was just some glass trinket, carelessly swept off a mantlepiece. Like they didn't go back and forth for weeks, agonizing over the decision.

'Some people here are very pro Gideon.'

It's the Rutherford's turn to be uncomfortable. Those fucking shirts. Considering there were only two of them and one had been promptly ripped off its wearer as soon as he'd laid eyes on it, it's a wonder so many people still managed to spot them. Also a source of very real annoyance. Aside from the humiliation, this is exactly what he'd wanted to avoid — Amélie's feelings being hurt over the frivolous, idiotic, teenage promotion of his sex life, as if she'd been nothing more than a notch on his bed post.

"Ha, 'Pro Gideon'... That's very generous of you, but more accurate to call it pro their own stupidity." He shakes his head, not bothering to curb the irritation in his voice. "Truly, I'm sorry you had to see that. Sometimes my old mates seem to forget we're closer to fifty than we are to twenty, and so act accordingly. But they... It was wrong. Insensitive. And I'm sorry for it." There's a beat of silence as he meets Amélie's eyes.

"So if that's the kind of 'fun' you're alluding to, no, I haven't... And not because Diana's got eyes and ears everywhere — because I'm not looking for it." Maybe it's too much. Maybe she doesn't care to know either way. But the guilt over what she'd seen makes him offer her the truth nonetheless, hoping it might serve some cold consolation.

[amescastaignede]

Of all the people she wanted to avoid, given the circumstances — Eleanor was not one of them.

Hearing the soft lilt of her voice, turning to gaze at a wealth of blonde hair, she tried to morph her features into something akin to happiness, and for all that Amélie was -- she managed it. The break up with Gideon, even though it'd been her choice...had broken something fundemental inside of her. And now matter how much she wished it away, she hadn't successed. The masking, which currently was holding itself together by a thread, was the only thing keeping her here.

She'd considered her jobs worth when Felicity had told her she was coming. Regardless of how she felt about it. Although, she was sure she'd witnessed something close to sympathy in her eyes when she'd ordered her here. With a make-shift smile, she nodded.

"Of course," guestring to the empty space. "Please, be my guest." because she was certain a lot of people would treat her like a leper now she and Gideon were no longer. She enjoyed Eleanor's company, in the few times they'd met and every time, she'd felt nothing but kindness...a rarity in this city. "Having fun?"

The falling out between Amélie and Gideon was solely their business. Eleanor didn't want to butt in, or seem like she was trying to get some juicy gossip. Although she had known Gideon for much longer than Amélie, it didn't mean she couldn't care about how she felt in the situation too. She did. Eleanor thought they were kind of friends. In fact, she was more bummed out about the break-up than a normal person should be. Since they had been together, Eleanor considered them a power couple-- something to achieve to be. Something out of a fairy tale. It kind of reignited her hopefulness that maybe love could conquer all. Now, she was feeling a bit jaded again.

Considering the looks Amélie was given from others, and the whispers, Eleanor hoped she would at least allow her company.

The shirts in her opinion, were tacky. And too much.

"Make that two," Eleanor chimed in and offered a delicate smile at the woman. "Mind if I join you for a bit? I swear, I come in peace."

[amescastaignede]

Killing Eve — 2.06 “I Hope You Like Missionary!”