#PJ: Adrian DeRaar/Vaughn

[misharyes]

NWC #02

Prompt: Rojo Universo: Dragon Age Inquisition AU Personaje: Adrian DeRaar Notas: Ugh. No recuerdo muy bien cómo iba In Your Heart Shall Burn, tengo que rejugar el juego. Pero bueno, que me mola el angst.

La nueva orden sangra sobre la nieve de la misma forma que la antigua. La carne de la nueva orden se quema de la misma forma que la antigua cuando Sera deja caer un cargamento de madera ardiendo sobre sus cabezas.

Pero la nueva orden no grita como la antigua. Es un chillido más animal que humano que hace que Adrian quiera taparse los oídos y rezar por almas que no son la suya.

(Porque la suya está tan perdida como las demás y lo merece, lo merece, lo merece.)

Pero en lugar de ponerse de rodillas y suplicar perdón por los hermanos que no pudo salvar, por las mentes dejó corromper y las vidas que abandonó en Therinfal Redoubt, hunde la espada de Denam en cuerpo tras cuerpo, buscando los huecos de una armadura que conoce muy bien. Intenta no buscar ojos que no ven como los suyos, no reconocer los rasgos desfigurados por el lirio, no recordar voces que parecen penetrar en su cabeza y unirse a la llamada de una canción que no quiere escuchar.

Pero no puede, no puede, no puede. Entre cada resuello pide perdón y tras cada envite resiste el impulso de limpiarse la cara de un algo cálido que no sabe si es lágrimas o sangre.

Y busca. Busca a Denam. Sigue buscando incluso cuando ordenan la retirada hacia la Capilla, ahora que todos los civiles están a salvo. Sigue buscando incluso cuando siente a alguien tirar de él con fuerza inhumana, cuando Trevelyan, a caballo, carga contra la siguiente oleada tratando de abrirse paso hasta los trabuquetes.

Y lo encuentra. Lo encuentra y no es Denam. Por un momento el monstruo corta su ruta de huida hacia la Capilla, brazos como cuchillas esculpidas en piedra roja que parece arder tanto como Haven mismo, dientes que sobresalen afilados y desiguales, la cara desfigurada por el lirio. El brillo de las llamas convierte un momento horrífico en algo hipnótico y Adrian cree, por un momento, que es capaz de ver, entre el mineral que desgarra carne y piel y las venas que se marcan rojas y enfermizas, todas esas cicatrices de quemaduras que recorrió con los dedos solo semanas antes.

Pero no es Denam y esa realización duele tanto que apaga todo lo demás. La culpa, la impotencia, la ira, ese amor que lo está matando más que el lirio. Apaga todo lo demás y lo deja añorando un final que Trevelyan le arrebata. Un puño de piedra surge de detrás de él, hace caer al monstruo, y lo último que Adrian ve antes de echar a correr hacia la Capilla es a Denam —no, no Denam, no— abalanzarse sobre el mago y la buscadora y el mercenario qunari.

No lo ve caer. No lo ve sangrar. No lo ve chillar.

[misharyes]

The lost and the faithful

This was a lot longer that I thought. As you know, I’ve been working on this for quite a while now and I got to finish it just in time for your birthday, so enjoy this 6000 words of... something. It had a purpose at first, I swear, then it spiraled out of control and now it has not much to do with the original idea.

So, here it is (and, as per usual, I haven’t revised it, if you find any mistakes, let me know). The graphic is here to... to look pretty, I guess, as it has nothing to do with the fanfic per se (and I’ll upload it on Paradise later, on its own). Enjoy <3 And happy birthday!!

The lost and the faithful

or 

five times Adrian and Audrey disagreed about the Faith and one they understood each other.

Universe: Killjoys AU Characters: Adrian DeRaar, Audrey Brooke, a few others.

First

The first time it happens, they have been working together just for a month or so. The boy is young and naïve, but quite talented, although his aim is shit —shittier than Ashley’s before she trained her and that’s saying something—, so they’ll have to work on that. Still, he knows his way around weapons and machines and technology and has a fucking IA program embedded in his spaceship. He’s freaking useful, actually, but Audrey sometimes feels like she’s babysitting an overgrown —and very, very weird— kid.

Like this time.

They have just finished their first level four warrant since the beginning of their little partnership and they are wandering around the main street of Old Town searching for somewhere to crash and celebrate with a lot of drinking. That’s when it happens: Adrian spots a group of scarback monks working their whatever —Audrey refuses to call them ‘religious practices’— in the entrance of an alley, Audrey notes the way his face lights up and then she fears what he’s going to do before he actually moves.

Oh, no. He’s not going to…

He just smiles a little and takes a few steps in their direction, not even aware of the incredulous look Audrey shoots him.

He is.

Then… then she hopes he’s just going to give them a tiny little tip out of pity, but she has a hunch it won’t be as simple as that. Adrian starts talking with one of the monks and when she approaches them, she realizes he just heard them call one another by their first names.

Her jaw almost drops.

His new associate is on first name basis with one of those masochistic freaks… or two, because another has joined the conversation and is treating Adrian with the very same familiarity. She clears her throat to make her presence known, without even bothering to hide her annoyance, and Adrian smiles apologetically at her.

“Sorry. Alvant, Kai, she’s Audrey, my partner. Audrey, they are acquaintances of mine. They’re good lads.”

The monks bow their heads slightly in respect, but Audrey barely nods at them. Her scowl has subsided, maybe because of the warmth that took over her chest at the way he said the word ‘partner’, so affectionate and sincere.

“Sorry, lads, I really have to go. Please, send my regards to Osvald, if you’d be so kind,” Adrian says as he takes out of his pocket a medium-size sack with all the money he has earned with this warrant.

Tiny tip, Audrey repeats in her mind.

But no, the silly boy gives the full sack to one of the monks like it is nothing, smiling broadly. Audrey has to restrain herself from facepalming. Any SANE person would have spent that money on food or drinks or gear, but alas, not this boy. To top it all, Adrian looks so pleased with himself that she wants to shoot him. For real.

*

Second

Hours after that, when they’re already in Adam, Audrey finds the courage —or insolence, rather— to ask. Maybe she’s a bit too drunk, but that doesn’t stop her and he doesn’t look, in fact, bothered. He shrugs but doesn’t answer straight away. Instead he just holds her, with a look of total concentration on his face, like he’s trying to decide whether he should take her to her sleeping quarters or leave her alone —and at risk to collide with any walls in her way there—.

She’s about to ask again when he answers at last.

“Yes, Audrey, I share the Faith.” He leans a bit forward and surrounds her waist with one of his arms, trying to make her stand on her feet. “Is there a problem with it?”

“Of course there is,” she blurts out, not thinking whatsoever. Well, she cannot be blamed, she’s drunk. But she almost feels guilty when he looks at her with eyes full of confusion.

“How so?” He asks, before he starts walking slowly, dragging her with him towards her sleeping quarters.

“Waste of time. Why?” She looks intensely at him, but he seems lost in his thoughts for a moment there. “The Faith… Is a waste. You’re… smart. Like hella smart. So why?” She struggles with her wording, true, she hopes she’s coherent enough to be understood.

“Why do I believe?” He inquires, as though he wanted to be sure what exactly she wants to know. Audrey nods. “I don’t know. I just do. Makes me feel a better person.”

She frowns. She wants to protest, but doesn’t find the correct words, so she settles for glaring at him. He smiles, somewhat guiltily.

“I know, I know. You’re not a believer, right? Not a problem with me. I’m not the kind of person who forces his faith onto others, ok?” She stares at him intensely, in silence. A part of her wants to explain the real problem she has with the matter, the fear that creeps in her gut when she recalls how she lost her brother because of the Faith, but she can’t. She doesn’t trust him enough; the time is not right. So she lets him speak. “I just like to… have a guiding light, so to speak.”

He looks so embarrassed at his own words that Audrey can’t help but chuckle, despite the uneasiness that has settled in the pit of her stomach.

“You should find a more proper guiding light,” she ends up muttering. If Adrian hears her, he doesn’t seem to mind.

*

Third

Adrian keeps giving scarbacks above-average tips like it isn’t hard-earned money, but Audrey doesn’t care anymore; as long as his work is clean and efficient, she’s content. But then it happens. His Faith interferes in the job when they get a level III warrant that ends up getting complicated. It seemed easy at first. They had to arrest a known smuggler who had been arming a rather large group of insurgents whose operations base was somewhere in the Badlands.

(In theory, killjoys don’t take sides. But, as this particular job demonstrates, that is just bullshit, Audrey thinks. If the Company wants you to do something, you just do it, meaning you take their side and the R.A.C.’s policy can go fuck itself.)

It had gone smoothly until their target escaped right under their noses.

And now they find themselves at a dead end, because the silly little boy doesn’t want to cooperate and go undercover as a scarback monk with her, so that they’re able to investigate the last known whereabouts of the goddamn smuggler.

She glares at him, just before dropping her face between her hands, holding back the urge to scream out of frustration.

“I won’t do it. I can’t do it, Audrey. I mean, it’s blasphemy. I know it’s part of the job, but, really, why it has to be me?” He rambles, visibly distraught. “I don’t want to pass myself off as a monk. It’s blasphemy.”

He repeats the word ‘blasphemy’ a couple more times, as if to imprint more strength to it. It doesn’t work, it only succeeds in irritating Audrey more.

“I get it,” Audrey says under her breath the fifth time Adrian makes an excuse up, annoyed. “Fine. I’ll go fetch Raiden and blackmail him into helping me or whatever, but you and I, my friend, we aren’t done talking. You owe me.”

She doesn’t understand what the big deal with impersonating a scarback monk is, actually; but refrains from saying it out loud, seeing how upset Adrian was at the mere idea.

*

Fourth

Luckily, the situation doesn’t repeat itself. As months pass, they get used to each other. Sometimes, she’s even beginning to see his Faith as an asset, rather than trouble. Surely he won’t go undercover as a scarback monk, but he has contacts in the cult and they have proven themselves a useful source of information in the most diverse matters. And they are always so eager to help Adrian that Audrey feels almost grateful. Almost.

She hasn’t forgotten nor forgiven what happened to her brother, after all.

She’s gotten used to the strangest things related to Adrian’s Faith, to be honest, but they still pretty much freak her out.

Like this time.

When she enters the cargo room, with a few bags filled with supplies, she finds a scene that makes her stop dead in her tracks.

“For fuck’s sake!” She exclaims, completely startled.

Adrian, Ashley and that creepy scarback monk friend of theirs —Osvald, she thinks he’s called— are sitting cross-legged on the floor forming a triangle and holding hands, with their eyes closed and a peaceful expression on their faces. There are three burning candles in the center, between the three of them, and by the amount of consumed wax she calculates they have been lit for at least an hour.

They haven’t heard her. They must have gone deaf or something, there isn’t any other explanation.

“Oh, you’re here.” Nolan peeks into the room. His voice sounds modulated, as though he doesn’t want to disturb them. She looks at him bewildered and then motions to the strange trio. “They’re meditating, I think.”

Meditating. Fine then.

She’s still puzzled.

“What the actual fuck,” she finally stutters and Nolan chuckles. “Aren’t they hearing us? I mean, it’s like they don’t even know we’re here… This is just so weird.”

“They are probably ignoring us, don’t worry. Leave the bags there and come here. I’ve made tea. We don’t want to disturb them anymore, do we?”

Do they? In reality, she does want to disturb them and ask for explanations, because the scene is kind of creepy —she’s pretty sure the marks on their foreheads and the back of their hands are made with blood— and that monk is dragging Adrian and Ashley down with him. But, in the end, she remembers that Faith is something very personal and she has no right to step in. No matter how much it hurts.

*

Fifth

Although he sometimes does some pretty strange things —like praying in the dark with blood marks on his forehead—, truth is Adrian has never been at risk. Not like his brother was. It seems that the most extreme practices are reserved only to the monks, who are used to endure the pain that comes from them, not to the ordinary believers. She didn’t know until she was told by an almost fed-up Adrian. She almost managed to offend him that time, actually, and that’s saying something considering Adrian’s patience is almost infinite. After his explanations, she had no choice but to respect his Faith to the best of her efforts.

But that’s when they attend that funeral in the outskirts of Old Town and she doesn’t know what to think anymore.

One of the monks has been killed. He was pretty close to Osvald, as far as she knows; in fact, it was rumored that he was his designated successor, if something happened to him. At the end, it was the other way around.

She isn’t sure why she’s accompanying him; maybe it’s because Ashley is far away, in a mission with Nolan and she didn’t want Adrian to attend the funeral alone. She doesn’t know if he knew the guy or not, but he looks so somber and gloomy that she wishes to hug him and never let him go.

They stand there, very close together, and she can feel his tension even if they’re not touching. A group of six monks surround the pyre with their torches and Osvald stands before them with a solemn expression, looking straight at the people attending the funeral —not all of them are monks, most of them are just civilians; in fact, Audrey is sure they two are the only killjoys in the crowd—. Afterwards, he lifts his hands in the air. His palms are bloody, Audrey notes, and the cuts on them look very fresh and deep.

She feels sick for a moment and can’t help herself, so she holds Adrian’s hand. He squeezes it gently, but does not look at her.

“Brother Randall,” Osvald starts talking and his voice trembles. The next second, he’s perfectly collected again, “bled for all us. As he drifts away from this world, we shall bleed for him as well.”

He turns to the pyre, walking slowly. He leans in and kisses the dead man’s forehead. That’s when Audrey realizes Randall’s forehead is bloody as well —probably Osvald’s blood— but, from where she stands, she can’t quite distinguish the markings. She’s sure they’re different from the ones Adrian uses when he prays.

“May you find peace in the Mother’s eternal shade, Brother. We’ll mourn you endlessly.”

What he says now sounds more personal and Audrey feels her eyes sting. She holds back the tears as she remembers her brother never got a funeral like this. He was hunted and executed like an animal. Had that not been the case, she wonders, would she now see the Faith in a different light?

The monks lit the pyre. It seems a strange way to dispose of one’s body. Audrey would have thought burying it was more proper, given the obsession they have with trees and nature. But the thing is… maybe this is how it works in Westerley. There are barely any trees here. The planet is almost dead, exhausted of its resources and most of the people get cremated or ditched in common graves. She shudders, unable to keep thinking about it when the monks start chanting. When she lifts her gaze, one of them is holding a ceremonial dagger in his right, with which he cuts his palm, squeezing his fist and letting the blood drip on to the crackling fire. Then he passes the dagger to another monk who does the same and another and another until all of them are done.

She thinks that’s it, that’s the end and they can go now, but it doesn’t happen. To her bewilderment, the rest of the people at the funeral line up, waiting for their turn to do the same. The dagger is passing from one hand to another without even being wiped clean and, before she can say anything, Adrian has joined them and stands beside the pyre, cutting through his own flesh. She wants to tell him to stop, to think of the risks. They haven’t cleaned the dagger, for fuck’s sake, the wound could get easily infected or he could catch a nasty disease.

She approaches him, determined to pull him away from the pyre, not bothering in lining up like the rest of the people, but her hand stops in mid-air when he looks at her, his eyes both bemused and hopeful. She curses those eyes, their summer sky full of sunlight and promises and the way they draw her to Adrian, almost as if hypnotized.

“You might-- might get… ill,” she mumbles. Adrian shakes his head slightly with a distant smile on his lips.

“I will not. The Mother will protect me,” he replies, his voice low and tender. She wants to laugh at his naiveté, but she can’t, not when he looks so earnest. He takes her hand, brings her closer to him, almost as if he wants to embrace her. “Do you want to do it?”

“Adrian…”

“Your choice, dearest.”

She doesn’t really want to. She didn’t know the Brother Randall personally. Not to mention scarback’s practices are plain barbaric, in her opinion, and she can’t forgive their Faith. But the unguarded look in his eyes, the way he calls her dearest like she’s a priceless treasure, all bathed in sincere affection and understanding… she feels compelled to do it, she can’t help it. So she nods slightly, her eyes locked on Adrian’s.

She doesn’t even feel the pain.

Later, when they are at the spaceship and Adrian is kneeling before her, looking after her wound with the electrical cauterizer while she’s seated, she comes to terms with what they have done, what it means and the way this funeral has marked her, reopening wounds she was certain were already scars.

She excuses herself and leaves him to tend his own wound, heading to her sleeping quarters and shutting herself in them. Only then she feels allowed to come undone. Audrey cries for the first time in years as her most guarded fears materialize and surround her, breaking out from the cold and dark abyss her brother’s death sculpted inside her chest. She will lose them to the Faith —Ashley, Adrian, every last one of the people she loves— and then she will be left alone, standing on a pile of lifeless bodies whose soul has been ripped from them with heartless lies. It is her fate, as inexorable as the rain reaching the ground or the waves meeting a cliff.

Sometime in the night, she feels the mattress sinking under a weight she knows all too well. She doesn’t open her eyes, lying still even when a pair of arms enclose her from behind. Adrian rests his chin against her head, makes himself comfortable, and Audrey smiles quietly in the dark as his breathing feels warm and reassuring against the fresh tracks of her tears.

Thinking her asleep, he speaks in a murmur, “You will not lose me.”

If only she could believe that.

*

Sixth

When she first wakes up that day, still exhausted and a bit feverish, Adrian and Ashley are nowhere to be seen. She asks for explanations, but Nolan is of no help. Whether it is on purpose or not, she doesn’t know.

“What do you mean they are gone?” She glares at him. “Where?”

“To pray, I think,” he says, shrugging. “I’m not sure.”

Audrey knows he has lied, but is unable to ask further. She feels a bit dizzy, so she sleeps again even if she is still worried and feels uneasy because of the situation.

She wakes up again hours later, more lucid than before. Nolan wipes the cold sweat from her forehead, asks if her nightmares have subsided and brings her food. It isn’t too much, because she cannot stomach it and might throw up, but she’s grateful nonetheless.

She then demands to be taken to the lounge she and Adrian set up in Adam a couple of years ago —it made their spaceship look more like a home instead of a workplace and they had nothing to do between warrants anyway—, where she feels more comfortable waiting for them to come. Nolan continually fusses about how Audrey should be resting in bed instead of making useless efforts to keep herself awake while she waits, but he shuts his mouth when she says something along the lines of ‘reading in a sofa is resting, mom’.

“You’re impossible,” he says, utter resignation in his voice, and she chuckles, very pleased with herself.

And that’s what she does. She waits in the lounge, reading and tormenting her unexpected babysitter until they are finally back.

But they are different. Audrey notices it the very instant she sees them. Something is very, very wrong.

She stands, so abruptly that she can’t help the pained groan that escapes her, but Nolan is quick to assist her and help her on her feet. Although he does not speak, she can see his face has grown darker at the sight of them and the state Adrian is in. He looks lost and his hair is wet, darkened and sticky with coagulated blood. There’s blood also on his clothes; it isn’t not much, but it attracts the eye for the way it contrast with the white fabric.

“What have you done?” Audrey snarls despite herself. She has never been the most tactful person, after all, and not even the intensity of Ashley’s stare —as if saying ‘not now’— could ever stop her. Not when she is dead worried like right in this moment. “Adrian, what have you done?”

She repeats the question, her voice slower and steadier, but Adrian does not answer. He seems dazed, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and the sheer vulnerability of it all makes her ache with the urge to wrap him in her arms, to protect him. And who cares if he’s a fucking giant when he looks so much like a lost and broken child. She trembles, holding back the tears that are forming in the corners of her eyes.  

To pray, Nolan said when she asked. Uneasiness creeps in her gut at the memory. He knew. She shoves Nolan to the side, backing off clumsily, and then stares angrily at him. She cannot help it.

“You knew about this,” she snarls. It’s a statement, not a question. Nolan nods hesitantly. “You knew what he— what they were going to do. And not only did you not stop them, but you also lied to me in order to help them.”

“Audrey, stop,” Ashley cuts in, wearily. “It wasn’t his fault. He did what we asked him to.”

“I’m sorry,” Nolan says. He’s being honest, but that doesn’t change a thing. Infuriated, she slaps him with the back of her hand.

He doesn’t flinch at the pain, but the sound it makes reverberates against the walls. It’s not the angry manner in which Ashley looks at her what stops Audrey from hitting him again, but Adrian’s voice.

“It was my decision, Audrey,” he says, sounding lucid enough to make her turn to face him. “The cleansing ritual… Is complicated. Witness needed. I asked Nolan first, but Ashley volunteered,” he explains promptly, struggling with his words. “Not his fault.”

“You shouldn’t have done it!” She yells, unable to contain herself, and her body shakes. She embraces herself, feeling helpless all of a sudden.

“Had to,” Adrian replies softly. His eyes are still clouded, but he looks at her affectionately.

“This is no time for arguments,” Nolan intervenes, not bothered by the fact that his cheek is still red. “How long till the drugs wear off?” He asks afterwards, to nobody in particular as if he didn’t think there is an exact answer, but Ashley is quick to provide the information.

“A few hours. Four or so. He’s been like this for the past eight, so it should be enough time.”

Drugs. Audrey cannot understand the way they don’t seem dismayed by how disturbing the whole situation is. It is simply wrong. Nolan appears to feel uneasy, at the very least, but he only nods and his face remains inscrutable, betraying nothing.

“Come on, champ,” he gestures towards Adrian, who smiles apologetically and takes an unsteady step in his direction. He’s never been the most gracious person —probably because of his height—, but now he seems completely off balance. “I’ll help you shower. You look awful. And I’m pretty certain you need to warm up a little, you’re shuddering.”

“I’ll do it.”

Both Ashley and Nolan look at her, frowning slightly, but it’s Adrian who speaks, “You should be resting, Audrey.” He seems atypically focused as well, even though his words are slurred.

At least the complaint is not ‘I don’t want you to see me naked’ or something along those lines. One more proof Adrian is not in his right state of mind. If the circumstances were different, she would have chuckled.

“I’m not terminally ill, I can help.” She imprints a hint of finality to her own words, trying to avoid any more complaints.

They still look doubtful, but Adrian shrugs and starts walking toward the sleeping quarters’ corridor where their only bathroom —the one with an actual bathtub and not mere decontamination showers— is. He stumbles several times until Nolan goes to the rescue, halfway amused and halfway worried. What disturbs Audrey the most is that he doesn’t seem bothered by the sight of all the blood or its smell. It’s strong, metallic and so sickeningly sweet that it lingers in her nostrils and makes her head spin dizzily. It reminds her of the grapes when they are fermenting, of Leith, of all the warrants she and Frank had to go undercover for in the height of harvest season. The sheer memory is enough to make her feel alienated, away from her life and the purposes she imposed on herself when she first became a killjoy, and that boy is the culprit.

That boy has set her life and her whole being in motion, like she had been dormant before she met him, and she doesn’t know where her loyalties lie anymore, what her priorities are, when she’s going to pay for all the bad decisions she’s letting her life be led by.

She longs for that past where everything was easy and well, but the Audrey of that past was naïve and defenseless and unable to save her own brother. And there isn’t anything on this world that she loathes more than finding herself incapable of protecting those she loves.

If this pain is the price she has to pay for her strength, so be it. She would be grateful for it.

“Audrey?”

She doesn’t want to see herself as a weak woman who might have fallen for a boy like him in a way that makes her feel ashamed, but somehow the sentiment of protection she feels is overwhelming, so much it tears her from the inside. She might want more, but not right now, not when what they both need is not something they can so freely give.

He doesn’t know and she’s not ready. There is no way she would ever again make a sole person her whole present or future, even if it’s in a completely different manner as her brother ever was. Even if it has a different meaning.

Adrian doesn’t need to call her name again before she blinks at him and smiles oh so faintly. She’d like to lie to him, but it’s no easy. There is no way she can conceal her concern or the hurt or the anger she feels at him for letting himself be dragged into a blood ritual.

“I don’t want to lash out at you, but I still think what you did was foolish,” she clarifies, in a contained whisper. Adrian just glances briefly at her before leaning on the door to the bathroom, unsteady.

“I…” He starts, but suddenly falls silent, as the hallway spirals around him, making him dizzy. For a moment he squeezes his eyes shut, drawing sharp and pained breaths as in a panic, and Audrey hurries to his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder until he calms down. There is a nasty bloodstain around his neck, tainting the otherwise immaculate white shirt, but strangely she doesn’t feel repulsed. “I wasn’t myself at the time, I was… I needed—... ah, forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness,” she repeats, as if savoring the word. It should make her angry that he resorted to something as hollow as religion for that, more so when he didn’t do anything wrong. “You didn’t need that.”

“You don’t, uh… understand.”

He sounds so exhausted that she almost pities him. Maybe they shouldn’t be having this conversation just now, when he’s not even in his right mind, but something tells her he won’t be willing to address the issue later on.

“I understand enough. You saved me, Adrian. Isn’t that good enough? It’s not the first time we’ve killed, sure you recall that. What changed?”

“You don’t understand,” he says again, this time without stammering, although there still is a hint of hesitation in his voice. “What I did… What I was… I, ah, I wasn’t myself. I was so… so angry. We weren’t supposed to... And I did and I… I… I just don’t know. I’ve never… never felt so angry before. It scared me.”

“Adrian, slow down.” Because he’s sort of incoherently rambling and she’s having a hard time following his thoughts. He lowers his gaze, ashamed, and mutters an apology under his breath. “It’s alright. You did nothing wrong.”

“Killing isn’t nothing,” he chastises, with wounded eyes. “I… I hate killing. I don’t know what…” He takes a deep breath all while Audrey merely scowls. “And I jeopardized the warrant,” he quickly adds.

“You did not. It was a level four warrant, Adrian. And you saved my life. Probably Nolan’s as well.”

He doesn’t look convinced. It’s so strange, so alien to find him at a loss for words.

“It doesn’t… doesn’t…”

“Justify?” She offers.

“Yeah. That.”

“I know. But you saved me. I just want you to know that I’m grateful.” It’s now her turn to draw a deep breath as she feels her eyes prickling with unshed tears. “And if you need forgiveness, I’ll give it to you.”

Her mind doesn’t have the necessary time to process what happens then. Adrian is literally crying. Fucking crying. And laughing at the same time, with those gentle eyes focused on her as though it is the first time he’s able to really see Audrey, with his hands trembling from the desire to hold her tight. Audrey wonders why he doesn’t just do it.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” That’s all he manages to say between broken sobs, before lifting his hands to rub his own eyes, his whole body shaking now, and Audrey strokes his back, all while wondering why she’s so hesitant to hug him too. “I’m so cold.” And the complaint comes with a breathless and humorless laugh that alarms her more than his words.

With the back of her hand, she caresses his cheek, still wet from his tears and bloody from the ritual, and he’s right, his skin is freezing and it only makes her concern grow. It may be a side effect of the drug or it may be shock. Either way, he needs a hot bath, that much she’s certain of.

“Ok, let’s go, big guy. Please, no more complaints.” Let yourself be taken care of, please.

“But you’re… hurt. You should… rest,” he sputters, unsure.

“I will, I promise. After this, alright?”

He nods, unable to say anything else. Audrey smiles and guides him into the bathroom, which is small and, of course, not-at-all cozy nor elegant, with the bare metallic walls and the dim light. But it’s functional and it has an actual bathtub, so it’s much better than nothing.

Adrian seems a bit disoriented, but he doesn’t say a thing as Audrey starts to fill the bathtub with hot water. When she turns to face him, Adrian is leaning on the sink, taking deep breaths with his eyes squeezed shut. He looks sick, but after a moment he steadies himself and starts washing the blood off his face.

“I’m fine,” he says before she even asks and Audrey offers a short nod in response.

“Strip then,” she mutters, deliberately overlooking the look of absolute distress he shoots her way. “Can you do it?”

“Yes!”

The furious blush tinting his cheeks as he hurriedly answers does not go unnoticed and she can’t help but chuckle, despite the present circumstances. She turns to give him some privacy, entertaining herself with the bathtub. There is a dull ache in her shoulders, where her wounds lay under the bandages, but it is nothing she cannot endure; after all, there are more pressing matters and pain is no stranger, so she shuts it out.

They don’t exchange any more words. Adrian is unsteady on his feet —and possibly embarrassed by his nudity—, but he walks to the tub and lowers himself into it. Audrey can’t stop herself from staring at the tattoo on his upper back. It is not so big, but enough to be noticeable; and it seems so colorful and complex, yet so delicate.

“You’re making me self-conscious,” Adrian says, his voice a bit hushed. He keeps his chin lowered, studying the water with downcast eyes. He resembles so much a small child it hurts.

“I’m sorry, I was just…” She trails off and then shakes her head. “It’s breathtaking. Really.”

“My…? Yeah. Andreas and Jinri are…” He seems to be looking for a proper way to describe it and, after a few moments, he finds it, “Quite the artists.”

“So it seems,” she agrees. “What does it mean?”

Maybe she talks because they both need a distraction or maybe because she is genuinely curious. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

“It… I don’t know if…”

“Tip your head back. And close your eyes,” she instructs and, after Adrian does as he was asked, she pours some water over his head. It is going to take some effort to wash the blood away from his hair. “Don’t know what?” She prompts then, her voice gentle.

“If you’re interested.”

“But I asked, didn’t I?”

Kneeled beside the tub, she starts trailing his fingers through his hair, trying to ease the knots and wash off the blood, and she can feel him relaxing under her touch. She wants to clean the wound on the back of his neck, but she’s afraid of hurting him, so she just keeps pouring water from time to time.

“It has a… religious meaning,” he finally says. Without looking, Audrey recalls the beautifully detailed tree and the four spheres almost trapped between its branches and chastises herself for not guessing. It was obvious. “It is the… the Mother Tree… and…”

“Go on.”

“Yes. The Mother Tree,” he briefly nods, leaning into her touch without even realize it. “One Mother Tree to unite us all. When we rise, her branches hold us. And when we tire, her trunk shelters us.”

She has heard the prayer before, so often used in blood blessings, but there is something hypnotic in the way Adrian recites it, in his monotonic and weary tone, so devoid of everything save simple, pure faith.

“And when we die, her roots will carry us home.” He opens his eyes then and turns the upper half of his body to face her. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

Audrey gaps at him, taken by surprise by urgency in his voice and the desperation in those sunken and swollen eyes. Adrian has never doubted his faith before; and maybe he’s not doing it now either, but he’s asking for confirmation like he needs it, like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning. She may not understand the Faith, but she clearly can comprehend the feeling of being suffocated under life’s weight, the need of something to hold on to.

“You are… you are not wrong,” she whispers and he smiles, relieved. He seems to be holding back tears, however, when he raises one of his hands and caresses her cheek as she did before.

“I… sometimes I… My faith would falter and I would think I’m… wrong. Mistaken. But… I need it so much. My faith.” He takes a deep breath and moves away from her, turning to face the wall and bringing his knees closer to his chest. So much like a child. “I am… not strong. That’s why I need it. Because I can’t be as… strong as you are.”

I am not strong, she wants to protest, overwhelmed by an uncertainty she has not feel in years. But she is, she knows she is stronger than she thinks and he is, as well.

“Listen, Adrian,” she begins, not bothered by the fact that Adrian is not turning to look at her anymore, “You’re strong, more than you will ever know, and you don’t need the Faith to tell you that. But it’s alright if you want it to, do you follow me? It’s alright not to be alright, to… want people to forgive you. To atone. It’s alright. It’s a process. Guilt. Self-improvement. It makes you… better. A better person. Stronger.”

He leans forward and rests his forehead on his knees, his eyes squeezed shut. He looks so small, so needy as he whispers, “I know.”

“I still think this ritual was a foolishness and I want you to promise me never to do something like this again, but…” She takes a deep breath, forces herself to smile. “But I’m glad we’re having this conversation. I’m glad you trust me.”

“It feels like I’m drowning. Sometimes. I was so lost. When I had that tattoo made, I… I was lost. Drowning. I had it made because… I thought it will stop, this feeling. Sometimes I’m still drowning and the water is so cold, so cold…” He rambles and his shoulders shake violently. Audrey is unsure whether he has even listened to what she has said. “I’m always cold. Inside. I don’t think I’ll ever get warm. The Faith is… like a fire, but… it’s not enough. But I need it, I need it.”

And suddenly she’s embracing him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, forcing him to lounge against her body. Her wounds ache and her muscles protests at the abrupt movement, but she doesn’t care. Now she understands. He wasn’t talking about being physically cold. He was talking about something deeper, more hurtful, and she didn’t listened, but she has now.

He tenses up and soon after he eases into her arms, his body still shaking with contained sobs. She closes her eyes, resting her forehead against his head, his damp hair tickling her skin.

“We’ll fix this. I promise.”

She may be lying, she doesn’t know how to make it better; but it will go away, the cold that numbs both their hearts, and that is something she can promise.

[misharyes]

Orgullo y prejuicio y perros (1/?)

Aquí tenemos el terrible, TERRIBLE AU digno de comedia romántica que nadie ha pedido pero que se me ha antojado por aquella charla que tuvimos sobre qué raza de perro tendrían Audrey y Adrian respectivamente, porque obviamente ellos son… dog persons, en comparación con Aaren, Andreas y Ashley pues (demasiadas As).

Cualquier parecido entre el libro que le da título (aunque no tenga perros) o su película y este fic es pura coincidencia, básicamente porque soy una perra inculta que no lo ha leído.

Universo: Modern Day AU Personajes: Adrian Vaughn, Audrey Brooke, Klara Vaughn, Hunter Taylor

No lleva ni dos semanas en su nueva casa y su nuevo empleo cuando la conoce. Adrian está acostumbrado a pasear a Trajan, su enorme San Bernardo —o más bien el de su hija—, por las calles amplias y empedradas de su antiguo pueblo, mucho más tranquilo, así que el ruido de los coches y la gente lo irrita a él mucho más que al perro, que mira todo con sus enormes ojos castaños y la lengua fuera, como si no hubieran hecho ese recorrido casi a diario desde que se mudaron.

Cuando los niños empiezan a salir del colegio, Trajan empieza a ladrar, pero por suerte no tironea de la correa —Adrian es fuerte y definitivamente un hombre de robustez considerable, pero no quiere probar su suerte contra un perro de esas dimensiones, muchas gracias—.

Más de un crío se asusta, pero a Klara se le iluminan los ojos cuando los ve esperando junto a la puerta de salida.

—¡Hola, Trajan!

Y ahí está, típico de su hija saludar primero a su perro que a su padre.

—Yo también te quiero, cariño —resopla mientras la niña se arrodilla junto al perro, algo que francamente no le hace falta para estar a su altura, y se engancha de su cuello mientras le rasca el lomo con ambas manos.

Klara se ríe como si no hubiera roto un plato en su vida y sinceramente Adrian no puede dejar de maravillarse por la facilidad con la que logra hacerla reír incluso cuando las heridas son tan recientes. A lo mejor por eso no trata de hacer que se apure y le da tiempo, mientras se cruza de brazos, apoyado en la pared con la correa entre las manos. Sus ojos van del perro a Klara y de Klara hacia la calle y la puerta del colegio. Tarda un poco en darse cuenta de que una mujer, vestida con una chaqueta negra y unos vaqueros claros, está mirando a su hija y su perro con cierta curiosidad. Sube los ojos y cuando se cruzan, él le regala una pequeña sonrisa entre condescendiente y avergonzada, como si dijera “cómo son los niños, ¿eh?”.

No tiene ningún resultado, porque ella frunce un poco el ceño y, tras unos momentos, sigue su camino. Adrian no entiende muy bien cuál es el problema ni qué se esperaba exactamente.

Hacer amistades en esta ciudad del demonio va a resultarle más complicado a él que a su hija, está seguro de ello. Demasiados años fuera, supone. Eso, y que se ha acostumbrado a la familiaridad del pueblo, a sus cuatro casas mal puestas, al excéntrico señor de las cabras que vive en las afueras —un tal Robespierre— adoptando todo bicho que pasara cerca de su puerta y sobre todo a que todo el mundo sepa su nombre —y hasta qué le gusta(ba) desayunar en el bar de la esquina los domingos a las ocho en punto—.

Al menos todavía no ha tenido ningún ataque de ansiedad a cuenta del cambio de rutina. Algo es algo. *** Lo más irónico de todo es que, esa misma tarde, descubre cómo se llama esa mujer en concreto y, a partir de ahí, imaginar por qué se les había quedado mirando no es muy difícil. Son las siete y media de la tarde, está anocheciendo y deberían volver a casa, pero a Adrian le gusta ver a su hija feliz, así que termina retrasando la vuelta cinco minutos más cada vez a pesar de que pronto se va a quedar sin luz para leer su revista sobre programación y ni siquiera achicar los ojos para distinguir las letras le va a servir de mucho.

Ni siquiera sabe cómo se llama el niño que lleva la última hora jugando con ella y Trajan de un lado para otro del parque. Al final acaban los tres llenos de tierra y césped hasta las orejas y a Adrian le da pereza siquiera pensar que va a tener que bañar a Trajan a esas horas. No importaría si no fuera porque el maldito chucho tiene la costumbre de invadir su cama —razón última por la que Adrian sigue teniendo una cama de matrimonio y no una individual—.

—¡Hunter!

No tiene razones para hacer caso alguno a esa voz, pero Adrian levanta de todas maneras la cabeza con parsimonia porque cualquier cosa es mejor que la idea de dejarse los ojos en su revista. Le sorprende encontrarse a la misma mujer castaña de la puerta del instituto, esta vez acompañada de un perro que le da muy mala espina. No sabe si por la pose vigilante, las orejas tiesas y amenazantes o la manera en que mira a Klara.

¿Por qué alguien querría tener un dóberman, en serio? Esa mujer tiene un pobre gusto en perros.

—¿Ya, mamá? ¡Pero no son ni las ocho! —reclama el niño que estaba jugando con su hija. Y Adrian no debería poner la oreja, pero lo hace de todas maneras, mientras que Klara se queda mirando al tal Hunter mientras acaricia a Trajan y luego le sonríe a la mujer.

¿Por qué le sonríe a la mujer?

—Buenas tardes, profesora Brooke.

… Ah.

Qué bien.

Su hija se ha hecho amiga del hijo de una de sus profesoras. ¿Le servirá como enchufe? Si esa amistad le sirve para subir sus notas en matemáticas —Klara ha debido de sacar su incompetencia al respecto de su madre, porque a él las matemáticas hasta le gustan— se dará por satisfecho. No es un método muy ortodoxo de conseguir un aprobado, pero su hija nunca ha mostrado mucho respeto por las normas, a decir verdad.

—Buenas tardes, Klara. —La profesora Brooke es lo suficientemente simpática como para sonreírle a su hija, pero a él bien que le miró mal—. ¿Ese perro es tuyo?

—Se llama Trajan y es muy bueno, ¿a que sí, Trajan? —Y Trajan ladra para demostrarlo, algo que no parece ser muy buena idea porque el dóberman de la mujer lo hace también hasta que ella lo calla—. ¿Y el tuyo?

—¡Es Hyde! —El niño, que cree que se llama Hunter, exclama justo antes de abrazar a ese perro que definitivamente no parece una mascota muy apta para un niño—. Es de un libro que a mamá le gusta mucho pero que yo no he leído.

Es entonces que Adrian decide intervenir. Cierra su revista con una calma intencional y se acerca a ellos. Trajan gira su enorme cabeza y lo saluda con la lengua fuera. Adrian solo tiene que estirar un poco la mano para darle un par de palmadas en el lomo, antes de que decida sentarse.

—Buenas tardes.

Y la mujer vuelve a fruncir el ceño al verle, aunque esta vez con un gesto algo más pensativo.

—Usted es…

—El padre de Klara.

Adrian se fija en sus ojos. Por un momento aparece en ellos un destello de sorpresa, que no se va ni siquiera cuando le regala una sonrisa que a él le sabe prefabricada. Él se la devuelve, sin poder evitar preguntarse si acaso la profesora Brooke se creía que era uno de esos señores de dudosa reputación que van a mirar a los críos a la salida de clases. O a regalarles caramelos no muy legales. Lleva años sin pisar la ciudad, así que no le extrañaría oír que se ha llegado a ese punto.

—Encantada de conocerle, señor… ¿Vaughn? —pregunta dubitativa, como probando suerte, cuando le estrecha la mano.

—Lo mismo digo, profesora Brooke. —Y él decide llamarla así para no arriesgarse con el ‘señora’ o ‘señorita’, aunque si tuviera que apostar por uno de los dos apelativos se decantaría por el primero. A fin de cuentas, el niño que ahora está acariciando al cancerbero… perdón, dóberman no ha debido concebirlo ella sola.

—Oh, por favor. Audrey. —Su sonrisa esta vez parece más sincera, aunque ni siquiera se molesta en preguntarle su nombre, pero flaquea en cuanto mira a Trajan—. Tiene un perro bonito. Aunque, ¿no es una raza un poco extraña para tener en ciudad?

—¿Qué tiene de malo?

Lo pregunta antes de poder morderse la lengua y formular una protesta que no suene tan confusa u ofendida. Los dos niños parecen volcar su atención en ellos y a Adrian no le hace falta mirar para darse cuenta que hasta los perros han levantado las orejas y ahora les hacen más caso a ellos.

Audrey se muerde el interior de la mejilla, gesto que no le pasa desapercibido, y parece pensarlo unos momentos antes de hablar.

—Bueno, es un perro muy grande. Probablemente no está hecho para estar en una casa, sino en el campo. Y es muy fuerte, ¿no es peligroso?

—No soy yo quien tiene una bestia de ataque de mascota.

No piensa antes de hablar, por supuesto, y no pasan ni unos segundos antes de que se arrepienta de lo que ha dicho. Le parece oír un golpe detrás de él y está casi seguro de que Klara se acaba de dar una palmada en la frente. Suele hacer eso muy a menudo cuando mete la pata, aunque la verdad es que no le hace falta esa pista para saber que esta vez además ha sido hasta el fondo. Que no es como si no pensara eso del perro en cuestión, pero hay algunas opiniones que es mejor callarse.

Audrey, no obstante, parece haberse quedado muda. Luego frunce el ceño, se yergue un poco como si así pudiera hacerse mágicamente más alta —unos zapatos con más tacón y, con toda probabilidad, logrará mirarlo a los ojos sin tener que levantar tanto la barbilla— y replica, muy seria:

—¿Disculpe?

Y sí, es más que claro que le está dando la oportunidad de pedir disculpas y poner alguna excusa, pero Adrian siempre ha sido una persona orgullosa, de las que llevan todo hasta sus últimas consecuencias, y con la mala costumbre de estropear la situación de manera irreversible. Si hubiera una medalla al más socialmente inepto, se llevaría el oro.

—Quería decir que… Los dóberman no son perros muy dóciles, ¿no? —Ni siquiera se da cuenta de cómo lo está mirando. Hunter y Klara, por su parte, intercambian miradas de incredulidad y parecen contener la respiración por la tensión—. Quiero decir, son agresivos y todo eso. ¿No es peligroso para un niño de la edad de su hijo?

La incredulidad de la cara de la mujer va mutando poco a poco en molestia. Lo mira como si quisiera abofetearlo, torciendo los labios en un casi puchero, y Adrian en otras circunstancias habría dicho que parece hasta mona así.

—Su perro puede romperle la espalda a su hija si se le echa encima. Y espero que lo tenga bien enseñado y no muerda, porque con esa mandíbula…

Adrian siente que se le suben los colores a las mejillas y no precisamente de vergüenza.

—Es un perro pastor —reclama, vocalizando muy despacio como si así pudiera darle más poder a sus palabras—. Dócil. Cariñoso. Definitivamente bueno con los niños. —Señala entonces al cancerbero con la cabeza, mientras una pequeña sonrisa arrogante empieza a formarse en las comisuras de sus labios—. Su perro, en cambio, está incluido entre las diez razas más peligrosas del mundo. Y perdóneme si el nombre de Hyde no me inspira mucha confianza.

Ella abre la boca, sin lugar a dudas para decir algo, pero Hunter y Klara parecen haberse puesto de acuerdo e interrumpen, cada uno tirando del brazo de su respectivo progenitor antes de que llegue la sangre al río.

—¡Mira qué hora es, mamá!

—¡Se ha hecho de noche, papá! ¡Tengo frío!

—¡Yo tengo hambre!

Siguen quejándose durante unos momentos más, antes de darse cuenta de que ambos se están mirando fijamente con el ceño fruncido y las mandíbulas tensas y apretadas. No llega a nada más, porque de repente y de manera abrupta tanto Audrey como Adrian se dan la vuelta. Ella tira de la correa de su perro, que protesta, mientras que él no tarda en darse cuenta de que se ha olvidado algo y silba para que Trajan corra a su lado. El San Bernardo no es muy elegante o veloz, pero no tarda mucho en llegar a su altura, ladrando alegremente.

Klara suspira, dejando caer laxos los hombros como si toda la tensión hubiera desaparecido de golpe, y se gira para sonreírle a Hunter, que parece tan pasmado como ella.

—Te veo mañana en clase —le dice, asegurándose con un vistazo rápido de que Adrian no se ha alejado mucho.

—Hasta mañana.

Se dan la vuelta para irse, pero ambos parecen pensar algo y se quedan un momento parados, en silencio. Es Hunter el primero que habla, mordiéndose ligeramente los labios.

—Oye.

—¿Qué?

—Yo, uh… —Duda un instante, mira en la dirección en la que se aleja su madre y asiente, como convenciéndose de que está lo bastante lejos como para no oír lo que dice—. Yo creo que tu perro es muy majo.

Ella también se asegura, antes de contestar, de que su padre no la va a oír desde donde está.

—Y yo no creo que tu perro sea peligroso para nada.

Ambos se sonríen de oreja a oreja, ligeramente cómplices, y cuando se dan la vuelta para correr y alcanzar a sus padres casi están riendo por lo bajo.

[misharyes]

Prompt #40

A short one-shot I wrote for the prompt “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” around a month ago. I should revise it and correct the mistakes, but I’m a lazy bastard.

Universe: Killjoys AU Characters: Adrian DeRaar, Audrey Brooke

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

“Nope. You’re seeing things.”

“Nice try, pretty boy.”

Adrian huffs, but it’s a soft sound aimed to conceal a laugh. The tell is there, in the way he lowers his chin, almost hiding his eyes from her view. He does that a lot when he’s amused, like he’s embarrassed to find something funny, like he’s not allowed to stop being serious even for a fleeting moment.

“I don’t actually know if you’re smiling just because you had too much to drink or because you like talking about your family,” she says, arching one eyebrown at him. He blushes slightly, but smiles nonetheless and this time he doesn’t try to hide it.

It’s a nice smile.

Raiden was right in choosing that nickname, even as mockery, because it’s painfully accurate. He really is a pretty boy, with a pretty smile, the sweetness in his features almost childish. But that’s exactly the problem. He looks so young and innocent that she doubts anyone takes him seriously ever. But, truth be told, being underestimated is not that bad. It’s a great advantage in combat.

“It’s probably the latter. I have plenty of… pleasant memories regarding my mothers.” The pause is involuntary, followed by words spoken too quickly, pained, almost in a gasp. Audrey realizes there’s something there that hurts the boy deeply. It’s bittersweet, because he clearly loves his family and he still smiles at the thought of it, but…

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what? I was telling you about when we first created Adam, our prototype…”

“No. Not that. I mean,” she struggles with her words. She doesn’t want to unsettle him and, deep down, she feels like she’s overstepping. It’s his life. But if they’re partners, they should be honest with each other, right? Moreover, it’s not like she’s going to force the truth out of him. She’s asking, that’s all. He can always say nothing. “The bad things. Whatever happened. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ah…” He lowers his gaze, staring at the bottom of his glass. Then he shrugs and Audrey feels a bit annoyed. She won’t buy the act. Whatever it is, it hurts, so he can stop pretending, now. She won’t intrude, she won’t judge. She is capable of respecting his pain, so there is no need of lies. “It’s just…”

She looks at him. And then, realization sinks in. And she’s horrified, because she has clearly overstepped, she has been insensitive. From the moment she met him, she was aware he had lost somebody dear, he had that kind of scars, written all over his face, permeating his deep voice. And the pieces just fall into place.

“Oh, my god. You’re mourning. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Adrian, I didn’t want to be disrespectful...”

“Of course I’m mourning,” he says, cutting her off. But he doesn’t seem annoyed or sad. He’s just… resigned. And that in itself is saddening. “I’ll mourn her forever. I don’t know how to move on. She was my mom. Not biological, but… you get the drift.”

Yeah.

She gets it.

And she doesn’t know what to say. She wishes she did, but she doesn’t. That’s why she does the only thing that crosses her mind. She takes his hand, the one resting on the table, and squeezes it between hers. He looks at her, surprised by the sudden contact, but does not retreat. Let him talk, she thinks. That’s what he needs. She’s not sure he has ever opened up to anyone.

And it is like a gift, a concession so precious she will treasure it forever.

“She used to call me ‘puppy’, you see,” he keeps talking and he smiles, his hand feeling warm between hers. “When I was a kid, I didn’t like it. I usually threw a tantrum and demanded to be called by my name. I just didn’t like to be treated as a child, I was very arrogant and… well, I liked my name. My father chose it, so it was important for me, it was like��� you know, the only way I had to remember him by.”

She can’t help but smile. It’s a bittersweet memory, much like many of her own. Adrian loves his family so fiercely, both biological and surrogate, and has suffered loss; and even though he is still mourning, it has not destroyed him. That love he’s capable of… it transpires in each and every one of his words. And it makes her happy. He really is a sweet boy.

“So… it was Theresia who indulged me. She called me by my name, while Evelina kept using pet names, much to my irritation. As I grew older, I got used to it. It turned out she didn’t do it just to mess with me. It was her way of saying ‘here, kiddo, we’re family, I love you’. That was who she was. And… when she disappeared…” He pauses and sighs and lets out an embarrassed, self-deprecating laugh. “I'll be damned, I’m getting too emotional. Stop me now.”

But Audrey doesn’t. Not now. Not ever.

“When she disappeared… what?”

Adrian smiles, his eyes once again on the table, deliberately avoiding her gaze, tears revealing themselves on his eyelashes. Other than that, he seems collected and his voice doesn’t betray him.

“Theresia took up where she let off. She started to call me puppy too and I couldn’t get angry anymore. It was like we were still a family, like she was here once again. It felt… comforting.”

“Oh, Adrian.”

“I think you were right and I just had too much to drink,” he says, with a smile. He’s stroking the back of one of her hands with his thumb, in circular and soothing moves he’s not too well aware of.

Despite herself, Audrey smiles once again.

“Come on, pretty boy, you’re gonna pull that one on me? The drunkard act?” He laughs, softly, and shakes his head. “What’s up with all of you men and your macho ego? You just opened your heart to me and you want to hide behind a lame excuse because you feel embarrassed or whatever.”

From the outside, it looks like she’s scolding him. But they’re both smiling and holding hands over the table like it’s not a big deal.

“I do feel embarrassed,” he says, tilting his head. “But that’s not new, is it? You pride yourself in taunting and embarrassing me and well, sometimes it’s fun.”

“… Oookay. It’s true. You have had too much to drink.”

“Not too much. Fancy another one?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the hangover, pretty boy?”

“I don’t do hangovers.”

“Oh, cocky. I like it.”

“I warned you I was arrogant.”

“As a kid.”

“Once an arrogant little brat, always an arrogant little brat.”

She laughs while he stands up and then she realizes she hasn’t let go of him. He stays there, waiting, his hand still between hers, like a bridge connecting them above the table. She finally releases him. Two seconds, and she already misses the contact.

“Go fetch the drinks, pretty boy. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Always.