#so fingers crossed and ill fix it for ao3 if necessary when i can consistently be on one device again

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

"I will always protect your family"

"why should I believe you?"

"because I care about you!"

For Andi/Victoria

Victoria storms into the office, a PA on her heels.

“I’m so sorry Ms. Parker, I couldn’t stop her!”

Andi looks up from her desk, raising her eyebrows as she realizes who’d just barged in.

She waves the PA away. “It’s alright, I’ve been…” she pauses as she tries to find the right words. “Expecting this. Thank you.”

The PA hastily turns to leave. They pause warily at the door in silent inquiry about whether to leave it open or to close it behind them.

At Andi’s nod, they pull it closed.

Andi looks up at Victoria and gestures toward the chair in front of her desk.

“Victoria,” she greets calmly. “It’s been a while.”

Victoria doesn’t move. Her hands are on her hips and she’s got the same look on her face she did all those years ago when she was lecturing them all on “falling into the gutter of life,” and how they could do whatever they wanted with their lives but they’d better not drag her baby sister down with them. That was before, well, whatever it was happened. And then Andi had to get used to different kinds of looks from her instead. For better and worse.

Andi savours the moment of silence as she braces herself for the tirade she knows she’s about to receive.

“Rosie wasn’t enough for you?”

And there it was.

Andi sits patiently as Victoria unloads all of her thoughts, fears, and feelings. Only ever coming just close enough to the root of it all before venturing down a new tangent. It’s nothing Andi’s never heard before. History repeating itself. Only this time, Julie has Ray. And everything Rose gave her. And a fully grown Victoria. And now, Andi. It’s not the same. But now is not the time to try explaining that to Victoria.

Andi waits the hard-learned and well-practiced 10 seconds after Victoria finishes speaking before responding.

“Tori,” she says softly. Gently.

Victoria’s gaze jumps up to Andi’s face. If Andi had to guess, it's probably been a while since she was called that.

“I get that you’re worried. But don’t you think that it’s better for her to have someone in the industry looking out for her? Especially now that-”

“Don’t.”

“Victoria, it’s been almost two years.”

“I don’t care. They are everything to me. Do you understand that? I lost my heart and where were you?”

A pause.

“And now. Now you’re here. You’re back. Guiding all I have left of her, down the same path? And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?”

“She is her own person, Tori. She’s not some piece of Rose that you can keep sheltered and protected for the rest of your life. And she’s good, Victoria. She’s so good.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Victoria snaps. “You don’t think I’m there? Front row? At every chance I get? You think I don’t know that she’s everything you all wish you could have been?”

Finally, Victoria collapses into one of the chairs.

“Rose made it through, Tori. We all did.”

“Not all of you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Victoria is uncharacteristically quiet so Andi continues.

“We lived very, very different lives. You know that. It won’t be the same. It can’t be.”

“You know she’s already been lying and sneaking out, right?”

“And? She’s 16. What do you expect?”

Victoria lets out a slow breath as she deflates.

“You can’t protect her from everything, you know.”

A resigned sigh. “I know.”

“So, let’s do what we can. Let me be part of the team, Tori. We can be there for her. Together. I will always protect your family.”

Victoria narrows her eyes at Andi. “Why should I believe you?”

Andi shakes her head sadly. She’s still not convinced that what happened 20 years ago was even her fault but it’s clear that Victoria’s not moved on. From any of it. “Because I care about you, Tori. That’s never changed. It never will.”

Victoria’s gaze meets hers, eyes glassy. “So where were you? All this time?”

“Victoria, you made it very clear that you didn’t want me around and I chose to respect that.”

“But. Rose.” Her breath hitches.

“Your wishes came first. You don’t know how much it’s killed me to stay away. I would have been there for all of it if you’d let me.”

Another pause. Andi waits. She’s used to waiting.

Victoria breaks the silence, her voice small. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“You should have been there.”

“I know.”

“I really loved you, you know.”

Andi nods once. “I know that too."

[draw-you-coward]

ao3

headcanon that i’ve warmed up to: autistic urianger?

~

“I fear thou art mistaken, good ser. Ne’er was it mine intent to do thee or thy lady ill.” The voice is gravelly, quiet, and straining with weariness.

Thancred looks up from the book he had been thumbing through. He hadn’t expected to hear that familiar baritone this far away from its chosen place of residence. Curious, he reshelves the library book and steps to the edge of the balcony, peering down over the gilded railing.

“Well, ill you’ve done!” A red-haired mystel is standing on the floor below as if hoping to embody the concept of a restlessness, ears folded back and tail slowly whipping in agitation. Beside him is a flaxen-haired woman in a similar, although less flustered, state. “And I’ll thank you to apologize, I think! Why, I thought the elves were supposed to be—supposed to be gallant folk, high in virtue and deed! It seems I was mistaken.”

Urianger, for it is indeed him, draws in a deep, coarse breath. He lets it out as more of a roughened sigh than is polite. “I apologize, dear lady, for my malintent,” he says to the woman. “Though it was indeliberate.”

“Dear lady?” The man’s cry is indignant. “Why, she is neither dear to you nor is she obligated to take whatever that is supposed to be as an apology!” Then, sharply and swiftly, “I’ll thank you to look at your conversation partner when you are spoken to, young man! How terribly rude.”

Urianger pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Thancred turns and retreats into the building, silent and graceful.

“It’s alright, Vas, darling.” The lady speaks in a high and reedy voice. “I’m sure he meant nothing by it. Isn’t that right, er…?”

“It is,” Urianger replies. “’Twas foolish of me to supposition that mine aid in the matter would be welcomed, let alone hearkened to.”

“What? Why, you—!”

“Vas. Vas! It isn’t worth it. No, don’t.” A clacking footstep upon stone tiles.

“Is there a problem here, good folk?” Thancred appears in the archway of the alcove. Urianger's pale eyes fix on him and hold. The pair of mystel look over, clearly startled. The woman is clutching at the man’s arm, but upon spotting Thancred, she lets go and smoothes down her blouse.

“It pains me to interrupt,” he continues with an amiable smile, “but I will humbly request that, since we are in a library, you keep it down. I doubt this man has done aught to earn such ire, unless he has committed some grievous crime…?”

The man huffs in irritation, but eyes Thancred's gunblade warily, and eventually shakes his head. “No, no. Not enough to start trouble, I suppose. Come along now, dearest. We’ll go to someplace more… civilized to get what we need.”

With a sniff and an unnecessarily pretentious ear flick, they stalk past Thancred and out of the room. He watches them leave with raised eyebrows, then turns to Urianger.

“And just how did you manage to step on their toes?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Urianger's mouth twitches downwards, then evens out. “I did offer but a simple suggestion,” he mutters. “They wert searching for knowledge beyond their purview. The beginner’s tomes art yonder,” he points, “Where ‘tis more acceptable to be… raucous.”

Thancred's eyebrows arch. “Did you honestly tell them that?” he asks, amused. “Oh my. What crawled up your skirts and died today, eh?”

Urianger's eyes flash with annoyance. “A library serveth its purpose best as a domain of learning, ergo of peace and quiet,” he says, a little waspishly. “’Tis doing its residents ill to disrespect said purpose.”

Thancred leans against the wall. “Well, we’re not being very respectful right now, if that’s the case. Be any snappier and you’d be a crab.”

Urianger pivots on his heel. “Begone, then!” he says harshly. “If thou wouldst do naught but pick at my temperament and drive me to quarrel.”

He pushes a book back in its place far more aggressively than is necessary. Definitely far more aggressively than Thancred would ever think he would treat one.

“Are you…?” Thancred steps forward, laying a hand on Urianger's arm to turn him around. He does so, albeit with a stiff jaw and a warning behind his eyes. “Twelve above, alright. Alright.”

He glances around, mentally plotting the path through the library that would walk them past the quietest sections on the way out. “Come on then,” he says when he has it, letting go of Urianger to beckon. “The noise levels are more even outside of the building. You can take my arm if you like.”

Urianger eyes him suspiciously, but follows as Thancred leads him out of the alcove, and after a few seconds, tentatively settles long fingers around his shoulder. His grip is a good indication of his reaction to the current noise level, and Thancred re-charts their walk a couple of times when it tightens, at one point near-painfully. It is oddly loud today, although he remembers hearing something about some writing competition recently starting up in the newsletter. Perhaps people are doing research for that.

The whispers, giggling, and awkward coughing fade out as they near the exit. They push past the main entrance doors, and the background chatter of the Crystarium seeps in to fill the holes of silence they leave behind.

Thancred waits until they are some ways into the street before he glances up at Urianger. “There. Is this better?”

Urianger looks somewhat surprised, but nods jerkily. “Aye,” he says after a beat. “I… thank thee.”

Thancred crosses his arms. “You aren’t used to anything that isn’t either pure silence or consistent background noise,” he explains. “Even when we were back on the Source, you would only sit with the rest of us if there was enough chatter, although not so much as to be disturbing. Anything you could zone out to, but nothing that would interrupt your train of thought.”

“Thou… art more observant of such things than I grant thee credit for.” Urianger clears his throat and closes his eyes, then opens them to look askance over his shoulder. “Furthermore, I… would have remained thither were it not for thee. The library is customarily my place of solitude. I apologize for my vexation. And I… I thank thee.”

“You already did.” Thancred smiles mildly. “Think nothing of it, my friend. You must be having a stressful day indeed if it got to you this much. What say you to… hm, I think I saw a quaint little sweets shop open up the other day. What do you think? We can see if they have macarons.”

Urianger looks taken aback for a second, as if the thought that Thancred could possibly know his favourite sugary treat (never mind that he lives with their resident baker and has full access to his secret list) is really that shocking. Then his face creases into a smile, if one that is still a little tight from residual tension.

“I… would fain agree to that suggestion,” he says tentatively, which is Urianger-speak for ‘I would like that’. “If thou hast not business elsewhere.”

“Not for a while, I don’t.” Thancred pats the hand that is still on his shoulder. “Come along then, my gallant elf. My treat.”

~*~

“Can I take a pink one, or am I going to upset your piles?” Thancred asks blandly.

Urianger, who is staring intently at said piles, does not respond to him, but after a second he slides over a green macaron with his forefinger.

“Lovely.” Thancred picks it up to study it. “What is this, mint or pistachio? Is mint even something you’re supposed to put in sweets?”

“Honey dew,” Urianger rumbles without looking up.

“Oh, well then.” Thancred takes a bite. It is indeed honey dew. He finishes it in another.

“I daresay you could put your sweet tooth to use more often.” He begins to slowly reach towards the lavender pile. “It wouldn’t hurt to have dessert, you know, at your place. A man gets tired of eating like a rabbit.”

Urianger's hand closes around his unsubtle wrist. “Ryne is a growing girl. She needeth nutrition, not sugar,” he intones. Thancred wiggles his fingers tauntingly, and his eyes narrow. “Hmph.”

“She is, but I’m not.” Satisfied, Thancred tosses the pink macaron he had swiped with two quick fingers of his left hand into the air and catches it in his mouth.

Urianger's eyes dart to his pink pile, which is indeed two telling ilms short. “Thou art a fool,” he mutters.

Thancred swallows and gives him his most saccharine smile. “But…?”

Urianger sighs, releasing his wrist. He slumps into his chair. “But a dear one.”

Thancred snatches another macaron and stuffs it into his mouth before he can so much as blush at that. Urianger only watches him in resignation, the many years they’ve known each other having tempered him to this behaviour.

“Fine, I shall bake dessert for thee and thine once.” He sighs again, puffing out a strand of hair that has fallen in his face. “If thou wilt refrain from pilfering the blue pile. Those are my favourite.”

Thancred kisses his fingertips and presses them to his heart. “Thief’s honour,” he promises with a wink.

~*~