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striveonward · 2 years ago

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oooh for the fluff prompts - 32 and/or 62? :)

Constance kicked her feet and huffed loudly, beating her fists against her head. It was near midnight, a few days after Curtain’s defeat and the childrens’ return from the institute. She could hear Mr. Benedict’s worried anxious thoughts beating through her skull with ferocity. They were all about her. Was she happy here? He hoped she would be happy here. Was she adjusting properly? What sort of relationship did she expect- did she even want a relationship with him? How would he cope with it if she didn’t? She refused the adoption-so perhaps she would be happier if…..but no she was safe here she must stay here….What had she witnessed at the institute? Did any harm befall her? Did she need to talk about it? Was he smothering her if he asked her?To what extent were her abilities developing? Could she hear thoughts? It’s a distinct possibility, but one that must be investigated further- when she’s ready. Could she put thoughts into the heads of others? Influence them into believing things they hadn’t previously? How can I protect her from my brother? How can I help her if I don’t know the answers to these questions? How can I help her? It was the mental equivalent of him playing heavy metal music throughout the house. Constance was unsure as to why she could hear Mr. Benedict’s thoughts and emotions much more strongly than those of others. At first she figured it must be physical proximity, but Number Two’s racing, hurried, practical thoughts were a rapid, comforting whirring in the background. If she really concentrated she could make them out, but they didn’t come clearly and naturally into her mind as if they were her own thoughts. Only of course she knew they weren’t. Rhonda was dead asleep, but her thoughts were like a calming, serene river anyway. They didn’t keep her awake at night.

Constance growled angrily, and decided, in a fit of spite, to answer him. This will shake him enough into stopping this stupid merri-go-round in my brain, she thought.

Some of Mr. Benedict’s thoughts were very repetitive; and so it was easy for Constance, amidst the chorus of I just want to help her. I wish she would let me help her? How can I help her?, to insert herself.

You can help me by stopping this inane rambling. It’s gibberish and nonsense and it’s keeping me awake!!! Constance thought to him angrily. All of a sudden everything in her head was quiet.

Constance? Mr. Benedict questioned in his mind, astonished, but reaching for her. Part of Constance realized she had just played her only card, and was cursing her out for revealing this part of her abilities. She felt slightly vulnerable, as no one else knew she could hear thoughts, at least- not to this degree and certainly not telepathically communicate. Part of her was tired, and just wanted to go to bed and not respond. But another part of her felt guilty that he was so terribly tearing himself apart worrying about her, and wanted to reach back to him.

Yes it’s me. Yes I heard everything. Yes it was embarrassing to witness. Your thoughts are like dirty laundry, all piled up and thrown everywhere. Your mind is mess. Constance thought back, succinctly, she felt, answering his unspoken questions. Now that he was aware she could hear his thoughts, she felt somewhat of a withdrawal, as if certain thoughts and feelings were being hidden from her- as if he was censoring his mind somewhat.

Would you like a cocoa? Mr. Benedict thought back, finally, after a long silence. Constance sat up in bed.

What? An exasperated Constance thought back.

Well, in my view it’s the least I can do. To help you sleep, I mean. Since I so inconsiderately kept you awake with my anxious thought spiral. I do apologize. I had no idea that you- I think this conversation might be better had verbally and in person. I am not sure if this kind of mental effort causes you distress or pain… it does, more than likely….and I would never want to cause any more of that than I already have.

Constance felt a warm feeling spreading through her, and it almost superseded the raging ache in her head.

I’m fine. I’ll be right down.

She slid her feet quickly into her pink slippers (a gift from Number two), and wrapped her pink plaid robe tightly around her body. Her footsteps creaked as she trotted down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mr. Benedict was waiting. He was looking at her with a curious look on his face, equal parts amazed and in awe of her, but also with a deep sadness and an aching worry that wrapped itself around her like a blanket of emotions. He smiled widely, and gestured for her to sit. She did so, looking suspiciously at him, scrunching up her eyes and folding her arms. She shifted a bit in her seat. She had heard his deepest fears and insecurities- well, at least those related to her and the weight of that knowledge felt awkward.

“I cannot apologize to you enough, Constance” Mr. Benedict said earnestly, still looking at her kindly as he poured the cocoa from a pitcher into her mug. “That was not meant for you to hear, and I profusely apologize for keeping you awake or if what you heard- made you uncomfortable in any way. I assure you I never intended-”

“STOP” Constance said loudly, interrupting his rambling, which surely would have gone on, she knew with certainty, for a good twenty minutes. He seemed startled, at first, yet unperturbed by the outburst, simply waiting patiently as she assessed him silently, sipping her cocoa.

“This is weird now” she stated simply after a beat, wiping her mouth. “We are on uneven ground”

“Ah, you mean that you heard thoughts and fears and worries that were very personal to me, relating to yourself?” Constance nodded. “And that that knowledge puts yourself above me in some way? Gives you a power over me perhaps?” Constance blanched.

“I do not wish for power over you. It was an accident” she spat. “You were practically yelling it in my head.”

“I know. I know” Mr. Benedict hastily murmured placatingly. “But I wonder if we can find a way for you to feel less uncomfortable about what you heard. Perhaps if I elaborate on why I thought those things, telling you the same things of my own free will might help eradicate the guilt you feel from accidentally overhearing my thoughts?” Constance screwed up her face.

“Maybe” she said slowly, curious, despite herself at what he was going to say.

“I worry about you Constance because you are a child in my care, first and foremost. I have never been a parent or a guardian of any kind and my worry comes mostly from my fears at my own inability to be an adequate caretaker of you, as I lack experience in this area” he started softly.

Constance tilted her head, saying nothing.

“I worry that you are scarred by your experience at the institute, I worry about the things you might have seen, what you might have endured while there- and I feel a deep guilt about putting you into harm’s way, not just you, of course I worry for Kate, Reynie and Sticky as well. An experience like that can cause serious mental health issues, PTSD if you will”

“I also worry about your psychic abilities- mostly because we do not know much about them. I want to ensure that you use your abilities for good, and that you understand your mental and physical limitations so that you don’t cause yourself harm or injury. I worry that accidents like these will cause you pain or discomfort- ruin friendships or other relationships in the future. I worry that you are in danger because of these abilities and that my brother or others like him will stop at nothing to possess you, to use you and your abilities for nefarious purposes, and that they would harm you in the process.” Here, his eyes filled with tears, and he had to blink furiously and look away from her, his breathing falling into the pattern it did when he was trying to keep his narcolepsy at bay.

“My biggest concern however, is always your happiness, comfort, and safety. After the life you have had you deserve to be all of those things, as much of the time as possible. I just hope that I can give you a life with those things. And I promise, Constance that if I can’t…if you’re not, if this isn’t working for you then, we….we….” he paused, and Constance could tell he was trying to keep the pain from his voice. “We can always find alternative living arrangements…an adoption perhaps…” Mr. Benedict sipped his cocoa shakily and waited in agonized silence. silence.

“You really worked yourself up about this didn’t you?” Constance replied. Mr. Benedict let out a nervous chuckle and ran his hands through his salt-and-peppery hair until his curls stuck up every which way. “I’m fine. I’ve got nutritious food, superspies for company, and an adequate chess partner” she said matter-of-factly. Mr. Benedict was putting on a good show of pretending to be reassured, but his bleeding emotions filled Constance with a deep sadness and vulnerability. “This is my home. I will not be leaving you” Constance said firmly, reaching her hand across the table and grasping his tightly. His hand squeezed back before going slack in hers, as his head fell back with a light snore, the tears that had gathered in his eyes dribbling smoothly down his cheeks.

Constance was grateful he had fallen asleep so he would not see her own tears as she furiously blinked them away or wiped them on the sleeve of her robe. His emotions were making her into some softie she thought angrily. Constance Contraire never cried. Not even as a baby.

Her hand stayed firmly in his, as she waited for him to wake up.

When he awoke, they talked of many things. Constance told him about the institute, and he listened, and they discussed how perilous it had been, how strange the institute culture was, how Constance had worked with Kate, Reynie and Sticky to unravel Dr. Curtain’s plan. They talked about how she was liking it here, things she would like for the future, suggestions for his parenting that would make her happy, such as consuming more ice cream, to which Mr. Benedict countered that parenting is not always about making children happy, but also doing what is best for them in the long-term, regardless of whatever makes them happy in the short-term and Constance was perturbed but had to agree that this was a sensible point.

Unfortunately, although the talk had been well worth it, Constance found herself more awake than she had been when she first entered the kitchen.

“Now look what you did! You just made it worse by engaging me in interesting conversations!” Constance huffed. Mr. Benedict’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m terribly sorry, the intent was to lull you to sleep with dull conversation, but with someone as engaging as yourself for company I’m afraid I couldn’t bring myself to steer the conversation back to the weather” Mr. Benedict said smiling with delight.

“Well now what?” Constance muttered. “It’s your fault I’m still awake. So you must put me to sleep” It was an unconscious use of the phrase, but Mr. Benedict felt a pang in his heart when she used it.

“Might I suggest an oral recitation of a wonderful story? As you can see, the house is positively overflowing with magical and mysterious tales” Mr. Benedict exclaimed, hopping up with excitement, and leading her gently to a pile of books on the end table in the living room. She still gripped his hand, somehow feeling like she couldn’t quite bear to let it go just yet. She was beginning to feel a bit sleepy now, since it was into the morning now and far, far past her bedtime.

“Oh all right” Constance muttered. “Anything that will put me to sleep, at this point” she sleepily put her head against his arm, and she head a quiet little “oh!” that was whispered softly. Blearily, through drooping lids, that were quickly snapped open, she watched him settle himself in a cozy, green patterned armchair, and, hesitating, held his arms out.

“If you’d…if you’d like we can sit on the couch, but…I thought maybe you might be more comfortable here, in case you fall asleep?” Mr. Benedict stuttered nervously. “I’m fine either way…but…if you aren’t comfortable…of course we can”

“You overthink everything” Constance grumbled, and, looking like a very grumpy cat, she hopped onto his lap, and settled herself, shifting against him. Mr. Benedict positively glowed with joy, looking down affectionately over the top of her head. She leaned back against his chest and felt so very warm, with his gentle heartbeat a steady, calming presence. Her small hand still clutched his.

“The Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis” Mr. Benedict murmured. “One of my very favorites”

“You say that about every book” Constance grumbled. Mr. Benedict snorted a delighted laugh and fell quickly to sleep. While he snoozed, Constance smoothed her fingers over the cover.

“A goat man. How ridiculous. And why has he got a scarf but no shirt on in the snow. Does he die of frostbite because of stupidity? Is this a lesson in properly dressing for winter weather?” Constance muttered. Mr. Benedict awoke to Constance staring curiously at the cover.

“You must explain your literature choice. This goat-man has no ability to dress for inclement weather” Mr. Benedict smiled.

“This is a book about family, and how a team of four children work together to save a magical land”

“Four children? Ha! As if they could save the world better than we did!” Constance huffed. “Or I should say I? I was the one who broke a machine with my mind. The rest tagged along” she exclaimed.

“And what an absolutely outstanding mental achievement that was, Constance. But you could not have done it without Reynie’s intuition and leadership skills, Sticky’s prodigious memory, intelligence and loyalty, and Kate’s physical prowess and daring engineering skills” Constance huffed.

“Like I said, they tagged along” Mr. Benedict shot her a probing look. “Okay, maybe they helped a little” Satisfied, Mr. Benedict re-focused back on the book.

“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy” Mr. Benedict began. Constance started immediately.

“Two boys and two girls. Exactly like us” Constance wrinkled her nose. “What are you playing at?” Mr. Benedict merely gave a little grin and continued.

“This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London because of the air-raids” Mr. Benedict read. And so he read on about how the four children came to live with the Professor in the country due to the war with Germany.

“He himself was a very old man with shaggy white hair which grew over most of his face as well as on his head, and they liked him almost at once; but on the first evening when he came out to meet them at the front door, Lucy (who was the youngest) was a little afraid of him, and Edmund (the next youngest) wanted to laugh and had to keep on pretending he was blowing his nose to hide it” Mr. Benedict read, his tone perfectly warm and even, and Constance’s eyes were beginning to droop, and she yawned just a little.

“Just like you. You are a professor. Of something. I think” Constance sleepily muttered. “And while your hair is not white it is definitely shaggy, and you are odd-looking. But there’s a few differences”

“Oh?” Mr. Benedict said softly, smiling down at her, fighting his chuckle at the insults.

“Yes. For one, I was not afraid of you. Please. Lucy should get out more if she is afraid of some old man”

“What about the part where it says that she liked him almost immediately” Mr. Benedict teased. “Is that part accurate?”

“NO!” Constance said too loudly, blushing. “You flatter yourself sir” And he knew she was lying, but he didn’t push it. Constance knew he knew, but it oddly didn’t bother her.

As Mr. Benedict read on about the children exploring the house, and Lucy just discovering that there was in fact snow in the wardrobe, Constance’s eyelids grew heavy, and eventually her breathing evened out. Mr. Benedict had been reading to himself for quite some time before he realized, as he too, had become absorbed in his favorite story.

“Ah” Mr. Benedict murmured at seeing her body curled into his, her small fingers wrapped around his. His eyes began to fill with tears and he fell asleep and awoke, so many times at the tender scene that he decided that it would be simpler- not to mention safer, if he stayed in the chair with her, as he did not trust himself to master his emotions enough to be able to carry her up the stairs safely. And to tell the truth, he had no reason to wish to move, he was gloriously happy that Constance had finally allowed her barriers down and allowed him to show how much he cared about her. He was even happier that she was allowing physical affection. It was more than he had ever hoped for. He had been beginning to wonder if the botched adoption attempt had pushed her away for good- that now he had come on too strong and ruined any chance of bonding with her. But he was wrong, and now all he wanted to do was keep holding her, to keep her hand in his. He brushed her braids gently with his fingertips, and placed his arms gently around her, keeping her anchored to his chest. With one last glance at Constance, Mr. Benedict slipped into slumber. The book had fallen to the floor, its spine cracked, pages splayed.

And for the first time in a long, long, time, the only beating in Constance’s mind was the beating of Mr. Benedict’s heart.

#mbs #the mysterious benedict society #mbsdisney #mysterious benedict society #tmbs #constance contraire #nicholas benedict #tmbs disney #the perilous journey #my writing #wow the feels #I’m bawling #this is too precious #i hope yall enjoy #I love them so much your honor #dad Benedict is the best Benedict #she is his daughter and no one can tell me otherwise

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