[ Her lashes are thickly starred with tears, her eyes so red the pale irises look almost luminescent in contrast before she closes them so tightly, the way she used to when she was a little girl trying to evade her nightmares.
He sweeps moisture off her cheek and brushes his hand back over her hair, curving his fingers gently at the back of her head to cradle her close to his chest once more. ]
I'm here.
[ (And this is her dream, so maybe he knows, already, without her having to say; maybe it's something more than memory and less than life. ]
[Held, safe and sure, she simply cries against him. Cries and clings until she can manage more words. As freeing as it is to weep in the arms of the person she loves most, time is precious and fleeting and what a terrible thing it would be to only cry.
She struggles to breathe, to speak, but she manages. She keeps her face buried against Gustave.]
I wish--I wish we had more time together. It's not enough. There are so many things I've--I should have asked, or said...
[The Gommage was always the sword over his neck, and then the Paintress and the continent, but she always thought they would have more time.]
[ As her storm of tears begins to subside, he strokes her hair once more, then lifts his hand away to reach into his waistcoat pocket. The handkerchief he retrieves is soft and white and smells faintly of roses, and he offers it to her without letting go of her with his other arm. ]
What did you want to say to me?
[ He will always listen, has always listened: to her weepy fears and worries when she was a child and newly brought home to him and Emma; to her plans, bright and delighted as she detailed them, drawing castles in the air for them both to wander through. All her little joys and defeats, the times she was angry or the times she was sad: whenever she needed someone to listen, he was there.
And he's here again now, and even if it isn't real maybe it's real enough. He's warm against her, breathing; no haunted, haunted shell of a man, faceless and faded. Perhaps it really is him, in all the ways that matter most. Except one. ]
[Maelle reaches a hand up to take the handkerchief. Even this is familiar, and her eyes linger on it, recalling all the times he'd used it to dry her tears. It's almost enough to make them fall anew, but she sucks in a breath, wiping at her smeared tears and dabbing at her wet nose. She's quiet as she does so, and for several heartbeats after. She can't believe there was a last time she sparred with him, laughed with him, or saw his smile. Their time together was stolen.]
--you were the best thing in my life. [The words blurt out before she's ready to say them, a tremble in her voice. Once the dam is open, she can't stop, pained expression on her face. This hurts. She waited too long.] That I love you and I was so happy with you and Emma. You're my father and my brother and I'm so grateful for that. You know, don't you? Please. Please, tell me you know.
[Maelle was plenty affectionate, tactile and sweet with Gustave and Emma, but she was also young. The words didn't come easily, and so often it was easier to hide what vulnerability she could. And she thinks Gustave knew--there wouldn't be such warmth in his eyes when he looked at her if he didn't, she reasons. Maybe it didn't need to be said.
But he deserved to hear it from her more than he did. That, she can never fix.]
[ His brow furrows as he watches her, as he listens to the words pouring from her, as sore as if he's pressing on some tender bruise. His artificial arm is steady and strong around her; his warm, human hand reaches again to run over her hair, to cup her wet cheek. ]
I know, [ he promises, meeting her wet, miserable eyes with his own steady ones. Kindness had always come easily to him, but he'd found it easiest of all with Maelle, sweet and bright and vibrant as candle flame. Her spark brought warmth and light to all their lives.
Now he searches her eyes, his voice low but firm, wanting her to believe him. ]
I always knew, Maelle. And we always felt the same way. You're the best thing that ever happened to us. To me.
[ The smile he gives her is a little lopsided, sadness keeping it from being more than a flicker it even as it warms for her. ]
I love you so much. I always will. I've only ever wanted you to be happy.
[She bites her bottom lip, just barely keeping in the sob of relief when he says he knows. It feels so good to hear him say it. Her hand grasps his wrist, and maybe if she never lets him go she'll never lose him again.]
I was happy with you. [The tears are there, in her eyes, but she can still breathe.] So happy. You saved me. And I, I couldn't...
[Save him. She will kill Renoir and she will find pleasure in it. She'll run him through and discard him on the floor and look into his lifeless eyes and feel justified. Again, Maelle squeezes her eyes shut. When she chases away the sickening anger, there's something wounded there. Something small, when she next manages to speak, looking to Gustave with exasperated sadness.]
[ He shifts his wrist in her grip enough to twist his hand and take hers, fingers curling gently around her smaller ones as he steps back, drawing her towards the little table with his still-steaming cup of coffee. There are two chairs; he keeps one hand in hers and uses the other, the artificial left hand, to draw one out for her in an invitation. ]
Have some breakfast while we talk.
[ His smile is crooked, a little wry. ]
The bread is fresh, and there's some of that cheese you like.
[ Is it her desire, or some small part of him that's still alive in her, trying to take care of her even now? Impossible to say. ]
[Maelle allows herself to be led, hand holding onto his. She doesn't want to let go. When she sits, she looks at their hands. He feels real. Looks real. If only this were still her reality.
She has no appetite, but reluctantly uncurls her fingers from Gustave's hand and reaches for the bread. Soft and warm when nothing on the continent offers that. Even the vibrant parts of the land have been dull since Gustave's death. Only here do things have color again.
With a sniffle, her gaze returns to Gustave. There's no need to memorize everything about him because it's already committed to memory.]
I don't think you want this back.
[Her other hand holds his handkerchief. It's damp.
Above all, she misses his open heart and his silly nature. He could always make her smile, and she tries so hard to muster one up for him. To joke, even as her heart aches.]
[ He lets her fingers slip from his so she can take some of the bread for herself, and turns to retrieve a pitcher and glass from the sideboard. The juice he pours sparkles in the strange, glowing sunlight, filling up the glass with golden liquid that smells like the first crisp apple of a new harvest.
He comes to set both glass and a plate of soft, spreadable cheese in front of her, then takes his own seat again. His glance falls to the damp, rumpled mess of his handkerchief, and he chuckles. ]
Keep it.
[ She might need it, with how many tears she still has to weep.
His expression goes more serious in the next moment, head tilting slightly as he studies her. ]
[Maelle falls silent. She does know. It's the same reason she so desperately tried to get to him. Why this all hurts so much. Her lips purse together as she tries to keep her breathing level.
She almost succeeds.]
You... were never going to keep that promise, were you? Not as long as I was there. You knew it when we talked about it at camp.
[She can't be upset with him for it. All her rage and anger is for Renoir. And the Paintress, for being an obstacle. Gustave only ever did his best. He was good. Nothing will ever tarnish her opinion of him.
Her eyes fall to the glass, to the bread in her hand. She puts it down on the small plate before her and takes a slow breath before looking to him again.]
I don't know what to do without you.
[Such would have always been the case. Gommage or otherwise, he was so ingrained in her every day, thought, view of the world.]
[ His glance falls, cuts to the side, finally lifts again to meet hers. ]
If there had been a way to keep it and still make sure you were safe, I would have tried.
[ He'd been full of cold anger toward the white-haired man, still grieving their friends on the beach, the vast majority of their expedition slaughtered only seconds after their boots hit the sand, but he'd wanted to live, himself.
So: yes. she's right. He'd known even then that he'd never be able to keep that promise if she was there, too. He leans towards her, the warm brown eyes that always had a smile for her full of sympathy and her own pain, mirrored back to her. He never wanted to leave her. ]
You'll... find a way. To move forward. I know you will.
[The knot in her throat grows. She doesn't want to talk about moving forward. Kill the Paintress. Kill Renoir. After that--she can't fathom what the world looks like. What Emma would look like, hearing her brother died. What his apprentices will look like, when she hands them Gustave's journal, her own accounts splotched with teardrops and lacking his attention to detail.
She doesn't know what to say. So little helps the pain. After a quiet that feels too long, hands twisting the handkerchief in her lap, she swallows around the heavy lump in her throat.]
You miss Sophie. I try to... remember that. Maybe you'll figure out how to make it work by the time I see you again, yeah?
[While she doesn't know exactly why they broke up, she's sure he fumbled. Somehow. Probably. That thought gives her some solace. The next life.]
[ There's a small tug to the corner of his mouth that can't decide if it wants to be a smile or a frown. He looks down at his hands, loose on his thighs, and for a moment whatever expression shifts across his face is hidden to her. ]
Yeah. Maybe.
[ He looks back up again, then shifts his chair out from the table and a little closer to her, reaching to carefully cup his hands around the ones she has twisting that scrap of cloth. His voice is gentle, even with the faintest edge of brotherly teasing that had once laced so much of what he told her. ]
[It's no wonder he and Sciel got along so well. In some topsy turvy world she thinks they both would have been wonderful parents together, and maybe in some way they were to her, though at different times. Still, Maelle is entirely biased--Gustave's warmth and way of knowing what just to say is unique to him, to their bond.]
I'll stop her. I'll stop the Paintress, and I'll kill him for what he did to us. To everyone. Just...
[Glassy eyes meet his, serious, even if she sounds childish to her own ears.]
Make me a new promise. Don't forget me. I promise to live as long as you wait for me this time.
[ It comes out on the breath of a laugh, his fingers squeezing hers, warm and familiar. ]
I'm more likely to forget myself than I am to forget you. It'll never happen.
[ Clinging to memory has its own dangers... could he become a shattered, fading remnant of himself, hardly able to even remember words, let alone names or faces, like those strange, ashen figures they found throughout the continent? Perhaps. He has no more answers here than she does.
But this is a promise he can make, and keep, and he nods to her. ]
I promise. And I'll wait for you. I'll be there with you wherever you go... just out of sight, maybe.
[It's not the same as having him by her side. Physically. A comfort, always, be it his remarks on whatever was going on around them, or some thought he had to share, or a joke, or a face he'd pull when only she was looking. She supposes she understands now how he must have felt losing his arm. He's her lost limb, some part of her gone forever, but there's no fabricated part to replace him.
Verso may feel like a possibility on paper, a man missing a sister while she's missing a brother and how convenient that is, but he is not Gustave.]
A real promise, [ he agrees, and lifts his right hand to curl his own pinky around hers: an unbreakable oath now sealed, reminiscent of the many he solemnly made when she was so much younger than she is now.
She has so much life left to live. All he can hope is that she gets the chance to live it. ]
I should probably try to tell you something trite about forgiveness being the better path.
[ He lifts his eyebrows at her, then shakes his head, shoulders and chest lifting with a long, deep breath. ]
But I won't. When you're ready, when you're strong enough—
[ His pinky finger tightens a little on hers as he gives her hand a little shake. ]
[That day haunted them all, but Gustave, especially. Maelle drops her hand back down to her lap, watching him. She has so many questions, so many conversations to have yet, but she knows she could spend a lifetime with him and still not be done.
One does manage to come to the forefront and make it out of her mouth, however.]
Were you there? Beneath that tree in the forest. Where we laid you to rest. Could you hear us?
[ In this dream, he still has the left arm she'd placed so tenderly there beneath the waving leaves and branches of the trees that stood silent sentinel over the graves of so many expeditioners. Maybe it's right that he be there, among so many of his compatriots... those who went before. ]
It was a nice place. Peaceful.
[ And peace has eluded them all for such a long time. ]
Sciel and Lune will want to take care of you. I think you should let them.
[They're dear to her, but they're not Gustave. He was supposed to be her final one. Try as they might, she knows that bond between her and Gustave was something unique. They simply fit well, hearts or souls or natures aligned.]
[ He watches her, hands loosely clasped in his lap, before taking a quick breath in and straightening, visibly trying to shift her mood to something a little more lighthearted. ]
You're never this nice... You really must miss me.
[He does make her breathe out something that sounds near enough to a laugh, throat still tight. Even now, he still can manage to make her smile. Even if it's sad around the edges.]
I do. I really, really do.
[A single tear rolls down her round cheek, falling off her chin.]
I was so desperate to see the world before my Gommage. So determined to go with you on the expedition. But, I think... no. I know, a part of me didn't want to face what the world would be like without you. If you died on the expedition, what were the chances I'd survive?
[ The moment she'd decided to go on the expedition, to fight alongside him, he'd known this was a possibility. Maybe it was the only end he could have expected, giving his life in defense of hers. It's a decision he can be at peace with.
Not so Maelle, though she has to have known this would always be his choice, if they were forced into this particular corner. She's still so young; she'd only expected to say goodbye to him with the Gommage. It can be hard for the people of Lumière to remember that there are other, more abrupt ways to die. ]
I know.
[ Sciel hadn't expected to lose Pierre the way she had, either. He hadn't expected to lose Sophie, in a less final but no less complete way all those years ago. ]
If it helps, I'm not that thrilled about it, either.
Yeah. I know. I'm... it's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but... I'm not mad at you. I could never be.
[She's a teenager. Inevitably, they had their spats, her silent treatments and little acts of rebellion here and there over the years. But he died for her. She knew, always, he would never let harm come to her if he had any say in the matter.
She just never thought she'd watch him go to the slaughter before her very eyes. She can still recall the heat of his blood on her face.]
[ The unfairness of it all is the unkindest cut. Maybe he willingly went to his own doom, an engineer turned expeditioner turned warrior, with some attempt at nobility, at bravery. But none of that erases the fact that he chose that doom not on his own power, but out of desperation. He'd been stabbed in the back, killed right before Maelle's eyes. His choices were ripped away from him. ]
It would be all right, if you were mad at me. I'd understand.
[ A promise broken, a brother destroyed, the life she could almost touch with the tips of her fingers shattered in the blink of an eye. How could he blame her for being angry when she has lost so much, and so much of it at his own hands? ]
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no subject
Date: 2025-05-09 12:42 am (UTC)He sweeps moisture off her cheek and brushes his hand back over her hair, curving his fingers gently at the back of her head to cradle her close to his chest once more. ]
I'm here.
[ (And this is her dream, so maybe he knows, already, without her having to say; maybe it's something more than memory and less than life. ]
I'm here with you.
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Date: 2025-05-09 01:19 am (UTC)She struggles to breathe, to speak, but she manages. She keeps her face buried against Gustave.]
I wish--I wish we had more time together. It's not enough. There are so many things I've--I should have asked, or said...
[The Gommage was always the sword over his neck, and then the Paintress and the continent, but she always thought they would have more time.]
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Date: 2025-05-09 02:05 am (UTC)What did you want to say to me?
[ He will always listen, has always listened: to her weepy fears and worries when she was a child and newly brought home to him and Emma; to her plans, bright and delighted as she detailed them, drawing castles in the air for them both to wander through. All her little joys and defeats, the times she was angry or the times she was sad: whenever she needed someone to listen, he was there.
And he's here again now, and even if it isn't real maybe it's real enough. He's warm against her, breathing; no haunted, haunted shell of a man, faceless and faded. Perhaps it really is him, in all the ways that matter most. Except one. ]
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Date: 2025-05-09 02:29 am (UTC)--you were the best thing in my life. [The words blurt out before she's ready to say them, a tremble in her voice. Once the dam is open, she can't stop, pained expression on her face. This hurts. She waited too long.] That I love you and I was so happy with you and Emma. You're my father and my brother and I'm so grateful for that. You know, don't you? Please. Please, tell me you know.
[Maelle was plenty affectionate, tactile and sweet with Gustave and Emma, but she was also young. The words didn't come easily, and so often it was easier to hide what vulnerability she could. And she thinks Gustave knew--there wouldn't be such warmth in his eyes when he looked at her if he didn't, she reasons. Maybe it didn't need to be said.
But he deserved to hear it from her more than he did. That, she can never fix.]
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Date: 2025-05-09 02:45 am (UTC)I know, [ he promises, meeting her wet, miserable eyes with his own steady ones. Kindness had always come easily to him, but he'd found it easiest of all with Maelle, sweet and bright and vibrant as candle flame. Her spark brought warmth and light to all their lives.
Now he searches her eyes, his voice low but firm, wanting her to believe him. ]
I always knew, Maelle. And we always felt the same way. You're the best thing that ever happened to us. To me.
[ The smile he gives her is a little lopsided, sadness keeping it from being more than a flicker it even as it warms for her. ]
I love you so much. I always will. I've only ever wanted you to be happy.
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Date: 2025-05-09 03:00 am (UTC)I was happy with you. [The tears are there, in her eyes, but she can still breathe.] So happy. You saved me. And I, I couldn't...
[Save him. She will kill Renoir and she will find pleasure in it. She'll run him through and discard him on the floor and look into his lifeless eyes and feel justified. Again, Maelle squeezes her eyes shut. When she chases away the sickening anger, there's something wounded there. Something small, when she next manages to speak, looking to Gustave with exasperated sadness.]
You promised me you would run.
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Date: 2025-05-09 04:37 pm (UTC)Let's sit down.
[ He shifts his wrist in her grip enough to twist his hand and take hers, fingers curling gently around her smaller ones as he steps back, drawing her towards the little table with his still-steaming cup of coffee. There are two chairs; he keeps one hand in hers and uses the other, the artificial left hand, to draw one out for her in an invitation. ]
Have some breakfast while we talk.
[ His smile is crooked, a little wry. ]
The bread is fresh, and there's some of that cheese you like.
[ Is it her desire, or some small part of him that's still alive in her, trying to take care of her even now? Impossible to say. ]
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Date: 2025-05-09 05:50 pm (UTC)She has no appetite, but reluctantly uncurls her fingers from Gustave's hand and reaches for the bread. Soft and warm when nothing on the continent offers that. Even the vibrant parts of the land have been dull since Gustave's death. Only here do things have color again.
With a sniffle, her gaze returns to Gustave. There's no need to memorize everything about him because it's already committed to memory.]
I don't think you want this back.
[Her other hand holds his handkerchief. It's damp.
Above all, she misses his open heart and his silly nature. He could always make her smile, and she tries so hard to muster one up for him. To joke, even as her heart aches.]
It's moist.
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Date: 2025-05-09 06:15 pm (UTC)He comes to set both glass and a plate of soft, spreadable cheese in front of her, then takes his own seat again. His glance falls to the damp, rumpled mess of his handkerchief, and he chuckles. ]
Keep it.
[ She might need it, with how many tears she still has to weep.
His expression goes more serious in the next moment, head tilting slightly as he studies her. ]
You know why I couldn't keep my promise.
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Date: 2025-05-09 06:59 pm (UTC)She almost succeeds.]
You... were never going to keep that promise, were you? Not as long as I was there. You knew it when we talked about it at camp.
[She can't be upset with him for it. All her rage and anger is for Renoir. And the Paintress, for being an obstacle. Gustave only ever did his best. He was good. Nothing will ever tarnish her opinion of him.
Her eyes fall to the glass, to the bread in her hand. She puts it down on the small plate before her and takes a slow breath before looking to him again.]
I don't know what to do without you.
[Such would have always been the case. Gommage or otherwise, he was so ingrained in her every day, thought, view of the world.]
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Date: 2025-05-09 10:40 pm (UTC)If there had been a way to keep it and still make sure you were safe, I would have tried.
[ He'd been full of cold anger toward the white-haired man, still grieving their friends on the beach, the vast majority of their expedition slaughtered only seconds after their boots hit the sand, but he'd wanted to live, himself.
So: yes. she's right. He'd known even then that he'd never be able to keep that promise if she was there, too. He leans towards her, the warm brown eyes that always had a smile for her full of sympathy and her own pain, mirrored back to her. He never wanted to leave her. ]
You'll... find a way. To move forward. I know you will.
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Date: 2025-05-09 11:19 pm (UTC)She doesn't know what to say. So little helps the pain. After a quiet that feels too long, hands twisting the handkerchief in her lap, she swallows around the heavy lump in her throat.]
You miss Sophie. I try to... remember that. Maybe you'll figure out how to make it work by the time I see you again, yeah?
[While she doesn't know exactly why they broke up, she's sure he fumbled. Somehow. Probably. That thought gives her some solace. The next life.]
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Date: 2025-05-09 11:48 pm (UTC)Yeah. Maybe.
[ He looks back up again, then shifts his chair out from the table and a little closer to her, reaching to carefully cup his hands around the ones she has twisting that scrap of cloth. His voice is gentle, even with the faintest edge of brotherly teasing that had once laced so much of what he told her. ]
But don't rush, please. Live. Be happy.
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Date: 2025-05-10 12:43 am (UTC)I'll stop her. I'll stop the Paintress, and I'll kill him for what he did to us. To everyone. Just...
[Glassy eyes meet his, serious, even if she sounds childish to her own ears.]
Make me a new promise. Don't forget me. I promise to live as long as you wait for me this time.
[Living is easy. Being happy is another matter.]
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Date: 2025-05-10 02:09 am (UTC)[ It comes out on the breath of a laugh, his fingers squeezing hers, warm and familiar. ]
I'm more likely to forget myself than I am to forget you. It'll never happen.
[ Clinging to memory has its own dangers... could he become a shattered, fading remnant of himself, hardly able to even remember words, let alone names or faces, like those strange, ashen figures they found throughout the continent? Perhaps. He has no more answers here than she does.
But this is a promise he can make, and keep, and he nods to her. ]
I promise. And I'll wait for you. I'll be there with you wherever you go... just out of sight, maybe.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-10 02:23 am (UTC)Verso may feel like a possibility on paper, a man missing a sister while she's missing a brother and how convenient that is, but he is not Gustave.]
A real promise, this time.
[She holds up her pinky.]
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Date: 2025-05-10 11:32 am (UTC)She has so much life left to live. All he can hope is that she gets the chance to live it. ]
I should probably try to tell you something trite about forgiveness being the better path.
[ He lifts his eyebrows at her, then shakes his head, shoulders and chest lifting with a long, deep breath. ]
But I won't. When you're ready, when you're strong enough—
[ His pinky finger tightens a little on hers as he gives her hand a little shake. ]
Bring him hell.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-10 02:09 pm (UTC)[That day haunted them all, but Gustave, especially. Maelle drops her hand back down to her lap, watching him. She has so many questions, so many conversations to have yet, but she knows she could spend a lifetime with him and still not be done.
One does manage to come to the forefront and make it out of her mouth, however.]
Were you there? Beneath that tree in the forest. Where we laid you to rest. Could you hear us?
[She hopes so. For Lune and Sciel's sake, too.]
no subject
Date: 2025-05-11 05:25 pm (UTC)It was a nice place. Peaceful.
[ And peace has eluded them all for such a long time. ]
Sciel and Lune will want to take care of you. I think you should let them.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-11 05:42 pm (UTC)[They're dear to her, but they're not Gustave. He was supposed to be her final one. Try as they might, she knows that bond between her and Gustave was something unique. They simply fit well, hearts or souls or natures aligned.]
You set the bar too high, I guess.
I have finished the game.... time 2 cry....
Date: 2025-05-11 07:12 pm (UTC)[ He watches her, hands loosely clasped in his lap, before taking a quick breath in and straightening, visibly trying to shift her mood to something a little more lighthearted. ]
You're never this nice... You really must miss me.
the crying never stops.... this game!!!!!!
Date: 2025-05-11 07:27 pm (UTC)I do. I really, really do.
[A single tear rolls down her round cheek, falling off her chin.]
I was so desperate to see the world before my Gommage. So determined to go with you on the expedition. But, I think... no. I know, a part of me didn't want to face what the world would be like without you. If you died on the expedition, what were the chances I'd survive?
[Higher than she realized, apparently.]
I didn't want this.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-11 07:59 pm (UTC)Not so Maelle, though she has to have known this would always be his choice, if they were forced into this particular corner. She's still so young; she'd only expected to say goodbye to him with the Gommage. It can be hard for the people of Lumière to remember that there are other, more abrupt ways to die. ]
I know.
[ Sciel hadn't expected to lose Pierre the way she had, either. He hadn't expected to lose Sophie, in a less final but no less complete way all those years ago. ]
If it helps, I'm not that thrilled about it, either.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-11 08:07 pm (UTC)[She's a teenager. Inevitably, they had their spats, her silent treatments and little acts of rebellion here and there over the years. But he died for her. She knew, always, he would never let harm come to her if he had any say in the matter.
She just never thought she'd watch him go to the slaughter before her very eyes. She can still recall the heat of his blood on her face.]
I know you'd rather be with us.
no subject
Date: 2025-05-11 08:14 pm (UTC)It would be all right, if you were mad at me. I'd understand.
[ A promise broken, a brother destroyed, the life she could almost touch with the tips of her fingers shattered in the blink of an eye. How could he blame her for being angry when she has lost so much, and so much of it at his own hands? ]
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