𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏.

[demainvient]

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ⊹ 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒚 ⊹ 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍
 

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[demainvient]

He waits until he feels her little arms lock around his neck, then reaches back to boost her up, looping his arms under her knees until he's wearing her like a backpack. A moment later and he's pushing up to standing, carefully checking his balance so she doesn't get scared. She's still small, light on his back, but he leans forward a little as he starts off, just to help offset his new center of balance.

Her voice is small, but this close to his ear she doesn't need to speak loudly for him to hear. He glances back at her and boosts her up a little further, then shakes his head as he makes his way back up the winding street that will lead them away from the harbor. "I'm just glad you're okay."

That rush of relief hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, it's making his knees feel disconcertingly watery. "I was really worried when I couldn't find you. You're not hurt anywhere, are you? Just cold?"

[maellum]

She can't remember the last time she was carried. Was she, ever? Did her own parents enjoy holding her? It tugs at her heart painfully, and she wonders if this is what having a father is like. Rides and warmth and concern.

"Just cold," she echoes. Less cold with her coat and his scarf. "It's so cold by the water."

She much prefers the harbor during the day. The monolith looms as it ever does, but at night, it feels like the Paintress can actually see her. The thought makes Maelle shiver against Gustave's back, and she ducks her face down to protect her grimy cheeks from the night air.

[demainvient]

Just cold. That's a relief, but only for a moment before it sparks more concern. What if she catches cold? He doesn't know how long she was out here before he found her, but it was at least half an hour. That's enough time to catch a bad chill, and she's already so small and helpless, frail in the way children are even as they seem to be made out of rubber. "Well, we'll get you warm," he promises. A hot bath and bed, maybe... or if she doesn't want to be alone, he could pile blankets and pillows in the living room and make a little fort where she can feel safe.

It's too late to get some chocolate, but they have milk he can warm up and some honey he can use to sweeten it. Maybe that will help calm her.

He's happy enough to put the harbor at their back; the harbor, and the Paintress curled at her Monolith far beyond. It's not close to the Gommage, but no citizen of Lumiere can help but be constantly aware of that glowing number, of the motionless figure beneath it.

Maybe the Expedition this year will succeed. Maybe Maelle will have a chance to not only grow up, but to grow old. "Why... why did you come down here? All the way to the harbor?"

[maellum]

The harbor is where everyone tends to end up, isn't it? Either setting out on their Expedition or meeting the gommage. It's the closest one can get to the continent without leaving Lumière's shores. It's not the first time she's left through a window and ended up there, but Gustave wouldn't know that.

It makes sense to come here but not in any way she can explain.

"I don't know," she says, settling on that. She would have been harder to find in the warehouses or the worse parts of the city, homes and businesses destroyed after the Fracture but rubble left with plenty of spaces she could hide in. "You found me."

He went to the harbor for a reason, too.

"And... you're not mad?"

She asks like she expects it still.

[demainvient]

"Yeah." And isn't that really the only thing that matters? "I guess I did."

If he thinks too much about how easily he could have missed her in the shadows — if he'd gone in the other direction, into the ruins of Lumiere to search fruitlessly among the wreckage — it would freeze him to the bone. He firmly keeps his thoughts on what did happen instead, hiking easily up the gentle sloping street. "And no, I'm not mad."

Desperately relieved, horribly anxious, but there's no trace of anger anywhere in the turmoil of emotions currently running through him. "Mostly I'm sorry you thought you needed to go. I feel like I've let you down already, and it's only been a few weeks."

[maellum]

Maelle shifts, unable to see his face, but his tone sounds sincere enough. Again, she's surprised. No one's ever said that to her before.

"... everyone makes me go eventually," she explains, as if he wasn't aware. She's lost count if how many times she's ended up dropped off at the orphanage. Some families lasted longer than others, but it always ended the same. "It's usually after they're too tired to deal with me anymore."

And Gustave has looked tired. He didn't hear her when she approached him, peered at his face to see if he was truly out like a light.

"It always happens. Eventually," she repeats. She sounds tired, too. She is tired. "I... know I'm weird and difficult. I wish I weren't, but I don't know how to not be."

[demainvient]

He boosts her a little more securely onto his back, taking the turn that leads away from the market square and the street down to the harbor and back towards the apartment that has been his and Emma's since their little family dwindled to only two.

Three, now. He hopes, anyway. "Well, I'm pretty weird, too. And I'm pretty sure some of my friends would call me difficult. Emma, too."

Certainly when he's digging his heels in and being stubborn. "So I think that just means you match."

[maellum]

He makes it sound so simply. So easy. Little does Maelle know, but this is the beginning of Gustave simply making things make sense to her. He's weird, Emma is weird, and he's difficult, and she's weird and difficult and he's not upset with her for running away or keeping him up or making his whole life have to change because she has so much difficulty sleeping through the night.

Her arms tighten around his neck and she breathes in, breath shaky. The effort it's taking to not cry is becoming harder and harder. People have said kind things to her before. No one was especially cruel, and they tried to be patient and understanding and help. But this is the first time it's felt... real.

"Okay," is all she can say without letting the tears bubble out.