[ Her small hand curves over his arm, and he lifts his other hand reflexively to cover her fingers there, his touch gentle as he looks over at her. Her eyes are big and earnest, pale blue and nothing like his own aside from the expression in them. He remembers when she was small enough that he could have soothed any of her worries simply by picking her up and holding her close, by joking around until she forget her tears and her nightmares and laughed at his silliness.
But she's grown so much since then. She's grown just since the last time he saw her, there on that cliff, trapped in that cave, the smell of ozone and flowers and paint thick in the air. How much of her sixteenth year had he missed? How many more nightmares and terrors and moments of laughter and worries spoken softly out beneath the wide, star-speckled sky of the Continent. ]
...I'm not sure that'll be enough for you for much longer.
[ He'd never really thought he'd ever have to deal with Maelle letting go. As much as he wanted her to embrace the world and the people around her, the reality was that she was only going to be just out of childhood when she lost him. He was never going to see her grow up, not unless 33 made it, fulfilled Lumiere's generational mission.
(And they had, and it hadn't even worked, after all.) ]
It's okay, Maelle. Your world was always going to be bigger than just me and Emma one day. I wanted that for you, I still do.
But I know how lucky I am that I get to have you back again. That we have each other back.
What are you talking about? [She says, breathing out a confused laugh after the words. He's insane.] Stop being ridiculous. You...
[The laughter fades, and she shakes her head. He's not joking, and she knows it, and that he's even saying this hurts. They just got one another back, and he's talking about him not being enough for her.]
A bigger world doesn't mean I don't need you. It actually sounds like I'd need you more than ever, actually. I need my family. Okay?
[Her hand squeezes his arm. He's all the family she needs. Maelle takes a shaky breath, commending herself for not crying thus far, and tries to smile. He really is the best, and she loves him.]
Please. Don't act like you don't know that you're my favorite person.
[ He ducks his head for a moment, shoulders lifting and falling, before he looks back over at her with a small, crooking smile. ]
Well, who knows how long I might manage to hold onto that title? Sciel's taking you shopping, and I don't know how to play the piano...
[ Teasing, trying to get her smile to stop trembling and to shine out more strongly, before his glance falls and lifts again, his head tipping toward her as his expression softens. ]
Yeah. I know.
And you're mine, you know that?
[ He lifts his metal hand from where it's covering hers, pushes it out in front of him in a lazy gesture as he continues, fingers spreading, curling in on themselves again. ]
With you here, I feel like maybe I might actually be able to handle all the weird things that place keeps throwing at us. Aurora. Etraya.
As long as we're together, you know, it's all a little easier.
[He jokes, and she does smile easier, amused. There's always been a special bond between them, something she never had with any other foster family. The love came quick and strong and Maelle doesn't want to know the person she'd be had she not met Gustave. She's glad she won't have to see the person she becomes without him, either.]
I want to help.
[Even if she doesn't fully understand. She loved to help him with his projects despite not understanding or absorbing the things he would tell her, content to listen to his voice rather than what he was actually saying. Glad to spend time with him and to have someone genuinely want to spend time with her, too.]
And... there's something I think might help, just a little. I know we have a lot to discover here and I really can't wait to go on our trip but I know it bothers you. The--not knowing. About before. [Where Verso comes into play, but she's sure it's not just not understanding him. He doesn't understand what they experienced, after. She opens her mouth, knowing she's starting to sound like him, prepared to trip and tumble over her own words. So, she pauses for a moment, taking a breath.]
I kept your journal. [Brought to her by Verso, though she decides to omit that detail.] I... tried to write down what we did. What we saw. Like you would. I knew how important it was to you.
[For those who come after.]
I want to be able to explain it all to you myself but I don't know if I can and I thought--I don't know. I thought maybe, together, we can try reading it? Maybe a little here and there. I'm probably going to end up crying anyway, but I think I need to try. If you think it's a good idea.
[ Maelle has a dry, quick humor that he loves, but he's always loved this about her, too: her sincerity, the earnest way she has of speaking when she's trying hard to help, to make an argument. Her pale eyes are wide and steady on his, asking him to agree, searching for his approval through the wave of surprise that rolls over him. ]
My journal? You kept my journal?
[ Kept it, wrote in it, the way he had, every night. He'd never made a secret of it, would sometimes joke to the others after some particularly tough fight when they'd all be standing there dirty and bloodied and exhausted that he'd at least have something interesting to tell his apprentices about, but he'd never shown the entries to anyone. Time alone had been dear during the expedition, and he'd almost always used the few moments he could eke away from the group to write, logging the strange and wonderful things they'd seen, describing and sketching out Nevrons and gestrals and Esquie, telling his apprentices a story he'd hoped with all his heart he might be able to read to them one day.
There's a lump in his throat stopping up his voice; he swallows, coughs to clear it, and shakes his head very slightly as he looks at her. The expression that settles over his features at last is a complex one, but one part of it is clear, at least: warm, slightly stunned pride. ]
...Yeah. Yeah, I think that's a great idea. I'd really love that.
And don't worry. I'll probably end up crying, too. We can keep that part to ourselves... no one else has to know.
[The look on his face is nearly enough to make her weep. In her dreams, before Sirene, her happiest memories--he looked proud of her. For all the love and guidance and patience he'd given her, the least she could do is make him proud. She was never going to be brilliant like him, and all she ever really was good at was running and dueling, but she could continue his legacy in what ways she could. Treat people as she thought he'd treat them. Write in his journal, as he did, recalling details as he would, or at least she tried.
He's emotional, she's emotional, and Maelle nods because she can't speak for a moment. She takes a breath and finds her voice, pulling her hands onto her lap where she can clasp one firmly over the other. She's still full of an anxious energy, struggling to keep her leg from bouncing or her hands from fidgeting too much.]
My entries aren't nearly as good as yours, but I tried. It was important to you, so I--I wanted to do it. I missed you, and sometimes when I sat and wrote it felt like--
[Everyone had offered their comforts. Their advice. But, ultimately, she felt closest to him when she held that journal, read his words. Wrote in the blank pages, because he could not.]
Like... you were a little less gone.
[She dares a glance at him, lips pressed together as she stops herself from rambling on too far in that direction.]
[ They don't have rocks to throw from this patio, but he thinks about getting up to try and find some, anyway, watching her hands twist in her lap. The thought of Maelle carrying on after he'd been so brutally ripped away is one he can hardly bear to even lightly touch in his mind: he can't imagine what it was like for her, can only imagine what it would have been like for him to be the one to watch her be struck down.
Just that is almost enough to make him want to reach back out to her, to make sure she's there, warm and real and alive, at least as far as the rules of this world and the one they'd just left go. ]
I'd like that.
[ It's going to be hard for both of them, but they can take it slow. Talk it through, revisit those memories carefully.
But before they do...
Gustave grimaces briefly, sits up, his hands on his thighs. ]
Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too. And I'll mention it to Sciel later.
[ And Verso, potentially. He is, after all, part of the team. ]
...I saw Renoir, here in San Francisco. Just briefly, but he's here.
[Renoir. Just mention of the name makes Maelle stiffen, expression hardening. Less terror, more hatred, these days. He doesn't deserve to be here or in Etraya or anywhere at all.
Her mouth twists into a frown as she swallows down the bile that bubbles up at imagining Gustave and Renoir occupying the same space. It already sounds justified to kill him again. As if she needed more reason. She'll kill him a hundred times over for taking Gustave away from her in the first place. Nothing has been forgiven.]
... just saw?
[It's all Maelle can get out after a long, heavy pause. ]
[ He doesn't want Maelle anywhere near Renoir, for myriad reasons. She's still furious and hurt and probably will be... forever, maybe; the man is still dangerous, no matter what Verso might say; they still don't really know what his intentions are here, and Gustave still doesn't really know what his intentions were back there, on the Continent, aside from a grim determination to stop them. ]
It's like I... I see him everywhere I go, and sometimes he's real and sometimes he's not, and half the time I don't know which it might be unless I actually try to interact with him.
[ He was the first person Gustave saw here, still features heavily in Gustave's nightmares, always seems to be there, just out of the corner of his eye. Gustave hates that the man is here at all, but in Etraya he's at least come to terms with the idea of seeing him now and then. Here? This world is enormous. He'd half-believed the Renoir he saw in the museum was simply a figment of his terrified imagination. ]
I'm sorry. I know you don't want me anywhere near him, and believe me, I don't want to be anywhere near him. But it's like we keep getting... thrust together.
[ Stumbling on each other. Renoir at the riverwalk, Renoir at the museum. What's next? Renoir on the roof of the apartment building, the place Gustave goes to try and clear his mind? ]
[Maelle listens, concern written plainly on her face. She didn't know he sees him, that he haunts Gustave. Her fingers flex in memory of the Curator's guidance, and the petals taking Renoir away. Death.
She wonders if she could do that again. Here. Without help from anyone. But she doesn't even understand what that was or how she did it or what the point is, in a place beyond death. Seemingly.]
I don't know why he won't just leave us alone.
[Is it because of Verso? Maybe there's no answer. Maybe it's some sick pleasure of an old man with a rotten heart. Maelle shakes her head, trying to keep herself from spiraling into ugly places she doesn't care for Gustave to see.]
... really not helping the part where I'm trying to not be glued to your side every minute of every day.
[It's only a half-joke. She doesn't laugh. She never likes being away from him even if she's off having a good time. Her thoughts always drift back to Gustave, hoping he's okay. Relatively speaking.]
[ Part of him, a large part, wants to tell her it's not her problem to deal with. She's still a child, like Sciel pointed out, and he's still her guardian, no matter that death parted them. But Lumiere has long been past the point where children could simply be children, without worrying about the problems of adults. He'd left the care of the city in the hands of boys younger even than Maelle, and been certain they'd manage.
But in the end, it's just that he tries to be truthful with Maelle. He's always spoken to her like an equal, more than like an authority figure. Even the few times he's put his foot down, felt more like a father than a brother, he's always tried to couch it in reasons she would understand instead of simply laying down a law.
And so, here, he admits: ]
Yeah. I don't, either.
[ It works as an answer to both, really: he doesn't know why Renoir won't leave them alone, he doesn't know what to do about it. He shakes his head, leans onto his knees again, fingers lacing together and then pulling apart so he can gesture with one hand. ]
And I still don't understand him. He speaks in riddles, and he knows things... I don't know how he knows them. I mean, I do, I know he's been alive since before the Fracture, but...
[ He grimaces, hauling back on the words. It's not important. ]
I keep waiting for him to attack me again, but he doesn't. Hasn't.
Maybe whatever motivated him last time isn't in play here, I don't know.
I thought he wanted to protect the Paintress. If it was revenge, he would have done something already. Tried, at least.
[Unless he's doing worse, out of sight. Maelle doesn't want to think about what he might say to Verso. They all just need to stay far, far away. She worries about Gustave just as much as she worries about Verso on his own, away from Expedition 33. But it feels impossible to be present for both.
Especially, if it came down to it, she'd choose Gustave. Every time. She can't lose Gustave again and especially not to Renoir.]
However he acts here, it doesn't undo what he did. At the... at the beach, and...
[The cliffs. Maelle looks to Gustave, knowing he'll fill in the gaps without her needing to say it.]
[ He nods, trying to recall how their conversation had gone in that hotel that very first night. Barely any of it has stuck in his head; he'd been in a frenzy of fear and pain and most of it had washed over him like he'd been in a dream. ]
No, it doesn't.
[ He doesn't forgive Renoir for his crimes, no matter how many strange and familiar things the man speaks of, no matter how those cold clear eyes had rested with possessive pride on the simulacrum of the dome.
He'd taken a chair that allowed him to sit perpendicular to Maelle, but now he gets up, comes to the other side of the bench she's perched on, so he can put an arm around her, coax her close to his side. He's warm, solid, breathing; alive, for all intents and purposes, and maybe this will be enough to help her unwind a little from her brittle tension. ]
Right. The smart thing to do is to stay away if we can.
There doesn't seem to be any getting rid of him, but we can still try to be cautious.
[Not much coaxing is needed these days to have Maelle sinking into Gustave's side, turning to slip her arms around him. She goes so far as to lean in to give him a proper hug, tucking herself under his chin. Every hug is a gift. Every moment with him is a wonder, something she thought lost forever. She hates Renoir all the more for making them waste their precious time together talking about him.
But she remembers the important thing: she has Gustave. No one will ever take him from her again.]
We'll be okay.
[She hopes. She has to say it so he doesn't worry too much about her. If he thinks she believes it, maybe some part of Gustave might, too.]
I'm sorry everything is so... messy. And difficult. I want to do what I can to make it easier for you.
[Maybe that means killing Renoir again, some day. But it can start with the journal. She lets out a shaky breath, relaxing. Somewhat.]
Just... don't let me hear you ever say anything like what you said before. That you won't be enough for me. Please.
[ He and Maelle have always been close, but that hasn't always meant physically so; often, they're content to just stand or sit near one another, Maelle always popping up at his side like the little shadow Emma always called her.
But here, with everything that's happened, everything that happened before, they've both regressed a little into the need for physical touch, like when she was small and needed her hand held or her hair stroked or to cry herself calm on his shoulder with his arms around her. Now, she scootches up close and slips her arms around him again, and he curves his around her in return, as if he could still keep her safe from anything that might try to harm her.
Ironically, it might have to go the other way, these days. Just like the others, Maelle is stronger than him now. ]
Hey, hey. Hey. It's okay. Yeah, things might be messy, and hard, but neither of those are so bad in the grand scheme of things, right? We still have each other back. We're together again.
[ And maybe Lune will arrive to level him with a judgmental look, and the team truly will be back together.
He makes a small, soft sound and curls over her, nodding. ]
I won't, I promise.
[ A small chuckle, even as he squeezes her a little tighter, trying to comfort. ]
The last thing I want is to annoy you now. You'd probably wipe the floor with me in a duel.
[Their time together was always going to be short. She'd lose him at sixteen or seventeen, either on an Expedition or from the Gommage. Still, it was always difficult to imagine, a world without Gustave. She's a teenager that went through her phases of rolling her eyes and merely enduring a hug or affectionate moment.
She hates that she didn't cherish each and every one. That she didn't linger in the embrace of someone that loved her fully, selflessly. That she didn't always tell him she loved him. That she didn't fully realize that one day she would miss the way her hair caught in his beard or the way he'd hunch over his work, bent like the tower. She feels like she's tryin to make up for it now, obedient and patient where she might balk or sigh otherwise, enjoying the mere fact that she has Gustave back.
Everything would be perfect if not for all the pain, but she wants to believe he believes what he says. Not so bad, in the grand scheme of things.]
We're together again.
[Maelle repeats, and while she laments that they ever were apart at all, she'll do all she can to protect this. Them. Him.]
Yeah, I would, but that's nothing new, no? [She says, only pulling back so that he can see the smile on her face.] The only times I let you beat me was because I knew that defeating a teenager would make you feel good about yourself.
[ He lets her pull back, sitting back himself to give her a skeptical glance. ]
Oh, is that what happened? You're saying I never beat you on my own merit? Not even once?
[ Gustave lifts his arm from around her, but doesn't make any move to get up from the seat on the bench next to her. As much as Maelle might want to keep him within arm's reach, he feels the same way. ]
Maybe I let you beat me. Did you ever consider that?
[ Gustave laughs at the face she makes and again at the question, his smile flashing white in the sun that filters down over the patio. ]
As long as we don't have to come back to wafer-thin bedrolls in a camp on a cliffside somewhere afterwards. These 'old' bones appreciate having a bed to lie in again.
Yeah. You make less noise when you get up in the morning, that's for sure.
[There have been some restless nights spent facing the direction of his bed, waiting for him to wake so their together cam begin. She pretends to conveniently stir when he does, but she's sure he suspects--or simply assumes--sleep is as difficult as it's ever been, for her.]
[ Her teasing helps them both, he thinks. It feels so normal, even under these bizarre circumstances. If Maelle stopped teasing him, he thinks he really might panic. ]
But how about before we dig into our list of things to do, we get some dinner, first? Shouldn't go adventuring on an empty stomach.
[They'll end up procrastinating, not wanting to sully their trip with the weight of the journal and all the emotions it will stir up, but it's okay if they're both in agreement. They have time.]
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But she's grown so much since then. She's grown just since the last time he saw her, there on that cliff, trapped in that cave, the smell of ozone and flowers and paint thick in the air. How much of her sixteenth year had he missed? How many more nightmares and terrors and moments of laughter and worries spoken softly out beneath the wide, star-speckled sky of the Continent. ]
...I'm not sure that'll be enough for you for much longer.
[ He'd never really thought he'd ever have to deal with Maelle letting go. As much as he wanted her to embrace the world and the people around her, the reality was that she was only going to be just out of childhood when she lost him. He was never going to see her grow up, not unless 33 made it, fulfilled Lumiere's generational mission.
(And they had, and it hadn't even worked, after all.) ]
It's okay, Maelle. Your world was always going to be bigger than just me and Emma one day. I wanted that for you, I still do.
But I know how lucky I am that I get to have you back again. That we have each other back.
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[The laughter fades, and she shakes her head. He's not joking, and she knows it, and that he's even saying this hurts. They just got one another back, and he's talking about him not being enough for her.]
A bigger world doesn't mean I don't need you. It actually sounds like I'd need you more than ever, actually. I need my family. Okay?
[Her hand squeezes his arm. He's all the family she needs. Maelle takes a shaky breath, commending herself for not crying thus far, and tries to smile. He really is the best, and she loves him.]
Please. Don't act like you don't know that you're my favorite person.
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Well, who knows how long I might manage to hold onto that title? Sciel's taking you shopping, and I don't know how to play the piano...
[ Teasing, trying to get her smile to stop trembling and to shine out more strongly, before his glance falls and lifts again, his head tipping toward her as his expression softens. ]
Yeah. I know.
And you're mine, you know that?
[ He lifts his metal hand from where it's covering hers, pushes it out in front of him in a lazy gesture as he continues, fingers spreading, curling in on themselves again. ]
With you here, I feel like maybe I might actually be able to handle all the weird things that place keeps throwing at us. Aurora. Etraya.
As long as we're together, you know, it's all a little easier.
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I want to help.
[Even if she doesn't fully understand. She loved to help him with his projects despite not understanding or absorbing the things he would tell her, content to listen to his voice rather than what he was actually saying. Glad to spend time with him and to have someone genuinely want to spend time with her, too.]
And... there's something I think might help, just a little. I know we have a lot to discover here and I really can't wait to go on our trip but I know it bothers you. The--not knowing. About before. [Where Verso comes into play, but she's sure it's not just not understanding him. He doesn't understand what they experienced, after. She opens her mouth, knowing she's starting to sound like him, prepared to trip and tumble over her own words. So, she pauses for a moment, taking a breath.]
I kept your journal. [Brought to her by Verso, though she decides to omit that detail.] I... tried to write down what we did. What we saw. Like you would. I knew how important it was to you.
[For those who come after.]
I want to be able to explain it all to you myself but I don't know if I can and I thought--I don't know. I thought maybe, together, we can try reading it? Maybe a little here and there. I'm probably going to end up crying anyway, but I think I need to try. If you think it's a good idea.
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My journal? You kept my journal?
[ Kept it, wrote in it, the way he had, every night. He'd never made a secret of it, would sometimes joke to the others after some particularly tough fight when they'd all be standing there dirty and bloodied and exhausted that he'd at least have something interesting to tell his apprentices about, but he'd never shown the entries to anyone. Time alone had been dear during the expedition, and he'd almost always used the few moments he could eke away from the group to write, logging the strange and wonderful things they'd seen, describing and sketching out Nevrons and gestrals and Esquie, telling his apprentices a story he'd hoped with all his heart he might be able to read to them one day.
There's a lump in his throat stopping up his voice; he swallows, coughs to clear it, and shakes his head very slightly as he looks at her. The expression that settles over his features at last is a complex one, but one part of it is clear, at least: warm, slightly stunned pride. ]
...Yeah. Yeah, I think that's a great idea. I'd really love that.
And don't worry. I'll probably end up crying, too. We can keep that part to ourselves... no one else has to know.
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He's emotional, she's emotional, and Maelle nods because she can't speak for a moment. She takes a breath and finds her voice, pulling her hands onto her lap where she can clasp one firmly over the other. She's still full of an anxious energy, struggling to keep her leg from bouncing or her hands from fidgeting too much.]
My entries aren't nearly as good as yours, but I tried. It was important to you, so I--I wanted to do it. I missed you, and sometimes when I sat and wrote it felt like--
[Everyone had offered their comforts. Their advice. But, ultimately, she felt closest to him when she held that journal, read his words. Wrote in the blank pages, because he could not.]
Like... you were a little less gone.
[She dares a glance at him, lips pressed together as she stops herself from rambling on too far in that direction.]
We can start tonight, if you want.
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Just that is almost enough to make him want to reach back out to her, to make sure she's there, warm and real and alive, at least as far as the rules of this world and the one they'd just left go. ]
I'd like that.
[ It's going to be hard for both of them, but they can take it slow. Talk it through, revisit those memories carefully.
But before they do...
Gustave grimaces briefly, sits up, his hands on his thighs. ]
Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too. And I'll mention it to Sciel later.
[ And Verso, potentially. He is, after all, part of the team. ]
...I saw Renoir, here in San Francisco. Just briefly, but he's here.
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Her mouth twists into a frown as she swallows down the bile that bubbles up at imagining Gustave and Renoir occupying the same space. It already sounds justified to kill him again. As if she needed more reason. She'll kill him a hundred times over for taking Gustave away from her in the first place. Nothing has been forgiven.]
... just saw?
[It's all Maelle can get out after a long, heavy pause. ]
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[ He doesn't want Maelle anywhere near Renoir, for myriad reasons. She's still furious and hurt and probably will be... forever, maybe; the man is still dangerous, no matter what Verso might say; they still don't really know what his intentions are here, and Gustave still doesn't really know what his intentions were back there, on the Continent, aside from a grim determination to stop them. ]
It's like I... I see him everywhere I go, and sometimes he's real and sometimes he's not, and half the time I don't know which it might be unless I actually try to interact with him.
[ He was the first person Gustave saw here, still features heavily in Gustave's nightmares, always seems to be there, just out of the corner of his eye. Gustave hates that the man is here at all, but in Etraya he's at least come to terms with the idea of seeing him now and then. Here? This world is enormous. He'd half-believed the Renoir he saw in the museum was simply a figment of his terrified imagination. ]
I'm sorry. I know you don't want me anywhere near him, and believe me, I don't want to be anywhere near him. But it's like we keep getting... thrust together.
[ Stumbling on each other. Renoir at the riverwalk, Renoir at the museum. What's next? Renoir on the roof of the apartment building, the place Gustave goes to try and clear his mind? ]
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She wonders if she could do that again. Here. Without help from anyone. But she doesn't even understand what that was or how she did it or what the point is, in a place beyond death. Seemingly.]
I don't know why he won't just leave us alone.
[Is it because of Verso? Maybe there's no answer. Maybe it's some sick pleasure of an old man with a rotten heart. Maelle shakes her head, trying to keep herself from spiraling into ugly places she doesn't care for Gustave to see.]
... really not helping the part where I'm trying to not be glued to your side every minute of every day.
[It's only a half-joke. She doesn't laugh. She never likes being away from him even if she's off having a good time. Her thoughts always drift back to Gustave, hoping he's okay. Relatively speaking.]
I don't know what to do.
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But in the end, it's just that he tries to be truthful with Maelle. He's always spoken to her like an equal, more than like an authority figure. Even the few times he's put his foot down, felt more like a father than a brother, he's always tried to couch it in reasons she would understand instead of simply laying down a law.
And so, here, he admits: ]
Yeah. I don't, either.
[ It works as an answer to both, really: he doesn't know why Renoir won't leave them alone, he doesn't know what to do about it. He shakes his head, leans onto his knees again, fingers lacing together and then pulling apart so he can gesture with one hand. ]
And I still don't understand him. He speaks in riddles, and he knows things... I don't know how he knows them. I mean, I do, I know he's been alive since before the Fracture, but...
[ He grimaces, hauling back on the words. It's not important. ]
I keep waiting for him to attack me again, but he doesn't. Hasn't.
Maybe whatever motivated him last time isn't in play here, I don't know.
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[Unless he's doing worse, out of sight. Maelle doesn't want to think about what he might say to Verso. They all just need to stay far, far away. She worries about Gustave just as much as she worries about Verso on his own, away from Expedition 33. But it feels impossible to be present for both.
Especially, if it came down to it, she'd choose Gustave. Every time. She can't lose Gustave again and especially not to Renoir.]
However he acts here, it doesn't undo what he did. At the... at the beach, and...
[The cliffs. Maelle looks to Gustave, knowing he'll fill in the gaps without her needing to say it.]
But we still try to stay away. Right?
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No, it doesn't.
[ He doesn't forgive Renoir for his crimes, no matter how many strange and familiar things the man speaks of, no matter how those cold clear eyes had rested with possessive pride on the simulacrum of the dome.
He'd taken a chair that allowed him to sit perpendicular to Maelle, but now he gets up, comes to the other side of the bench she's perched on, so he can put an arm around her, coax her close to his side. He's warm, solid, breathing; alive, for all intents and purposes, and maybe this will be enough to help her unwind a little from her brittle tension. ]
Right. The smart thing to do is to stay away if we can.
There doesn't seem to be any getting rid of him, but we can still try to be cautious.
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But she remembers the important thing: she has Gustave. No one will ever take him from her again.]
We'll be okay.
[She hopes. She has to say it so he doesn't worry too much about her. If he thinks she believes it, maybe some part of Gustave might, too.]
I'm sorry everything is so... messy. And difficult. I want to do what I can to make it easier for you.
[Maybe that means killing Renoir again, some day. But it can start with the journal. She lets out a shaky breath, relaxing. Somewhat.]
Just... don't let me hear you ever say anything like what you said before. That you won't be enough for me. Please.
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But here, with everything that's happened, everything that happened before, they've both regressed a little into the need for physical touch, like when she was small and needed her hand held or her hair stroked or to cry herself calm on his shoulder with his arms around her. Now, she scootches up close and slips her arms around him again, and he curves his around her in return, as if he could still keep her safe from anything that might try to harm her.
Ironically, it might have to go the other way, these days. Just like the others, Maelle is stronger than him now. ]
Hey, hey. Hey. It's okay. Yeah, things might be messy, and hard, but neither of those are so bad in the grand scheme of things, right? We still have each other back. We're together again.
[ And maybe Lune will arrive to level him with a judgmental look, and the team truly will be back together.
He makes a small, soft sound and curls over her, nodding. ]
I won't, I promise.
[ A small chuckle, even as he squeezes her a little tighter, trying to comfort. ]
The last thing I want is to annoy you now. You'd probably wipe the floor with me in a duel.
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She hates that she didn't cherish each and every one. That she didn't linger in the embrace of someone that loved her fully, selflessly. That she didn't always tell him she loved him. That she didn't fully realize that one day she would miss the way her hair caught in his beard or the way he'd hunch over his work, bent like the tower. She feels like she's tryin to make up for it now, obedient and patient where she might balk or sigh otherwise, enjoying the mere fact that she has Gustave back.
Everything would be perfect if not for all the pain, but she wants to believe he believes what he says. Not so bad, in the grand scheme of things.]
We're together again.
[Maelle repeats, and while she laments that they ever were apart at all, she'll do all she can to protect this. Them. Him.]
Yeah, I would, but that's nothing new, no? [She says, only pulling back so that he can see the smile on her face.] The only times I let you beat me was because I knew that defeating a teenager would make you feel good about yourself.
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Oh, is that what happened? You're saying I never beat you on my own merit? Not even once?
[ Gustave lifts his arm from around her, but doesn't make any move to get up from the seat on the bench next to her. As much as Maelle might want to keep him within arm's reach, he feels the same way. ]
Maybe I let you beat me. Did you ever consider that?
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Mmm... nah.
[In the next moment she laughs.]
So, looks like we'll be busy between reading, traveling, and dueling. Are you up for all that, old man?
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As long as we don't have to come back to wafer-thin bedrolls in a camp on a cliffside somewhere afterwards. These 'old' bones appreciate having a bed to lie in again.
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[There have been some restless nights spent facing the direction of his bed, waiting for him to wake so their together cam begin. She pretends to conveniently stir when he does, but she's sure he suspects--or simply assumes--sleep is as difficult as it's ever been, for her.]
Less pop-pop-pop.
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[ Her teasing helps them both, he thinks. It feels so normal, even under these bizarre circumstances. If Maelle stopped teasing him, he thinks he really might panic. ]
But how about before we dig into our list of things to do, we get some dinner, first? Shouldn't go adventuring on an empty stomach.
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[It's important, all of these things. Even if she would rather skip the journal part.]
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Dinner, treats, and a first round of the journal.
[ Which is going to be tough for both of them, but especially Maelle, so he adds: ]
... and maybe a couple more treats after that. And then we can get on our way first thing in the morning. Sound good?
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[They'll end up procrastinating, not wanting to sully their trip with the weight of the journal and all the emotions it will stir up, but it's okay if they're both in agreement. They have time.]