[Once he and Sophie became a thing, she did wonder. Long ago, people dated, wed, had children--grandchildren, even. It was simply what people did. But as time went on and there was no mention of children, Maelle simply assumed they had no interest. She could do the math, figure out how long they would have with a baby. Would that child become her responsibility, one day? To raise them in Gustave's stead? It was dizzying to ponder at such a young age, and now... she sees there would be no point. It didn't happen. Won't happen, now, given the time left to him.
It would make her sad to know it was something he longed for. He's a wonderful parent. The absolute best. As fortunate as she is to not have to share him, it's tragic that she's the only one to be raised by him.
Some time is better than no time at all.]
You're gross. [She says with a laugh.] No running. A slow walk, for your health. Emma will be impressed you got outside.
[ At least he can still make Maelle laugh. That's one small sliver of brightness to an otherwise gloom-ridden day. ]
Emma will just be happy I'm not making a mess of her living room.
[ His memories of the night before are... hazy... but he's reasonably sure it had involved stumbling around their home, stomach lurching, with a strong possibility of ruining the carpet or sofa.
He does his best to give her his usual teasing, disbelieving look. It falls a little flat, but maybe she won't mention it. It's far easier to rally for Maelle than it is for himself. ]
You can go slow? You could probably get there and back before I've even made it to the market.
[He's not himself. She can tell, even through the hangover. He's trying his best, of course. It didn't take long for Maelle to realize that he always put her first, protecting her from worry. But worry is inevitable when you care for someone.
He'll be okay. He may not have Sophie, but he has her and Emma.
Maelle leans into him harder. She has to remind herself to not jostle him too much, lest she want to see him make a mess.]
I have to make sure you don't pass out on a bench. I'll go slow.
[ The arm he has loosely around her in turn tightens as she leans against him, warm and solid and loving. She might not understand, not really — and he can see in her face, in her eyes, that she doesn't — and she'd always liked Sophie, but he knows where Maelle's loyalties lie. The three of them, her and him and Emma, created a whole where before there had been only pieces.
This little family is the best thing he's ever helped to build. Even if it's the only one he'll have.
He leans against her in turn, the mussed brown waves of his hair pressed against the soft red of hers. ]
[It feels good to hear him say so. He's always taken such good care of her. If she can give him even a fraction of how he makes her feel, then she'll be glad. They're family. There are so many broken and pieced together families because of the Gommage, and Maelle's been a part of too many of them to count. This one has always been special. Maybe because it was supposed to happen.
She turns, a little precariously balanced on the edge of the bed, so she can properly hug him.]
We love you.
[It may be the first time she's admitted she loves him aloud, but the love has been there for some time. Maybe it's cowardly to say we, grouping in Emma. Still, it rattles her nerves to say it. Like she'll lose this, now that she's put out into the world the truth. Yet she takes a breath and continues.]
[ His breath punches out of him, like he's been hit in the gut during a sparring session, and his insides lurch, but this time it isn't because he feels sick. It's something so much larger than that, like everything in him shifted all at once.
Maelle's arms around him, her small body pressed to his side. We love you. ]
I—
[ His throat works, feeling suddenly thick, and he blinks fast. Tears might come too easily today, with his heart so fundamentally shattered and the rest of him feeling so shaken and tender. He reaches to curl the fingers of his free hand over her upper arm, leaning his head against hers. ]
I love you, too.
[ And she could take it as meaning both her and Emma, if she wanted, but he means it every way it can be meant: he loves this bright, shy, sparkling girl who has brought so much to their lives. To his life. ]
[It's the best thing she's ever heard him say. Maelle is surprised to feel the sting behind her eyes--she's happy. So happy her emotions want to escape down her face, but she smiles, regardless. Her eyes close as she hugs him tighter.
He must have known there was love between them, just as she has, but if hearing it makes her feel better, she can only imagine how he feels when his heart is so sore.]
Always.
[The echo is a whisper. Always, even after he's gone. For as long as she'll live. She takes a breath, wishing he hurt less. He's too kind to hurt so much.]
Four years until Sophie's Gommage. Just the thought threatens to break his heart all over again, to drown him in grief for something that hasn't even happened yet. ]
Me too.
[ And yet... even if he'd tried to stay with her for those four years, he'd have been miserable. He'd always want the thing she's so adamantly against, and it would only drive them apart again.
But he can't imagine trying to start over again with someone else. (Five years.) ]
[Maelle knows better than to say he can find someone else. He and Sophie were special, and that's not going to be a comfort when she worries he might cry. If he cries now, she'll cry, and he'll feel worse for it. She knows him too well.]
Eventually, yeah. I'll take care of you until then.
[And after, as much as he lets her. She squeezes him with her slender arms again.]
[ She squeezes him and he makes a soft sound – oof — more for her benefit than because he really needs to.
(He still feels terrible, though. That hasn't changed. What he needs far more than a walk to the harbor is about a gallon of water and to sleep for another three to four hours straight.
And her request is... harder than he'd like to admit to acquiesce to. His broken heart is a collection of painful shards in his chest, and wine gives him a little blissful numbness, even if it's only temporary. ]
[If she weren't so sure squeezing him any tighter would end up with him spewing out whatever is left in his stomach, she would do it again. The oof noise he makes always tickles her.]
Gustave...
[Even a slow walk to the harbor seems ambitious, to her. If he drinks more wine today, Emma might suggest leaving him out on the streets until he sobers up this time. It will only compound how bad he must feel.]
[ He sighs, a full-body motion that leaves him curled even further. If it were just him, he could be as self-destructive as he wants.
But it isn't just him, and it isn't even him and Emma, who would understand in a way Maelle can't, not yet. It's him and Emma and Maelle, young and brilliant and loving, who looks at him like he's her hero. He can't let her down. ]
[She loosens her embrace enough to rub his back, trying to soothe as he's undoubtably done for her when she felt unwell from either a nightmare or an illness. He's heartsick, and has a hangover, and Maelle thinks she might have to call the shots, now. At least until Emma is home.]
[Gustave always keeps his promises to her. Maelle cherishes that, but he's... in a state. Tomorrow, or the day after--they have time. So she just nods.]
Yeah.
[She gives him a smile before crawling behind him to do him the favor of fluffing his pillow, and she makes a face because it smells a little bit like sweat and wine.
[ He groans, eyes closing, before he shifts to pull his legs up onto the mattress and lie back against the pillow she's thoughtfully adjusted for him. ]
Ha, ha.
Maybe.
[ It's definitely a possibility. He settles his head back into the soft down and lifts his artificial hand to his forehead, sighing at the touch of cool metal to his flushed skin and aching head. ]
[There's a bucket near the back door, used for mopping, that Maelle thinks would be a good candidate for Gustave's bedside. As she slips off the bed and looks back at him, she frowns. Bucket, and...]
I'll get you a cool cloth.
[Good for his head and also... if he needs the bucket.]
A shame no doctor wanted me to be their apprentice, hmm?
[Maelle isn't a people person. She's a Gustave and Emma person. Outside of them, she wouldn't care enough to dote. Gustave and Emma have earned her love and devotion many times over.
[ It is a shame, though she says it so lightly. Not just that the doctors didn't want her, but that no one did.
He can't understand it — or maybe it's that he thinks it's beyond stupid, even if he can. Maybe Maelle is a little different from the other children of Lumiere, but she's bright and quick-witted, dedicated and creative. Her mind hums along as quickly as any of his machines, sometimes making leaps and connections that make him feel like he's wading through mud trying to catch up. She'd be a boon to any master of any trade, he's certain of it.
She's special. It's absurd to him that no one outside their little family seems to recognize that.
He flips a hand at her in acknowledgment and sinks back into the pillow, eyes closed. It's harder not to dwell on what happened the day before when Maelle isn't here, distracting him with hugs and chatter. He can see Sophie's face, the pain in her eyes. He can hear her soft, determined voice as she shakes her head.
He hadn't thought his heart was still in large enough pieces to keep breaking. He was wrong. ]
I wonder how the "hey I'm going with you on Expedition 33" convo went 😭
[Ultimately, being no one's apprentice is a relief. There's less pressure to learn. Less pressure to stay. She's not planning on being the next generation of anything beyond an expeditioner. The city won't lose someone skilled in a trade sooner than it would.
Maelle lightly hops down the stairs to the kitchen. It's the cloth she goes for, first--and lo and behold, there's one neatly folded by the sink, clean and ready to be dampened with water. Emma really does think several steps ahead. Maelle smiles as she wets it with cool water, then wrings it out. The bucket is plucked from its spot, and up the stairs she returns, poking her head into Gustave's room before stepping inside.]
Bucket and a cool cloth.
[She sets the bucket down right where he'd be making a mess if he couldn't get up in time.]
Just try not to projectile vomit.
sounds like a good nomination for a next thread....
[ He pries his eyes open, already half-dozing, and holds out his hand for the cloth, wincong a little at the sound the bucket makes when it lands on the floor. It echoes around his head like marbles rolling in a can. ]
I'll do my best to aim correctly.
[ His voice is gritty with his hangover and drowsiness, but he gives her a small smile. ]
[Laid down, she's sure he's really feeling how tired his body is from what he's done to it. Instead of handing him the cloth, she kindly places it on his forehead. And then unfolds it once, so some of it can rest over his eyes.]
Rest, okay? The harbor will still be there tomorrow.
[ The damp cloth is cool and soothing against his inflamed eyes, his aching forehead, and he breathes out, chest rising and sinking down with relief. The hand he'd held out lifts to awkwardly pat whatever part of her forearm he can reach, then goes to settle on his stomach. ]
Tomorrow comes, [ he murmurs, making a little joke of one of the expedition mottos. There still will be a tomorrow, for now. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cries about a timeline where gustave had kids and she gets to be a big sister
It would make her sad to know it was something he longed for. He's a wonderful parent. The absolute best. As fortunate as she is to not have to share him, it's tragic that she's the only one to be raised by him.
Some time is better than no time at all.]
You're gross. [She says with a laugh.] No running. A slow walk, for your health. Emma will be impressed you got outside.
they would both love it so much!!
Emma will just be happy I'm not making a mess of her living room.
[ His memories of the night before are... hazy... but he's reasonably sure it had involved stumbling around their home, stomach lurching, with a strong possibility of ruining the carpet or sofa.
He does his best to give her his usual teasing, disbelieving look. It falls a little flat, but maybe she won't mention it. It's far easier to rally for Maelle than it is for himself. ]
You can go slow? You could probably get there and back before I've even made it to the market.
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He'll be okay. He may not have Sophie, but he has her and Emma.
Maelle leans into him harder. She has to remind herself to not jostle him too much, lest she want to see him make a mess.]
I have to make sure you don't pass out on a bench. I'll go slow.
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This little family is the best thing he's ever helped to build. Even if it's the only one he'll have.
He leans against her in turn, the mussed brown waves of his hair pressed against the soft red of hers. ]
You take such good care of me.
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She turns, a little precariously balanced on the edge of the bed, so she can properly hug him.]
We love you.
[It may be the first time she's admitted she loves him aloud, but the love has been there for some time. Maybe it's cowardly to say we, grouping in Emma. Still, it rattles her nerves to say it. Like she'll lose this, now that she's put out into the world the truth. Yet she takes a breath and continues.]
Very much, Gustave.
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Maelle's arms around him, her small body pressed to his side. We love you. ]
I—
[ His throat works, feeling suddenly thick, and he blinks fast. Tears might come too easily today, with his heart so fundamentally shattered and the rest of him feeling so shaken and tender. He reaches to curl the fingers of his free hand over her upper arm, leaning his head against hers. ]
I love you, too.
[ And she could take it as meaning both her and Emma, if she wanted, but he means it every way it can be meant: he loves this bright, shy, sparkling girl who has brought so much to their lives. To his life. ]
Just as much. Always.
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He must have known there was love between them, just as she has, but if hearing it makes her feel better, she can only imagine how he feels when his heart is so sore.]
Always.
[The echo is a whisper. Always, even after he's gone. For as long as she'll live. She takes a breath, wishing he hurt less. He's too kind to hurt so much.]
I'm really sorry about Sophie.
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[ Breathed out, as his glance lowers.
Four years until Sophie's Gommage. Just the thought threatens to break his heart all over again, to drown him in grief for something that hasn't even happened yet. ]
Me too.
[ And yet... even if he'd tried to stay with her for those four years, he'd have been miserable. He'd always want the thing she's so adamantly against, and it would only drive them apart again.
But he can't imagine trying to start over again with someone else. (Five years.) ]
I'll be okay. Eventually.
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Eventually, yeah. I'll take care of you until then.
[And after, as much as he lets her. She squeezes him with her slender arms again.]
Just no wine for a little while, okay?
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(He still feels terrible, though. That hasn't changed. What he needs far more than a walk to the harbor is about a gallon of water and to sleep for another three to four hours straight.
And her request is... harder than he'd like to admit to acquiesce to. His broken heart is a collection of painful shards in his chest, and wine gives him a little blissful numbness, even if it's only temporary. ]
What about no more wine... tomorrow.
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Gustave...
[Even a slow walk to the harbor seems ambitious, to her. If he drinks more wine today, Emma might suggest leaving him out on the streets until he sobers up this time. It will only compound how bad he must feel.]
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But it isn't just him, and it isn't even him and Emma, who would understand in a way Maelle can't, not yet. It's him and Emma and Maelle, young and brilliant and loving, who looks at him like he's her hero. He can't let her down. ]
...All right. No more wine.
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[She loosens her embrace enough to rub his back, trying to soothe as he's undoubtably done for her when she felt unwell from either a nightmare or an illness. He's heartsick, and has a hangover, and Maelle thinks she might have to call the shots, now. At least until Emma is home.]
And, maybe... we go to the harbor tomorrow.
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[ He slips his arm from around her and straightens a little, trying to ignore the way his stomach sloshes and his head pounds. ]
I think... maybe I should rest for a little while longer. But, uh...
[ He had promised, after all. ]
We'll go to the harbor later. Maybe in the evening, when it's all lit up.
Tomorrow at the latest. Okay?
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Yeah.
[She gives him a smile before crawling behind him to do him the favor of fluffing his pillow, and she makes a face because it smells a little bit like sweat and wine.
Maelle just flips it over.]
Think you'll need a bucket?
[She's only half joking.]
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Ha, ha.
Maybe.
[ It's definitely a possibility. He settles his head back into the soft down and lifts his artificial hand to his forehead, sighing at the touch of cool metal to his flushed skin and aching head. ]
Just... give me a little while.
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I'll get you a cool cloth.
[Good for his head and also... if he needs the bucket.]
Anything else?
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[ He opens his eyes enough to look over at her, and drags a bedraggled semblance of a smile onto his face for her, rueful but warm. ]
You're doing perfectly.
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[Maelle isn't a people person. She's a Gustave and Emma person. Outside of them, she wouldn't care enough to dote. Gustave and Emma have earned her love and devotion many times over.
His praise still makes her smile.]
Stay there.
[Like the man is going anywhere.]
no subject
He can't understand it — or maybe it's that he thinks it's beyond stupid, even if he can. Maybe Maelle is a little different from the other children of Lumiere, but she's bright and quick-witted, dedicated and creative. Her mind hums along as quickly as any of his machines, sometimes making leaps and connections that make him feel like he's wading through mud trying to catch up. She'd be a boon to any master of any trade, he's certain of it.
She's special. It's absurd to him that no one outside their little family seems to recognize that.
He flips a hand at her in acknowledgment and sinks back into the pillow, eyes closed. It's harder not to dwell on what happened the day before when Maelle isn't here, distracting him with hugs and chatter. He can see Sophie's face, the pain in her eyes. He can hear her soft, determined voice as she shakes her head.
He hadn't thought his heart was still in large enough pieces to keep breaking. He was wrong. ]
I wonder how the "hey I'm going with you on Expedition 33" convo went 😭
Maelle lightly hops down the stairs to the kitchen. It's the cloth she goes for, first--and lo and behold, there's one neatly folded by the sink, clean and ready to be dampened with water. Emma really does think several steps ahead. Maelle smiles as she wets it with cool water, then wrings it out. The bucket is plucked from its spot, and up the stairs she returns, poking her head into Gustave's room before stepping inside.]
Bucket and a cool cloth.
[She sets the bucket down right where he'd be making a mess if he couldn't get up in time.]
Just try not to projectile vomit.
sounds like a good nomination for a next thread....
I'll do my best to aim correctly.
[ His voice is gritty with his hangover and drowsiness, but he gives her a small smile. ]
Thanks. I'll be down in a couple of hours, okay?
I was hoping you'd say that!! I'm on it 🫡
[Laid down, she's sure he's really feeling how tired his body is from what he's done to it. Instead of handing him the cloth, she kindly places it on his forehead. And then unfolds it once, so some of it can rest over his eyes.]
Rest, okay? The harbor will still be there tomorrow.
opens my arms to them!
Tomorrow comes, [ he murmurs, making a little joke of one of the expedition mottos. There still will be a tomorrow, for now. ]