He shifted uncomfortably in the clean linen sheets. The bed was too soft. It hurt his back. Outside the window, a kaldorei dream catcher was dancing in the breeze. His eyes lingered on it far longer than they should have for a mild interest. He turned again, rolling over and away from it. But then he was staring at the purple wooden door, when right on the other side he knew a Priestess of the Moon was explaining something to Amavia. They had tended to his wounds, and mostly without question.
Adventurers always came to the Temple for healing. It wasn't so unusual, and they weren't 'Wanted' people. Kaldorei didn't really understand humans anyway, so their age was almost a non-issue. But there would be some questions.
He wondered not what the answers would be, but if Amavia had received the same unquestioned treatment that he had. He swallowed and turned, painfully, on to his back again. Pain ran up and down his spine, but he bore it with a grimace and that was all.
Did part of him blame Amavia for what had happened?
Maybe.
Most of his thoughts were on It, and how she could have been so stupid as to bring It with them. Get them all killed one day. He turned over again, back to the window. The thin sheets felt too heavy on him, and in a bout of rage he flung them off. They went to the floor with little else to be said, making only the softest sounds. He was worth more than that... that... THING. He never should have let her talk him into creating it.
Then all these experiments- the thought died and he closed his eyes solemnly. All his work. It was all gone. There would be no salvaging such a massive loss. And she didn't care, he could feel it. She wanted to play House with him and that thing, and she didn't care if he didn't want to be collared in that way. Opening one eye, he flexed his hands and finally noticed how the nails had begun to look like claws.
Why did he find her so annoying now? With her questions, and her pick-and-choose morality (oblivious to his own far more severe problem with that), and how she questioned him at every move. No wonder, in his mind, that he didn't tell her anything anymore. She never approved. Had she always been like that? Was Dalaran changing her? Was his work changing him?
He curled his hand in and rubbed his face.
Bandaged hands rested against her thighs, the light robe the kaldorei priestess had so kindly loaned her was airy and even now in the shadowed corner of the temple, the skirt lifted in the breezes created by the busy women who bustled about. She should be busy now too. This wasn’t a time to sit about idle.
‘Idle minds produce wicked thoughts. Idle hands are the demon’s tools.’
That last thought made her snort with a sarcastic laugh and shake her head. Fucking Idle Hands. Idiots, all of them. At her feet a large snail wobbled, unsteady under the shell. The swirls of paint and decorative designs on it had amused the priestesses and they’d encouraged her to let it out of her satchel while she waited for her companion to wake.
‘If they knew what you were, if their sparkling silver eyes truly saw you, they would rip you in two. You are an abomination.
What are we for making it?’
“Miss, your companion is waking. We must speak before he does.” The subdued tones of the priestess who had seemingly melted out of the very shadows that so dominated the temple, spooked her and Amavia jumped, breath caught in her throat. Light purple lips curved into a smile as the priestess watched the startled human youth.
“Of course, ma’am. Of course.” Amavia reached down and picked up the “snail” and trailed after the woman and the swirl of her wispy white robes.
‘You are a Law breaker, Amy. You are a murderer and a traitor to the Kirin Tor. You are a monster and have defied the Light in creating that thing in your arms’.
Tiny silver bells chimed with every footfall of the priestess and the girl struggled not to fall to an apologetic heap.
‘I did what had to be done. I did it for him and I did it for it. I am NOT sorry. I am never sorry. Kirin Tor magi are self-possessed, clear headed, and calm. They react accordingly in situations that call for a clear mind.’
She watched the woman ahead of her, eyes glued to the braids of purple hair banded with gold and those bells that seemed louder than the Shattering itself. Her stomach felt twisted in knots and her lips dry despite her constant wetting of them.
“His wounds were plentiful and grievous but with Elune’s blessing he has been healed. Due to the nature of his injuries and how serious they were, we expended much energy in tending them.” The moon-faced priestess smiled at the girl and Amavia could feel her coin purse lighten already in the donation she’d be making to the Temple in thanks.
“His body will still be tender and he needs a little rest. His work....he will no longer be able to practice it.” She trailed off and smiled at Amavia while the girl liberated a handful of gold coins from her satchel and pressed them into the kaldorei’s hands. The lift of her brow implied that she knew what the wounded man did, what foul arts he practiced.
“My thanks, ma’am, and his. He may not be the most friendly young man but he is grateful, I assure you. I will make sure he is on his best behavior.” Amy smiled and nodded at the warning, like anything save his death would stop that stubborn ass from his work. It was hard not to scoff at the idea.
The priestess slipped the coins away and patted the girls cheek, whispering a blessing in Darnassian and opening the sick room door for her. Amavia was quick to slip inside and her shoulders slumped in relief when it was shut behind her.
Though they stiffed just as sharply at the sight of him abed. Even now he was still somehow a mess, with his cast off sheet and grumpy look. It was set to the side of the entrance and her satchel with it before she approached his bedside. “Hey, baby.” The tone was shy though she smiled brightly to look at him.
"They took my robes."
He didn't look at her at first, letting the standoffish greeting hang in the air. It wasn't even a greeting really. Just a complaint. Just a gripe he held with yet another decision she'd been forced to make because HE NEVER TOLD HER ANYTHING.
It wasn't her fault.
He swallowed and turned his head then, eyes more piercing than they'd ever been. At least they weren't judgmental. Never that. But they scalded even if they didn't scold.
"They took yours too." He conceded a soft tone at last, maybe even a sympathetic one. But the tone didn't last long, and neither did the look, as he glanced back to the ceiling with a chilling shiver. His clothes, pajamas more like, were thin and really he should have been under the sheets and a heavy blanket. But he was Jeffrey-Ellis and he wasn't going to do anything this morning unless he felt like it.
Amavia moved to the edge of his bed and sat there, one hand trying to lightly rest on his thigh. “Your robe will be mended soon. I already paid the nice priestesses to take care of it.” Her smile didn’t waver as she leaned over to scoop up the discarded sheet, wincing as the motion agitated the patches of new skin on her stomach.
They were tender and even the wispy fabric of her robe scratched against them like nettles. Recovered fabric was set in her lap and she glanced at his face once more. “Do you want me to fix this? You must have kicked it off in your sleep and these damn night elves don’t seem to know how to build a structure that is warm and -not- half open to the elements.”
Little in the way of anger colored her words, it was more a mocking comment on their host’s preferences for airy, open buildings. “Why bother building one if they only have two walls anyhow?” It was a joke now and she winked at him.
"They were suffocating me, that's all."
No venom.
No ire.
He almost sighed the words as he forced himself to look out the window. The dream catcher's tiny feathers shifted in the breeze, and though he wasn't aware of it, his hand shifted slightly towards her where it lay on the bed. Or maybe it had just been displaced there by a shiver. It was hard to discern his intentions as he gave the outside world a glassy-eyed stare.
She read into it far more than perhaps she should have, lifting his hand in her own bandaged one and kissing the fingertips. “How are you feeling?” The sheet remained in her lap and it blanketed her own chilled legs. How could he not be shivering? She was chilled to the bone; did night elves really dress like this all the time? Perhaps their bodies ran warmer than human ones. Her eyes lingered on the scars above his brow, barely noticeable.
Perhaps worgen did too.
"It's all fucking ruined, Amavia. All of it. ALL OF IT!"
He jerked his hand, but had tightened around her own so never quite escaped her grasp. Well, that wasn't exactly an answer to her question, but in some regards it said a lot more than the "But I'm fine." that followed. He grumbled and beat the back of his head against the pillow a few short times. Looking at him closer, one could see why his eyes looked so glassy. Tears were welling up within them, barely noticeable but for how red-rimmed it made them, and how shiny.
She fought hard not to squeak in pain when he jerked and squeezed her bandaged hand; the priestesses had touched it with their healing magics but told her it wasn’t too bad, just a surface burn. Light damn though, it hurt to be treated in such a fashion.
Amavia wet her lips and heard more in the silence than his outburst and the after shock. He was upset about his work and part of her mind couldn’t blame him. She couldn’t imagine her own outrage if the same had happened and so she overlooked his temper and the rough treatment of her hand.
Instead she eased next to him, trying to lay on her side against him. “I’m sorry baby. I’d try and tell you something like “what is progress without failure” but I think that’s bull. We’ll make it better. I’ll replace what I can and help you however you want, is that okay?”
She’d sworn to herself she’d do right by him but she knew in this instance it wouldn’t be enough. Eyes lidded shut and she pillowed her head on his shoulder gently.
Where anyone, including his own Mother (Light bless her soul), would have guessed he would shove her away and rant about the myriad of reasons that was /stupid/ and how she could possibly /replace/ the weeks of research and testing, the trials and the ruined ingredients, the hours of sleep lost and the rift it had carved between them- all those billions of reasons- he just sighed. He shifted to face her so that they were both on their sides. That close, and with his shoulder no longer there to support her head, he seemed just an inconvenience. Or, at least, he felt like just an inconvenience.
Amy smiled at him as she opened her eyes, resting her hand lightly against his stubbly cheek.
“Hey there.” Her other hand slipped between then, palm over his heart. “I thought I’d lost you.”
The sheet slipped in the hollow between their bodies and an edge of it covered his thighs. She longed to hug him, to squeeze him. To let go the torrent of promises she’d sworn to the memory of their first kiss, breathing them against his ear and letting the scent of him - coffee and who knows what else these days - over take her. “I don’t ever want to lose you.”
"You couldn't lose me if we both tried."
It was supposed to be cutesy and teasing, a lover's playfulness. But the split-second tremble of a smile he gave barely even twitched his muscles. Even if there'd been a real smile there, it just would have looked odd and broken. Not even an adorable awkward like he used to be. Just factual. Perhaps remorseful. He swallowed and looked down at the pillow beneath them, brow furrowed just a bit and too-long hair to go with too-long nails.
“Let’s not try to lose one another. Let’s try to keep each other close.” Her hand on his cheek caressed him as lightly as the bandages on her palm allowed, the pad of her thumb brushed over the only lips she ever wanted to kiss.
“I haven’t been as good as I could and,” her own smile cracked now.
A Kirin Tor mage is never sorry.
“And I’m sorry.” Weakly she smiled and kisses the tip of his nose. If being able to apologize to him made her less of one then Light damn it she wanted nothing to do with it.
"Right then."
His eyes flicked back up to her own. There was a lot of searching in his look, and they shifted back and forth ever just slightly. For however much the priestesses had healed his body, blood was still on his breath. It was possible he was aware of it though, because he held his breath a lot. Inside, he held his real reasons to himself.
He was scared of her. Even more scared of not wanting her anymore. He licked his lips and started to turn away suddenly, the fear quite clearly crossing over his face.
When they made it he’d shattered her soul, hairline cracks on the whole as he’d taken part for it. They’d held, shivering and threatening to topple every day, but until she saw that look in his eyes they had remained firm. None of the wounds she’d suffered pained as much as the fear in his eyes.
The fear of her.
It froze her and made her tongue feel leaden till their gaze broke. Her heart raced and she buried her face against the pillow to muffle a curse.
"Do you hate me, Amavia?" He bit his lower lip and cringed. Why did it feel like everything was crumbling apart right then and there?
"Amavia?" He questioned her again after a long pause.
She swallowed the hot tears that demanded release and lifted her head from the pillow. “Not in the slightest. I love you. From silly things like the twist to your beard to more important things like how much you inspire me.”
Hands returned to his body, one arm wrapping around his waist as she spooned against him. “Do you hate me?” It was a trembling question. One she feared she already knew the answer to.
Yes yes yes.
Did he hate her? Did he actually /hate/ her? Hate was a harsh, cold, deep-cutting word that he hadn't even spoke aloud to Line. It only existed in his thoughts. But she had not, conceivably could not have, descended to the depths where Line resided. But he did resent her right now. And that was what she was asking. Even if she was asking a specific word. Lying by omission.
"No, Amavia. I don't hate you. I could never hate you." He lay there, becoming still as a rabbit in a sudden spotlight. His arm moved to rest over hers that was wrapped around him.
Some of the tension bled out of her muscles and she nuzzled her forehead against him.
“But you’re mad at me, aren’t you? We’ve both changed...” Speech faded into kisses planted against his shoulder and she cringed, preparing herself for the next question. It died on her lips and her tongue curled back, trying to defy her in asking it.
“Would you be happier without me?”
"I feel like I'm dying, Amavia." His stomach turned over in the opposite direction of how he was turning. Everything hurt, inside and out.
"And that's not something that has anything to do with you, do you understand?" He tried to convince himself through her. They were stuck together. He didn't need to make things rocky.
“I suppose I had better think of some way to breathe some life back into you then.” She smiled and raised up on her elbow, looking down at him fondly. It was a lover’s playful tease and she bent over him to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
In the fairytales so many things were fixed with a kiss. A beautiful princess saved, another awoken, a prince freed of a wicked glamor. It was childish; they were not a storybook romance. They were ordinary people trying to live extraordinary lives. But some small, girlish part of her hoped it would do -something- to alleviate his pain.
Anything.
He didn't want to say anything. Let it be at that, he thought. Let it end there like a beautiful chapter in a novel. That last quote. It was perfect.
"Is it always going to be like this?" He inhaled deeply and shook his head.
Her lips drifted to his stubbly cheek and she kissed him there as well, holding tighter to him now.
“Do you mean as rocky as it has? No. I want to be nothing but sweet with you and I promise to try hard to do right by you. I still want to wear that dress and be your bride. Are our dreams, at least that way, the same still?” The last inquiry was whispered against his ear and she nuzzled her cheek against his after.
"I want a lot of things, Amavia." He muttered softly, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. "To be powerful, to vindicate my wrongs, to-..." A white-tie affair wedding was not really part of his dreams, not now that he thought about it. The bright sunlight. The people watching. The cost. His lips went dry just to imagine it now. And she would loathe him for making it anything less than perfect if he scowled that day.
“I want to be something you’re proud to be with.” Her lips kissed where jawline ended and his ear began. The girl hadn’t intended to cover him in so many kisses but the reassuring feel of his skin and his body so close was addictive.
“I want to marry you in a starry ceremony under the fireworks of the Midsummer Festival. Even if it’s just you and I and Ratford and my familiar I want to kiss you as your wife.” Hadn’t that been his dream?
He was the one who gave her his ring and asked her to be his betrothed.
He was the one who’d implored her to marry him.
He was the one who’d bought her the Light damned dress.
“I want to be a powerful mage that people take seriously. I’ve been trying to be what I thought an archmage should but I think I was wrong. I should never have been the way I was to you.” Her hands wandered his chest and she thought of the way he’d broken himself for her demands.
What an entitled bitch she was becoming.
Lips ducked down his neck and she sighed against his skin as she kissed him.
"Okay." That was all he could say to her. He returned the kisses gently to her forehead until she was at his neck. Tenderness is something he couldn't even remember the last time they'd indulged in.
"I'm sorry, Amavia."
Her head tilted and she smiled up at him, the light of it not quite warming her amber eyes. “I’m sorry too, Jeffrey. How can I make you happier?”
Gently she rubbed his side and held to him while she returned to sweet kisses. They made a ring around his neck and she paused at the hollow of his throat.
Forgotten, the sheet spilled over them both and she absently pulled it around them.
"You could stop hurting me..." He laughed very weakly, not even a laugh so much as a hoarse breath. "...that would make me pretty happy."
She blinked and felt the color flush in her cheeks as she blushed in an embarrassed manner.
“I’msosorryletmemove!” Self-possessed in this moment she was not, slipping away and laughing weakly herself.
Stupid girl.
He wasn’t fully healed. He didn’t need some Westfall trollop draped over him and pretending her kisses were as magical as the spells she wove.
"Amavia?" He sat up after her, frowning. When was the last time he smiled? An actual, genuine smile? She probably wouldn't remember. She'd been asleep. When his experiment in the tank moved. When he had placed his hand on the glass, and it had moved its own hand there. Light, he had smiled with joy and fulfillment. Peace of mind. Just in knowing he was on the right track... but they were so far away still. That smile hadn't lasted long.
"Kiss me again?" He looked up at her again and choked on the request.
“Gladly.”
Shyly her hand worked up his chest to bury in his hair. With a tender touch she rubbed the back of his neck as she leaned in to kiss his lips just as sweetly and with as many reservations as she had that first time.
His happy smiles were something she’d trade so very much for but how was he to know that? And would they, in asking for them, be true smiles? Or just another burden he shouldered to make her life a little smoother.
He pulled her in closer, ignoring his own grimace. He could feel her need, and to a large extent he had his own needs from her. Not physical needs- Light, he hadn't even given his body connection to someone. Something other than work and notes and hair pulling. Throwing things. Breaking things like he wanted to break people.
But he wasn't getting that from her anymore. He didn't know what to do. Desperately hoping for something, just a little spark of intimacy, he brought his hands up to the side of her face and forced a passionate kiss upon her.
If only he knew how much her thoughts mirrored his own as their lips pressed together and the hand in his hair rubbed harder at his tight muscles.
They shouldn’t be doing this.
He wasn’t fully healed, they both could use a hot meal, and there was still the air of tension in the room. Her other hand rubbed his hip lightly and she pushed reason to the side. It felt good to kiss him like this and she didn’t want to stop. Only when they both were breathless did she want to break away from the heat of his lips.
With her wrapped around him, he brought her back down on to the bed with him. All of his kisses were hurried, but they lacked the same enthusiasm as their first kisses here in there as he cradled her close. A different man with different feelings. That's who she was holding. All the pressure in his chest welled up and everything was sore, but he wouldn't let himself stop.
"I didn't mean for any of this to happen." Did he mean the attack? Did he mean the proposal? Did he mean the case? Edi's murder? Their creation? Attacking his father? The experiments he did without telling her? There was so much to be sorry for.
Strands of his black hair twined between her fingers as she kissed him deeply once more, stalling speech after his whispered confession. The tone to their movements wasn’t the needy lust they moved with lately nor was it the tender passions they’d once shared. Was it some middle ground she’d have to learn to adapt to? Finally she broke free of his lips, forehead resting against his own and eyes staring into his that had once been such a “dreamy” blue.
“I didn’t mean for things to go as they did either. Let’s work together, Jeffrey. I love you.” Though it stung her hand she squeezed his hip again, trailing up his side and hugging him gently, never breaking her gaze.
He didn't say it back. He tried to lay her on the bed and climb over her, but he didn't say it back. He closed his eyes and kissed her neck, but he didn't say it back. He treated her with kindness and affection, but for the love of the Light... he didn't say it back. His lungs struggled to expand and draw in breath. He was more ashamed for having looked away from her than for anything else.
Coward. Rat. At least Ratford made her smile, made her laugh. There was no clock in the room, but he felt the ticking in his bones.
"You're going to be my wife, Amy. Can you look at me and still say you want that?"
Her lower lip trembled harder with each passing second he didn’t whisper those three words, every thread of her being was stretched taut waiting to hear. “Look at me, meet my eyes and tell me you love me. If you can do that then yes, I want to marry you still.”
Traitorous hands wandered his back as he hovered over her body and teased her skin with sweet kisses. Though the pit of her stomach was hardening and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her at the chance he wouldn’t say it, her hands betrayed her and caressed him and played with his hair. Could this be the last time he’d hold her so? It was hard to even imagine. To dream.
"And if I couldn't?" It wasn't his answer, not yet, but it dragged the waiting on. Dragged it on unnecessarily and for what gain? He knew the answer already. As he kissed the nape of her neck and corrected the locket that was askew on its chain. In that instance he had already made up his bloody mind and he was just TORTURING her for no reason. No reason at all.
He tried to resist temptation, but curiosity got the best of him and he looked her in the eye. He had to see what was in those amber suns. The ones he promised Line and the Doctor would burn away under. He felt himself burning away under them now.
Every movement of his hands was a keen as a lash and Amavia couldn’t bear to draw one breath after his question. Her hands trembled and the whisper of the bandages against his clothing annoyed her, made her think of that Light damned ethereal who’d tricked her and conned her into serving as little more than a slave.
Because of Jeffrey.
Trying to spare him and out of respect for him.
Those amber suns he’d so poetically raved about were dimming now, cooled by the deep and hidden lagoon of his own green-blue eyes. Shadowed and hidden she felt under his gaze.
“Then I’d just have to love you enough to try and win your heart back.”
"But you wouldn't marry me." He replied coolly, contemplatively. A long pause etched itself between them, full of breath and knowing that everything was not alright.
"Let me have you. I will always love you, Amavia Hawkins." He laced his fingers with hers and turned his head just so. Long, uncared for black hair made a pathetic curtain between them and the door. If it was a curtain at all, it was moth-eaten and tattered like the Lordaeron banners in the lab.
"Let me be your first. Your only." With a great deal of trepidation and disbelief in his own promises, he kissed her earlobe sweetly.
Night shadowed those suns fully as she closed her eyes, the words and kisses rushing through her with the same tingling buzz those first sips of moonglow had caused. His hands were held firmly in her own as the unkempt strands of his hair tickled her cheek and his kiss caressed something else entirely inside her.
“I will always love you. I’d marry you in this moment, in that moment of uncertainty seconds ago even, Jeffrey Sangrey.” With each word her lips brushed against his temple and the almost-kisses against his skin had her breath quickening. “I want you to be just that. I want to be your only too.”
"You don't let go, do you?" He gave her his first smile in weeks, but it was sad and clearly forced. Weak and half-hearted, he lost his expression and broke his hands away from his mind was far off in the distance.
"It was nice to talk to you again. To say something. We... haven't done it in a long time." He sat up and turned away from her, making a place for himself on the edge of the bed
“Let go of what?” Her body hummed with displeasure at the lack of him against her and her mind chastised herself for the needs she’d allowed to stir up.
She shifted and sat behind him, her legs framing his body as she hugged him from behind. Wispy fabric pooled up on her thighs and she parted his hair to kiss the back of his neck. He was thinner now than she thought healthy - how many good meals did her boy bother to eat? Could afford to? - and she twisted her fingers in well-practiced motions; when she was done a cupcake rested in her palm and she held it in front of him. Pale blue icing was dotted with a golden explosion - a firework.
“We should talk more; I missed it.”
Just seeing the cupcake made his stomach turn and he looked away from it quickly with a nauseous sound.
"Me. You don't let go of me... or anything." He folded over, trying to keep from throwing up. One arm steadied him, but he gasped in a sickly way.
"You'd never forgive me. You'd never love me. You're already just staying because that's what you do, Amy." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, everything pouring out as his mind focused on physical suppression instead of mental.
"I don't want to have to choose between you and my dreams, your love and a noose." Even though he didn't raise his voice or shout them, the tone was heavy and followed by a great deal of coughing.
The sweet fell from her hand, toppling onto the sick room floor and was all but forgotten as she stroked his hair in an effort to soothe him. How had she fumbled now? He needed to eat and she’d hoped what she put atop the little treat would make his smile find more ground.
“I’m with you because I love you. Shit isn’t how either of us wanted it right now and we both know it. So why don’t we work at getting things to someplace it makes us both happy. Isn’t that what being partners means?” One hand rubbed up and down his arm, trying to calm him as he was so clearly distressed.
“I wish I were part of those dreams, baby. I can’t tell you how much I’d give up to be what fueled you nowadays. But I understand there are bigger things. Better things.” Her forehead rested against his back and she clenched her jaw, stilling herself from speaking anything else.
"I can't-" He tried to shrug her off and made a few retching gestures before he was able to talk again.
"I can't have everything. I have to choose and I chose but I want and there's nothing. NOTHING that will change that." He tilted his head back with closed eyes and swallowed the acidic bile that was in his throat. It made his next words burn and taste foul.
"I love you. So much."
“I want to be with you. I love you more than magic itself, baby.” Her forehead nuzzled against his in a parting gesture as she slipped away. Knees tucked up to her chest and she rested her chin atop them, head angled downwards to hide the free fall of tears glistening on her cheeks. A heavy lump was building in her throat, her neck so graceful he’d once spent half the evening kissing it.
Amavia felt nothing close to graceful now, her eyes stung and her nose hurt from holding back her sniffles. She was certain she didn’t look like one of those airy young women his father would have married him off too. Her tan skin betrayed her as a girl who wasn’t locked inside a gilded cage. A noblegirl, fine and delicate in all her features and manners, Amavia was not.
Girls who looked like her didn’t marry boys who looked like him.
“I’m sorry Jeffrey. I’m so sorry.”
He let his head fall back down, burying it in his hands. For once, he was grateful for his nails as they buried into his skin. Though muffled by his hair and hands, he words reached her somehow.
"You are with me, Amy. This is me. It's not- it's not that guy you ran off to Surwich with. It's not that guy that was surprised you'd never had Moonglow before, who could tell just the way your eyes lit up when you had that first drink." He let one hand go to his loose, ordinary shirt.
"THIS is who you're going to marry. This 'stubborn ass' that keeps secrets and can't look you in the eye because HE'S AFRAID YOU'RE GOING TO TURN HIM IN. That's the man, Amavia! That's the truth of it. Light, I can't even stand the smell of it anymore."
He stood up quickly, clutching his stomach now and hobbling to the opposite window in the room, as far away from the cupcake as he could get. The sugar. The sweetness. The pale blue frosting like winter skies when he'd chased down her clues and found those stupid, light-awful valentines candies.
A severe grimace was all he gave the world, and he almost vomited right there to remember it. His other hand was shaking and fumbling to get the window open.
"I will always love you, Amavia. No matter what. They can't take that from us."
But they could. The world could. So very easily.
“I want to marry this stubborn ass of a man. I want to pin him down and kiss him and bury my hands in his hair grown so long.” Tear dampened cheeks were dried and her eyes went glossy with the effort of holding them in as she slipped off the bed and tried to help him open the window.
“I did what I thought was right with Lian. What I thought was best but I was wrong, Jeffrey. I never should have done that.” With the fresh air pouring in, the borrowed robe swirled around her legs - a garment sized for a much curvier, taller female - and she reached up to touch his stubbly cheek.
“That was the hardest lesson I’ve ever learned. There are Some Things,” the way she spoke it lent extra importance to those words and her fingertips traced his lips - surely she meant him, “that are more important than the Law. It will not hold you close in the small moments of your life, it will not soothe your weary heart or ease the worries from your mind, if anything it only causes more.” The tears were fast drying in her eyes as she smiled at him, trying to reassure him.
“If I can’t have you under it than I don’t want it. It isn’t my Law if it persecutes the man I’m going to marry. A law like that has no love from me.”
The air was cool and fast over his face, and he couldn't stand to look at anything but the outside world. Darnassus was too perfect, too wild and virgin. He preferred the dark Underbelly where he could do -anything- and no one would judge him. If they looked at him, it was to size him up for a quick 'meal', but he could hold his own. How did you hold your own against a tender assault and sweet words? Big doe eyes and the perfect, eternal spring. again, and was quite certain he wasn't going to throw up on her, he slammed the window closed again.
"Being sorry won't bring Editha back."
He didn't even catch his own words, or how he'd slipped like that. Lian. He meant Lian. It was clear by how the accusation fell from his lips. Hateful. But it revealed what had been eating away at him in equal measure with what she had done. He glared at the glass pane and its purple wooden frame, one hand on his stomach and the other braced against the wall.
"What's too far? When is a mistake too grievous as to be unforgivable? When are you going to WAKE UP and realize that IT is the least of what I've done, Amavia?!" He brought his hand off the wall and slammed it back as a shaking fist.
"When am I going to have to stop hiding?" None of this was her fault. None of it. She had only pressured him once, to go through with their creation, and now he revealed it was innocent in retrospect? Is that why it had torn him up inside so much? Had he feared being a stepping stone on her own dark path? Maybe. Or maybe he was the hypocritical bastard he seemed to be as he stood there.
As he found his breath hers was stolen by the tirade and the shudder of his angry fist on the glass.
“How many ways can I say I’ll be there for you always till you hear me? How many times can I say I love you till you truly believe?”
There were more words but her tongue was as wooden as the window frame as she shrank away from him. It would have hurt less if he struck her and she drew her arms around herself as if they could shield her from the bite and venom in his ragings. Breath was hot against her cheek, striking back against her skin as she leaned against the wall.
“Did you hear me now? I said I love the man you are and I’m equally sure I’d love the man you hide from me. Do I ever get to hold him in my arms too?” Her tone was defeated and sounded like a girl worn down to her very bones.
“Why are you so hot with me one moment and so cold the next? You love me but you loathe me; am I to stay or go?”
"Because I love you. What's so difficult about that?" He took a step toward her but it was weak and fumbling.
"Look at me, Amavia. Just answer me now and I promise I won't ask again- is this what you want?"
There was no movement towards him, she didn’t race to hold him or return to his embrace. It was his turn to stew as she kept her eyes on the floor and the puddle of her skirt around her feet. Her lips felt dry and her mouth cottony. Words were an effort as she finally raised her head and let her gaze wander his body.
Messy hair and messy beard, he was hardly old enough to be able to grow such in her mind. His nails were clawlike and she didn’t relish the feel of them on her skin.
But those eyes spoke truly.
Hair could be brushed and nails trimmed; how shallow would she be to walk away because he was in a disarray? (Even if that disarray was constant.)
“This is what I want. I want you. Do you want me too?” Another half whispered question was tacked on her quiet answer, fingers digging sharply into her elbows.
"I do." He sighed and tried to approach her when she didn't come to him.
"Can we lay down?"
Tentatively she let her arms fall from their grip around her torso and she stretched one out to him.
“Yes. I’d like that. And maybe lunch when your stomach feels better? Though I think these priestesses may have a different idea on what constitutes as lunch.” A weak attempt at humor and she squeezed his hand in hers.
“I love you.”
He didn't smile at the humor, but he did take her hand.
"I love you too, Amavia Hawkins." He tried to lead her back to the blankets, though he still felt sick.
Woven sandals were kicked off as she climbed into his bed and slipped beneath the sheet and blankets she’d righted earlier.
“When do you want to make me Missus Sangrey?” Her lips smiled for him and she patted the empty spot next to her, trying to convince him to lay down and fast.
Before he changed his mind again about what he wanted from her.
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