Amavia + Raoul Can't Go Back

The master bedroom isn't as spacious as it could be, but only because it is cluttered with dressers, sidetables, and knick knacks of every sort. The four post bed is only twin sized, mostly so he has an excuse to be pressed up against her at all times. Even now, his arms are around her and his fingers are in her hair. Skin against skin, their bodies are almost glued together by the sweat from a humid Westfall night and the dry, cool morning. He kisses her shoulder and unwraps their legs just so that he can breathe at least a little bit. The gauzy, sheer cream colored curtains hanging from the posts make it hard to see out the windows. The orchard beyond the glass is just a blur of bark and leaves. Outside, he can hear the workers already up and about. It makes him proud of his leisure here with her. It makes him want her even more. "I love you, apple blossom." He whispers against her and the pillows. Here they're safe from demons and killers, buried under nerubian silk and a hand-sewn quilt from her mother.

Though not a lazy girl by nature she is tired from their work. Coffee and adrenaline can only fuel the body for so long till it needs to recover with hours of rest and relaxation. And here, in his arms, is the best, most blissful rest she could ask for. Workers stir outside but the girl in the bed- no, the young -woman- in the bed does nothing more but burrow deeper into the sheets and pull the comforter up to her chin. Amber eyes slowly open and she wraps her arms around his waist as if he’s the same as that stuffed goretusk on her bed in Dalaran. “I love you too, White Knight. My sunshine.” Auburn hair is sleep mussed and her lips part in a yawn that ends in a muted, squeaking sigh. Fingers splay over his chest, over scars she wish she could have prevented and over his heart she wishes to protect for all time. “Is it time to get up now?”

He shivers, the moved blankets letting in just a breath of cold air. The sensation of warmth running back over him makes him smile. He nuzzles hers as his eyes close again. He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to break this closeness. Moving gently under the covers, he tries to slip on top of her. Lips kiss her neck and chin. He lets her go just long enough to retuck the quilt around them again, sealing them in with their own body heat. "Time for something to get up, anyway." In the tease, there is a smirk, and he presses against his love. His true love. It's a skittish thought that flutters away like birds scared from a tree.

Her hands run over the smooth skin of his shoulders till they rest on his hips, giving a squeeze as she smiles up at him. The press of their flesh is soothing and it almost feels as if they could melt into one being there in the small bed. Something they’ll certainly do soon. A hand leaves his hip and teases him in an imitation of what they surely will do soon. It pauses and she nibbles the rim of his ear, whispering against his skin. “I had a dream about you. It was so amazing I was sure it was reality.”

"Dreams come true, you know." He kisses her deeply. Sweet nothings between them are a distraction from how he adjusts himself between her legs. "Let me make love to you, apple blossom?" Though the confidence doesn't bleed from his voice, it is definitely a plea. He wants her, badly.

The teasing hand gives a final stroke before moving back to its place on his hip and urging him on in silent desire. Legs part further, wrapping around his and gasping when their bodies touch in those intimate places. "Please, Raoul, please make it come true." The words are barely finished as she kisses him, words and body pleading for him to indulge both their wants.

The expression he makes at being mutually wanted is a sweet, relieved one. It is not a look he gives often, full of truth rather than charm. These moments here with her are not pretend, and he doesn't know how to thank her for them. All he can do is show her that it is appreciated and -respected-. With tenderness, he pushes in deep. "I love you." He whispers again, staying there and basking in this intimacy. He's never been this close to anyone but her and he is so relieved she was the one above all others. Kisses could be flirty, hugs could be chaste, and words were almost meaningless when lies were so prevalent. But this? This is something he only ever wants to experience with her. Eventually his body throws its fit though and he starts to move inside of her again. A small sigh of pleasure escapes him.

That sigh is echoed as she slips her hands up his body to hug him close. Her fingers play in his hair at the nape of his neck and she kisses along his jaw. There is something beyond sexy in these intimate moments and that term, 'making love', holds meaning now. These are not the hurried motions of two people bent on fulfilling an itch that anyone with the right equipment could scratch. No, these are the movements of two people in love that want to express it in the deepest of ways. Hands caress him as she whispers her own sweet nothings now against him, lips kissing a trail down his neck as she moves her hips in the tiniest of motions beneath him. Just to be sure she isn’t imagining it. Just to be certain it isn’t a dream. Though every moment with him could qualify as that and such sweetness, such caring is clear in her eyes as she meets his once more. “I love you. So very much, I love you.”

He hesitates to say he'll always love her. It's the perfect moment, the perfect woman, but he's not a perfect man. That commitment in words is hard to speak. In his mind, he's already made it. He has already gone to such lengths that most men wouldn't. There's devotion and desire there, but somehow -saying- it, spelling it out, is a tangled affair. Silently, he smiles at her and bucks playfully. She is worth this anxiety and more.

The playful smile is returned in kind and she nips his neck. He doesn't have to say anything for her to know his emotions; they’re so apparent in the way he moves with her, the looks he gives her, the way he treats her after the hard road that he’s been pushed and forced down. Fingertips trace over scars again and she arches her back to sink him deeper inside her as her eyelashes flutter. This intimacy is precious not only because she loves him but because of the mutual trust between them. Sexy attire, fine wines, silken sheets, a bed of roses couldn’t hold a candle to what an aphrodisiac that trust is to her. Her own movements quicken and she cups a hand to his cheek, smiling at him still as their bodies work together. The only partner she ever wants in this dance now.

There's a still-alien sensation in her embrace. It's something he's never really put a finger on though he's felt it with her before. Something he knew he would miss more than words could explain if he ever lost it. His hands slide from the bed to her skin, worming between her back and the sheets. Nails dig into her skin possessively. He will never lose her. It's a promise that his body makes on his tongue's behalf. As he thrusts with more passion, he realizes what he's feeling with her now. It is a sense of belonging and purpose. Home.

Quiet sounds of pleasure grow a little in volume; from sweet sighs to needy little moans as her nails mirror his, gripping his back as she tilts her head back and shivers. There is a sense of completeness with him that had been unknown. That little bit that never felt right, that never felt wanted is a shining star with him and she hurriedly kisses him. The passionate, wanting ways she holds him, kisses him, whispers his name between each press of lips is a clue to the detective in her arms that he evokes stronger feelings than she ever thought capable of. Together, they are more than just lovers, more than just damaged goods hoping it goes unnoticed. Together they’re whole.

"Light, Amavia-" He grins and buries that smile against her neck. He's definitely not finished yet, not even close, and that's what amazes him. Knowing they have hours, the whole day really, to swim in this pleasure with each other. At least, until one of the workers bangs on the window with his elbow to get their attention. At least his eyes are focused on the wagon rather than peering inside the bedroom, because the sheets have half-fallen now and it's clear what the "Mr. and Mrs." are doing. The worker bangs again with the flat of his dirty palm and whistles sharply to wake them up before his curiosity finally gets the best of him and he joins the other workers now crowding around the wagon. It has red trimmings and black horses, which startle them the same way Raoul is now startled over Amavia. His rhythm was shot and he laughs weakly with embarrassment while covering them up. A quick kiss is given to her forehead before he just hides there with her. "Guess it really is time to get up."

Those pleased sounds she had been making cut off, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as the worker pounds on the window. Amavia giggles, the sheet clutched to her bare breasts and she bites his neck in a teasing fashion. “We’ll finish later. I -need- you, sunshine. And I -need- to make you feel it.” There’s a heat to her words and she kisses and sucks gently where she bit, just hard enough to leave a little mark that will show above his collar. Hers and the world can know it. The secrecy had been a rush but the bigger thrill to her is knowing that no one else will ever love either of them they way their partner does. Carefully she extracts herself and finds a light white dress in one of the drawers. It’s similar to the one she wore on the day he proposed. The sunlight pouring through the window outlines her body in a shadow beneath the pure white fabric with the eyelet lace trim and there is nothing innocent about the silhouette that is only his to see for a moment. Long hair is tied back with a leather thong and she winks at him. “I’ll make you some apple pancakes after we see what’s disturbed my little worker bees, honey.” Blowing him a kiss she’s headed out to learn just what it is that’s kicked the hive and disrupted her morning dose of sugar.

Raoul reclines where she had left a warm spot, not quite ready to leave the burrow of heat. On his side and propped up on one elbow, he watches her dress. He doesn't mind being claimed, and the hickey she left him with is just another badge he wears proudly. "I'll be out there soon, love. They probably just dropped some barrels and think you're going to whip them or something." He laughs only because he knows how serious that would be to the workers, and how ridiculous it -really- is. Down the hall, she can pass all the pictures of her family and childhood that Svafa was able to save, as well as a few of her and Raoul that he got only Light-knows-how. Probably stole them from George. They're all happy, at least. Memories to be cherished on the walls. It's a nice home, but the acres around it are even nicer. If only she had time to enjoy the sunrise over the hills and through the trees. The wagon's already up the path and it rolls to a stop in front of the house. A young transient with sandy blonde hair and hazel eyes jumps down from the driver's bench. He looks like the world has fallen to pieces around him.

It’s tempting to get lost in those memories, to holler down the hall and tell him about the moments captured on film. Of the happy times and why they were so grand. But he was right; the workers had probably done something unfortunate that a less kind employer would be upset about. But she is of good temper and in a delightful mood despite the interruption. Things are, in a word, perfect. As she stands there barefoot on the porch she watches the wagon and a little of that ease bleeds from her. The transient is familiar in the same way all of them are; they could be anyone, they could be you if things had gone poorly, and she wets her lips. “Hey there! You in the mood for breakfast? I was going to make some pancakes and I always make extra.” Her most friendly smile is painted on her lips and she puts a hand on her hip. If she could she’d feed all the poor and degenerate of Westfall but she’s doing the best she can. Resources are being put aside to start weekly food and clothes banks and she’s started to spread the word that if her orchard is in need of extra hands they’ll get fed and a place to crash in the hayloft in exchange for an honest day’s work. But the trimmings on this wagon disturb her and in the dusty land of Westfall red is not a welcome color. It doesn’t mean passion or romance. It means Defias. Is this one of her mama’s boys? Or is he an envoy from a higher up with a message she isn’t going to want any part of?

"Um, no thank you, ma'am. Miss Hawkins, I mean. Mrs.? I, uhm." If he had a hat, right now he would be wringing it in his hands. Thankfully, he's not on his own today. A thin man with spectacles climbs from the back of the wagon. He's familiar, but not like the transient. There are more clarified memories of this man. Mr. Hackett. "Little Amy?" He cracks a weak smile at her. It's an endearing one like a long lost friend, but it's sad too. This is not a happy visit.

"Mr. Hackett!" She hops down the steps now, her white skirts swirling about her knees where their hem falls. Memories of Mr. Hackett aren’t as crystal clear as his may be of her but King Mouser and his owner are fond thoughts and she pauses in front of the bespectacled man before throwing manners to the wind and hugging him. They’ve caught her in a good mood and she’s fearful of what two men looking so sad might tell her. If she can hold off the bad news with a smile, with a hug, that’s just one more moment, one more memory that won’t threaten to break her spun sugar heart. “I’m not so little now, sir.” She leans back, smiling up at him before glancing to the young man who looks so agitated. “Just Amy is fine as long as I can be just as friendly with you.” This down to earth girl threatens to spill out of the laces of Lady Delaurac’s corset every time she wears that costume of propiety but here, and with people like this, she can be herself. It’s more relieving than the sweet air that blows in off the ocean.

He hugs her back, his arms like twigs that she is probably strong enough to snap now. "Alright, Amy." He pats her head fondly before the hug is broken, smile even sadder now. The transient waves briefly, not even forcing a smile. "Pidge." Is all he says, and he says it shortly before moving around behind the wagon. Hackett's hands are naked and it's easy to see the cog there now. Things that were once hidden from her as a child. He's surely not the only friend that was really a 'brother', though. "Amy, I don't know how to tell you this..." He trails off for a moment, just in time for Raoul to finally make it out of the house and on to the steps. He's still straightening his shirt and he's not all dressed yet, more just in pants and a dress shirt. It's her lover in a more 'real' and unpolished setting than he's probably ever dared to show anyone before.

Her hand squeezes Hackett's gently and she pointedly looks to the cog and then to his face. She wants him to know that she -knows- and isn't going to yell or holler. It was just another stepping stone on accepting her mama. And caring for someone didn’t mean you had to like everything about them. People were different and their differences made them unique. Made them special. Amavia glances over her shoulder and smiles at Raoul, still trying to buy herself peace before the other shoe drops. She can guess why they’re here but it won’t be real till someone says it. It won’t be true and she can linger in that limbo till someone forces her to acknowledge what’s in that cart. Why they’re here. Answers her mind doesn’t want to dwell on now.

"Do you have a table? A couch? Pidge, help me." Hackett moves back behind the wagon with Pidge and when they come back, they are holding the body of Svafa Hawkins as if she was just drunk and passed out. She doesn't look terrified or peaceful, not even impassive. Her face is just blank and her eyes are closed. But there's red smudges on her neck, and bruises on her jaw from a hard blow. Tendrils of her caramel hair are clumped and hardened together where they'd been dipped in now dried blood, and as the two men carry her past Amavia, there is a large splotch of blood on her back. She'd been struck just under the shoulderblade and the bullets had pierced through her lungs. She'd drowned in that blood, but at least the agony was something she hadn't suffered through. Raoul freezes on the steps, his hands falling away from the shirt buttons. From there he can't seen the obvious and he's wondering if she's just hurt, if they're being pursued. Either way it's grave and he's not sure what to do.


Amavia is impassive for a moment, pointing at the front door. "Got both of ‘em inside. Go on in." Her hand trembles and she falters with her words at first before spitting them in the thicker Westfall drawl that had once colored her words. You can’t cast magic sounding like a hick. If you can’t properly speak the incantation you may as well not bother being a mage. Her teacher had been strict. He had forced proper common out of her but now she couldn’t manage the practiced motions of her tongue to speak it. A little girl stood there where moments ago a young woman had. She swallowed, a little pained sound leaving her as she followed the men. Tears were hot in her golden eyes and she wrapped her arms around her waist for fear she’d tear at her hair and scream. All that bravado, those lies she spun for herself were in danger of crashing down and she felt dizzied by it all as she numbly moved after them. “Mama...” It was a soft whisper, barely a breath, and only for herself and the spirit of her mother who she prayed had moved on and was somewhere happier with her love now.

"I'm sorry, Amy." Hackett inclines his chin as he passes Raoul. He's never met this young man, but Svafa's spoken of him. Svafa was a warm, compassionate woman that always talked about her personal life. So Hackett knows who he is. Raoul doesn't know who Hackett is, but he's not a stupid young man and isn't going to hold up the movement just to question people. He clears himself out of the doorway and runs to his crumbling lover. Trying to be a safe haven, he wraps his arms around her from behind and holds on tight. "Hey, hey..." Kisses press to her hair and the side of her face. He's here and he loves her.

With his arms around her one would think she'd calm but instead those tears she's holding back course down her cheeks and she turns to bury her face against his shoulder. Crying is useless, crying is stupid, but it’s all she can do right now as she hugs to him and weeps quietly against the collar of his half-buttoned shirt. Fingers clutch at the fabric and wrinkle it as she sobs. Dramatics of this nature aren’t something she participates in and the wounded bird in his arms isn’t faking a single tear. She knew her mother would die someday, likely for her Cause, but she was fine pushing that someday back everyday. She was fine going to sleep at night knowing that somewhere else, no matter how far away, her mama was looking at those same stars and moon before she turned in too. But now mama isn’t going to wake up and that someday is here a lot sooner than she feels equipped to deal with. “I wanna see her. I wanna hug her one last time, Raoul. Please.” Please guide her. Please walk with her as she’s certain her own legs don’t quite know how to function.

"Let's give them a second to set her down gently, okay? I'm so sorry, Amy. I love you. She loved you. Very much." He does his best to help her but he moves deliberately slow. One because he's not sure if she can walk, and two because he doesn't want her to run and get in the way of what the two men are trying to do. Some of the workers have taken off their hats and there is a train of apologetic condolences, but none of them really know. They don't know what she's going through. Does Raoul really even know? He never really had parents much to start with, and certainly he didn't have all those good years and the bond that's been ripped away. He frowns and kisses her again as he leads her inside. By the time they get there, the table has been cleared off and a sheet laid down so that blood didn't get on the wood. Hackett swallows as he brushes Svafa's hair out of her face and lifts her hand. No glove there either. Amy's never seen her mother's naked hand before, at least not since she was a baby. It's a pretty hand. Weathered by hard work, but clean and strong. Shredded scraps that had kept her mother bound up are pushed away to the edge of the table and Pidge looks uncomfortable to see them. It wasn't a glorious death and that's very certain whispers: now.

“Mama...” It’s a quiet whine and she worms free of Raoul’s arm once they’re inside again. She isn’t ungrateful for his support, not at all. It’s just legs that moments ago were wooden and hardly able to walk scream to run now and run they do to the side of the table. Her warm hand, her living hand, slips into her mother’s and she presses kisses to the knuckles and even to the cog. Nothing matters, not the Brotherhood or the Law or the wrongs Svafa Hawkins may have done in life. Nothing other than the fact that her mother is here again and dead. Amavia bows her head and weeps over that pretty hand that once tied her shoes and combed her hair. The hand that held her and wiped away tears when she was small and sad. It will never tuck a wayward strand behind her ears again. Will never hug her or make her lunch or hold her. It will never hold a gun or a rapier either. She hasn’t just left a hole in Amavia’s life but she has left a gap in that of others who depended on her. That is something that will be filled, unlike the loss of a mother, but it is a loss nonetheless. Thin arms wrap around Svafa’s shoulders and she hugs to her, weeping against that caramel colored hair that she so envied as a child.

"I'm sorry." Pidge blurts out, at bay only because Hackett made him be. These were two men that loved her dearly, but even their love for her seemed a bit pale to the grieving daughter. Raoul fights hard to keep his expression strong, but he's never seen Amavia like this. Even Sangrey's death hadn't struck her so hard. Raoul tries to wrap his arms around her, but he doesn't try to tear her away. Hackett cuts Pidge off there before the transient can break down and blubber when what Amavia needs right now is a clear explanation why her mother is dead. "She had been infiltrating a company on behalf of the Brotherhood and they botched the protection. They didn't listen to her. We lost a lot of men and women because they were unwilling to cut losses. And when the group made it in, the ship left without her and the workers. They left her to die, Amy." Hackett speaks with more than a little vengeance in his tone. He too was betrayed, thrown off into the lake to die even. But now he knows better, and his only regret is that he didn't get to her in time to save her. He's almost tempted to mention that they drowned King Mouser, but right now, even the dearly departed pet seems insulting to compare to the loss of Svafa Hawkins.

“I’m sorry too.” It’s snuffly and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand as she leans up. Svafa’s hair is fixed, even further messed by her daughter’s sudden outburst. That sort of behavior wasn’t something she was prone to and her cheeks are flushed with an embarrassment far more keen than that in the bedroom shortly ago. She hiccups and her breath is shaky as she leans against Raoul now. That hand that holds her mother’s never leaves though, afraid to let go for the last time. “Idle Hands, right? Fucking creepers and thugs, all of them.” Not truly all of them but she isn’t in a mood for niceties. The words are practically spat as she thinks of that skinny, ugly old man trying to press her for answers she isn’t going to give. For the thinly veiled threats against people she may have known. Amber eyes dart to Pidge. People she knows now and people she -will- protect. You cannot save the dead but you sure as hell could protect the living. More tears are wiped away and her eyes are hard now, steeled for an answer she’s sure she’ll hear. “They? Are you done with them, Mr. Hackett?” Though she’s trying to be a tough girl the hope colors her words and the hand holding her dead mother’s trembles.

"They threw me off a bridge when I failed to torture someone. I think it's safe to say even if I hadn't quit, that I've been fired." He tries half-heartedly to lighten the mood with the joke, but the sorrow and the loss color his eyes as well. Raoul rubs Amavia's back in soothing circles.

She nods and offers a weak smile. It's hard to even attempt to joke and Amavia looks back to Svafa, stroking her cheek. “Thank you for bringing her here, both of you. She’d want to be buried by Lian, not left behind like some useless old weapon. Back to the Westfall dust.” Amavia swallowed whatever else she had to say and squeezed her mother’s hand more firmly than she intended. But Svafa Hawkins cannot hiss in pain or object. Svafa Hawkins is dead. Her daughter swallows again and wavers on her feet, casting a longing look at one of the chairs that have been pushed back now. To sit here and just be alone would be so welcome but she is not the only person to have loved her mother and these two men clearly did as well. And in that love showed a faithfulness few others would and that is something she cannot shove away, cannot ignore. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll find a way to try but know you have my eternal gratitude.”

"She deserved it. Did a lot of good for people like me." Pidge pipes up, before he slumps into one of the chairs. Hackett nods and then looks back to Amavia. "We'd like to be there when she's buried. A lot of the men probably would. I don't know how many will leave, but they'll all want to be there when she's buried. We'd like a day to tell them."

"Of course I'll wait a day. That won't cause any trouble for you if some of the Brotherhood show, will it Mr. Hackett. I don't want to bury two." Amber eyes are watery and she wipes at them again with the back of her hand. "Also, I bet I can think of some employment for the both of you. I think mama would have like her friends close at hand. I know I would." She smiles at that and allows herself a moment to daydream. What it would have been like to just sit on the porch and drink lemonade and relax, joking and laughing while the sun set over the ocean and the fireflies made fairy lights out in the tall grass. A simple, quiet life. But hers is neither of those things now. She looks to Raoul and rests her head against his shoulder. Despite her wealthy aunt the only family she really has is here and holding her now. If only she knew the words to express her thanks.

"Well... I certainly wasn't loved as much as she was, but I'm willing to risk that. To be there." Hackett nods and dips his small hat before he moves out of the way. "I should get going then, get started on making that round." Raoul nods and tries to urge Amavia into sitting down too.

"You best not get shot too, Mr. Hackett. I don't think I could handle a dead friend on top of this. Please be safe. You and I have loads to talk about soon." She nods at him, giving a slight smile. It's a friendly expression though the first words were firm. To hear poor Mr. Hackett who used to bring his mushy faced cat by was dead too, Light, it would be like kicking a puppy. At Raoul's urging she sits and scoots her chair close to the table. Eyes close slowly and she shudders with a sigh. "So Pidge. You seem like a nice fellow. You in the market for a job and a safe place to sleep?" It wouldn't save Westfall or the world to help one transient but Light damn it could save his world at least.

Raoul fights hard to hide his incredulous look at the sudden and blatant offer. Pidge swallows. "I don't reckon I really deserve it, ma'am."

"I don't reckon I'll take no as an answer. I've been putting aside money and purchasing clothes and such for transients. But I know what pride is and how hard it can be to accept help. Won't you stay here and help me help them? They'd believe it more if you were the one offering aid with me than some upstart girl with a fancy orchard. Please Pidge? You'd be doing honest work in exchange for room and board and a small wage." Her eyes are soft and her lower lip quivers in the beginnings of a pout. She just wants to help and Light damn it, won't someone let her?

"Well... I guess that's something your mama would like. That's how I met her, you know. She was passing out food and blankets to people like me. Real nice lady." Pidge looks down then, as if he's ashamed to look Amavia in the eye after failing to save her mother.

At the reminder of her mother the corpse seems larger, dominating her field of vision and her mind. Mama is dead. Mama is here and dead and they’re going to bury her tomorrow. Idle Hands might be out for blood now. Mama went and pissed off some scary people. But those are worries for later and she shoved them aside as she does with all the bad. Easier to smile than to frown and she does that just now. “Real nice lady indeed. She didn’t want to see the people of Westfall go without and neither do I. If you prefer I could always use more help with the trees. Mama loved apple trees and so do I. Hawkins girls belong in orchards.” She smiles at Raoul now and leans over to kiss his cheek. “So how about it, come work for me, for us, Pidge? Everybody deserves a break.”

"I'll try not to let you down, ma'am. I should... I should give you a moment with her mama though." He rises to a stand then, swallowing hard. Raoul kisses Amavia's cheek back and nods. "Good men deserve second chances. I'd say it's a good man that risks his life to bring a mother home to her daughter."

Amavia nods brightly and smiles at Pidge. "Thank you, Pidge. I'll make sure you get some time alone with her too. I know it's hard sometimes to say what you're feeling with an audience." Another smile and she takes a shaky breath. "And I agree with Raoul. You're a good man and I appreciate what you've done." All that said she turns back to her mama's body and shudders. She doesn't want to deal with this. She doesn't want to deal with any of this. She wants to be back in bed and in Raoul's arms wasting daylight while they kiss and remind each other how their bodies work.

"Do you want me to go away too, apple blossom? I can go if you need space but I'm here too if you need me. I love you." He brushes her hair and kisses her sweet, fond ways.

Beneath his hands her stiff posture fades. She leans up to catch his lips against hers and whispers. "Don't leave me, sweetheart. I don't want to be alone. I just don't want to have to pretend it's alright cause it ain't." Tears waver in her eyes and she still holds her mother's hand as she tries to hug him with her other.

"I -do- mean it, Amavia. I promise. I swear on the Light-damn gods- I'll always be here for you. I'll always love you." If this was was the little push he needed, well it's here now. He holds her so tight that it seems like he might not be able to let go.

Some ease works into her shoulders and back and she clings to him a little less fiercely. Breathing comes easier and she buries her face against his hair to take in the reassuring smell of her love. “I will always love you too. You’re my true love, Raoul.” Words that should be spoken in a shower of rose petals are instead whispered in the room that houses her mother’s corpse. But Svafa Hawkins was a practical woman and she wouldn’t want her only daughter to dwell. If it’s a broken part replace it and the new part was here in her arms.

"I'm sorry this is how it happened, Amavia." Raoul tries to soothe her even more with caresses and hushing sounds.

"Don't be sorry. I love you and you love me. I'm yours and that's it, forever." Her nose rubs against his and she smiles. "I want to lay down. May I please do that? I-I can't look at her anymore. I don't want to feel. I don't want to think."

"Wait one moment. Let's give her a little decency. Do you know what she- We'll worry about it tomorrow." Raoul folds the edges of the sheet back up over Svafa. They billow for a second before they delicately settle over her face. For a second, it looks like the sheets out on the line when she was taking laundry down to fold. How the wind would dance the sheets and she would stop to just breathe and be alive. She used to think of things then, but not now. There's nothing there now. Once she's covered, it's hard to tell it's even her except for stature, and Raoul tries to guide Amavia back to the bedroom.

She is easily herded away, head bowed as she presses her eyes shut. If she just doesn't see, if she just doesn't think about it then it won't be true. "Will you sing to me, sunshine? I just don't want to be in my own mind right now. Spare me from thinking?" Fingers are desperate to lace with his and she stares at him with hope.

"What do you want me to sing?" Raoul picks her up when he simply can't stand to see her walk like that anymore. She's held to his chest like a child, arms guided to his neck and legs guided to his waist. "I'll do anything you want, lover."

In his arms she hides her cheek against his and sniffles softly. "Something sweet. I don't know the songs you know. Just the lighthouse song." How far away that seemed now, that bonfire in her mother's yard making smorcs. Could only a few months have truly passed?

When they are in the bedroom, he sets her down gently on the quilt. They'd been making love there less than an hour ago. He then turns and pulls a guitar from the closet before returning to her. He climbs up on the bed next to her and invites her to lay closer. The guitar would fight for his lap, but at least his legs are free to cling to.

She lay on his legs, pillowing her head on his thighs as she sighs. The tears are gone but that empty spot in her chest is still there. Can it be filled? The ones left by Lian and her grandpa and her wrecked home and her Lantern still gape months later. Can a heart ever truly heal? Such heavy questions are what she's begging him to help her avoid and she moves to not fight his instrument too much for space. "I'd be nothing without you now, sweetheart. I love you so very much. Always."

((And then Raoul played dis song for her: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ihj7zZyyUXA&list=PL8EB55301C74D8E7F&index=16 ))

Amavia lids her eyes and lets the song wash over her. It's sweet and the words hold more meaning than most would know. But he does. He knows her better than anyone. Better than Jeffrey and though it hurts to think that it's true. Her first, her baby, was kind and precious in the time they had together, the time before he became Sangrey but he didn’t know her like this. He had lost his mother too but would he have held her while she cried or been lost to another fit of rage? It didn’t matter now as she snuggled against Raoul. Jeffrey was deader than her mother in their home and nothing would change that. Nothing would change what she had here and now. Though the song was gentle she still wept, tears wetting his pant leg as her shoulders shook with each sob. When the song was over she rolled onto her back and smiled weakly at him through the tears that still clung to her lashes.“Thank you, Raoul. You’re too good to me.”

The guitar slides across the bed until it's out of the way and he lays himself next to her, holding her fiercely and kissing her tear-stained cheeks. "Nothing's too good for you, apple blossom."

"I like to think you spoil me." She smiles again, eyes shut as his lips dry the tears off her smooth cheeks. Arms wrap around him and she clings there, shuddering as she contains more sobs. They won't be of any use. He doesn't need to keep doing this; it's taxing and annoying and no one cares. Her teeth bite into her lower lip and she hisses softly against the hollow of his neck where she hides now. "I'm sorry I'm such a wreck. I'm sorry. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being who you are. I love you so much. I don't deserve you."

((And then she fell asleep and Raoul was ;-; for his baby. ))