Westfall still calls to her; she longs for the warmth and the sun and the sharp dried grass beneath her bare feet. The apple scent coming from the trees in the orchard had helped her pretend when her eyes were closed that maybe none of the bad things had happened and she’d awaken to her mama making breakfast and her grandpa already up and about. Deathwing had never came and they were still alive. But there were treasures amongst the ashes and if that were true she wouldn’t be wearing the ring on her finger or have given her heart to such a kind young man. If such losses hadn’t happened she couldn’t have what she does now. Amavia curls beneath his bedspread, the intricate pretty cover smooth against her bare legs. There’s a book in her satchel and a box of sweets for later, for when he has to go to class. She wishes now she hadn’t dropped her set schedule so she could throw herself into lessons and learning rather than trying to keep the painful thoughts at bay while he is away for the day. The sheets smell like him though and she nuzzles her cheek against them while she watches him dress and ready for class. Such a handsome man. Her handsome man. He’s promised to always be there and she believes him. They know where they’ve been and they know what they’ve been through; two broken winged birds trying to relearn how to fly together. “I love you, handsome. I hope class is fun today and challenging. When it’s too easy it’s boring.” She smiles and leans her elbow on the bed, propping her hand against the side of her head as she hides in the comfort of his bed in nothing more than her nightgown she brought from the Westbrook Orchard.
Raoul finishes fixing his tie. He walks over and kisses her forehead like the precious thing she is to him. There's a pile of mail on his desk, but he doesn't have time to go through it. He's so rushed, so frantic in his mind and it's start to show through the cracks just a little bit. His facade can't hold forever. "I love you apple blossom. I'll visit between each class, okay?"
"Okay! I'll be here. I'll uh, make myself useful. Straighten up, sort your mail, throw out your letters from admiring fans." Amavia winks playfully, teasing him. Though it could be a concern she knows he respects her and will be faithful. It's more amusing to think of a pile of perfume scented lovenotes from secret admirers going to flames in her hands. Light help her she would throttle their pretty necks. "I love you, sunshine. Try and take it as easy as you can."
Raoul laughs at the ludicrous notion before he grabs his coat and left. It isn't even slipped on all the way, just folded over his arms. He certainly doesn't expect there's anything in that mail for her to be jealous of. When he's gone, the only thing keeping her company is the enchanted broom, his stuff, and his mail. It's not even organized neatly on the desk, just haphazard papers thrown together where some housekeeping put them. They're mostly violet envelopes from the University, some billing information. There's medical documents, and one curious white envelope marked 'Urgent'.
Amavia is giggling too as he slips out the door. She’s not a jealous girl by nature but sometimes with how he oozes charm it does get under her skin when girls flirt back. But that’s something for another day. There’s enough annoyance in her head, enough agitation, from other things. Things more pressing than comely girls batting their lashes at him and Raoul batting his back. He is a good man, a faithful man and she trusts him. Covers slip from her legs and she moves to the desk. May as well straighten up as she said. Such mundane tasks can steal her focus and she does love to organize things. The desktop is first and she begins to align things in their proper stations. Stray inkpens would go into their holder or the drawer itself. Loose papers into drawers and everything righted. Mail is next. The university letters get their own pile and the medical documents distract her. She skims them while her fingertips drum on the ‘Urgent’ letter and she hums to herself. It’s that lullaby her mama used to sing and she doesn’t even realize it till she’s done learning from paper what her eyes have seen on his body. Later she can make notes or memorize every detail in ink that she doesn’t know in flesh. But on to the last letter! Would it be snooping to open it? It does say urgent but Raoul will be back soon. Classes aren’t that long. ‘Urgent’ isn’t a word you write on a letter that you want an answer too though nor is a something you label junkmail. What if someone is in trouble? What if he’s in trouble? Fingers are opening it before she can balk at her own actions and amber eyes dart over the words on the page. Lips form into a small shocked ‘o’ and she reads it twice more to make sure she isn’t hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s read something no one else can see.
"My name is Llewellyn C. Wheaton. Professor Lantirn, I believe you know him, has assured me that I am your father. I'd like to see you and talk to you. My wife and I would like to come to Dalaran and see you. I hope that's okay. You can send any missives to Stormwind if you wish, care of The Tidecutter, in Stormwind Harbor. I hope you are well. - L.W."
She stands there a moment and stares in shock. Mr. Wheaton is a fellow known to her, a nice man she holds fondly in her thoughts. To think she’s engaged to his son, to think of the things she -does- with his son make her blush. The letter is folded and put back in its envelope. Of course Mr. Wheaton works for Idle Hands. The whole of her world seems to revolve around those thugs. Amavia shakes her head and whispers the name outloud, “Raoul Wheaton”. At least he wouldn’t have to stop using any monogrammed hankies or such. Silver linings. Sighing she reaches for the medical documents to read them in earnest now. If she’s already snooped and learned his paternity before him, and such a shocking revelation it is, she may as well go all the way and read his medical files too. Easier to ask forgiveness...
There are three envelopes, though they all seem to be concerning the same thing. Really it seems they just couldn't contain the results in -just- one envelope. That's never a good sign. Half of the documents are mind boggling spreadsheets and charts with arcane graphs and urgent reminders to keep all the appointments for exams that he has missed lately. Some of the pages are easier to understand than others, especially the illustrated ones that have been animated with magic to show the growth of organs and how some are reacting strangely. The diagrams show what should and should not be, and frankly, there's a disturbing number of 'should not be's concerning his insides. Nevermind that he is missing a kidney and other organs have been subjected to rearrangement or experimented on- no, there actually seems to be DUPLICATES of some organs, and in the case of his liver, there's even a tiny, shriveled third one growing. Once all of the medical jargon is deciphered, it states rather plainly that his body doesn't have room for all the things that are trying to grow and that he'll need surgery at least in the next few months just to make sure nothing important ruptures.
Her expressions are every changing as she reads the documents; first confusion as to what they all say, with comprehension comes understanding and anger at -who- did this to him, and then annoyance that he would ignore this. He could -die-. How could he promise her always when he can’t take care of himself? Her hand trembles as she sets them on the bed and disappears in a quick flash. Back to her own apartment and into something she can wear to go out if the need arises. A plain white shirt and a black pair of pants and boots are thrown on, hair is tied back after it’s brushed, and she washes her face to erase any signs of the tears that have plagued her. Her jaw is set as she moves into the room she is still arranging as a study or an office and she tears off the next two months from her desk calendar. The spaces are large enough to fill in appointments and details for the dates and she barely remembers to snatch up the little tin of tacks before she teleports to the same spot she stood not long ago. She tacks the calendar up over his desk, anything in the way she relocates to other places. These appointments they want him to make are written in the squares of their corresponding dates and she circles two days that are open with his school schedule and writes “Surgery?” in both. That done, Amavia scowls and throws herself into organizing his room as it should be. Even the shoes if they are out of line in the closet are fixed. In her anger there is a fury she only takes out with this frenzied cleaning and she curses softly to herself the entire time. One day she is going to kill Valerie Starlet and burn her wretched body while watching with a smile.
It's at least three hours before Raoul comes back, and when he does he looks rundown. Enchantment is never a fun time to begin with for him, let alone when he's been working and burying the dead rather than studying. He's said more apologies to Professor Aurelis today than he ever intended to in his entire life. Because, for once, Raoul admits this is his fault. He didn't make his classes a priority. He slumps through the door once it's opened and leans on the frame dramatically. "Apple blossom?”
"My sunshine." She smiles and brushes her hair back behind her ears. Small strands have escaped the braid and she sits on his neatly made bed with her book in her lap. Everything is neat. So neat it almost looks like a model room to show prospective students. "I missed you. Come sit and we can talk." She isn't going to yell at him. She isn't going to raise her voice or shout. Half of the problems at hand aren't his fault and screaming won't do anything. Besides, he looks beat and her first instinct is to rush to him, to cover him in kisses and rub his sore shoulders that have carried such burdens for her lately.
"I would looooove that." He drags the word out dramatically and collapses on the bed beside her as soon as he's finished shuffling across the floor. Until he's lying on his back and his head cranes up, it doesn't look like he noticed how clean things are. But now, not he definitely sees, and he looks around suspiciously at first, then nervously, then he looks at her like she's crazy. "Are you alright?"
"I am fine! I just...your room needed a nice cleaning and I was here." She leans over to snuggle against him as she closes her book. The medical documents are under the pillows but they can snuggle a moment. They can have a few to themselves. “Are you sore? I know my lovely princess has been working hard. Roll onto your back and I’ll rub it and your shoulders.” Kisses work along his jaw and she plays with the end of his tie, wrapping it around her finger before letting go. “We can talk while I do that.”
"A clean room and now a massage? Light, I don't know if I'm in heaven or if you're getting ready to send me there." He drags his finger across his throat in a jest that she's just being so sweet to kill him. He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off before rolling over. White and silver pinstriped cloth falls away with a violet-grey tie on to the floor where it's discarded. He has at least three hours before his next class, so he's not worried about peeling off his clothes. "I love you, Amy." He whispers in a muffle against the nice Sin'dorei fashion blanket.
"I love you too, Raoul." She straddles his hips after he's on his stomach and leans down to kiss the nape of his neck. It's a sweet gesture and though this is something that could fast become sensual and sexual she has no designs for such. Fingers work over his back and shoulders and though they're delicate in appearance there is some strength to them. Enough to rub away the knots and soothe areas that feel tense and tight. "How was class?" She watches her hands move over his sides and pouts to think of the damage that lurks beneath his smooth skin. Someone pretended to love you once, sweetheart, but I'll make you feel truly so. I won't hurt you. It's a promise her hands make as she tries to please him.
"It was awful." Raoul exhales softly with a release of some of the tension and his bright eyes close. Amavia does things for him no one has ever cared to before. She is so special to him. "I wish Professor Aurelis would just get it over with and kill me. This slow death is the worst. I think sometimes he likes to watch me fail." There are scars up and down his skin that can't really be seen except for their raised texture. The coloring is even, but they're too easy to feel. He's been cut open and sliced up, and just under the skin she massages now are rogue organs swelling and leeching off his actual system. They're growing plump like fruit for the harvest or swine for the slaughter.
"Well why don't we work together on at least getting you to a place were he just watches you. Like a hungry predator that can't leap the fence." She smiles and kisses the back of his neck again. Lips brush down his spine in a loving kiss and then her hands are back to work. These things are going to have to be delicately approached. "Oh! I put a calendar up too for you. To better keep track of dates."
"Apple blossom, I don't know if I'll have -time- for dates." He awkward reaches back for her hand, grasping to pet any part of her in a reassuring caress. "We'll think of something though."
"Oh sunshine. We have several coming up. I copied them into my day planner so I can attend each and every one with you. The infirmary has a lot of appointments that are really vital for you to make and I want to be there for you for every one of them." She squeezes his hand back before trying to ease it onto the bed and keep working away the tension.
"Wait, what?
Her hands keep moving and she sighs. "The infirmary was very explicit in their requests. The potential for fatality due to what Valerie did to your organs is high. I don’t want to lose you Raoul...I cross-referenced your class schedule and the event calendar for any university or agency things we’d be required to attend and selected two potential dates for the surgery. I refuse to lose you when you’re all I have left. And when I love you so much.”
He pulls himself out from underneath her now, gently pushing her off his back if he has to. There's a great deal of suspicion and a little bit of irritation in his eyes now. Pride. "You did what? How- none of that's even your business, Amy. I'm just fine. Do I look like I have a potentially high fatality?" He gestures to himself, spouting babbles that he already knows he's going to regret. Of course it's her business, even if he's very hurt she somehow found out behind his back.
She settles on her knees and pulls out the medical documents from the pillows. One of those fingers that had moments ago been caressing him points to the magically animated diagrams. “You could die. It says so. The doctors aren’t lying and as they’ve been given no reason as to why you have three livers they’re likely salivating at examining you. I would appreciate you telling them the true reason but I understand, I think, why you don’t wish to. I hope you aren’t protecting her anymore, Light, I pray otherwise.” Her hand trembles on the papers and she frowns at the sheets. “It is my business. You are my business. How are we to get married and have children, I’d like five you know, if you die? This is really serious stuff, Raoul. Super serious. If you’re allowed to fret over cuts and such I sustain I’m allowed to freak out over this.”
Raoul tries to take the papers from her. Immature tug-o-war? Hell yes he'll do it if he has to. "It's not really any of their business either. If something feels wrong I'll do something about it, but right now everything's fine. I can do my job and complete my classes, so there's no need to panic. And why would you think I'm protecting Val? I let them drag her off to the Hold. I really don't think that's 'protecting' her." Tug.
The papers are let go after the first few tugs and Amavia sighs. “Please Raoul. They are medical professionals. If you don’t love yourself enough to get it taken care of please do it because you love me? This is serious. Really really serious and we can’t -pretend- otherwise. This isn’t something that can be pushed away and forgotten about. I know you don’t like doctors, Light does anyone?, but this needs to happen. Please, sweetheart? You said always. Don’t break your promise.” Lower lip quivers and she wipes her hand across the back of her eyes. “Please don’t be a jerk. Just because it doesn’t -feel- icky and hurting doesn’t mean there isn’t something amiss. I felt fine but you still made me go get looked at. Why do I have to listen to you but you won’t respect my worries enough to listen to me? Don’t you want to live a nice, healthy long life with me? Please don’t neglect this out of pride. I don’t want to be alone.”
Raoul's shoulders slump and he sits back. In his hands, the stolen papers feel like a hollow victory. "You were having terrible nightmares! You were losing it. I'm- I'm not losing it." His pride struggles to make a last stand, a bastion against all assaults of reasons. But the implication of tears unravels him immediately, in a way her tears have never seem to have affected anyone else. For some reason, they always work with him. His head bows and he furrows his brow as he stares disapprovingly at some stitching on the blanket.
"Yep. And I even slotted study time to make sure you get enough. I marked time we could work together on our weaker subjects. I want to help you be the best at everything. Because you are in my mind." Her words are still quiet and though she's not sniffling she could burst into tears any moment. Her nerves feel raw and worn, at the surface and so easy to hurt right now. Thick skin will grow back, and soon she hopes, but the wounds are all still raw. "Thank you, Raoul. I love you so much. Always." Her hand shyly reaches out and tries to rest on his thigh.
As soon as her hand touches the fabric of his pants, he drops the papers and launched towards her with a desperate, squeezing hug. "I love you too, Amavia." His voice sounds wobbly on its own. It's been a hard year on everyone.
And it's sadly about to get harder. Her arms wrap around him and she kisses his cheek softly. Can she tell him while she's in the sanctuary of his arms that his father is the friendly one-eyed man that she gave a whole pie to at the faire? That funny man that seemed to hover near their booth in concern. "You got another important letter but I think this was really good news. I think it's super shocking but super good."
"I don't care about it right now, Amy-" He sounds like he's going to say something more, but his jaw tightens and he shuts his eyes tightly while his face buries into her hair. He holds her like his life depends on it. Perhaps not quite as dramatic, in truth, it's just his resolve that depends on this embrace. Keeping secrets is hard. Having secrets spilled anyway is harder. The hardest thing of all is that he can't bring himself to confess to her what he's been through and what he's afraid of. He's not strong enough to risk looking weak.
"It's okay, lover. It's okay. We have each other. I'm not going anywhere ever." She snuggles in and tries to move him so she can hold him, so his head can pillow on her breasts. "It's from your daddy. I know him and he seems like a nice man."
"What?" Raoul falls to pieces in her arms, like he's been threatening to do since he hugged her. "What are you talking about?" He clings to her, fingers clawing into her clothes and shoulders trembling. They don't heave with sobs, he's not quite that far gone, but this is all a little much for one week.
"You remember Mr. Wheaton?" Fingers stroke his hair and she winds as close as she can to him. Her own heart is worn ragged and she wants to curl beneath the blankets and not get out for at least a week. Just lay there and snuggle while the world moves on around them. "I know, sweetheart, it's crazy and all but it could be a good thing in the end. I love you so much. So very much. If you don't want to meet up like he asked I'll write him and tell him to piss off."
How? How do you know this? I don't even know him."
"He wrote you. The letter was marked urgent and I didn't know if someone was dying or in dire need of aid. He said some Professor Lantern or Lantirn I dunno, treated you and told him. I can do our own test to make sure. He and his wife work for Idle Hands too so it kind of worries me." She wets her lips and then kisses his temple again, pulling him as close as she can. "I don't mean to imply he's a bad man. I just don't believe in chance."
Raoul pulls himself away from her. He's not going to cry over this silliness. There's too many questions, too much disbelief. He gathers himself off the bed and snatches up his shirt from the floor. The sleeves are pulled on but he doesn't bother buttoning it. Every movement is with purpose and aggression. This is unbelievable. "What letter?" He growls, mostly to himself, as he completely undoes her neat organization in blind searching for the letter until he finds it.
Amavia cringes like he's showing her the same unkind treatment as his desk. At least the calendar is tacked up and spared his wrath. At least. "It's the plain looking one from Professor Lantern and Idle Hands. I had put it on the corner of your desk."
Raoul glares at the results first, as if he could possibly decipher them let alone disprove them. Then he reads the letter and shouts loudly, "I HOPE YOU'RE WELL?!" as he clutches the letter.
Amavia wets her lips and slips off the bed. Unsteady hands rest on his hips and she hugs him from behind. "Yea that was a stupid line."
He crumples it up in his fists, clasping one hand over the other as if he could crush it into literally nothing. His knuckles go white but eventually the outrage subsides. It's mostly Amavia's embrace that brings him back down, that reminds him of possibilities. This could be good. It could be as bad as he thinks it is, but it could be a good thing too. He doesn't know how he became an orphan. This could be everything he's ever dreamed of. It's enough to dare to hope. But knowing Llew Wheaton is with the company that killed Svafa Hawkins is enough to fear, too. This could be a trap to get to Amy, as if they need him for that. It's a lot of things. In the end, boyish hope wins out over adult cynicism and Raoul smooths out the letter he had crumpled. Dad.
Hearing the paper smooth out gives Amavia a spark of hope. Though she’s thought the same things and had worries in her hours of cleaning she isn’t going to rain on his parade. She isn’t going to bring him down because she’s afraid. Mr. Wheaton was a nice man to her before the problems with her mama. Mr. Wheaton is a nice man. Her thin arms squeeze him a little tighter and she kisses the back of his neck through the collar of his shirt. “He seems real nice. I worked at his wedding. Real sweet and real playful. Like a certain young man I love. I hope that it’s true. I hope the two of you get on real well. And if he is an ass I will kick him so hard in the groin he won’t ever be able to have another. Because lover you’re irreplaceable.” Amavia grins and that flare of envy - Light, if only her daddy was alive - is buried under hope and prayers for her beloved.
"I'm sorry for 'being a jerk' earlier, apple blossom." Raoul bows his chin to his chest and closes his eyes. This is a profound moment that he isn't sure how to deal with. How is he going to get through class now?
"You were just scared. It's okay to tell me when you're scared. I'll always be here for you, happy days and bad days. I love you." Her hands move to rub his shoulders again and she presses kisses to his back, over his heart.
I was not scared." Raoul forces a smile as he relishes in her affections. "I was just... just being a jerk." Rather a jerk than a coward, always!
"Scared. And that's okay. You're allowed to be scared with your apple blossom. She loves you always." Amavia tries to coax him back to his bed, to lie down and let the news wash over him. It's been a trying year, an intense week, and a really bad day. But she isn't one for dwelling on the grim and dark things. To make him really smile or laugh is her challenge before his next class.
He lets her guide him away, but he doesn't let go of the letter. And why should he? It's the only news of his birth family, even a possible one, that he's -ever- received. His eyes are rimmed with tears that just aren't going to fall.
Amavia wipes her fingers beneath his pretty blue eyes and smiles. A kiss meets his cheek and she snuggles him fiercely. "What are you going to write back? Do you want me to come with you? I know it's pretty personal but I'd like to be there - for you."
"I want you to be there too, just in case..." He catches his breath and lays the letter down on his bare chest over his heart. "Just in case things go bad." He exhales finally. "I don't know what I'll say. What should I say?"
"I hope they go awesome. How can he not love you? You're amazing." She rests her chin on his shoulder and looks up at him, smiling. "I'd start with a "Hello" and a good place for them to meet us. We could have dinner at my apartment if you'd like. Or somewhere public like the Ledgermain in case they're secretly weirdos." A giggle leaves her and she lofts a brow. They could be weirdos, what do either of them really know about the Wheatons? She's exchanged letters with the man but they weren't really personal.
"The Legerdemains kind of fancy... I- they didn't really look like fancy people. So his wife's my mom? Or no... you served at their wedding... but I guess they could've been together a long time before they got married... no, he probably would've just said she was my mom if she was, unless she didn't want anything to do with me and he does. I don't know, he didn't say. They didn't say." Raoul swallows and closes his eyes again.
"They said something about years keeping them apart. I'd put her at pushing thirty and he's got to be at leeeeast mid fourties. Real, ah, earthy people. Her wedding dress...man, Raoul. I hope she wears more clothes to this." Amavia giggles and runs a hand through his hair. She's trying to keep the mood light. "He's old so maybe, if she isn't your mama, he was with her before." It's a quiet encouragement and she hugs to his side again. "Maybe in the Beer Garden?"
"The Beer Garden sounds nice... a bit empty these days. Probably don't want people around anyway. What if he doesn't like me? He doesn't sound like he really likes me."
"Maybe he didn't know what to write, sweetheart. If they had these tests done it sounds like he was unaware he was a proud daddy. I bet it would be real strange to find out one day you have a seventeen year old son. He's probably worried you're going to be pissed and fry his ass. I'd probably fry him. You have a lot more patience than me." She smiles and kisses his cheek in a loving way as her hand strokes his side softly.
Raoul opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "Do you think... Do you think he would've been there if he knew?" It's not exactly something he's sure he'll ever ask Llew himself. Even now, the words barely come out of his mouth.
"Yes. I would bet more money than I have that he would. Mr. Wheaton seems like a real good man. Really kind-hearted. We exchanged some letters like a month back and he's really nice. He doesn't seem like the kind of man that would shirk fatherly duties." Though she barely knows the man she can't help but think these things. He doesn't seem like a bad man or a selfish man. He was real sweet in his letters to her. Worried and concerned when she didn't seem happy. It's hard to imagine a man like that, treating a girl he barely knew, would knowingly ignore his own flesh and blood.
"I don't want to call him Mr. Wheaton in the letter." Raoul curls his fingers in to his palms, then swallows and goes back to patting the letter.
"Call him Llew. He told me to call him that but I can't call your daddy something so informal. But as he's your father, I think Llew works. Light lover, call him father or dad or daddy if you want. If he didn't want to be your father now he wouldn't write you. I bet he's really excited!" Amavia beamed and rested her hand atop his on the letter, kissing his cheek. "I'm super excited for you! I bet everything will go wonderful!"
"You don't think calling him Dad would be too bold? He might just means he wants something or that he wants me to know that he knows. I don't know." His uncertainty is almost palpable.
"Aw, sunshine, I don't think he'd write you if he didn't want to be your daddy." It's a quiet response and she tries to lace her fingers with his over the wrinkled parchment. "Mr. Wheaton doesn't seem like that kind of guy. I bet he'd smile so wide we'd hear his jaw crack from here to get a 'Dear Dad' letter."
"Think so?" He doesn't sound convinced.
"I bet so. Honest, my love. Honest." She nuzzles her nose against the tip of his and smiles even wider, trying to encourage him.
(( And then Raoul and Amy cuddled and he wrote Llew back. ))
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