The Beginning of the End (Closed RP)

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

It had been two days. Two days since she and Ben had seemed to come to some sort of taciturn agreement. Odd, that they'd done it without actually speaking. That they'd drifted apart, ending things, without a word being said to the other. But it had happened, nonetheless, and Victoria was left feeling empty. Broken.

Alone.

Her room was always cold. Something that had only peripherally bothered her before now became a gnawing torture. Curled up on her window seat under layers of clothing and her coat and blankets tugged from the bed, she still shivered. Still felt numb. And she knew, of course, that the frozen feeling had little to do with the weather. But it was easier to blame the Scottish winter, easier to glower at house elves and demand a bigger fire, easier to wish in vain for central heating.

Two days passed like that.

Not a great deal of time, considering. Considering a decade spent in a tiny cell, considering three years mourning him without being brave enough to find out for sure, considering the past few weeks with him haunting her. Not that long at all.

Only it'd felt like eternity. Because suddenly there was no hope. No promise. No 'maybe'. There was him and her and a chasm between them and Victoria'd forgotten how to build the bridge. If she'd ever known. If anything had been more than an illusion.

But on the third day, she realized she was hibernating, she was frozen, and she couldn't go on like this. Could not go another decade hidden away behind a mask she was too afraid to remove. Which meant if they were going to break, they really were going to end, it needed to be said. The words had to be forced out, Victoria needed to look into his eyes, the air between them had to shatter completely.

And so she sent out a house elf, writing a brief note with trembling fingers and sending it off to find Ben. He would come at her summons, she had no doubt of that, the only question came from what would happen after.

Pacing the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, Victoria waited.

---



Ben,

Come.

Victoria

Comments

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Of course, he came. Was there ever any doubt that he would?

While Victoria had spent the time shivering in her own quarters, Fraser had claimed a couch in the Common Room and made it his new base of operations while he waited her out. He had given up ever being with her, but he hadn't yet let go of what she could do. To get to anywhere else in the castle she would have to pass through here, and when she did, he would be there watching.

It was actually practically the easiest stakeout he'd ever been on. The physical part of it, anyway. To anyone else, it might have been strange and uncomfortable, but in the Common Room he had food, shelter, heat. Even company, when he'd broken down and owled Ray and Stephanie for a little much-needed support. To a man who'd once spent eleven days watching an empty house (http://www.realduesouth.net/Transcripts/151DGR.htm#eleven%20days), and once holed up in a caribou carcass (http://www.realduesouth.net/Transcripts/142Eclipse.htm#caribou) for three days, it was positively luxurious.

As for the rest of it... well, nothing involving Victoria was ever going to be easy, he knew that well enough by now. But they had reached a kind of accord back in the library, an understanding. An unpleasant one, but something nonetheless that might allow them to at least interact. And she would have to come down eventually, and then he could go back to keeping an eye on her, and they would somehow live with that. It wasn't easy, but it was what was going to happen, so he thought, and knowing that was a sort of a grim comfort in its own way.

He was a little surprised, then, to get the owl. Which by no means meant that he wasn't going to go: he stalled just long enough to clean up a little, shave and make sure he didn't smell or anything, and was at her door within ten minutes.

He hesitated there momentarily, feeling jarringly nervous, like... He had no frame of reference, having never been to a school dance (well, once, but he'd been chaperoning and in drag at the time, so it didn't much count) before, but if he'd known, he might have said it felt a little like waiting for a prom date -- the anxiety, the anticipation -- with none of the accompanying giddiness. How this was going to end, he had no idea. What she even wanted to say, he had no idea.

Slowly, he raised a hand and knocked.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

The sound jarred her from her thoughts, and Victoria glanced over at the door. A thousand butterflies were playing some kind of violent game in her stomach and for a second she just stared. Frozen in place.

But then something clicked and Victoria forced herself to move across the room. Fingers brushing the doorknob, pulling it open, staring up at Ben. Voiceless, she stepped aside so that he could enter. And everything she'd decided to say, all the clever words she'd arranged in her mind, was gone.

"Ben." Just his name, murmured hoarsely from lips that hadn't spoken in two days. But just that seemed to shudder in the air around them, seemed to draw her closer towards him despite her best efforts to remain aloof.

"What are we doing?"

[themountie.livejournal.com]

"Victoria." He stared at her from across the threshold, and it suddenly occurred to him that they had been here before (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yg1LxloZjec). Their positions were reversed, perhaps, but they still weren't far off from that other doorway, that other time. He, standing, stunned, she on the attack. And then they'd moved into the room, pushing, pushing each other, and the next thing he knew...

The memory of it made all the air seem to go out of the room. He cleared his throat and tugged at his uniform collar, willed the sudden flush away from his face, trying to school himself to composure as he'd had to so many times since she'd come back. "May I come in?" he murmured, because protocol was his best shield and he was obviously going to need it. He carefully kept his hands folded in front of him -- keeping them to himself.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

The memory that struck him swept through her at the same moment and Victoria bowed her head, hiding a blush behind a curtain of curls. "Yes," she murmured, keeping her mask clenched in a death grip. Ben was behaving as he had since she arrived and she couldn't show any weakness. Couldn't give an inch. There were things she must say, things both of them had to say, and in order to that she had to be cool. Calm. Detached.

"Thank you for coming." Polite. Like they were having some kind of business meeting and her heart wasn't breaking. She looked up at him, eyes catching on the curve of his lips, the way his mouth slanted up at the corners. Suddenly her throat went dry and she found it hard to find her train of thought. Something... Something important.

"We need to talk."

They did. They really did. With a quiet sigh, Victoria found herself moving forward, hands gripping the front of his uniform as if to both push him away and pull him closer. "We have to talk, Ben," she repeated quietly, but her eyes - her traitorous eyes - were still fixed on his lips.

And then she was leaning forward, kissing him with a soft sob, with desperation and want, with three years of missing him. With two days of being alone. With all the hurt and the hopeless longing that had settled somewhere in her veins and weighted her down.

"I miss you," she murmured against his lips, kisses begging him to not let go. "God, Ben, I miss you."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

He crossed the threshold, his heart pounding hard. It was the first time he'd been inside her room. The first time, in fact, he'd been inside any room of hers. His eyes swept the space automatically, scanning, half-curious and half-defensive. The cop in him was looking for traps, clues, weapons. The lover just wanted to know what was on the other side of the door he'd been behind for so long. He nodded mechanically in response to her comment, his attention torn. "Thank you for inviting me," he replied with equal politeness. His tongue swept across his lower lip thoughtfully, his gaze drawn to a small object sitting on the desk. A snow globe. Chicago in the winter time. He bit down on a bitter smile. It was a fitting souvenir, really.

He was all right until he looked at her, and then his breath caught as it struck him: they were alone, in her room, and she looked lovely as ever. He swallowed hard and nodded. "I know," he agreed, his voice wavering. "Perhaps we should sit down, or..." He should have brought his hat with him. The hat was a symbol of authority, he should never have left it behind. If nothing else, he could have held it, given his hands something to do, put some necessary space between them...

And then she stepped forward and touched him, and he really, really wished he'd brought his hat. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his body stiffening, tensing beneath her hands. He couldn't let this get to him. He had to stand strong. "Victoria," he protested weakly. Protested, but couldn't push her away. His hands clasped tight together; he willed them not to move. "We have to talk," he echoed her words, hoping she would hear him. "We have to..."

The first kiss came as a surprise, his eyes still closed, and he didn't respond, didn't move a muscle, couldn't; but no matter what his mind said, the rest of him wasn't listening. On the second he shuddered and raised his hands, his lips parted, and by the third she was encircled in his arms and he was kissing her back, so sweetly, with such hopeless passion, like the three years and endless pains between them had disappeared and they were back at the door of his apartment with the candles burning around them. His hands slid over her back and through her curls, his lips soft against hers, trying not to shake as he held her.

"I know," he whispered in reply to her, his voice choked. "Me too." And God, if they could just stay here like this forever, if everything else could be forgotten. If only. He ghosted his lips over her cheek, over her jaw, burying his face in her thick hair. "We can't do this," he murmured, pleading. "Victoria--"

He closed his eyes tight and forced the image of Ray up onto the back of his eyelids, Ray with his faith and his trust and his brilliant, beautiful smile, Ray whom he was betraying with every moment here. He wrapped his arms around Victoria and held her to him tightly, hiding his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, the snow on her skin. "I can't," he said again, the words muffled and broken.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

A laugh almost like a sob and then Victoria was holding him just as tightly, arms around his neck, face pressed into the crook of his neck. "Why not?" she asked, sweet and innocent as a child, heartbroken and lost. "I love you."

And it was true. No matter what he thought of her, no matter what he did, she loved him. Wholly and truly and in a way that would never fade. Victoria wanted it to. It would be so much easier if she didn't love him. If she didn't care. If the hate that seemed twined together with it would simply overshadow and let her let him go.

Victoria pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers ghosting across his lips, along his jaw, eyes pleading with him. Her Ben, her beautiful Ben, and he'd said he missed her. She'd felt the longing behind his kiss, matching her own. Sighing shakily, her eyes swept across his face, begging him to let them be. It was always him that pulled away. That fell from her arms, that walked away. And now here they were, like they were stuck in a never ending loop, and Victoria could feel that painful knot in her throat, because Ben was going to do it again. Was going to leave her.

Fingers fisting in the front of her uniform, face breaking, she asked again, voice a little more harsh with frustration and want and anticipated grief, "Why not?"

[themountie.livejournal.com]

He drew back to look her in the eye, opened his mouth to speak, and... stopped, shaking his head helplessly, because what was he supposed to say to that? Did she want just one reason or did she want them all? Was because you shot my wolf a good start, or would she prefer because I think you might hurt everyone else I love?

And yet he took her hands in his, kissed the backs of her fingers, warmed her cold wrists with his fingers. He brought them to his face and held them to his cheeks, tilting his head to kiss her palms. "You're the only woman I've ever loved," he murmured, his eyes falling to hers, pained and pleading. He let their joined hands drop till they rested against his chest, against the rough red serge of his uniform, the thick cloth that only partly hid the harsh beating of his heart. He clutched them tight and tried not to choke on his words. "And I've missed you so much."

It was all true, but it still didn't change anything. No matter how much he wanted to pick this up from here -- or where he'd left it in the Sorting Room, or three years ago -- nothing had changed. The danger was still as great as before, the risk no less tangible. He shook his head again and inhaled in deeply, exhaled slowly, fighting for control.

You give me one good reason, Fraser. You give me one good reason why we should do this. That was Ray's voice in his head, suddenly, a memory from a few years back, the Henry Allen case. Why was he remembering that, of all things, right now? It had been the night they'd left, driven straight up the coast to catch the ship before it sailed. It had been dangerous, stupidly dangerous, and they had been fighting, and Ray hadn't wanted to go, until Fraser had told him a story about bravery and honor...

...and he went because he respected bravery and honor, but mostly, Fraser knew, he went because it meant so much to Fraser. Because he'd believed in Fraser even then, just like he believed in him now. Fraser was only alone with Victoria at all because Ray believed in him, believed that he would make it through this.

He tightened his hands on Victoria's and smiled sadly, looking up into her eyes. "Because I love you very much, Victoria," he told her, "but I can't trust you. You know that."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Incredulous, Victoria wanted to pull away. Wanted to jerk her hands from his grasp, to slap him so that he could feel even a fraction of what his words did to her. Wanted to push him out and slam to door behind him. Wanted nothing more than to shout and rail and cry against him until he understood.

He was supposed to understand.

But she could do none of that. Of course she couldn't. Victoria swallowed thickly and let his gaze hold hers, let her hands remain in his. She was helpless against him, and he knew it. She could want to hate him enough to walk away all she liked. But she'd never been that strong. Never once, not even after everything.

"Everything I did," she said quietly, looking pained. "Everything was because I honestly didn't know what else to do. I wanted to be with you, and I thought..." Finally her eyes dropped, ashamed, as she tried to form words. "I wanted to hurt you," she admitted. "But I loved you, too. I never stopped, even though I knew I should have. So I tried to find a way, some way we could be together. Like we had been. Just the two of us. God, I don't even know, Ben."

A wild laugh, a helpless sound, and then Victoria was looking up at him again. "I don't trust you, either. You walk around in that uniform, mocking me. Making me feel like I'm back in - in that place. But I can't stop loving you. I can't stop, Ben, even though I know it'd be better if I did."

She leaned forward again, kissing him between every sentence. "I love you. I love you. I love you. Only you. Always you." And then Victoria leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"I know what's happened, where we were, I know it's horrible. But we're both here now, Ben. No one is chasing me. No one but you. We can't start over, I know we can't. But can we..." She opened her eyes, looking at him with such tremulous hope that it literally ached. "Can we try anyway?"

Can I be worth a chance?

[themountie.livejournal.com]

She thought he didn't understand, but he did. He understood everything: why she'd done what she did, why she'd thought she had to.

She scares the hell out of me, he'd told his father, back then. I don't even know if I can help her. But I know I need to be here. And I know who she is. He knew her, as his father had put it, in her very soul. It didn't matter what she did to him: he would still understand, and he would still love her until his very dying day, with his last breath. He knew already that much -- he'd nearly died with their poem on his lips.

And all that meant was that he understood what she was capable of, the monstrous cruelty she could inflict. She wasn't asking him to give her a chance. She was asking him to choose, now, and forever, between herself and the others, his family. Even if he put them at risk by hurting her now, by turning her away, that was nothing compared to what she might do if he took her up on it now and did something to hurt her somewhere down the line. There was no calculating the potential damage. Death might be the best possible outcome.

He loved Victoria, but the way things were now, she was a ticking time bomb, and it was only a matter of time before something else happened. It wasn't as simple as them trying again -- what if they failed? What then?

He still kissed her back every time she leaned in, his mouth tender against hers, and when she stopped he took her face in his hands and kissed her again for good measure. A long, slow kiss, as though he were drinking her in, storing the memory of her lips. Like he had come to an oasis and was taking his fill -- like he might not see water again for a long time.

Finally he drew back, leaning his forehead against hers in kind, staring at her pale, angelic face. "You hurt people, Victoria," he said softly. "Worse than hurt." He frowned, compressing his lips tightly. "I can't let that happen again. You should realize that better than anyone."

He took a half a step back, just enough to draw away and look her in the eye. "I don't want to give you any reason to doubt me.," he told her soberly. "I'll take off the uniform if you want me to, and I'll even stop chasing you. But I have to know that the people here are safe." He hesitated: how much of his hand could he show? Even now, he wasn't sure. Even now, he couldn't trust her with too much information. "There are... people here I care about, Victoria," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Very much so. And I won't let them be hurt." That was said with a harder edge: not the mountie mask but genuine Fraser determination, the kind his father had handed down to him.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

You hurt people, Victoria.

There were few things that Fraser could have said to her that would have wounded her deeper.

You hurt people.

She was her father. Was Jolly. Was some con in prison with a number and a cell and state issued clothes. She was something, someone, she didn't recognize. Had never wanted to turn into.

You hurt people.

Nothing she'd done had been meant to hurt. Not really. Burning down Fraser's cabin was a petty gesture, she'd admit it. Taking away his home the way she'd lost hers. And yes, she'd pulled away everything around him, so they could be together. But she hadn't meant to hurt him. Wouldn't have had to, if only...

But she had. The fact remained, she had, and now that's all Fraser saw when he looked at her. Someone who hurt people.

Someone who hurt him.

And now he was so afraid of her, of what she might do, of the lengths she would go to, that he was letting her go. Again. But this time wasn't really his fault, was it? Ben was just doing what he had to. Because she hurt people. Because she'd turned into everything she'd run from.

All this distance, all this time, and it hadn't mattered. She'd become nothing more than Frank Metcalf's daughter after all. Hurting people she loved. Destroying everything she touched.

Emotions flickered across Victoria's face - anger and hurt and regret and grief and shock and love and pain and hope and above all, above everything, bitter resignation - and then they were gone. And Victoria gave Fraser a tiny little heartbroken smile, barely able to hide the pain, barely able to hold herself steady.

She leaned in to kiss him again. This time so soft, so slow, memorizing everything about him. The feel of his skin under her fingers. The way his lips felt under her own. The hitch of his breath, the beat of his heart, the way he smelled - every sensation filed away. Because this was the last of it. The only piece of him she'd ever have.

Then Victoria pulled away. Tears already starting. "I'm not going to hurt anyone," she whispered brokenly. "And if that's all--"

Shaking her head, she turned to walk away, pulling her bag out and starting to pull things from her dresser, packing. "If that's the only thing you can think of when you see me, then I'll leave. Because I love you Fraser. I love you. And all I can think about is being with you. That's all I want. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just--" What did it matter? Victoria shook her head again, wiping her eyes with quick swipes of her hands and trying to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser was beginning to get a little fed up. She had shot his wolf, she had murdered people, and she was getting self-righteous with him? There was only so much a body could take. He had apologized enough.

"That would be fine if this were just between you and me." He grit his teeth, his voice sharp with exasperation. If she wanted to destroy him, it was between the two of them. If she wanted to hurt him, he could take it, and he would forgive her endlessly. "But it's not, Victoria, and you know it. This isn't just about us. You brought other people into it."

He had hurt her and paid for it. Paid for it very nearly with his life -- or with his freedom. He would have gone to jail for her in a heartbeat, readily confessed to Jolly's murder. If she hadn't brought Ray Vecchio into it. If she hadn't tried to take him down with Fraser. If she hadn't hurt Diefenbaker. If she hadn't tried to destroy everyone he loved in the process of destroying him.

He turned to watch her pack, tense, getting angry now. "This isn't about me, Victoria-- for God's sake, I have a family here," he expulsed. "What would you have me do, introduce you to them? What should I tell Diefenbaker?" He folded his arms and raised a brow. "Oh, yes, he's here, and he's doing very well, I'm sure you're happy to know. What should I tell him about you?"

He shook his head and turned away, jaw clenched, arms tight. His eyes fixed on the snowglobe, so like another he knew. "There's far too much at stake," he said. "I can't... be with you knowing it will hurt them." Because already, visions of their future were flashing in his head. Say they got back together -- what happened the next time he screwed up? What happened if he was... was petty, or insensitive, or if they simply had a fight? Would she put something in Ray's food? Have Stephanie deported?

"And it's not me you should be apologizing to," he added quietly, coldly.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Angrily throwing clothes into the bag, Victoria's jaw set. "Oh, yeah, let me apologize to your wolf," she snapped. "It was an accident, Ben. I didn't mean to--"

Cutting herself off, she whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Maybe, Fraser, if you get off your perfect horse for a second, you'd hear what I was saying instead of just being self-righteous and judgmental. I said I was sorry. I said that I didn't mean for people to get hurt. I did what I thought I had to do. I never wanted anything but for us to be together."

Taking a quick breath, Victoria glared at him. She was standing toe to toe with him, chest heaving, jaw jutted out in defiance. "You're just too damn cowardly to take a chance. So fine, Ben. Don't. I can't do anything else but promise you what I have. Than tell you that I don't want to hurt anyone, that all I could hope for is a chance where you didn't treat me like some criminal you had to watch over. But if you can't do that, then I'm leaving."

She turned to go back to packing, anger making her shake. She knew Ben had a point, she knew it, but it didn't make the whole thing hurt any less.

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser had had enough. "I never said I was perfect!" he exploded. "That's a label that people seem very quick to throw around, but believe me, Victoria, I have never thought I was perfect, the fact that I haven't shot anyone in cold blood notwithstanding -- and yes, you should apologize to Diefenbaker!" he added hotly. "He went in there to protect you, did you know that? He was trying to protect you -- Ray was trying to--"

He turned away sharply and began to pace, his jaw working furiously as he fought to contain himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this angry, had this feeling of boiling over that sought to overtake him now. Oh, he had been annoyed with Lily on a few occasions, but that was nothing compared to this. There had been Warfield -- It all comes down to who's harder -- but that had been a cold anger, something containable, usable. This was a hot anger, the kind that controlled him instead of the other way around, that turned the water in his veins to steam.

It was Ray. He hadn't yelled like this since that day on the wharf, two years ago, when Ray had hit him. That made a kind of sick, ironic sense; Ray was the only other person who could make him act this way. He shook his head roughly and spun back upon her, flushed. "You are a criminal," he snapped. "You've committed murder, theft, arson, fraud, assault -- those are only the felonies, shall I continue? For God's sake, Victoria, you came here to steal something! You came here to hurt someone!"

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

"I thought you were dead!" The words left her in a punch and Victoria whirled on him, angrier now than could remember being in a long time. Jaw set tightly, she jabbed her finger into his chest as she advanced on him. "The only thing I had left was what I've been made into. I did what I had to do, Ben. That's always what it comes down to, isn't it? Me doing what I have to and getting the crap kicked out of me for it."

A hot flush high on her cheeks, eyes snapping, Victoria stared him down defiantly. "And if you think I like myself," she hissed quietly, "for any of what I've done, you are sorely mistaken."

For a second she just stood there. The absolute anger in her expression making her blood run hot, making it easier to hide the pain his words caused. Because he was right. Of course he was right. He had no reason at all to trust her, to want to be with her. She'd gambled everything and lost a long time ago.

Finally, shaking her head, a sad twist to her lips, Victoria turned away. She closed her eyes and just breathed, just one small exhale, composing herself. "And I just told you," she continued in a small voice, returning to shoving her belongings into her bag with trembling fingers. "If that's all you can see when you look at me, if all I am to you anymore is some con that it's your duty to watch over, then I'll just leave. Because it's killing me--" She broke off when her voice trembled and she stopped, bent over the bag, again forcing that tight pain in her throat back down. "It's killing me," she tried again, lowly, "and I can't anymore, Ben. I can't do this."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser shook his head and looked away, pushing back the bile that was rising up in his throat. Did she think it wasn't killing him? Did she think he enjoyed things being this way between them? He didn't know any longer what she expected of him, unless it was just to drop everything again and run off with her -- and that had almost worked once, but not now. "You know that's not all you--" his words choked off; he wiped at his cheeks, although his eyes were mostly dry. He felt hot all over, tight, like he had a fever. He didn't understand this feeling. It was one he worked constantly to avoid.

"It's not up to me, Victoria," he said after a moment, shaky control regained. "I can't change things for you, and I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. And you're right." He faced her head-on, dredging up some of that Fraser will, his voice growing strong again, almost forceful. "You can start over here. You can make a change. Lots of people come here to do just that, people from far more desperate situations." Victoria, at least, had never been dead. At Hogwarts, that was almost a matter of privilege.

"The possibilities here are endless," he went on. "And if you want to stay, I promise you, you'll have all the help you need. I'll do whatever I can to help you, you have my word on that. But you have to decide to stay, Victoria, and not for me, not because you think it's what I want, but for yourself." He knew it sounded stilted, cliched -- like a speech someone might give to a high school class -- but he knew he was right, and that gave him the energy to push through it. Because it killed him to see her this way: angry, hurt, but most of all lost.

He'd always believed there was good in her, beyond the darkness. It was one of the reasons he had fallen so deeply for her. It was one of the things he still loved about her, that piece of her he could still sometimes see in her eyes. Even if they couldn't be together, even if there were too many things keeping them apart, if he could make it better for her, he would... but there was nothing he could do, not until she started helping herself, not until she asked him of her own accord. It hurt to understand that, but there was nothing else he could do for her. He couldn't make her be good. He couldn't force her to give up crime. And until she did... what could he possibly do?

Did you think we could just pretend it didn't happen? she'd asked him, pushing him across the doorway, into his apartment. How could you do it? How could you do that to me?

"If you want to leave," he continued after a moment, sounding a little hoarse again, "I won't stop you. I won't even tell anyone you were here, aside from those who already know of course. I'll even, uh..." He broke off, digging into his utility belt. He hadn't brought his hat, and most of his money was inside the brim, but after a moment he fished out a few bills, and a couple of Galleons. He held them out to her. "And you can do whatever you like. But it's... I can't choose for you, Victoria, I can't tell you what to do. It's not up to me." He watched her with sad, hopeful eyes, waiting, wondering to see what she would do.

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

Head bowed, Victoria couldn't look at him. Couldn't meet his eyes, could not even turn towards him out of... Out of a million things. Shame. Fear. Anger. Desperate hope that made her hate herself, resignation that made her limbs heavy. And tears slid down her cheeks, making the room blurry.

She wanted to be so much more.

A ragged little sob broke out of her, out of a throat so tight that she didn't know how she was still breathing, and Victoria pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Trying to keep herself together, trying to gather up the fraying ends and tie just one more knot. To find the will to hold it all firm for just one more try.

"I don't know how," she admitted finally. And that admission seemed to finally break her. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Victoria stared across the room, stared anywhere but Fraser, a brief hysterical laugh edging past the tears. "I don't want your money, Ben. I never-- Money never was--"

Shaking her head, she wiped her eyes and tried again. "You don't think I want to be different? I want to be...be better somehow?" Finally she met Fraser's gaze, an unspoken plea in her expression. "I feel like I'm still in prison sometimes, Ben. Like I go ten steps forward and twelve across and I keep running up against bars. And just when I think I've found a way out, the door slams shut behind me and I'm trapped again."

Her head fell forward, a curtain of dark curls hiding her face. The next words were so quiet, they seemed to disappear the moment they hit the air. But she meant them, from the bottom of her soul, from every part of her. Because all she knew was where she was, who she was, meant she was something he couldn't love. And if Ben couldn't love her, then what was left?

"Help me."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

It killed him to see her cry like that, but it also gave him an odd sense of hope. If she could still weep for what she had lost, if she could still mourn, and regret, then hadn't he been right all along? There was still good in her; it was hidden underneath a lot of pain and anger, twisted logic and morals, but it was there, and she could be better. If she could long for it, she could achieve it, he knew she could. She couldn't be lying about this, surely not. She was a marvelous actress, but acting had its limits, and he refused to even consider that they might have been crocodile tears pouring down her cheeks.

Strange as it was, he may not have trusted her very much, but he still believed in her with all his heart.

"I know it's hard," he said gently, approaching the bed, "but the rewards are very great." It probably would have sounded trite or insincere coming from someone else, but from Fraser, it was genuine. He didn't just want this for himself. She could be good, and she could be happy. They had been, once, if only for a few days. He had to believe that.

Despite all that, he stopped in his tracks when she spoke again, honestly surprised by her request. "Do you mean that?" he asked automatically, which was stupid, because it was obvious she had. "I'm sorry, that was-- I didn't mean it that way." For all his pleading with her, he simply hadn't expected it to be that easy: he had still been geared up for a fight, ready to convince her that the path of the righteous was better. Or perhaps it was just that after so long, he hadn't been prepared for this to end so easily: not with a bang, but quite literally with a whimper.

Suspicion hissed through his mind; he shoved it aside almost violently. Now wasn't the time for doubt. It was the time for action.

He finished crossing the room to the bed and sank down to his knees in front of her, trying to see past the dark mass of her hair. His eyes were wide and earnest, shining -- looking, for the first time since her arrival, almost young. "I'll do whatever I can to help you," he told her fervently. "Anything within my power."

[victoriametcalf.livejournal.com]

A strangled laugh escaped her, saved from being a sob only by the wild beat of hope that seemed to overwhelm her. Stupid emotion, hope, one that Victoria always thought had died, one that kept coming back, a phoenix from the ashes, when she least expected it. True hope, the idea not that she would just make do, that she would gather together whatever threadbare pieces of normalcy she had left into some thin cloak to cover herself, but that she could have a future. It was a troubling concept. But one she found herself faced with, now.

Not just that she and Ben might cobble together a now. But that they could actually have a life. A home. Something real, something theirs.

Shaking her head mutely, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. Her Ben, her beautiful Ben, everything she loved and everything she hated all at once. Running her thumb over his jaw, she shrugged. Trying to find words. "Love me?" she asked, finally, pressing her lips to his gently, almost tenderly. "Be with me?" Another kiss, this one lighter. "Be patient?" A third, this one more lingering, and Victoria barely lifted her mouth from his as she smiled, mumbling, "And stop following me around like you're waiting for me to pull a gun. Just...let me try, Ben."

[themountie.livejournal.com]

Fraser nodded along with her every request, breaking, finally, out of sheer relief. Anything she wanted, as long as she stayed good this time -- as long as she even tried. He would give up anything he had just for that. It meant they had a chance, no matter how small. It meant that she had a chance, and that was all he wanted for her. "I do," he promised her urgently, shifting onto one knee so he could lean up into her kisses. "I will." He slid his hands up over her cheeks and drew her down. "Yes." He had once watched an empty house for eleven days straight; he could be patient. He smiled ruefully at her last plea, tracing his fingers down her cheek. "Yes," he murmured again. "I won't follow you anymore. I'll let you be."

He lowered his eyes in an expression of penitence, running his hands down her arms to take her hands in his again. His smile widened at the corners, just a little. "Unless, of course," he added, and now his voice was a little husky, "you would rather I not." He dipped his head down and kissed her fingertips, lips parting over the pad of her index finger.

No matter what people said about him, Fraser was, after all, only human. His heart hadn't been the only piece of him that had longed for this.

He looked up with an old, familiar glint in his eye, and got up off his knees to kiss her properly, to pull her into his arms and--

Stop it, said a voice from behind him.

Fraser broke off the kiss with a low growl, gritting his teeth. "No. Go away." Right. Where were they? "Not you," he told her hurriedly, and leaned back in to kiss her--

You can't do this! his father protested, sounding angry.

Fraser stopped again. "Why not?"

Behind him, Bob folded his arms and arched a brow. Do you really want me to answer that, son?

...Admittedly, he had a point. But things were different. They were going to change now, she'd said so herself. Surely it would be all right to indulge himself just this once. All right, maybe it wasn't the safest move, but...

Fraser sighed and pulled back, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Would you excuse me for a moment?"