[identity profile] victoriametcalf.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] hh_mirror


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

Date: 2008-02-09 12:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.
Edited Date: 2008-02-09 12:27 am (UTC)

Date: 2008-02-09 02:29 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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!"
Edited Date: 2008-02-09 02:29 am (UTC)

Date: 2008-02-11 05:48 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.

Date: 2008-02-13 06:45 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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."

Date: 2008-02-15 01:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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?"

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