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

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[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?"