(no subject)
It's late.
Susan's asleep.
Cuthbert isn't.
Every time he gets to the edge of sleep, he snaps back, kept awake by worries he can't do anything about.
(Anyone could show up. Anytime.)
(I love thee, Susan, and nothing is going to change that.)
Finally, he closes his eyes and forces his mind to clear, to empty. He breathes slowly, and deeply, in and out, and focuses on the rhythm of his breath and nothing else.
And finally, he falls asleep.
And
“Bert? Bert, come on. Up.”
He starts to stir, then goes still as he recognizes the voice. He doesn’t open his eyes.
The voice comes again, now half-exasperated, half-amused.
“Sweetheart, you’re not fooling anyone. Come on, we have to talk.”
With what might be a sigh of resignation, Cuthbert rolls over and sits up. His eyes sweep the room and settle immediately on the figure perched in the chair by the window, illuminated by moonlight.
Long red hair, held back from her face with two ivory-inlaid combs that once belonged to Cuthbert’s mother, given to the girl who was the closest thing she would ever have to a daughter on the night they announced their betrothal.
Green eyes, bright as emeralds, looking at him with a frank openness that was always there, and always Not Quite Proper for a young lady of the court.
Full mouth set in a stubborn line, as if she’s already expecting to have to be firm in the face of his nonsense.
Susan lies asleep in the bed beside him.
Deborah sits in the chair by the window.
For a moment, Cuthbert is utterly still, not even breathing. Then, he straightens up, looking at her squarely. If it’s come to pass after all, then he’ll meet it, head on.
“Deborah. When did you get here?”
“Now, that’s the sort of greeting a girl likes to hear after all this time. But, if you must know-I didn’t.”
Cuthbert blinks, then quirks an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“You’re dreaming.” Deborah’s voice is matter-of-fact, as though this ought to be obvious. She stands, holding out one hand to him. The ring he gave her catches the light briefly, the emerald in its center gleaming. “And we need to talk.”
He’s dressed and standing, although he has no memory of rising from the bed. He accepts it, the way you accept such things in a dream, and takes her hand.
She doesn’t feel like a dream. She feels as warm and alive as the last time he touched her.
No. Second to last.
The last time was when they buried her, alongside Aileen and Desmond’s wife.
They walk, not speaking, down the staff hallway and out into the bar. There are people there-there are always people there, no matter how late or early it is-but none of them seem to take notice of Cuthbert, even the ones who know him. Deborah doesn’t seem to pay them any mind, either. She just keeps walking toward the front door. As they near it, Cuthbert hangs back.
“Deborah-“
She glances over at him, with a hint of exasperation. “This is a dream, remember?” Then, sincerely, “You’ll be fine.”
Cuthbert looks at her for a moment, then nods, turning back to the door.
Deborah reaches out her free hand, and opens it.
They’re standing on a forest path, bordered thickly by trees on either side, autumn leaves forming a thick carpet underfoot and a thick ceiling overhead, with just enough gaps to let a ray of afternoon sunlight through here and there.
Behind them, the path stretches back as far as the eye can see. Ahead of them...ahead is a fork in the path. To the right, it leads to a door that can be clearly seen. To the left, it goes on for a space, and then turns out of sight.
Cuthbert looks down the left fork, his throat tightening. “That’s the path to the clearing, isn’t it?” It’s not really a question. He glances to the right. “And that-that’s the door back to Milliways.”
“Right on both counts.” Deborah smiles, but there’s something shaky and uncertain about it. The kind of vulnerability she never liked to let anyone see, even him.
She draws a bit closer to him, looking down the path toward the door. “When this dream ends, that’s how you return to Milliways. That’s how you get back to Alain, and Roland, and Eddie...and Susan. That’s your path.”
She turns then-they’re close enough for her hair to brush his cheek-and looks down the left fork, and when she speaks again, Bert can hear the tears in her voice. “And that’s mine.”
Cuthbert turns to look at her, his eyes wide and startled. She looks up, meeting his eyes, her mouth set in that firm, stubborn line he knows so well. The one that, in this case, means she’s steeling herself not to cry.
“I know you’ve been worried. I know how much you love her. That’s why I wanted to come to you, and let you know that all will be well.”
For a moment, Cuthbert still can’t do anything but stare at her. Then, his paralysis breaks, and with it his silence.
“Deborah-I don’t want-I’d not-“
“Shh.” She raises on hand, pressing her fingers against his lips. “I know. You wouldn’t have me turn aside from Milliways in order to spare you pain. You’d welcome me if I came there, no matter what it meant for you and Susan.” She looks down, then, tears starting to slip from her eyes despite the stubborn set of her mouth. “And perhaps that’s part of why I won’t. Perhaps ka has decided to be merciful, for once.”
Cuthbert tries again to speak, but Deborah shakes her head fiercely and goes on. “But it is ka. I don’t understand it now any more then I did in life, but...that’s your path, for a little while longer, at least-and this is mine. And here, at the place where they divide, is the last time we meet before the clearing. And there, I think it won’t matter who’s in love with who.”
She starts to withdraw her hand. Cuthbert catches it in both of his, and brings it to his lips before whispering fiercely, “Loving her doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
Deborah turns her hand under his, cradling his cheek. “I know.”
She draws in a deep breath, and takes both his hands in hers, looking up at him earnestly. “Bert...you know I never got on as well with Roland as with Alain. Truth was, he always scared me a little, even when we were kids. And I-“
“You didn’t admit to being scared of anything, if you could help it.” Bert finishes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you just didn’t talk to him.”
Deborah smiles as well. “Yes. And...I never really stopped being scared of him, but after you came back from Mejis...”
“You felt sorry for him. Never told him so, and never acted as though you were pitying him...but things were different between you, in some way.”
She nods. “He didn’t need his best friend’s lover being hostile to him.” Then, more quietly, “He didn’t need any more unhappiness.”
Deborah disengages one hand briefly to wipe at the tears on her cheeks, then goes on. “I never met Susan Delgado, Bert. But I know she doesn’t need any more unhappiness, and neither do you. You both deserve joy. You give each other joy.”
She draws herself up, then, looking him square in the face, her eyes blazing. “And so help me, if you waste one moment of what could be happiness with her brooding over me, I will show up in that bar, but only to give you the thrashing you will so rightly deserve.”
In the wake of Deborah’s words, silence hangs between them for a moment. Then, it’s broken by the last sound Cuthbert would have expected to hear, especially from his own mouth.
Laughter.
Deborah looks up at him for a moment, and then shakes her head, with a scornful look that would be far more convincing if her eyes weren’t sparkling. “You are such an idiot.” Then, “You’ll be alright, Bert?”
He looks down at her for a moment, giving the question honest consideration-and then nods. “I think so.”
“You’d better be.” Deborah lets go of his hands, then, and places her hands on his shoulders, raising herself up on her toes.
She presses her mouth to his, and after a moment of startled stillness, he wraps his arms around her, and it’s everything he remembers, and it’s not Susan, and it’s goodbye.
And then he draws back and looks at her, taking her in with his eyes one last time. “I love you. Always will.”
“I love you.” Deborah responds. “And I’ll see you in the clearing, when it’s time.”
They draw apart then, Deborah moving towards the left fork of the path, Cuthbert towards the right. And then they linger again, still watching each other, until finally Deborah says, “You first.”
Cuthbert almost laughs again. She cuts him off before he can start. “I’m serious. I want to see you walk through that door before I head down my own path. I want to know you’ve gone back to them. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”
For a moment, Cuthbert doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it.
And then he nods. “Goodbye, Deborah.”
And as he turns, he hears her voice, one last time. “Goodbye, Bert. Take care of each of each other.”
And when he wakes up, Susan is still fast asleep, curled over on her side. Cuthbert raises himself up on one elbow, and just looks at her for a moment--and then eases himself back down, moving to wrap both his arms around her waist from behind and burying his face in the soft fall of her hair.
She stirs, and murmurs sleepily. "Bert?"
"Shh." He breathes in the scent of her hair, and just holds her. "Go back to sleep. It's alright.
Everything's alright."
Susan's asleep.
Cuthbert isn't.
Every time he gets to the edge of sleep, he snaps back, kept awake by worries he can't do anything about.
(Anyone could show up. Anytime.)
(I love thee, Susan, and nothing is going to change that.)
Finally, he closes his eyes and forces his mind to clear, to empty. He breathes slowly, and deeply, in and out, and focuses on the rhythm of his breath and nothing else.
And finally, he falls asleep.
And
“Bert? Bert, come on. Up.”
He starts to stir, then goes still as he recognizes the voice. He doesn’t open his eyes.
The voice comes again, now half-exasperated, half-amused.
“Sweetheart, you’re not fooling anyone. Come on, we have to talk.”
With what might be a sigh of resignation, Cuthbert rolls over and sits up. His eyes sweep the room and settle immediately on the figure perched in the chair by the window, illuminated by moonlight.
Long red hair, held back from her face with two ivory-inlaid combs that once belonged to Cuthbert’s mother, given to the girl who was the closest thing she would ever have to a daughter on the night they announced their betrothal.
Green eyes, bright as emeralds, looking at him with a frank openness that was always there, and always Not Quite Proper for a young lady of the court.
Full mouth set in a stubborn line, as if she’s already expecting to have to be firm in the face of his nonsense.
Susan lies asleep in the bed beside him.
Deborah sits in the chair by the window.
For a moment, Cuthbert is utterly still, not even breathing. Then, he straightens up, looking at her squarely. If it’s come to pass after all, then he’ll meet it, head on.
“Deborah. When did you get here?”
“Now, that’s the sort of greeting a girl likes to hear after all this time. But, if you must know-I didn’t.”
Cuthbert blinks, then quirks an eyebrow. “Come again?”
“You’re dreaming.” Deborah’s voice is matter-of-fact, as though this ought to be obvious. She stands, holding out one hand to him. The ring he gave her catches the light briefly, the emerald in its center gleaming. “And we need to talk.”
He’s dressed and standing, although he has no memory of rising from the bed. He accepts it, the way you accept such things in a dream, and takes her hand.
She doesn’t feel like a dream. She feels as warm and alive as the last time he touched her.
No. Second to last.
The last time was when they buried her, alongside Aileen and Desmond’s wife.
They walk, not speaking, down the staff hallway and out into the bar. There are people there-there are always people there, no matter how late or early it is-but none of them seem to take notice of Cuthbert, even the ones who know him. Deborah doesn’t seem to pay them any mind, either. She just keeps walking toward the front door. As they near it, Cuthbert hangs back.
“Deborah-“
She glances over at him, with a hint of exasperation. “This is a dream, remember?” Then, sincerely, “You’ll be fine.”
Cuthbert looks at her for a moment, then nods, turning back to the door.
Deborah reaches out her free hand, and opens it.
They’re standing on a forest path, bordered thickly by trees on either side, autumn leaves forming a thick carpet underfoot and a thick ceiling overhead, with just enough gaps to let a ray of afternoon sunlight through here and there.
Behind them, the path stretches back as far as the eye can see. Ahead of them...ahead is a fork in the path. To the right, it leads to a door that can be clearly seen. To the left, it goes on for a space, and then turns out of sight.
Cuthbert looks down the left fork, his throat tightening. “That’s the path to the clearing, isn’t it?” It’s not really a question. He glances to the right. “And that-that’s the door back to Milliways.”
“Right on both counts.” Deborah smiles, but there’s something shaky and uncertain about it. The kind of vulnerability she never liked to let anyone see, even him.
She draws a bit closer to him, looking down the path toward the door. “When this dream ends, that’s how you return to Milliways. That’s how you get back to Alain, and Roland, and Eddie...and Susan. That’s your path.”
She turns then-they’re close enough for her hair to brush his cheek-and looks down the left fork, and when she speaks again, Bert can hear the tears in her voice. “And that’s mine.”
Cuthbert turns to look at her, his eyes wide and startled. She looks up, meeting his eyes, her mouth set in that firm, stubborn line he knows so well. The one that, in this case, means she’s steeling herself not to cry.
“I know you’ve been worried. I know how much you love her. That’s why I wanted to come to you, and let you know that all will be well.”
For a moment, Cuthbert still can’t do anything but stare at her. Then, his paralysis breaks, and with it his silence.
“Deborah-I don’t want-I’d not-“
“Shh.” She raises on hand, pressing her fingers against his lips. “I know. You wouldn’t have me turn aside from Milliways in order to spare you pain. You’d welcome me if I came there, no matter what it meant for you and Susan.” She looks down, then, tears starting to slip from her eyes despite the stubborn set of her mouth. “And perhaps that’s part of why I won’t. Perhaps ka has decided to be merciful, for once.”
Cuthbert tries again to speak, but Deborah shakes her head fiercely and goes on. “But it is ka. I don’t understand it now any more then I did in life, but...that’s your path, for a little while longer, at least-and this is mine. And here, at the place where they divide, is the last time we meet before the clearing. And there, I think it won’t matter who’s in love with who.”
She starts to withdraw her hand. Cuthbert catches it in both of his, and brings it to his lips before whispering fiercely, “Loving her doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
Deborah turns her hand under his, cradling his cheek. “I know.”
She draws in a deep breath, and takes both his hands in hers, looking up at him earnestly. “Bert...you know I never got on as well with Roland as with Alain. Truth was, he always scared me a little, even when we were kids. And I-“
“You didn’t admit to being scared of anything, if you could help it.” Bert finishes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you just didn’t talk to him.”
Deborah smiles as well. “Yes. And...I never really stopped being scared of him, but after you came back from Mejis...”
“You felt sorry for him. Never told him so, and never acted as though you were pitying him...but things were different between you, in some way.”
She nods. “He didn’t need his best friend’s lover being hostile to him.” Then, more quietly, “He didn’t need any more unhappiness.”
Deborah disengages one hand briefly to wipe at the tears on her cheeks, then goes on. “I never met Susan Delgado, Bert. But I know she doesn’t need any more unhappiness, and neither do you. You both deserve joy. You give each other joy.”
She draws herself up, then, looking him square in the face, her eyes blazing. “And so help me, if you waste one moment of what could be happiness with her brooding over me, I will show up in that bar, but only to give you the thrashing you will so rightly deserve.”
In the wake of Deborah’s words, silence hangs between them for a moment. Then, it’s broken by the last sound Cuthbert would have expected to hear, especially from his own mouth.
Laughter.
Deborah looks up at him for a moment, and then shakes her head, with a scornful look that would be far more convincing if her eyes weren’t sparkling. “You are such an idiot.” Then, “You’ll be alright, Bert?”
He looks down at her for a moment, giving the question honest consideration-and then nods. “I think so.”
“You’d better be.” Deborah lets go of his hands, then, and places her hands on his shoulders, raising herself up on her toes.
She presses her mouth to his, and after a moment of startled stillness, he wraps his arms around her, and it’s everything he remembers, and it’s not Susan, and it’s goodbye.
And then he draws back and looks at her, taking her in with his eyes one last time. “I love you. Always will.”
“I love you.” Deborah responds. “And I’ll see you in the clearing, when it’s time.”
They draw apart then, Deborah moving towards the left fork of the path, Cuthbert towards the right. And then they linger again, still watching each other, until finally Deborah says, “You first.”
Cuthbert almost laughs again. She cuts him off before he can start. “I’m serious. I want to see you walk through that door before I head down my own path. I want to know you’ve gone back to them. It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you.”
For a moment, Cuthbert doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it.
And then he nods. “Goodbye, Deborah.”
And as he turns, he hears her voice, one last time. “Goodbye, Bert. Take care of each of each other.”
And when he wakes up, Susan is still fast asleep, curled over on her side. Cuthbert raises himself up on one elbow, and just looks at her for a moment--and then eases himself back down, moving to wrap both his arms around her waist from behind and burying his face in the soft fall of her hair.
She stirs, and murmurs sleepily. "Bert?"
"Shh." He breathes in the scent of her hair, and just holds her. "Go back to sleep. It's alright.
Everything's alright."