Meg has spent most of the morning asleep, curled up against Alain, with her head on his chest and his arm around her shoulder. (It explains the faint cable marks pressed into her cheek from his sweater
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Certain people he watches for, without watching. It's less watching and more an awareness of the sounds their thoughts make, the specific way they perceive what they see. Every single one is different, no matter what science wants to claim at any point.
He's isn't all that far away. He'd been returning a book to the bar, that was accidentally kept and shipped to Ithaca and back to Forks, and finally returned to Her. He'd only had time to turn around and head toward the door, and home, when it opened to her.
His features knit slightly, studying the her, but he made a gesture toward the back door and the darkness beyond. "Sunset is a while behind Milliways already."
He wasn't going to. Except.
She would have. It's not even a question. She would with or without hesitation.
Carefully chosen. "Naps are supposed to leave you more rested."
Edward had to think about that. It's not instantaneous. The endless minutiae of endless minds for over eight decades is a great mass. It's almost vacant while considering, maybe the better part of six or seven seconds, and then it stops.
And his eyes narrowed, gaining clarity of focus as his jaw locked in annoyance.
There's a definite starkly warring moment in his features before, with the vague two more decades of history and self-awareness of his own reaction.
Which gave his voice a subdued, almost amusedly deprecating tone, "You probably aren't inclined toward staying in a box where you couldn't possibly be endangered for the rest of your life."
"One has to ask," Is almost black toned as though in is a well known farce of the answer always being the same. In every area of his life. He gave her a tight-lipped smile that wasn't either surprised or disappointed really.
"I could tell you about the statics of your future if it would help any."
"You didn't have any family among those--" it's broken off question on purpose. Left to hang without description. None of the name are Ford, but marraiges and family trees didn't make that any true tell toward the answer, or concern.
She looks around for a second, thinking about seats it would be easy to see her in, then remembers it doesn't matter, and selects one of a pair of empty armchairs not far from the fire.
There's a glance over at her once he's reached the bar, before he says it. He has to start taking these things seriously. All of them. Even if he is, and always has. Serious, if not too serious. Tea shouldn't be serious.
"Mint tea, please." Tea isn't. It just appears. Steams. Is. Nothing is ever that simple. Even Meg. "Thank you."
He walked to where she'd gone, carrying it carefully, saucer included, for easier holding until it was whatever drinkable temperature she'd want. The Bar had apparently opted for small tea cookies on the side.
"Here." He lowered to hand it to her, tone modulated low.
He's isn't all that far away. He'd been returning a book to the bar, that was accidentally kept and shipped to Ithaca and back to Forks, and finally returned to Her. He'd only had time to turn around and head toward the door, and home, when it opened to her.
Tired. And something very else.
"Good evening, Meg."
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It wasn't even two in the afternoon at home.
Hello, Edward.
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He wasn't going to. Except.
She would have. It's not even a question.
She would with or without hesitation.
Carefully chosen. "Naps are supposed to leave you more rested."
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She manages about a half-smile.
May I assume you know what happened in Montreal on December 6, 1989?
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And his eyes narrowed, gaining clarity of focus as his jaw locked in annoyance.
There's a definite starkly warring moment in his features before, with the vague two more decades of history and self-awareness of his own reaction.
Which gave his voice a subdued, almost amusedly deprecating tone, "You probably aren't inclined toward staying in a box where you couldn't possibly be endangered for the rest of your life."
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"And even if it didn't, I don't think it would suit me."
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"I could tell you about the statics of your future if it would help any."
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"I'm sorry."
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"Alain's cousin works in the library but she's gone home early yesterday. And his brother's girlfriend's brother is a student there."
He'll hear both names, Maryse and Georges, too.
"It's as close as I get, relationship-wise."
It's close enough really.
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"Is there anything you need?"
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That's how these things get better, right?
"But if we're talking about things I want . . . I wouldn't say no to mint tea."
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Without much more waiting than that, he turned back toward the bar.
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She looks around for a second, thinking about seats it would be easy to see her in, then remembers it doesn't matter, and selects one of a pair of empty armchairs not far from the fire.
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"Mint tea, please." Tea isn't. It just appears. Steams. Is.
Nothing is ever that simple. Even Meg. "Thank you."
He walked to where she'd gone, carrying it carefully, saucer included, for easier holding until it was whatever drinkable temperature she'd want. The Bar had apparently opted for small tea cookies on the side.
"Here." He lowered to hand it to her, tone modulated low.
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The cookies get a short glance and then ignored.
She's really not hungry.
"Alain took me for breakfast this morning, but the tea there was . . . a little bitter."
She hadn't actually drunk it.
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