Fine Lines - Kristoph Gavin/Vera Misham
Title: Fine Lines
Pairing: Vera Misham/Kristoph Gavin
Word Count: 1770
Rating: PG
Summary: The 'magic' he gave her has been working.
A/N: Set pre-GS4, but not too far; Vera is 18 or so.
Vera thinks; her fingers are covered in graphite dust at the moment, and she's smearing it all over the drawing that she's been working on. Her fingers come down in slow succession before she picks up her pencil again, making a few quick marks that are soon rethought and erased.
"Vera?"
Though she isn't sure how he got there (he must have been out when she arrived, she thinks; maybe he's just now getting back?) he stands near the tree she's been sitting under for an hour - the one outside the glass-inlaid doors of Gavin Law Offices. His arms are folded lightly across his chest; his voice is soft, but he might as well have yelled at her. She jerks her head up and long, loose curls fall around her face; she sweeps them back behind her shoulders where they belong, her eyes wide as she pulls the sketchbook closer to herself, clutching it to her chest as though she's afraid he'll see it. Take it. Look at it.
"Ah...Kristoph..."
It's been a while since she found out his real name; she understands why he couldn't tell her, but it's been nice to address him properly at the top of her stationary, and at the very least, he doesn't look angry with her. His eyes are gentle behind the thin lenses of his glasses; just the same, she notes the tightening at the corners of his mouth as he speaks. "What are you doing so far from the studio?"
"I..." She trails off, looking at the bench she had been settled on and swiping her graying fingers over the wood.
"Vera."
She looks up again; he's arranged that tightening she noticed earlier into an expression that would be a smile if she didn't spend enough time studying to know the difference.
"Come inside with me. You shouldn't be sitting out here all alone."
But I'm not alone; I thought I'm with you? "A-all right."
He offers her his hand and she accepts it, and when he grips her arm to help her stand, she considers tripping.
He settles her on the couch in the lobby before vanishing briefly down the hallway; when he comes back into the room he gives her a mug of something that sends steam into her hair when she leans over to sniff it. It smells like citrus, sharp and sweet and thick, so good that she's almost sorry that she has to drink it. She takes a sip of it before setting it on the coffee table only to pick it up again immediately, find a coaster, then set it down again. She picks up her sketchbook, hugging it to her chest again as he settles himself on a chair close to her.
They sit in silence for a moment; he doesn't have any sort of drink for himself, and she wonders vaguely if she should offer him some of hers before realizing how ridiculous he would think that is. She touches the edges of the sketchbook as she thinks, flipping the edges back before letting them go with a soft ruffling noise.
"Vera, I'm going to ask you again," he says, and though the quiet has been completely shattered, his tone is even. "What are you doing so far from home? It's not like you to leave the studio."
"Oh...I." She stops for a second, looking down at her arms where they're folded around the sketchbook, listening to the quiet fliiiip noises of the pages. "I don't...mean to bother you..."
Concern is in his expression, but not his eyes. "You're not."
"Oh," she says again, looking down. "I just...I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
She opens her sketchbook slowly, looking at the drawings with the blank back of the book bared to him.
"Vera."
For once, when he says her name, she doesn't look at him. "Y-yes?"
"What are you sorry for?"
Just... "It's nothing...really. I should go."
Despite her words, she doesn't move to stand; when he touches her hand, it sends cold splinters delving through her arm and his fingers come away with a thin sheen of grey graphite smeared across the tips. She pulls back; when she flips the sketchbook pages closed again, the quiet noise rings behind her eyes like alarms.
"You must have come for a reason."
She looks down and her hair falls into her face again; she sweeps it back behind her shoulders again before she cracks the sketchbook open slightly and skims through it. "I just..."
He leans forward, and for a moment, she pretends he'll pay attention like that to only her - that he's hanging on every word she's saying, and every word she says is golden.
For a moment, it makes her feel like a queen.
But then she sees reality, as she always does, and she's brought back to the sketchbook; she flips through a few more pages before she finds the one she wants. She slips her finger into the fold of the book and finds his eyes with hers.
"I just...I wanted to see you, Kristoph..."
"Did you?" The surprise is a bit more genuine this time; she can see it in the slack that's suddenly gone from those soft lines next to his eyelids. "But of all people, why would you come to find me?"
Is it...really that strange? "B-because...I missed you...?"
"Ah..."
For once, she can't read his expression, and it scares her; she picks up her drink with her free hand and takes another sip. His tone is gentle when he speaks again, his previous uncertainty seeming to be forced out of his voice.
"Did you want something? Is that why...?"
She continues to stare into her mug, pressing her knees together so tightly that it hurts. "No, nothing...you don't have to give me anything...I was just thinking of you, and I wanted to see you again. It's been so long since you last came to my house...and I wanted to show you that the charm you gave me...it's working..."
He doesn't say anything, but he leans back in the chair, thinking so hard that she's afraid she'll see his thoughts. His legs are crossed, right over left at the knee, and she'll probably never get the amount of poise he has out of her head; he wears such expensive clothing, and his hair is pale and almost too perfectly arranged to be real. He still looks like an angel, years after she first saw him, and he makes her smile.
He makes her want to say something.
"Kristoph?" She suddenly feels guilty when he startles slightly, but she's already started and might as well finish. "Did you not like my letters...?"
"Your letters?"
"I sent letters...didn't you like them?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows that she's tempted to reach out and try to smooth. When he answers her, his voice is blank. "I didn't receive any letters, Vera. They must have been lost somehow."
"Oh..." She takes another drink; it spares her from saying anything further.
"Can you do me a favor?" He pauses for a moment; that slight crease hasn't left. "Can you tell me - is this really all you wanted? It's not nice to make me guess, you know, and I don't think you're being honest with me."
She blushes and sets her mug back on the coffee table, then moves it to the coaster again.
"I...well, I missed talking to you...and I just wanted to know if you...missed me too...?"
She can see something dawning in his eyes, and she isn't sure that she likes it.
"Vera, I think you should go home." He unfolds his legs and stands up, brushing at his jacket to remove wrinkles that aren't there. "I'll call someone to pick you up."
"I...wait..." She stands up so quickly she nearly collides with the coffee table. "Kristoph, wait...I-I think...I lied?"
His eyes narrow by such a small increment it's nearly imperceptible. "What do you mean?"
"When you asked if I...if I came here because I wanted something. I think I lied to you?"
"How so?"
She uncurls her arm from around the sketchbook, opening it where her finger has been tucked into the fold and holding it out to him. "I just wanted to ask...can you show me?"
"Show you...?" His eyes flick from her face to the sketchbook she's offering, and after a moment he takes it in his hands, holding it gingerly as though it's venomous - as though too much contact will kill him.
"Like...like that..."
His eyes dart back to hers; he snaps the sketchbook closed and she winces. "You drew that?"
"Y-yes...is it - "
"That meeting was private."
"I...just..."
"Have you been watching me?"
"I...no." She flinches away from him, as though she's afraid he's going to hit her; she realizes after she does it that he hasn't moved since the slam from the sketchbook. "Just...you both were outside, and you were kissing and...it looked like it might be nice, I couldn't - "
"Vera."
"I don't know...I don't know," she says, stepping back. "I didn't mean to spy - I just came to see you, like today...and you both were here, and...you were busy, so I went home."
"Really."
"Yes, I...Kristoph, I'm sorry...I just kept thinking about it and I wanted..." Her lower lip shakes; she falls silent and draws it into her mouth, sucking on it quietly.
"You wanted what?"
"I just was hoping you would..." She shakes her head firmly as she trails off, as though trying to get the thought out of her own head; she closes her eyes tightly and wills herself to be anywhere else.
She startles and jerks back when his hand finds her shoulder; he moves with her, stepping into her movements, and her eyes fly open to meet his.
"Vera, listen. I can't. You know that. And you really shouldn't..." He looks away, somewhere over her head, as though the answers are written on the wall behind her, and he never finishes the sentence; his hand is so tense on her shoulder that he's hurting her, but he lets her go a moment later, disappearing into his office to arrange transportation for her.
She doesn't have it in her to ask for the sketchbook back before she leaves; she slips her hand into her pocket and traces her fingers across the smooth, heavy crystal of that bottle he gave her. She had noticed his nails when they first met, smooth and even and immaculate; she wonders if, at the very least, he's proud that she's managed to keep from biting hers in front of him.
Pairing: Vera Misham/Kristoph Gavin
Word Count: 1770
Rating: PG
Summary: The 'magic' he gave her has been working.
A/N: Set pre-GS4, but not too far; Vera is 18 or so.
Vera thinks; her fingers are covered in graphite dust at the moment, and she's smearing it all over the drawing that she's been working on. Her fingers come down in slow succession before she picks up her pencil again, making a few quick marks that are soon rethought and erased.
"Vera?"
Though she isn't sure how he got there (he must have been out when she arrived, she thinks; maybe he's just now getting back?) he stands near the tree she's been sitting under for an hour - the one outside the glass-inlaid doors of Gavin Law Offices. His arms are folded lightly across his chest; his voice is soft, but he might as well have yelled at her. She jerks her head up and long, loose curls fall around her face; she sweeps them back behind her shoulders where they belong, her eyes wide as she pulls the sketchbook closer to herself, clutching it to her chest as though she's afraid he'll see it. Take it. Look at it.
"Ah...Kristoph..."
It's been a while since she found out his real name; she understands why he couldn't tell her, but it's been nice to address him properly at the top of her stationary, and at the very least, he doesn't look angry with her. His eyes are gentle behind the thin lenses of his glasses; just the same, she notes the tightening at the corners of his mouth as he speaks. "What are you doing so far from the studio?"
"I..." She trails off, looking at the bench she had been settled on and swiping her graying fingers over the wood.
"Vera."
She looks up again; he's arranged that tightening she noticed earlier into an expression that would be a smile if she didn't spend enough time studying to know the difference.
"Come inside with me. You shouldn't be sitting out here all alone."
But I'm not alone; I thought I'm with you? "A-all right."
He offers her his hand and she accepts it, and when he grips her arm to help her stand, she considers tripping.
He settles her on the couch in the lobby before vanishing briefly down the hallway; when he comes back into the room he gives her a mug of something that sends steam into her hair when she leans over to sniff it. It smells like citrus, sharp and sweet and thick, so good that she's almost sorry that she has to drink it. She takes a sip of it before setting it on the coffee table only to pick it up again immediately, find a coaster, then set it down again. She picks up her sketchbook, hugging it to her chest again as he settles himself on a chair close to her.
They sit in silence for a moment; he doesn't have any sort of drink for himself, and she wonders vaguely if she should offer him some of hers before realizing how ridiculous he would think that is. She touches the edges of the sketchbook as she thinks, flipping the edges back before letting them go with a soft ruffling noise.
"Vera, I'm going to ask you again," he says, and though the quiet has been completely shattered, his tone is even. "What are you doing so far from home? It's not like you to leave the studio."
"Oh...I." She stops for a second, looking down at her arms where they're folded around the sketchbook, listening to the quiet fliiiip noises of the pages. "I don't...mean to bother you..."
Concern is in his expression, but not his eyes. "You're not."
"Oh," she says again, looking down. "I just...I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
She opens her sketchbook slowly, looking at the drawings with the blank back of the book bared to him.
"Vera."
For once, when he says her name, she doesn't look at him. "Y-yes?"
"What are you sorry for?"
Just... "It's nothing...really. I should go."
Despite her words, she doesn't move to stand; when he touches her hand, it sends cold splinters delving through her arm and his fingers come away with a thin sheen of grey graphite smeared across the tips. She pulls back; when she flips the sketchbook pages closed again, the quiet noise rings behind her eyes like alarms.
"You must have come for a reason."
She looks down and her hair falls into her face again; she sweeps it back behind her shoulders again before she cracks the sketchbook open slightly and skims through it. "I just..."
He leans forward, and for a moment, she pretends he'll pay attention like that to only her - that he's hanging on every word she's saying, and every word she says is golden.
For a moment, it makes her feel like a queen.
But then she sees reality, as she always does, and she's brought back to the sketchbook; she flips through a few more pages before she finds the one she wants. She slips her finger into the fold of the book and finds his eyes with hers.
"I just...I wanted to see you, Kristoph..."
"Did you?" The surprise is a bit more genuine this time; she can see it in the slack that's suddenly gone from those soft lines next to his eyelids. "But of all people, why would you come to find me?"
Is it...really that strange? "B-because...I missed you...?"
"Ah..."
For once, she can't read his expression, and it scares her; she picks up her drink with her free hand and takes another sip. His tone is gentle when he speaks again, his previous uncertainty seeming to be forced out of his voice.
"Did you want something? Is that why...?"
She continues to stare into her mug, pressing her knees together so tightly that it hurts. "No, nothing...you don't have to give me anything...I was just thinking of you, and I wanted to see you again. It's been so long since you last came to my house...and I wanted to show you that the charm you gave me...it's working..."
He doesn't say anything, but he leans back in the chair, thinking so hard that she's afraid she'll see his thoughts. His legs are crossed, right over left at the knee, and she'll probably never get the amount of poise he has out of her head; he wears such expensive clothing, and his hair is pale and almost too perfectly arranged to be real. He still looks like an angel, years after she first saw him, and he makes her smile.
He makes her want to say something.
"Kristoph?" She suddenly feels guilty when he startles slightly, but she's already started and might as well finish. "Did you not like my letters...?"
"Your letters?"
"I sent letters...didn't you like them?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows that she's tempted to reach out and try to smooth. When he answers her, his voice is blank. "I didn't receive any letters, Vera. They must have been lost somehow."
"Oh..." She takes another drink; it spares her from saying anything further.
"Can you do me a favor?" He pauses for a moment; that slight crease hasn't left. "Can you tell me - is this really all you wanted? It's not nice to make me guess, you know, and I don't think you're being honest with me."
She blushes and sets her mug back on the coffee table, then moves it to the coaster again.
"I...well, I missed talking to you...and I just wanted to know if you...missed me too...?"
She can see something dawning in his eyes, and she isn't sure that she likes it.
"Vera, I think you should go home." He unfolds his legs and stands up, brushing at his jacket to remove wrinkles that aren't there. "I'll call someone to pick you up."
"I...wait..." She stands up so quickly she nearly collides with the coffee table. "Kristoph, wait...I-I think...I lied?"
His eyes narrow by such a small increment it's nearly imperceptible. "What do you mean?"
"When you asked if I...if I came here because I wanted something. I think I lied to you?"
"How so?"
She uncurls her arm from around the sketchbook, opening it where her finger has been tucked into the fold and holding it out to him. "I just wanted to ask...can you show me?"
"Show you...?" His eyes flick from her face to the sketchbook she's offering, and after a moment he takes it in his hands, holding it gingerly as though it's venomous - as though too much contact will kill him.
"Like...like that..."
His eyes dart back to hers; he snaps the sketchbook closed and she winces. "You drew that?"
"Y-yes...is it - "
"That meeting was private."
"I...just..."
"Have you been watching me?"
"I...no." She flinches away from him, as though she's afraid he's going to hit her; she realizes after she does it that he hasn't moved since the slam from the sketchbook. "Just...you both were outside, and you were kissing and...it looked like it might be nice, I couldn't - "
"Vera."
"I don't know...I don't know," she says, stepping back. "I didn't mean to spy - I just came to see you, like today...and you both were here, and...you were busy, so I went home."
"Really."
"Yes, I...Kristoph, I'm sorry...I just kept thinking about it and I wanted..." Her lower lip shakes; she falls silent and draws it into her mouth, sucking on it quietly.
"You wanted what?"
"I just was hoping you would..." She shakes her head firmly as she trails off, as though trying to get the thought out of her own head; she closes her eyes tightly and wills herself to be anywhere else.
She startles and jerks back when his hand finds her shoulder; he moves with her, stepping into her movements, and her eyes fly open to meet his.
"Vera, listen. I can't. You know that. And you really shouldn't..." He looks away, somewhere over her head, as though the answers are written on the wall behind her, and he never finishes the sentence; his hand is so tense on her shoulder that he's hurting her, but he lets her go a moment later, disappearing into his office to arrange transportation for her.
She doesn't have it in her to ask for the sketchbook back before she leaves; she slips her hand into her pocket and traces her fingers across the smooth, heavy crystal of that bottle he gave her. She had noticed his nails when they first met, smooth and even and immaculate; she wonders if, at the very least, he's proud that she's managed to keep from biting hers in front of him.