Ten Thousand Sorries
Title: Ten Thousand Sorries
Author: Amata le Fay
Story: Crossfire (RP)
Flavor(s): Jelly Baby (Fandom Flavor) binge
Toppings: Caramel, Chopped Nuts
Extras: pocky chain
Rating: PG13 for strong language
Word Count: 1802
Notes: She still counts his apologies. He still sings when he's drunk. It's a good marriage. / Concrit very much welcome.
# 261:
(the first question, the oldest question, hidden in plain sight)
“WILL I WHAT!?”
“...sorr-”
“DON'T EVEN START.”
# 267:
(silence will fall)
“...say something, you idiot.”
No answer.
“Javert?”
“...mmf.”
“And this is how our engagement starts?”
“S-sorry.”
“Oh, joy, oh, rapture.”
# 279:
(allons-y)
“What am I supposed to tell Charles?”
Javert sat there for a moment, thinking more about her than about her unlucky childhood friend. Was he causing her pain? Was this not the right time? Who would she choose, in the end? Charles or him?
A pause. “Sorry. I have no idea.”
Morian sighed. “I'll have to just... find a way.”
“Je peux vous entendre, vous savez.”
Morian and Javert whirled around at the same time, eyes wide. Charles stood there somewhat listlessly, the faintest of grimaces on his face. “It's fine with me,” he said. “Allons-y.”
# 283:
(knock four times)
Knock knock knock knock.
No answer.
Knock knock knock knock. “Charles?”
Deafening silence. The boy didn't know what to say, just like he hadn't known what to say after the decision was made.
Knock knock knock knock. “I just want to talk, okay? Man to man.”
Nothing.
Javert went back to Morian with a sigh. “I'm sorry, my love. This is something he has to hear from you, not from me.”
# 290:
(one day, I shall come back)
The rescue mission had to come first. That was the one thing they had agreed upon: engagements and weddings and settling down could wait. Getting Faye out of the labs and up to Sky Island was the top priority. And putting that first meant Javert had to go back to work.
“I will come back,” he promised her. “Yes, I will come back. Until then, there must be no regr-”
“I don't need a speech, you idiot.” Morian rolled her one eye and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Sorry,” he said, “but the speech is for me, not for you.”
# 314:
(EX-TER-MIN-ATE)
“24601!” Gunshots rang through the air, but still Nye kept coming, pushing through the barricade of medical tables that was all between him and his prized experiment. Javert shot round after round from the back, but none of the bullets hit their target. The gunman's hands were shaking too much.
“LOOK OUT!” Agni shouted, pointing.
Javert shot down the enemy marksman, but he was soon grabbed from behind and shoved against the wall. “You betrayed me, Dawes,” Nye growled, a lethal syringe in hand. “Payback time.”
“MORIANIMSORRYINEVERMADEITTOOURW-”
She saves his life for the second time, this time with a laser.
# 329:
(run!)
Javert Dawes was running for his life. And he was enjoying it.
The adrenaline rush. The thrill. Gunfire, chaos, rebellion! Turmoil. Courage. Justice. Finally, something he would be proud to die for, proud to kill for-
His bride-to-be promptly cut in. “Wipe that grin off your face. Lives are at stake, you idiot, and you're acting no better than Monique would. Don't become a war hawk. It doesn't suit you.” An eye roll as she whacked his head with one of her wings. “We have a rescue mission to complete.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, but he really meant thank you.
# 363:
(everybody lives!)
“Fuck. That bitch.”
“I'm sorry?” Javert's head whirled around immediately. Alarming language from Morian meant they were in serious trouble, trouble that seemed to come from the piece of paper she was holding in her hands. “Is that from-”
“Miss Almost-Killing-Your-Ex-Is-Fun-And-Games.” Morian looked like she was ready to kill someone herself.
Javert leaned over to read.
Hello, sweetie. I heard the rescue mission succeeded. Everybody lives-including moi, always here for you if you want more fun than Batgirl gives you.
XX, Monique.
He crumpled it up, threw it into the air, and burned a bullet hole through her words.
# 435:
(I wear a [wedding dress] now. [Wedding dresses] are cool.)
“Promise me you won't laugh.”
“Morian, I've seen the dress already. It's not going to be any different with you in it.” He paused to inhale deeply-he had to remind himself to breathe now that they were so close to the day. “I mean, of course it will be different, 'cause you'll be in it, and everything-”
Morian pushed the curtain back. She was even more perfect than he had imagined. Breathe, Javert!
A chuckle escaped from his lips. She raised an eyebrow. “You promised!”
“Sorry! I just... can't believe someone so beautiful would choose me.”
“Yet I did.”
# 451:
(geronimo)
“I, Javert Dawes, take you, Morian Redfern, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did the day before. I will trust you and respect you, laugh with you and cry with you, loving you faithfully through good times and bad, regardless of the obstacles we may face together. I give you my hand, my heart, my sorries, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live.”
And from then on, the whole world was theirs.
# 1066:
(are you my mummy?)
“Hey. Why don't we try and think of baby names?”
Morian's eye snapped shut and she let out a sigh. Not a you're-such-an-idiot sigh, not a here-we-go-again sigh, but a let's-not-talk-about-this sigh, a shut-up sigh. What did I do this time?
“I mean, it's probably something we should get out of the way early so we don't have to argue about it when the time comes, right?” he asked. “And Mary being so close to the due date and all-”
“Javert.” She rubbed her forehead in pain. “I can't have kids, ever.”
“Oh,” he says. “Oh. I'm so, so sorry.”
# 1244:
(an unearthly child)
“Come on, we're gonna miss the train!”
“I have wings, you dolt. We don't need the train.”
“Do you really think this girl wants to see their adoptive parents swoop down from the sky? You might as well just show her the laser eye!”
“I thought we agreed we weren't going to hide my condition from our child!”
“You're still a known fugitive! I'm sorry, but you can't just go flying around town expecting everybody not to care!”
The argument continued all the way to the orphanage, where they met their new daughter, Melanie-a beautiful 4-year-old girl with unnatural lavender eyes.
# 1727:
(don't blink)
Melanie's birth father had been an experiment by some kingside scientist, based-ironically enough-on Morian's laser eye. The father's genes had been altered to give him vision far sharper than the normal human's, as well as the lack of the need to blink. Unlike Morian, however, his reproductive system had not been damaged at all. So when the scientist's wife forced herself onto David Vann, Melanie was conceived, born, and promptly dumped on the orphanage's doorstep.
She kept getting into staring contests with Javert. She always won, and he always swore, and Morian always yelled at him after. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”
# 1963:
(would you like a jelly baby?)
Neither of them had had any experience with crying little girls before, so they just stood there with no idea what to do as Mellie bawled about Bobby Tables flicking sand in her eyes. When the tears were finally over, having welled up so much it spilled over her bottom eyelid, Javert did the only thing he could: say “I'm sorry” and give his daughter candy.
Later, he found Bobby Tables' house and was ready to shoot Nerf darts at the kid, but Morian wrested the N-Strike Elite blaster out of his hands and gave Bobby a stern talking-to instead.
# 2395:
(we're all just stories in the end. just make it a good one.)
“Once upon a time, the beautiful Princess Mellie lived in a castle in the sky. All the people there had wings except her, but they let Mellie borrow their wings to fly with. One day, she decided that she wanted to keep the wings she was wearing. 'I'll fly to the moon and stay there!' she said. But the people on the moon didn't want to play with her 'cause of her wings and special eyes. Mellie missed her friends. The end.”
“Javert!”
“Sorry! So she flew back to her castle and gave the wings back. Now it's the end.”
# 3141:
(here come the drums)
“Ugh. My head is pounding. And why am I on the roof? What the hell did I do last night?”
“Well,” she said, “you walked in, opened your mouth, went, I could have daaaanced-! And then I hit you with a cricket bat and flew you up here.”
“...why?”
“So you could apologize, idiot.” She gave him a death glare. “You went out drinking, which I specifically told you not to do, and then came back here?! I had to explain to Mellie what drunkenness was! She's seven years old, Javert! Seven!”
“S-s-sorry,” he managed to stammer.
“You'd better be.”
# 5561:
(last of the time lords)
“Mom?”
“What is it, Mellie?”
“We have to show our family tree to the class. I asked Dad about his, but he says he doesn't know his mom and dad well enough for a family tree. So can I do your side? I mean, we do have relatives, right?”
Javert could see his wife rubbing her forehead in pain and immediately jumped in. “Hey, why don't you go through the orphanage records-”
“Javert,” Morian said. “It's time to tell her.” Wordlessly, she offered her hand. He took it and a silent “sorry” passed between them-not an apology, but a condolence.
# 6213:
(bigger on the inside)
“YOU'RE GOING WITH WHO?!”
“Whom,” Morian corrected immediately.
“Bobby Tables! Dad, I know he's the guy who flicked sand in my eyes, but he's nicer now! Can I go to the dance with him? Please?” Mellie gave him her best puppy dog eyes, watery and unblinking.
A staring contest ensued. She won, again.
Later, he muttered to her mother, “I swear, I'm gonna go after that boy with a shotgun that has more space for bullets than is physically possible.”
“No, you're not.”
“No, I'm not. Sorry.”
# 8034:
(somewhere there's danger, somewhere there's injustice, and somewhere else the tea's getting cold)
“Let me guess. Nye's discovered how to rise from the dead.”
“No.”
“Silias has bought out the entire economy with stolen money.”
“No.”
“Monique's causing World War CLXXI.”
“No.”
“So... why did you wake me up telling me to prepare for imminent battle, again?”
Javert mumbled something. “What was that?” More mumbles. “Louder.”
“...nostalgia.”
She gave him the death glare. “At four in the morning.”
“Sorry.”
#10000:
(so, so sorry)
“Hey, Morian. Guess what today is?”
“What?”
“The day of the ten-thousandth sorry.”
They kiss.
“Oh, my beautiful idiot-I stopped keeping count years ago.”