AU to Etoile Rouge OH GOD IS THIS AU because really, it mentions a ship that I despise. R/J, R/Kaidou. Eeeurgh. So, yeah, warnings for squicky ship of squicky-ness, and some language. PG13.
Thirty-two and she still looks all of twenty. That trim body in the perfect little Lanvin skirt suit does not at all look like it's birthed two kids. There are no wrinkles in either the linen or the face, no gray hairs in that dense, crow's-wings black. But her shoulders are tense, and on her perfectly manicured finger, the three-carat diamond winks like a garish, baleful star.
"I don't even want to ask. But I can't stand the whispers, the rumours. Plus, the bank statements don't make any sense any more," she says without preamble. "Oh God, what level of sleazy have I descended to?" she asks rhetorically, perfect nose wrinkling. "Hiring a private eye to tail my husband."
"You know, you could have started this conversation with small talk, a bit of 'hey, how've you been, long time no see', Raye," Jake Burnley intones in a bland voice even as he hankers desperately for a cigarette, a strong drink, anything. Thirteen unlucky years, and he still can't get over her. Six months of not a damned thing that meant anything to her. Six months of having the love of one's life.
"Don't be difficult," Raye says coldly, and brushes a speck of invisible lint off her pantyhose. "I don't plan on making any sort of scandal out of this. But if my husband is cheating on me, by God I have a right to know."
"You do," he nods, then states his terms and rates by rote. She nods without batting an eye, and when he slides the contract over to her, she signs it in black fountain pen. Rachael Harcourt-Kaidou. It sounds so foreign, as though the violet-eyed goddess seated across the desk is a completely different, unrelated entity to Raye. His Raye.
"Thank you for your time," she mutters as she stands, all dignity and jet black Manolos. Still stiff-shouldered, she makes her way towards the door, then turns at the last minute. Now it's not the flawlessly-presented society dame and senator's wife that walked in, but a vulnerable woman with the start of tearstains smudging her mascara. "Jake."
"Yes?" He literally has to steel himself not to stand up, not to walk to her and take her into his arms. He doesn't have the right any more.
"Why did you stop loving me?" Her voice is a whisper, but it echoes in the room like a gunshot. He closes his eyes, because this is pointless, and her tears won't make either of them feel better about themselves. And because even now, he still loves her, and can't stand to cause her pain, he affects a rough laugh.
"It just wouldn't have worked out. Now go home, Mrs. Kaidou. Before the servants figure out that you're really not at the salon."
She recovers her hauteur at his insensitive levity and stalks out. And he stares at the blank metal of the door and hopes to God that she'll never notice that he's never stopped loving her.
I don't mind the Raye/Kaidou ship, I love unusual ships. But that this could be a sequel to Etoile Rouge is really sad. :( My hope is that she can see through his denial, isn't that something Rei was always good at. Now, her marriage is probably doomed, and Jake is still around... she'll probably employ him further, see him more often... it would be a painful process, but they could make it. Ha, Angsty April, I defeat you! :)
Thirty-two and she still looks all of twenty. That trim body in the perfect little Lanvin skirt suit does not at all look like it's birthed two kids. There are no wrinkles in either the linen or the face, no gray hairs in that dense, crow's-wings black. But her shoulders are tense, and on her perfectly manicured finger, the three-carat diamond winks like a garish, baleful star.
"I don't even want to ask. But I can't stand the whispers, the rumours. Plus, the bank statements don't make any sense any more," she says without preamble. "Oh God, what level of sleazy have I descended to?" she asks rhetorically, perfect nose wrinkling. "Hiring a private eye to tail my husband."
"You know, you could have started this conversation with small talk, a bit of 'hey, how've you been, long time no see', Raye," Jake Burnley intones in a bland voice even as he hankers desperately for a cigarette, a strong drink, anything. Thirteen unlucky years, and he still can't get over her. Six months of not a damned thing that meant anything to her. Six months of having the love of one's life.
"Don't be difficult," Raye says coldly, and brushes a speck of invisible lint off her pantyhose. "I don't plan on making any sort of scandal out of this. But if my husband is cheating on me, by God I have a right to know."
"You do," he nods, then states his terms and rates by rote. She nods without batting an eye, and when he slides the contract over to her, she signs it in black fountain pen. Rachael Harcourt-Kaidou. It sounds so foreign, as though the violet-eyed goddess seated across the desk is a completely different, unrelated entity to Raye. His Raye.
"Thank you for your time," she mutters as she stands, all dignity and jet black Manolos. Still stiff-shouldered, she makes her way towards the door, then turns at the last minute. Now it's not the flawlessly-presented society dame and senator's wife that walked in, but a vulnerable woman with the start of tearstains smudging her mascara. "Jake."
"Yes?" He literally has to steel himself not to stand up, not to walk to her and take her into his arms. He doesn't have the right any more.
"Why did you stop loving me?" Her voice is a whisper, but it echoes in the room like a gunshot. He closes his eyes, because this is pointless, and her tears won't make either of them feel better about themselves. And because even now, he still loves her, and can't stand to cause her pain, he affects a rough laugh.
"It just wouldn't have worked out. Now go home, Mrs. Kaidou. Before the servants figure out that you're really not at the salon."
She recovers her hauteur at his insensitive levity and stalks out. And he stares at the blank metal of the door and hopes to God that she'll never notice that he's never stopped loving her.
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Thaaaaaat was the shattering of my heart.
Okay.
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