Henry had assured Camilla that they would succeed--of course they'd get away with it. It was them--or, more accurately, it was him. It would never, ever occur to Henry to think that there was anything he couldn't get away with.
Lunch had gone perfectly, without so much as a hint of awkwardness; dinner on Sunday had not been quite so easy, but still more than manageable enough. Class, however, might well prove another matter altogether.
Henry arrived early, as was his wont, greeting Julian and arranging his things at the table. He had a little time to think, before the rest arrived--before he had to see just how much would have changed in this, their most hallowed atmosphere.
"We wait," Henry affirmed, taking the chicken out and setting it on a hotpad beside the sink. "Wait without fear. Fear is more our enemy than anything else." Fear was what could make them crack, if this dragged out; the panic that can come to a person when they think the noose is descending. It was a loss of control, and not in the sense they'd sought with the bacchanal.
He turned to her, setting aside his potholders. "We have to stay together," he said, wanting to reach out and touch her hair and not quite daring to. "We can keep it quiet and secret, but we all have to do our part."
That was a loaded question. There was what he wanted to do in general, and what he wanted to do right now, and while in a way they were connected, they were also very different things.
Henry reached out and touched her cheek, just a light brush of his fingers. "I want you not to worry," he said. "About anything."
Camilla, like a good little soldier, had been expecting some kind of concrete assignment. Even she wasn't sure what it would have been. Maybe he'd want her to go buy all the copies of that issue of the Hampden Examiner and burn them. Her reaction to his answer came in two waves: first surprise, then irritation.
"I can't not worry," she said. The unexpected little caress to her cheek only added to her agitation by heightening her awareness of him, that keen over-awareness she'd been at such pains to repress during the morning's classes. She reached to take his hand away, except once she'd done that, she couldn't let go. For a moment she stood there and stared at him, his fingers clutched in hers. Then something broke inside her, and she let go only to throw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, drinking in the scent of him this close.
There was no concrete thing he could assign her just yet--nothing that wouldn't look suspicious. They all just had to lay low and keep their noses clean, so to speak, which might be harder than anything for Camilla.
Her gesture surprised him, but only for a very brief moment. Henry wrapped his arms around her in turn, holding her in an embrace that was more soothing than anything else. He really didn't know how to comfort, but he could be there for her, at least--something real, something familiar, even if one aspect of that familiarity had changed. He was still Henry, no matter what.
Camilla would have liked to be soothed. In an odd way she did find Henry's embrace was soothing to some extent: his presence staved off the specters that haunted her imagination, the cops and the search dogs and the wages of sin. But as solid as he was, he couldn't steady her. He couldn't offer a solution when he was part of the problem -- when her nerves sang taut and shrill because of him.
Cool small fingers found the back of his neck and crept up into his hair, and Camilla raised her head a little from its nest in his shoulder, but she didn't speak.
Henry was not insensible to it--not insensible to that current, that subdermal electricity that seemed to crackle through him when she touched him.
He looked at her, also silent. He wanted to comfort her, if he could, and whatever she wanted he would give. Lightly his thumb stroked along her cheek, and he bent his head to place a light kiss on her forehead.
Camilla looked up into his eyes, clear deep blue behind the wire-rimmed glasses. She didn't know how to differentiate between kinds of affection; her gay friend kissed her on the mouth, her brother slept with her, anything could mean anything from anyone. That had to be the reason why, even when Henry touched her face this way, even when he kissed her on the forehead like this -- gravely, tenderly -- she didn't have a clue he'd fallen in love with her. She only understood he was trying to make her feel better
( ... )
Up until now, Henry had needed no comfort from anyone. He still didn't, really; what he did need was Camilla--her very presence, if nothing else. He could not tell her he loved her; even the bacchanal had not freed him from that much constraint. It was too early now, anyway; these were things that were his and his alone.
His thoughts were rather than Camilla's likely were, but they were not nearly so ordered as they normally were. She was more distracting to him than anything he had ever known, distracting without even trying or meaning to.
Her touch made him go very still, before his thumb traced her cheek again, down the side of her face, along the fine line of her jaw.
Only when Camilla registered Henry going momentarily still did she realize she was holding her breath. She exhaled an involuntary little sigh.
"I'm being silly," she said, not looking away. "I know I am." About worrying over the body being found? Maybe. About whatever was going on between herself and Henry? Maybe. She shouldn't be letting it affect her this much -- she'd been quite able to keep things with Charles separate from their daily lives; she should do the same with this.
It was because it was all so new. She'd get used to it; she'd get over it.
He took her hand in his, his fingers closing over her slender white ones. "It's natural to worry," he said. "What's more difficult is subsuming that worry. It can be difficult to do, without help." For most people, at least; Henry almost never worried about anything, ever. He could be there for her, and help her through that worry as best he was able.
He wasn't worried about what had started between himself and Camilla; he wasn't even sure just what 'it' was. Whatever might come of it was Fate, and he wouldn't concern himself unless something came along that was enough to give him concern.
She nodded quietly. Simultaneously she believed that Henry knew what he was talking about and that he'd never worried about anything in his life.
"I'll try not to think about it," she said. "It's not like thinking about it changes anything anyway. You're perfectly right that there's nothing to worry about. It's just a bad habit, I guess." She bit her lip. "Anyway even if there isn't anything to worry about ... well, I thought you would want to know they found the body. And I wanted to see you," that last admission added on quickly and in a lower voice than the rest of what she'd said.
He'd known they'd find it, sooner or later. He wasn't worried, though, and he didn't want Camilla to be, though he knew that she couldn't help it.
"I'm glad you told me," he said. It was certainly wise to keep up on the news, even if they were safe enough. "And...I'm glad you wanted to see me." It was only the barest hint of a pause, but it was there. "I've wanted to see you, too." He'd wanted to see her alone, away from all the others who could never know about this strange electricity he felt between them. It was something wholly unknown, something so completely alien, and he wanted to know what it was, why it was. He wanted to know how she'd done all this to him without even trying, or perhaps even realizing it.
"I know you have. I don't think we can help it." She seemed still convinced that whatever linked them must have stemmed from the bacchanal itself. She thought Henry must think so too. It was fate, he'd said.
There was a kind of absolution in it, and a kind of distance too, if he wanted distance. He could let it be something that had nothing to do with her as a person, or himself as a person, and she'd believe him.
No, they couldn't help it, and even if they could have, Henry wouldn't want to. He at once wanted and didn't want that sort of absolution--he believed that it did have something to do with them as people, but at the same time something in him didn't want to, for fear that Fate might send everything disastrously wrong. It was far too early to have any idea.
"I know I can't," he said. "Even when I was across the table, I could feel you." He'd been more aware of her than he had ever been, even during all that time he'd watched her unobserved, before the bacchanal.
Lunch had gone perfectly, without so much as a hint of awkwardness; dinner on Sunday had not been quite so easy, but still more than manageable enough. Class, however, might well prove another matter altogether.
Henry arrived early, as was his wont, greeting Julian and arranging his things at the table. He had a little time to think, before the rest arrived--before he had to see just how much would have changed in this, their most hallowed atmosphere.
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He turned to her, setting aside his potholders. "We have to stay together," he said, wanting to reach out and touch her hair and not quite daring to. "We can keep it quiet and secret, but we all have to do our part."
Reply
A loaded question, perhaps, though she didn't realize it could be taken as such.
Reply
Henry reached out and touched her cheek, just a light brush of his fingers. "I want you not to worry," he said. "About anything."
Reply
"I can't not worry," she said. The unexpected little caress to her cheek only added to her agitation by heightening her awareness of him, that keen over-awareness she'd been at such pains to repress during the morning's classes. She reached to take his hand away, except once she'd done that, she couldn't let go. For a moment she stood there and stared at him, his fingers clutched in hers. Then something broke inside her, and she let go only to throw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder, drinking in the scent of him this close.
Reply
Her gesture surprised him, but only for a very brief moment. Henry wrapped his arms around her in turn, holding her in an embrace that was more soothing than anything else. He really didn't know how to comfort, but he could be there for her, at least--something real, something familiar, even if one aspect of that familiarity had changed. He was still Henry, no matter what.
Reply
Cool small fingers found the back of his neck and crept up into his hair, and Camilla raised her head a little from its nest in his shoulder, but she didn't speak.
Reply
He looked at her, also silent. He wanted to comfort her, if he could, and whatever she wanted he would give. Lightly his thumb stroked along her cheek, and he bent his head to place a light kiss on her forehead.
Reply
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His thoughts were rather than Camilla's likely were, but they were not nearly so ordered as they normally were. She was more distracting to him than anything he had ever known, distracting without even trying or meaning to.
Her touch made him go very still, before his thumb traced her cheek again, down the side of her face, along the fine line of her jaw.
Reply
"I'm being silly," she said, not looking away. "I know I am." About worrying over the body being found? Maybe. About whatever was going on between herself and Henry? Maybe. She shouldn't be letting it affect her this much -- she'd been quite able to keep things with Charles separate from their daily lives; she should do the same with this.
It was because it was all so new. She'd get used to it; she'd get over it.
But not yet.
Reply
He wasn't worried about what had started between himself and Camilla; he wasn't even sure just what 'it' was. Whatever might come of it was Fate, and he wouldn't concern himself unless something came along that was enough to give him concern.
Reply
"I'll try not to think about it," she said. "It's not like thinking about it changes anything anyway. You're perfectly right that there's nothing to worry about. It's just a bad habit, I guess." She bit her lip. "Anyway even if there isn't anything to worry about ... well, I thought you would want to know they found the body. And I wanted to see you," that last admission added on quickly and in a lower voice than the rest of what she'd said.
Reply
"I'm glad you told me," he said. It was certainly wise to keep up on the news, even if they were safe enough. "And...I'm glad you wanted to see me." It was only the barest hint of a pause, but it was there. "I've wanted to see you, too." He'd wanted to see her alone, away from all the others who could never know about this strange electricity he felt between them. It was something wholly unknown, something so completely alien, and he wanted to know what it was, why it was. He wanted to know how she'd done all this to him without even trying, or perhaps even realizing it.
Reply
"I know you have. I don't think we can help it." She seemed still convinced that whatever linked them must have stemmed from the bacchanal itself. She thought Henry must think so too. It was fate, he'd said.
There was a kind of absolution in it, and a kind of distance too, if he wanted distance. He could let it be something that had nothing to do with her as a person, or himself as a person, and she'd believe him.
Reply
"I know I can't," he said. "Even when I was across the table, I could feel you." He'd been more aware of her than he had ever been, even during all that time he'd watched her unobserved, before the bacchanal.
Reply
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