(Untitled)

[artemiodes]

Though solitary by nature, Camilla has spent her entire life as part of a pair. Her earliest memories are of her small, fat toddler fingers intertwined with those of her brother's, and the murmurs of friends and relatives, first charmed, then awed, then baffled, These two are inseparable, aren't they? The twin angels. The odd pair. Two halves of a

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[well_yeah_but]

Weeks he's been drifting. Tony gets up, he goes through the motions of his day, he goes to bed and then he does it all over again. Since his last words to Billy, he's spoken to exactly two people: His sister, and Chris. Some days he feels as if he's hanging on by a mere thread, too much churned up inside of him that he can neither contain nor quantify.

When he spies Camilla wrapped in on herself upon the sofa, he understands, even if he doesn't know the cause.

His trainer-clad feet quiet on the hard floor, he steps over and reaches a hand out to her.

"Come with me."

[artemiodes]

For a long moment Camilla's fierce glare lingers; she looks as likely to bite off Tony's hand as to take it. But the look in his eyes that bores into her very soul and understands (so like Henry's) makes her expression crumple. She nods - a tiny, girlish nod - and puts her hand in his as she rises on wobbling legs.

[well_yeah_but]

Were circumstances just a bit different, Tony might have swept her up into his arms and carried her out. Not so much to be romantic, but because he suspected that was the sort of thing she very much needed, just then: To have a spectacle be made for her, to be a center of attention. It was, perhaps unfortunately, the exact opposite of what Tony needed, though, and leading Camilla outside by the hand would have to do.

Once out the front door and past the bustle of the main thoroughfare, Tony slides an arm across Camilla's slender shoulders, drawing her in as they walk.

"Sometimes I look around this place, at everyone running pointlessly about, and I fucking loathe everything about it," he admits, gaze forward as he leads them idly down the boardwalk.

[artemiodes]

Camilla finds herself easily curling into Tony's embrace, letting her head fall to rest on his shoulder. His arm around him is warm and comforting, and if she lets her eyes flicker closed, she can even imagine that his embrace is another's entirely. "They think it's paradise," she says, voice soft and flat. But she knows better. No one here knows what paradise is.

[phoinikothrix]

Francis had heard the story enough times from Richard: the three of them, Henry, Richard and Camilla, all together and learning of the recovery of Bunny's body; Camilla collapsing into the Italian policeman's arms; the fat tears coursing down her cheeks, only to stop (like water from a faucet, as Richard had so unimaginatively put it) once they had reached Henry's car and started driving away.

It's that story that Francis thinks of, standing in the doorway and looking down at Camilla's shaking, miserable frame, and he hates himself for it.

"Milly?" he ventures, flinching as her head whips up and her eyes meet his. "What happened?"