almost_knightly | Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

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[phdr]

Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

There was nothing remarkable about the day when Break got up this morning. There was nothing remarkable lying in wait in his bathroom, and nothing remarkable between himself and the kitchen, and nothing remarkable between the kitchen and the library.

The library, however, held something new today. It was lurking on the bottom shelf, easily missed but for Break's habit of crawling around on the floor -- a large binder, sedate red leather and several inches wide.

Break knows that binder.

Fingers shaking, he snatches it up out of the shelf. He fumbles it, and it falls open, and the first thing he sees is Faneuil Hall at Christmas, covered in snow. Below that is a photograph of Shelly, his own Shelly, dressed in winter clothes and laughing with Sharon when she was still small, and there's his ponytail in the photograph next to it because no one could ever get him to look at the camera that first year and he's seen these pictures a thousand times --

He slams the book shut, suddenly unable to look. A cruel gift, in a way; there are days that he wonders if he'll ever see this place and these people again. But on the other hand, now -- now he can show people, he can let them see things he's only described. It's as precious as it is mean.

Gathering the photo album up close to his chest and clutching it as though he's afraid it'll vanish, Break leaves the library, in search of some of the people he trusts most.

[ooc: Locked to

hadengineered,

retraced,

of_murder,

standstilltime,

smallkindnesses,

info_barma]

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*lips pursed, leaning back in his seat. His voice is tight now*

What he deserves is not to have to deal with yet another burden that he will take too seriously and fret needlessly about.

If you aren't going to tell him, then this conversation is over.

*he sips at his tea for a little while in a rather cold silence.*

I'm sure he'll feel fantastic when he ultimately finds out by accident -- he's not stupid, you know -- and discovers that you didn't trust him enough to tell him on your own after all he's done for you.

[Not over, in fact. Break reaches over to the side of the album that's still on his counterpart's side and turns several pages, slamming them down insistently.]

Look. Well, you can't; but look. These photos here are from when I was your age, and I'm not in a single one of 'em because that was the year I had the cancer. Out of nowhere a persistent cough turned into having to tell everyone my own body was trying to kill me. I couldn't have kept it hidden, the side effects were too obvious; so I had to 'fess up early. My hair was falling out, and I lost so much weight none of my clothes fit, and I was so nauseous all the time I could barely keep bread down. I was always tired and I got to be so weak I couldn't even lift a bloomin' pot of water and carry it to the stove, and I didn't want anyone to see me like that! All I wanted was for everyone to leave me alone so I could deal wiv it in peace, and nobody would.

They damn near made me crazy. They were always calling, wanting to know weekly updates. Liam went on leave from work to stay home wiv me, Gilbert started trying to cook up fings I could actually eat and by the end of it he was making all our meals. Liam's family sent me presents, Oz brought me books, Barma offered to pay our rent. Shelly started coming over and doing the laundry! And it wasn't until after it was all over that I realized that all the fussing and worrying and demanding to know all my business -- it was because all any of them wanted was for me to stay.

And by trying to avoid them and their help and keep everyfing I was going frough to meself, I was dismissing how much they all loved me, and that wasn't fair to them.

...I don't think you understand.

*the hardness has slipped out of his voice a bit, and he slumps down just a little where he's sitting, head leaning back. For a moment, he closes his useless eye.*

You've been here for months; you've seen what sorts of lives we lead. Our world isn't... like yours. Gilbert is--

*a moment of silence again.*

...He spent a decade not knowing whether the most important person in his life was lost to him forever, believing himself a worthless failure as a servant, certainly as a human being. He's blocked out all memories of his childhood, confronting anything related to it can send him into fits. He has a great deal of blood on his hands, quite against his own will, and he hates himself for every death he's caused. He was forced to live with a family that largely hated him; and then he got attached anyway -- and they've been murdered to a man. His brother by blood is an enemy to our organization, a murderer, and constantly dashing off into harm's way. His beloved master is in daily danger of dying or kidnapping or being dragged into the Abyss. He barely sleeps or looks after himself and I'm quite convinced he has never in his life learned how to do something for fun. Madness and death are no more than two steps behind him at any time...

*his lips twist sardonically for a moment*

And he had the great misfortune of falling in as an impressionable child with someone who constantly sends him off to be hurt again.

*a slow, deep breath then. He reaches over to set down the teacup, voice still quiet and somehow suddenly very... tired.*

--Perhaps some of that is true for yours as well. Perhaps not. But how...

How can you expect me to put more on his shoulders? If I can spare him that for another few months, a few weeks, a few days---

*--he doesn't care what will happen afterward. Gilbert will be angry, of course. But he would be anyway. He'd be angry if Break told him right now. He'd shout and stomp around and sulk and make those wounded faces of his and--

and then, once he'd gotten over it a little, he would get straight to the worrying. The fear. Looking ahead to what this might mean.

He has enough on his mind, without fretting more than he already does about Break... going anywhere.*

[Break listens to him quietly, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other tickling the cat to keep her from running off again. He does know how different that other world is; he knows that people are dead in that other world who are still alive and well in his. He knows his own counterparts are mass-murderers and that his own Vincent isn't nearly as bad off as most of the ones here seem to be. He's met the tiny Gilbert and he's seen how it started, and he's seen even Gilbertine -- who he considers the most level-headed of them all -- come close to having fits.

But he's also come to see his own world, his own people, as the way things could be for the others. He's seen potential in all of the Gilberts here, and the more time he spends with them, the more it hurts that his own Gilbert still feels too awkward around him to speak to him.]

...he told me, you know. About the day you met. That he'd just lost Oz and he was crying in the rain when you showed up and offered him -- whatever the hell, spy stuff and Pandora. I'd say you must have been a beacon of hope in the darkness to him but actually I fink you kind of freaked him out. But -- what was it he said? "There was somefing about his words I had to trust."

And he still does, I daresay. Trust you, I mean.

[Break tilts his own head back, and the kitten crawls over his hand to visit other-Break again.]

Maybe what he needs is an acknowledgment of that trust. Did you ever fink of that? Maybe -- maybe instead of being wrapped up and coddled, he needs to be told, "I believe you're strong enough to handle this, even if you don't."

[Sliding a hand through his hair, he adds:] I mean, he's a Gil. He's gonna worry regardless, and you can't stop him from caring. I really do fink your being honest about it would help.

*opening his eye again, the younger Break stares up absently toward the vague play of light and shadow above his head, still looking rather tired. He doesn't debate the other's words, just staying silent for another moment.*

...I'm not going to tell him.

I didn't intend to tell you.

*even as he says the words, he can very nearly hear Sharon yelling at him now... probably something to the effect of 'haven't you learned anything!?'... but--

Well, no. Maybe he hasn't, at that.

He's trying. But he just-- Being back here, dealing with the same situation all over again, he can't help wanting to protect them all a little better this time.

...okay, maybe it worked out... all right, sort of, vaguely, at home. But he still can't bring himself to believe that what he did was mistaken in the first place.*

Bloomin' idiot, you are.

[Break wipes a hand over his face for a moment, wondering vaguely if it's only his age that gives him a different view of all this, or if maybe there's something deeper setting him apart from his doubles. He also makes a mental note to pay closer attention to that Gil, now that he knows more details of his past. After a few moments, lest the younger Break take it into his head that the photo album was the only reason he'd figured it out, he adds dryly:]

Just so you know, the ring was in your pocket when you were killed, and it has been on a chain around my neck since you were found. It did seem a bit odd that you didn't even make any faces at it.

Wh----

*as his head jerks over toward the sound of the other's voice, Mordred also picks the same moment to attack his thumb again.*

Augh-- Here now, stop that-- *reaching under his sleeve to tug at it, expression incredulous* Why would you ever-- *okay, distinctly pouting again now.* That goddamned ring!

Because it matters, stupid. Mordie, get out of there, you little beast --

[Making a valiant (and ultimately successful) effort to detach the wriggling ball of fluff from his counterpart's person, brb.]

The mansion made me feel what I felt, but I still felt it, I can't just -- ohmigod, you are a devil-cat. No, you can't chew on my fumb eiver, get -- no, Mordred! And anyway you were still carryin' it around!

*indignant* I wasn't trying to carry it around, do you know how many windows I threw that damned thing out of!?--

*he cuts himself off there, subsiding into a rather sullen silence as he reaches a hand over toward his other-self again. He's probably going to get himself good and scratched, but he may as well try to help distract the kitten a little.*

.....and anyway, your actual husband is here now. What in the world do you need me for? *lips pressing together and brow furrowing in something that almost wants to be a look of distaste, but isn't quite.*

I never needed you! If you must know, I've got several cuddle buddies in this place who are all far more cooperative about it than you ever were.

[The kitten takes a gleeful swat at the offered hand, and Break lets her go. If the other Break wants to stick his fingers into her pointy little grasp, that's his choice.]

...but I was happy that week. [Because of you, he doesn't say.] I don't just...forget that sort of fing.

[Oblivious to the tension between the two, Mordred attempts to crawl into younger-Break's sleeve again.]

*the inevitable gnawing and pinprick claws on his finger are a bit less vicious this time, so Break just lets the kitten disappear into his sleeve for a little while, leaning his other elbow on the armrest with chin plopped in his hand. Eyebrow twitching a litle bit:*

That is really much more than I wanted to know about your personal life--

*his voice quiets, then, as he stares off into the blank expanse of the room*

...But if this place hadn't been playing dirty tricks on us that week--

Nothing remotely like that ever would have happened. It's not... real. It nearly might as well have been a dream.

*though, of course, it isn't. He still vividly remembers what it was like to go to bed with this man, and--

Well. He was happy too.

Which is almost more itchy and uncomfortable than the thought of the sex.*

Bofe me ovver...serious relationships here have started because of dirty tricks, too. But they're not -- they're not any less valid to me just because I would never have chosen to start them on me own.

[The cat crawls her way happily up Break's sleeve until she reaches his elbow. Then, apparently satisfied, she settles down against his arm and begins to purr.]

Really, I'm just glad the place has been frowing me in wiv good people, if it must. If it ever tries to put me wiv a Vincent, someone's getting murdered.

*glancing down bemusedly toward that purring for a moment, then just... keeping his arm still. If the kitten is going to calm down for a bit then he should probably encourage it.

He sighs a little, grumbling under his breath.*

....well, as long as no one else knows you're wearing my wedding band about your neck, I could care less what you do with it. Perhaps you will keep the thing from coming back to me.

I don't tend to go raving about it all over the place, no. I told Gil because you made me worry and it pissed me off.

[Idly, Break flips a little ways back in the photo album that's still on their laps. It's -- well, it's a shame, really. He'd wanted so much to show his counterpart his home.]

*siiigh. Ah, well. Gilbert already knows about all that now, so it's too late to put the cat -- so to speak -- back into the bag.

Younger-Break hears the pages flapping then, and turns his useless gaze back downward in the direction of the album, staring just a little wistfully. Other-Break had wanted to show him, and he'd -- honestly wanted to see.

Despite every snide thing he's ever said about his counterpart in the past, he really thinks it... it sounds like a wonderful life, that the other man leads.

When he speaks up again, he sounds a little bit hesitant, almost shy.*

Do you suppose-- you could tell me some more about it...? ...Milady's album.

...yeah. Of course. I would -- fear for your arm if we tried to detach Mordred at the moment, anyway.

[He chuckles a bit over that, but it's really to hide his awkward pleasure at the unexpected question. So many of their conversations seem to end with weeks of no contact that Break honestly half expects it every time they sit down together.]

Is there anyfing in particular you'd like to hear about, or...?

*he pauses for another half a second before reaching up to scratch his head a bit, with a faintly embarrassed little laugh.*

...Whatever might happen to cross your mind. Pick your favorites, I suppose...?

*in the meantime, his other arm is falling asleep a bit, but -- well, he'll deal with the marauding kitten when the time comes.*

Well.

[Break ponders a moment, then flips a few more pages.]

By her late teens Sharon was pretty sure she wanted to go into fashion design. So between high school and university, she spent a year abroad in Paris -- country of France, continent of Europe. I was born in Europe; it's all full of stone streets and cathedrals and little shops and just -- old fings. I love that about it.

Anyway the Rainsworths sent me along just so she wouldn't be all on her own for a year, and since she was in class all day, I pretty much had nuffin'-a do the entire time but walk around the city and find all the best bakeries...

*the younger Break listens quite intently as the older one continues to narrate; after a little while, in between interjections and questions, he reaches over for his lukewarm tea again to pour himself another cup; he takes a good long sip and offers some to his other self in turn. He reaches inside his sleeve to give the half-asleep kitten a careful scritch. He runs his finger across another page, feels at the glossy edges of his other self's futuristic photographs.

Older-Break goes on about adventures in Europe, Sharon's fashion experiments, holidays, family gatherings. Vacations. Work and friends and marriages and breakups. There are any number of photographs inside Shelly's carefully-prepared album, and all of them, it seems, have a colorful story behind them.

He finds himself drawn in as he listens, teacup clutched in his hands again. They are, really and truly, a wonderful set of stories. His older self speaks so warmly and proudly of his family. Break could very nearly listen forever.

They might be the most beautiful fairy tales he's ever heard.*

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Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

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