stilljustandrew (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stilljustandrew) wrote2016-10-18 07:36 pm
stilljustandrew) wrote2016-10-18 07:36 pm
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He gazes at the books again, for a long moment.
And nods, a bare shiver of movement, not looking at her.
And nods, a bare shiver of movement, not looking at her.
She nods in turn.
"If you do decide you'd like something different, I'm sure Baby or Ava can arrange to get it for you."
"If you do decide you'd like something different, I'm sure Baby or Ava can arrange to get it for you."
A slightly firmer nod.
"I'm scared," he repeats, in a whisper.
"I'm scared," he repeats, in a whisper.
"That's all right."
She shrugs slightly.
"Many things worth doing are frightening, even under the best circumstances. Trying something new. Speaking a love. Facing our own feelings. Have you ever been scared and pressed forward nonetheless, before?"
She shrugs slightly.
"Many things worth doing are frightening, even under the best circumstances. Trying something new. Speaking a love. Facing our own feelings. Have you ever been scared and pressed forward nonetheless, before?"
There's a long, long pause before he nods.
"It, it's hard to remember."
"It, it's hard to remember."
"Well, then, this can be a fresh instance."
Another nod, and he glances at her.
"And if it doesn't work," he says slowly, "and I can't -- if I have to stop ... it'll be okay?"
"And if it doesn't work," he says slowly, "and I can't -- if I have to stop ... it'll be okay?"
"Of course." She nods. "I hope you'll genuinely try it, but if you do and you feel it does you more harm than good, so be it. I would not have you hurt yourself. Not for anyone. Never for me."
For some reason, that makes his eyes sting again -- and also makes that tiny fugitive smile tremble at the corners of his mouth.
"Okay," he whispers.
"Okay," he whispers.
"Thank you."
She glances away at him, down at her hands.
"But Andrew -- what you choose, you choose for yourself. I cannot and will not make your choices for you. I'm not him."
She glances away at him, down at her hands.
"But Andrew -- what you choose, you choose for yourself. I cannot and will not make your choices for you. I'm not him."
The smile vanishes like a blown-out candle flame, and his gaze drops.
"I understand," he says, very small.
"I understand," he says, very small.
Brix sighs.
"I'm sorry," softly. "I didn't mean that to hurt you. I mean that I trust you with yourself."
More than she trusts herself with him, in some ways, since she ran roughshod over that smile.
(Sometimes she thinks Henri understood her better than she understands herself.)
"I'm sorry," softly. "I didn't mean that to hurt you. I mean that I trust you with yourself."
More than she trusts herself with him, in some ways, since she ran roughshod over that smile.
(Sometimes she thinks Henri understood her better than she understands herself.)
Edited 2016-10-26 16:21 (UTC)
"Maybe you shouldn't," he says, very soft. "I still --"
"I still miss Him."
"Elua, Andrew, if I never trusted people who feel human emotions, even the thorny, mad ones, I couldn't even trust myself."
For a moment he looks like he might argue, but instead he sighs.
"I think," he says slowly, "I think I'm hungry."
"I think," he says slowly, "I think I'm hungry."
That sounds a great deal like a dismissal -- and if she wants him to
embrace his autonomy, respecting his control over the space is the least
she can do.
"Shall I leave you be?" She rises, leaving her cup
on the floor.
"I ..."
He takes a breath, nerving himself.
"Do you maybe want to stay a little longer? And have a snack, and just talk about ... nothing important, for a little while?"
He takes a breath, nerving himself.
"Do you maybe want to stay a little longer? And have a snack, and just talk about ... nothing important, for a little while?"
She looks surprised, but then smiles and nods.
"I'd be happy to.
Thank you."
Taking the chair again, she adds, "Baby, could I
have a cup of tea, please? Mint with honey. What will you have to eat?"
A small side table manifests next to Brix's chair. On it is a tray bearing the same tea service as last time, with a cup for Andrew as well, although without the muffins this time; Baby's waiting for his order.
(And also, apparently, suggesting subtly that he might want to sit somewhere besides the mattress.)
"Um ... " He hesitates. "Grilled cheese? And, and do you want anything else?" This to Brix.
(And also, apparently, suggesting subtly that he might want to sit somewhere besides the mattress.)
"Um ... " He hesitates. "Grilled cheese? And, and do you want anything else?" This to Brix.
"Uh, it's -- do you have sandwiches in your world? Um, where you put some sort of food between two slices of bread, or in a split roll, or like ... wrap it in flatbread? And then --" he gestures vaguely, a grasping and lifting motion -- "pick it up in your hands to eat it?"
"Like a pain or a bouchée," she says, nodding, pouring two cups of tea.
"Right," he says, "so grilled cheese is a type of sandwich. You put cheese in between two slices of bread, and butter or something to hold it together, and you fry it in more butter in a hot skillet until the cheese melts and the bread gets all crispy."
". . . That sounds unbelievable. I'll try one."
This time his smile is very close to full -- only a little hesitant, only a tiny bit fragile -- as he shifts to get to his feet.
"Okay, so -- grilled cheese for two, please?"
A plate appears on the little table next to the tea service: four grilled cheese sandwiches cut into triangles, on a bed of frilly green lettuce, garnished with a scattering of halved cherry tomatoes.
"Okay, so -- grilled cheese for two, please?"
A plate appears on the little table next to the tea service: four grilled cheese sandwiches cut into triangles, on a bed of frilly green lettuce, garnished with a scattering of halved cherry tomatoes.
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