Lou eventually cried himself to sleep in my arms. I didn't let him go; I was almost afraid to. He felt so small and fragile in my arms. He'd been so frightened, and now he'd gone limp and seemed to barely be breathing. I leaned close and listened once in a while, to assure myself.
I didn't get much sleep that night.
In the morning, I awoke from a fairly light sleep. I'd had an unpleasant dream where I was trying to find someone on the battlefield—an endless search, surrounded by mud and mortar shelling and intermittent gunfire. I blinked, and looked into Lou's big, soft eyes. He had such pretty eyes. I leaned forward to kiss him automatically. It was good to wake up together. I'd missed it.
"I'm sorry about last night." A faint blush touched his cheeks.
I leaned closer, but he put a hand against my chest, pushing me back carefully, stopping me effectively from deepening the embrace or kissing him further.
I stopped and looked at him. My other hand was acting of its own volition, though, still reaching up to stroke his thigh. He wore his pajamas, but I could feel his body, nicely firm and trim underneath. I was already aching for him, but he didn't seem to be for me.
His blush deepened, and his words filtered through my morning haze and the desire to be with him. "I have to get ready," he said. "My train leaves this morning."
"Oh." That woke me up as quickly as a bucket of cold water. I sat up. "Then you're still going?"
He scowled. "Yes. Why wouldn't I? I accepted the job. I can't just change my mind now."
I reached out and ran the back of my hand down his cheek tenderly. "Why not?"
He shivered a little at my touch, but he looked away, pursing his lips. He looked very unhappy with me for asking, and I almost wished I hadn't. But I wanted him to stay. Especially with so much danger around.
Then again, he might be safer in the city...
He got up and started pulling himself together, peacocking up a bit. Even though his clothing was wrinkled terribly from sleeping in it, he seemed to feel if he straightened it up he'd at least be presentable enough to go to his room and change. He stood as tall as his short height would allow and addressed me rather coldly, in a voice that trembled a little. "If you don't know, I'm sure I can't explain it."
"Well." I tried not to smile at the offended tone of his words. "I do understand honor. I just... can imagine you understand that I would much rather spend the morning in another way with you, rather than saying goodbye."
"Yes." His color deepened. "But it will do us good to be apart, don't you think?"
"Do I?" My expression left, and my heart sank. "Is this because I haven't been more open with my father and friends?" I hadn't thought it mattered that much what we called ourselves. Lately I wasn't so sure of anything in regards to Louie, except that he still liked and wanted me in bed. I'd tried to convince myself that would be enough to keep him. This morning, I wasn't even sure if he still wanted me that way.
Now he seemed to be weighing his words carefully, really thinking about my question. "I don't know what exactly we need to change. I don't know if there is one thing. I just don't want to l-lose you. But I also can't just stop working and live off you, especially when we're having so much trouble." He looked at me, his bottom lip quivering a little before he bit it.
His eyes looked big and anxious, searching mine. He had such sweet, gentle eyes. They were so expressive, and right now, that expression was misery.
Was I making him feel that way? How? I'd never wanted to hurt him.
I got closer and took him gently into my arms. "We'll figure it out. If I don't want to lose you—and I don't—and you don't want to lose me, then we'll figure it out. I'm sorry I've been selfish about keeping you here. Maybe it isn't safe right now. Maybe you're right to go."
It was hard to admit someone else was right. I wasn't sure I'd have attempted it nearly as often if not for Louie in my life. He was providing me with ample opportunities to swallow my pride. Or rather, I was providing myself with those opportunities whenever I accidentally hurt him.
I didn't want to ever hurt him, and if learning to apologize properly could help fix some of that, well, then that was my mission.
He smiled at me a little sadly then, and melted into my arms and let me kiss him goodbye properly. "I will come back," he told me. "I'm not ready to give up on us." But his smile was wistful, as if he was afraid of something bad coming between us, anyway.
I gave him a little swat on the butt and a squeeze. "Let me help you pack."
"Oh good gracious, no." He waved a hand, blushing a little. "You'd fold all my things wrong! Besides, it's mostly done. I just need to..."
"Take time for breakfast?" I suggested, raising one eyebrow suggestively. A man can but try.
"No, no." He lowered his head, shaking it, biting his lip a little. "I'll—I'll go get ready." He moved away on his light feet to the door connecting our rooms.
I'd taken some heart from the fact that, even when he moved out of my bedroom and into his own, it was only the one next door.
He paused with his hand on the door. "Thank you for holding me last night," he said softly. I heard the deep sincerity in his voice, how much it had meant to him. The words touched me, relieved me. I'd been right: he'd needed me. I'd done something right after all.
"You're welcome. I like holding you, and I'm glad it helped." Was that communicating clearly? I stared at his back as he retreated, closing the door softly. I wondered if I'd gotten something right yet. I scraped fingers back through my hair, caught my own reflection in the mirror, and swore softly. I looked a wreck.
I hurried about my morning toilet and then went out into the hall. I didn't see anyone about, but I smelled coffee, and my extensive knowledge of Silus Smith's methods indicated he would be around if there was coffee nearby.
I headed to the breakfast-room and cornered him just as he was taking a sip, eyes closed for that first instant.
"Do we know what, if anything, the intruder took yet?"
He opened his eyes and gave me a look that told me I wasn't welcome at the moment. He pointedly drank part of his cup while I stared at him. Then he wiped his lips carefully with a napkin and answered me. "I'm sure I don't know. Your father, however, is checking the room. I suggest you ask him."
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, your highness." I hoped they hadn't woken Father for it. He needed to look after his health and get plenty of sleep. The doctors had warned him, and he'd finally started to take them—so to speak—to heart. He kept strict hours and ate rigidly boring meals. In short, he was Being Very Good, which made me think his suffering was worse than he wanted any of us, especially me and Catherine, to know. Father had never previously been one to take doctors overly seriously.
I went into the library and found Father sitting in a chair, looking winded and hurt. "You should've called me for help. What is it?" I demanded.
He shook his head. "My grandfather's journal. It's...it's missing." He gave me a hopeless look. "I can't say I've always...ahem... Sometimes it's not the easiest thing in the world for me to...but I didn't want to lose what we had left of the man. Certainly not."
I agreed. We might not have figured out the cryptic parts, and my father seemed to live in dread of reading any actual details of my great-grandfather's gay years, but it was a blow nonetheless.
"Curious," I said, sitting down beside him. "I wonder if someone thinks they can decode them, when the ministry has so far failed?"
We had, of course, allowed the ministry to magically make copies of the books to take away and study. But Father had kept the originals. He shook his head, sighing, looking sad and defeated.
I determined to changed that. "Come and have breakfast," I said. "We'll catch Silus—he's still there—and I have just the plan of how we can turn this to our advantage."
"Oh?" He looked at me trustingly as he allowed me to offer my arm for support. He felt somewhat frail to me these days. He was not a small man, but he needed to lean on me heavily sometimes. The measure of that need was that he leaned on me at all, in fact. Sometimes my heart almost died in me at the thought of losing him, even though I knew it was unfair of me to let myself come first. Yet my own grief, the great welling chasm waiting ahead of me someday, unless I went first, was always my first thought when it came to my father's death. It was someday coming, like a runaway freight train, and there was no way to avoid it.
Would I survive that? I knew men who had, but I had always been close to my father. I relied on him more perhaps than a grown man should. But I just did not know what I would have left without him.
My relationship with my sister was strained, to say the least, and our mother had died when we were small. Father had always been there for us, perhaps more than he should have been, but always, always there. He had supported me and cared for me even when I came back mechanicalized and scarred. He'd done everything in his power to help and protect and shelter me, and he'd even managed to accept my orientation, though we still hadn't managed to put any of that into words. The acceptance was real and there underneath everything between us. He'd told me in so many non-words, the way I'd told him about Louie. We understood one another. But was that enough for Lou?
I could speak more plainly with my father, if I must: about his death, about Lou, about anything I had to. It would just be uncomfortable between us, and I didn't want to cause him any distress.
Or perhaps you're just being a coward, I thought, and wondered if it was true.
We went in to breakfast. "You must make your best spell," I told Silus, who was on at least his second cup of coffee now, drinking it like an animal crouching over a stream. He gave us a hunted look as we entered the room—very expressive and put-upon. I suppressed a grin. No need to gloat. I had him at an advantage. A soldier tends to be pretty alert in the morning, whether he's had coffee or not. I was annoyingly chipper and awake, and he knew he was outclassed at the moment. I would not gloat about that—visibly.
"You need to make a spell," I said. "A finding-spell. My great-grandfather's journal is missing. This is the perfect chance to find whoever's involved in breaking in. It might be the key to disbanding the whole effort to beat us to the punch, so to speak. Do you best work, and find the journal. They should be near enough you can trace them to the culprit."
He made a face at me, waggled his fingers for silence, and finished his cup of coffee. "Very well. I'll do that—after breakfast." He looked at us pointedly, and poured himself another cup of coffee. He didn't offer us any. "You're certainly in a good mood," he added sourly.
I wasn't, really, but I did enjoy seeing him at a disadvantage. The man had been taking advantage of his position here, his place with the ministry, and acting like he knew everything (not to mention all our secrets, and seemed to feel himself quite above all our emotions) for so long, that it was pleasant indeed.
"Perhaps you should get your Gareth to help you," I said innocently.
"He's not my—" Silus's grip tightened on the mug, and I could see him restraining himself, tightening his jaw to keep from snapping further.
I just watched him with wide, innocent eyes. I'd have to be blind not to know he wanted Gareth—he reeked of it—and I wanted him to know that I knew.
He took a steadying breath. "I am certain I can complete the spell without relying on any magic but my own. And if you will allow me to finish my breakfast, I will be able to do so with a clear head and my full concentration."
Since his breakfast consisted of nothing but mainlining thick, dark coffee, I felt almost justified in my next aside. "Well, if you wouldn't drink at night..."
His glare at me should've killed. I was obliged to bite my lips hard to keep from laughing aloud.
"Oh, is that the car?" asked Father distractedly. "Is someone going to market? I thought it was Wednesday." He'd been helping himself to some toast and not paying much attention to my barbs at Silus. It did feel good to get one over on the magician, but I knew I shouldn't allow myself to get overly distracted.
"Car?" I looked up, and pain shot through me, the agony of loss. Yes, Louie had said he needed to get going early, but surely not this soon. "I—excuse me." Without awaiting their responses, I hurried from the room and down to the front door. I flung it open and ran out.
The car was just pulling away, Mr. Jenkins's silver hair nearly hidden under his neat driver's cap. In the seat beside him, primly arranged and heartstoppingly gorgeous, and looking small and forlorn, was my Louie, driving away from me.
Yes, I'd kissed him, but that wasn't a goodbye—not a proper one, not when he'd be gone for weeks and things were strained between us to the point of near constant wariness and tension. "Lou!" I called.
He looked back. He touched the driver's arm, and Jenkins stopped the car. The engine sputtered and steamed, but the car sat still, waiting more obediently even than horses, though with more complaints.
I ran to meet them. I was without a coat, without breakfast, and without Louie.
I stopped at the passenger side door, looking at him. He was shorter than I, but the car's height made us even. "Lou," I said.
He gave me a tremulous smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean t-to rush off. I thought you were busy. And I really must go."
"That's all right. Sorry I was busy." I hurried around the front of the car, tapping the hood with my hand as I moved past. It was hot; I tapped quickly. "Jenkins, let me drive him."
"All right," said Mr. Jenkins, looking surprised. He scrambled from the seat, pulled off his driving goggles, and offered them to me.
I waved them off. "Never mind, it's not rainy today. Thank you!" I hopped in, tooted the horn once, and then rumbled us down the road.
Louie looked across at me and grinned. He looked sort of gently smug and happy, like a cat who'd just had a dish of cream and felt pleased with the world. He held a bag neatly on his lap, and everything about him was clean, slender, fashionable and well arrayed. Sometimes I wondered what he saw in me, him being so pretty and perfect.
"Thank you for driving me," he said in a nice voice.
"If you ever want to learn to drive, I'll teach you," I offered, moving off carefully down the road, and not going too fast.
"Oh, no, I like it when you drive," he said shyly.
For a second, I wondered if we were talking about something else entirely. When I glanced at him, his eyes sparkled. Oh. Oh.
I cleared my throat. He knew there was no way for us to— I adjusted my trousers carefully. "Well, just so you know, I enjoy all sorts of modes of transportation. So don't feel there's only one way we must stick to." There, that hadn't made much sense in my sexy thoughts addled brain.
But he grinned like he understood and felt proud of me. Then he sobered. "I'll miss you with all my heart," he said softly. "I want you to know. I've always given my heart, before you, to terrible men who didn't truly care for me. You're the first one. Only you—I do. I love you. I want you to know that, even though I'm terrified it won't work out, that something will go wrong, I do love you."
"I—I love you too," I managed, bowled over by his frankness and honesty. "Thank you."
He gave me a slightly sad, slightly proud smile. "I don't need to be thanked for saying the truth."
"No," I said quietly. "But...I needed to thank you."
I wasn't sure we were making much sense anymore. But I had to clear my throat and look ahead, blinking rather hard to remain in control of the vehicle. My throat ached.
He reached across and laid a small, warm hand on my thigh. "I'll think of you every day," he said shyly.
I pulled the car over. We were on a fairly sheltered lane. I set the brake, reached across, and took him into my arms. I kissed him thoroughly.
He was warm but a little cold round the edges, and he trembled just a little as he kissed me back, sucking in a hungry little gasp of breath, his nostrils quivering like an anxious racehorse's.
"Oh, darling..." I murmured, and pressed my face against his hair, and just breathed.
He pushed against my chest lightly, and I released him. He looked disheveled and disarrayed and thoroughly kissed, and his eyes were a little too bright. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand under his nose. "I will come back. But right now, if we don't hurry, I really will miss the train."
I didn't think that would be a bad thing at all, but all the same, I started the car again and gunned it to the station. He fixed his hair in the mirror, and shot his cuffs, and tried to look less rumpled and tearful and kissed.