Ne Me Quitte Pas
by: Missa Solemnis
A/N: I made this story, intending it as a momentary reprieve from all the hustle and bustle of my last year in college, and the pressure of having to finish another story altogether without ending with me, turning lunatic.
You might say, this is a not often, but entirely possible pairing, but I was hard pressed to show the individual character's vulnerability and core strength.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of OHSHC. Blood, sweat and tears shed I can't and never will. Well, considering that I posted this on a "fan fiction" website, it basically points out that I'm not out to claim any of the original characters from the anime/manga as my own. Just the plot of this story. A product of my all too fertile imagination.
XXX
She was too tired. Her legs refused to oblige her as she tried to move one foot after the other. How long she tried to endure, she didn't know. How many times she tried to forget the pain, she couldn't count. She wouldn't wish such brutality even to worst bitch on earth.
She passed by a mirror along the way and she almost smiled wryly.
At least the bastard didn't touch her face. It was ironic really, that in the first place it was her face that got her into this mess.
Her father wanted the alliance, although truth be told, she could've done better. But Jean-Batiste was too enamoured to let go. He coaxed, he charmed and finally, he bought.
Her father had been too bewitched by the aristocratic that he wanted to align the Tonerre dynasty with. If her father simply wanted the money she could have just married Kyouya, but no. He wanted her to be a member of the aristocracy, as if the Tonerre name wasn't aristocratic enough.
May God have mercy upon your souls, she thought.
It took everything she had not to limp in her high heeled shoes.
It's just amusing that even in the most crucial of moments in running away; she had enough vanity to see to it that she was well dressed. Her warm peach sundress fell long enough to her calves and her cream peep toe pumps made her look tall and confident when in truth, she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor and never rise again.
Her cream floppy straw hat hid the side of her face and was tilted in a jaunty angle. At least her fashion sense was still intact after all the battering she received.
It seemed as though the hallway was far too long to reach the hotel room she was going to. With each step she took, the longer the empty carpeted corridor seemed. She wanted to rest. She wanted to sleep because she was so bloody tired and sore.
She wanted to cry, but had long forgotten how.
With a shaking step, she finally reached the door she was looking for. With a tentative knock, she leaned her forehead against the solid door and sighed tiredly. Dejectedly.
The door opened gently and she let herself tumble into the arms she longed to burrow in. At last, she was safe.
XXX
He surely wasn't expecting her, because the last time they saw each other, they were too busy quarrelling that he had a feeling she would have spit in his eye with impunity if she were given the chance.
In style, of course.
A soft knock issued from his door that he would have missed it if he wasn't close by. When he opened the door, a body suddenly tumbled into him that he reflexively caught her.
The scent of lilac and honey assailed his senses that he knew immediately who it was, even before her stylish hat fell from her head, revealing gilt caramel hair.
"Éclair." He whispered.
She allowed him to support her limp body as her hands moved up to the lapels of his coat and gripped tight.
"What's wrong?" He asked, enfolding her into his arms, to both comfort and sustain her.
"Tamaki." She said softly. Then her whole body trembled. "Tamaki..." It was a choked sob.
Something inside him crumbled. Éclair never cried. Never before had she shed tears, in front of him or anyone. Something was very wrong. Someone as proud as Éclair wouldn't cry for something so simple.
He gently cradled the back of her head with his hand and angled her face to his shoulder. She shuddered convulsively and slowly crumpled to the floor. He followed her motion and held her there.
"Tamaki... Tamaki..." She kept whispering, her lips moving frantically against his throat as he felt her tears scald his skin through his shirt.
"Hush... What's wrong?" He gently rubbed her back and he felt her stiffen with a small gasp of something unmistakable like pain.
"Are you hurt?" He asked and surreptitiously inspected her. His eyes fell on her partially bared legs.
Her thighs were black and blue with bruises.
He inhaled sharply and drew her away from him. She kept her face turned away from his gaze. He pulled at the ribbon fastening the neck of her dress and slipped it from her shoulder. She accepted it without comment.
His eyes widened at what he saw. Numerous bruises, some irregular in shape, others in circle like form and the ones on her upper arm... they were shaped as if someone's fingers gripped her too tightly there.
A man's fingers.
Fury like never before roiled inside him that bile almost rose to his throat. He tipped Éclair's face to look at him. She averted her gaze, her honeyed lashes clumped together like spiky fringes.
"Who?" He barely choked out, his wrath so great he could kill with his bare hands.
She slumped forward and leaned boneless against his chest once more. She shivered and gripped his coat with surprising tenacity.
Tamaki enclosed his arms about her again, as if to reassure himself that she was there. That she wasn't hurt too bad. But the fact someone raised his hand against her. That someone dared to mar her porcelain skin. He could bloody well commit murder and cheerfully rot in prison after the deed was done.
"Who did this?" He whispered harshly.
She shook her head and gripped his lapels more tightly.
"Tell me." He ground out, pressing his lips to the crown of her head in an effort to contain his anger.
She trembled then and said softly, "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." He held her more gently, now that he'd assessed the extent of her injuries.
"Just... hold me." She breathed against his throat. "Please."
Éclair never begged. For anything. Not even for pardon. The fact that she came to him, she came to him and literally begged him to hold her, it was humbling.
It made him want to pound the face of the bloody bastard who did this to her to pieces.
"I will kill that batard." He snarled. Never had he felt such righteous fury. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the bastard, rip his arm off and beat him with it. With his bare hands.
"How long had he been doing this?" He asked, his hand fisting at her dress, crumpling the fabric.
Éclair shook her head again and burrowed her nose beneath his jaw. "I don't know..." She whispered.
But there were bruises everywhere except her face. Even her thighs had patches of discoloration. Only an intense beating could put bruises there. Or...
"Éclair, did he..." He swallowed hard. "Did he... force you?"
If it was any confirmation, she stiffened in his arms and her breath hitched that Tamaki trembled. He closed his eyes to contain the grief that settled deep in his heart and gritted his teeth. He tightened his hold of her and kissed her hair.
Ah, Éclair. How I've hurt you...
He wanted to weep for her. Her lost innocence, her battered emotions, her crippled spirit. He wanted to howl at the unfairness of it all. If only he married her long ago, she wouldn't have had to experience this.
If only he saw earlier that he and Haruhi weren't meant to be, then he would have proposed to Éclair before that... filthy gutter-scum.
"I will kill that bloody bastard." He said in English.
Éclair stiffened and put her arms around his neck in a near chokehold. "No... I don't want you hurt, Tamaki."
His heart melted a bit for her concern. "No offense, cherie, but you're a woman. I think I stand a better chance." As if in demonstration, he held her hand in comparison to his. The length and size vastly differed. "Only a coward would hurt someone weaker, smaller than himself." The fury that consumed him a while ago came back in a slightly milder wave where he was able to think logically.
"I hope you're not going back to him." He said, almost dreading her answer.
After a long moment that did damage to his nerves, she shook her head. A very audible sigh escaped him, and he said, "Is that why he beat you? Were you planning on divorcing him?"
She nodded. "My only regret is that it took me this long. All because of my damn pride." She also sighed. "I tried to make it work in defiance just to spite you."
If Tamaki's heart could have hurt more, this definitely struck a mortal blow. "All these years... all these years... How I wanted you." He said in a gravelly voice. "God, I've been such a coward. I couldn't tell you in fear that I'll be rejected again." He exhaled into her hair.
"I understand." A soft, almost hysterical laughter escaped her. "Had you asked me to marry you back then, I would have refused out of sheer contrariness. How stupid we are."
"But if you divorce him, then... he gets half of the assets you've earned the years you were married." Tamaki said. "Is that alright?"
"I have more money than I can spend in three lifetimes, Tamaki. And even more if I married you." He felt Éclair shake her head in bemusement.
In the midst of his distress, he asked in a quirk of humour, "Why miss Éclair, did you just propose to me?"
She shrugged lightly. "That depends if your answer is anything but yes."
"Do you have to ask?" He answered softly and slowly lay back on the carpeted floor with Éclair in his arms. "I will never let anyone else hurt you again. And I would sooner die first than hurt you myself."
Her slender arms sought purchase around his waist and she plastered herself against him. Her whole body trembled, and he knew she was weeping once more.
XXX
When Tamaki laid Éclair on the bed to let her rest, he went to the balcony with his phone, to avoid disturbing her.
As the phone rang, he paced around.
"Hello?" The other line picked up.
"Kyouya. I'm in need of your assistance." Tamaki gripped the phone hard. At times like these, there's no one like Kyouya Ootori to help a plan to success. At this rate, a pretty simple plan.
"Of course." Kyouya answered.
Tamaki had known Kyouya since their high school days and one thing he noticed, although Kyouya could be cold and calculating, he couldn't resist the thought of helping Tamaki in something.
"I'm in France right now." Tamaki said.
"Yes, I know. I'm in Australia at the moment." Kyouya said.
"It's just a simple request, Kyouya." Tamaki paused and heard perpetual silence from the other line. "I need you to stop me."
"Haven't I done so these past ten odd years?" Kyouya replied easily. Yes, he had always been there, the one person who anchored Tamaki's life from insanity.
"Can you come here as soon as possible?" He asked.
"I'll be there when you wake up tomorrow morning." Kyouya said calmly, sounding for all the world like a bored businessman.
"Oh, mon ami, I don't even plan on sleeping."
XXX
True to his word, Kyouya even found his hotel room and had a maid knock to tell Tamaki he was in the hotel's cafe.
Seeing the purple shadows beneath the Frenchman's eyes, Kyouya immediately stood up. "Hmnn. You do look like hell." He said feigning nonchalance.
"Thank you. And you look rather un-jetlagged." Tamaki looked at his friend in dazed, wonderment.
Kyouya went right down to business. "How is she?"
Tamaki's face blanked out and his eyes took on a malignant gleam that Kyouya have never seen before. "I had a doctor examine her last night. So many bruises, Kyouya. The bastard marked her." He said through gritted teeth.
Kyouya sat pensively as he watched his friend. "Permanently?" Kyouya's own fingers tightened imperceptibly on his coffee cup.
"Physically, no. Mentally and emotionally? May God forbid." Tamaki hissed.
"Amen." Kyouya took a delicate sip of his highly caffeinated drink. "What do you propose we do?"
The malignant look made Kyouya uneasy. "Besides killing him, Tamaki."
Tamaki, an innately good person, is not used to thinking ill will against his fellowmen, no matter how bad. This was a very new experience for him, Kyouya thought.
But for Kyouya, a person from which innate goodness didn't come naturally, his imagination was running amok of subtle, physical and non physical forms of torture and retaliation.
And since Éclair's husband was a businessman, Kyouya a businessman as well, he knew very well where to strike where it hurt most. He grinned evilly. A natural expression for him over the years.
"Tell you what, Tamaki..."
XXX
The stock market was going crazy. Anonymous mass buying and selling wreaked havoc in Jean-Batiste's own stocks. None of the sudden shifts in the market suited his business that, driven to panic buying and selling, he managed to lose more than he could afford. The investors in his company withdrew, one by one and those who remained were voting for him to resign as company president.
He couldn't let that happen. He cursed in a manner, betraying his coarser nature to the servants. He didn't care, as his grabbed a brandy decanter, drinking straight from it, neglecting the niceties of using the crystal snifters provided. He was getting drunk fast.
"Éclair!" He bellowed for his wife.
He never liked the haughty bitch, looking down at him as if he didn't deserve a scrap. He was liked by everyone, taken in by his urbane charm. Even the bitch's father was entranced by his bluer blood that he was willing to dower his third daughter an entire company just so he could secure Jean-Batiste's hand. The old fart didn't even bother to investigate that Jean-Batiste's family coffers were broke. He was deceived by the extravagant parties the younger man gave and his connection to aristocracy.
Once the money had been secured and he and the chit were married, he began feathering his own nest. A mistress here and there. Fine wine, fast cars. Surely the company was making enough money to support his lavish lifestyle.
The only complication was his wife. The haughty frigid bitch, who brazenly pointed out to him that what he was spending wasn't all his money. The investors were bound to know, she said in her cool, perfectly enunciated way that made him want to wring her bloody neck. He wanted to do just that but too much and too sudden would certainly draw attention.
He started beating and terrorizing her. Of course he never touched her face, which would be hard to cover. Never too severe, or the doctor was bound to ask questions. Just a taste of pain every now and then. He didn't exactly realize that his brutality was morbidly increased every time he indulged more in liquor, he forgot his own strength.
Once, he was so incensed when he was through with his beatings, the bitch actually raised her chin and looked at him as if he wasn't worth a lick on her shoes. He almost did kill her then. He cracked two ribs and she had a concussion. He told the doctor she had a bad fall and sworn in all the servants to support his story or they would never work in France again.
"The bitch..." He muttered and took another swig of brandy. "Éclair!" He bellowed once more.
"If you're looking for your wife..." A smoother, more urbane voice than he wasn't accustomed to use himself began. Jean-Batiste spun around. "I beg your pardon, soon-to-be ex-wife, I mean. I'm afraid she left."
A tall blonde stranger stood leaning against the doorway with an air of innate elegance and nonchalance.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" He asked. "And where is my wife."
The stranger didn't answer the first question. "She's someplace you cannot touch her." He said, as he sauntered towards the inebriated man.
"You don't particularly strike me as a smart man, Jean-Batiste, to raise your hand against the weaker sex." He murmured, just as he reached Jean-Batiste.
"Oh I get it... You're in this together!" Without warning, Jean-Batiste swung the decanter at the blonde man, but before his arm descended, his wrist was caught in a vice-like grip, the decanter wrestled swiftly from his hand and he was flung hard against the wall with a solid, merciless arm rammed against his throat.
The blonde looked directly into his eyes and Jean-Batiste felt terror like never before. The malevolent glint in the disturbingly violet eyes staring back at him made him flinch, the arm on his throat ruthlessly cut off his air supply.
"So you like overpowering women, you shit-brained bastard..." The decanter shattered so hard on the coffee table that some of the shards embedded on Jean-Batiste's hand. Fear made him struggle against the blonde's inhuman strength.
"Have you any idea how heavy a fist feels against a woman's body? Have you no shame? The woman was taken from the man's ribs so he would take care of her as he would his own flesh. And what did you do? Huh?" The mercurial glint in his eyes looked positively lethal.
His lungs were straining, he was choking. His heart almost stopped when he felt something cold and sharp drag along his throat. He realized that it was the shattered decanter's neck that was dragged along his skin. He felt his blood trickle gingerly down his neck that he would have screamed if he could have. His eyes bulged from their socket.
Jean-Batiste realized he was about to die. At that moment,
"Otou-san..." Came another cool voice.
A reminder. A warning.
The blonde man blinked, as if he just woke up, and he lowered the piece of glass he was clutching. The arm on Jean-Batiste's throat relented, and without that assistance, he slid to the floor, wheezing and sobbing.
"Duly noted, Okaa-san." The blonde said quietly. Then his head snapped back to Jean-Batiste. "If you come near Éclair again..." The threat didn't go unnoticed.
Jean-Batiste couldn't believe what was happening. As gracefully as the blonde came in, he walked out just as calmly, as if nothing whatsoever happened. Not even a hair out of place.
He was trembling like mad, sobbing and weak. Just when he thought his nightmare has ended, another tall person, this time dark in colouring appeared half concealed in the shadows of the doorway.
"My, my... did you just wet yourself, Jean-Batiste?" The other man said coolly in perfect French. "I won't get too relieved if I were you, no pun intended." He drawled.
His terror reinstated itself at the man's last statement.
"See you tomorrow."
XXX
Kyouya followed Tamaki out of the manor, his hands in his pocket. When they were safely ensconced inside, Tamaki dropped his head on his hands, his elbows balanced on his knees. Tamaki shook uncontrollably. None of them spoke for a long moment. It was Tamaki who broke the silence.
"Oh God... If you didn't stop me..." He said in a harsh, anguished voice. "Oh God..."
"Isn't that why you called for me?" Kyouya replied prosaically.
When the last shudder passed Tamaki's body, Kyouya took his hand and clinically began removing the shards of glass from earlier with a thumb forcep. He didn't even wince. When his hand was tended to, Kyouya leaned back against the seat and said companionably, "I'm of a mind for high tea. Your treat, Otou-san."
"Ah, Okaa-san."
XXX
Eclair turned the volume up, watching the world cup on Tamaki's huge flat screen. The hotel room was so silent after the hotel staff and Tamaki's personal servants left her in peace, the walls seemed to be screaming silence in her ears.
When she woke up that morning, Tamaki was there sitting on the bed smiling gently, allaying all her fears that yesterday's security in his arms wasn't just a dream. He told her that he just needed to arrange something, that he'd be back late afternoon.
It was four in the afternoon and Tamaki still wasn't back. She didn't realize she was shivering until one of Tamaki's servants asked if she wanted the heater turned up.
Pull yourself together, girl. Yesterday was a moment of weakness. She needed to appear calm now. Never let it be said that Tonerres were cowards.
First, she needed something to cheer her up. She called in the maid to get her a pint of salted caramel ice cream from the ice cream parlour across the street from the hotel.
She reclined on the chaise to wait for the ice cream and unintentionally fell asleep.
XXX
Tamaki watched Kyouya with amusement as his dark friend drifted into his own room sluggishly, jetlag finally catching up to him. When he was convinced Kyouya won't drown himself by sleeping in the bathtub, Tamaki went up to his own rooms only to find Éclair elegantly, yet comfortably arranged on the chaise lounge apparently sleeping.
He didn't have the heart to wake her, she looked so peaceful, with her long coltish legs slightly curved, her body relaxed and her glorious gingery gold hair curling all over the arm rest and around her face she was so breathtakingly lovely and so fragile.
He didn't notice the maid behind him bearing a bowl of ice cream. "Ah, Monsieur..." She murmured apologetically.
"Did she ask for that?" He asked, gently taking the bowl from the awestruck maid.
"Oui, monsieur. I hope madame well. She was shivering badly a while ago." The maid gave a Gallic shrug.
He put the ice cream on the bedside table and knelt beside the chaise lounge. "Éclair... mon amour..." He murmured silkily as he stroked her cheek. The shadows beneath her eyes on her pale face was a testimony of her stressful ordeal. He lowered his head and gently touched his lips to her soft, cupid's bow ones.
As he raised his head, just like a fairytale princess, Éclair's eyes fluttered open. A heart stopping smile bloomed on her lips as her gaze fell on Tamaki.
In between waking and sleeping, her hand reached up to his cheek, her fingers curling into his hair as she brought him down towards her to whisper into his ear, "Je t'aime..."
Tamaki's heart began beating more rapidly than ever. He clenched his eyes tightly, unable to believe what he just heard.
"I've loved you for so long..." Tamaki whispered against her palm, an unexpected sting of tears felt behind his lids.
"I know, my love, I know..." Eclair buried her face against his throat, the pulse of life thrumming beneath her lips.
"Ne me quitte pas."
XXX End XXX
A/N: So did you like it? Hate it? Well I wrote this just to expound the endless possibilities of Renge's film exploits of a lonely, anguished prince back then, so... ^_^
Just to prove my point that Eclair is not really as hard as nails as she pretends to be.
Please tell me what you think! Review me! ^_^ I accept requests (reasonable ones) too.