A/N Hello there, welcome to our first collaborative story. If you read Jizabel and Cassian oriented stories then you have most likely seen us around before – Victorian-Affair is the joint penname for the loyal (obsessed) JizabelxCassian fans Savvi-Sin and Sorryll. Currently, we plan to write alternating chapters. Sorryll will be taking the odd numbers, while Savvi-Sin takes the even. But who knows how things will turn out XD Anyway, that's enough waffle. On with the first instalment.
This story inspired by the song Blood On My Hands by The Used. The lyrics in this chapter are from there. We do not own this song, nor do we own these wonderful Victorian men.
-x-
You felt the coldness in my eyes,
It's something I'm not revealing.
Inside Jizabel's quarters, it looked as though it had been snowing broken glass.
The floor was covered in tiny shards that sparkled in the candlelight, while the wooden floor itself glistened, the light catching the formaldehyde and other preservatives that had spilled from the broken jars. From Jizabel's perspective - on his hands and knees, face close to the floor, sight partly obscured by a curtain of silvery hair – the scene was strangely beautiful. Even the twisted lumps of flesh that were unrecognisable now seemed to have their place, as though the chaos that had been raging a moment before had created a living piece of art, with the doctor himself as its centrepiece...
However, if anyone else had decided to enter the room, they would not have seen it as beautiful at all. They would have seen a mess. They would have seen a large mahogany bureau, once covered in neatly arranged glass jars with strange specimens suspended in clear liquid, all empty now. The jars were lying all over the floor and none of them were in one piece, where they had smashed as the doctor swept them off the bureau in a fit of rage. Other things in the room had fallen too, but Jizabel was entirely unaware that he had lost so much control. The scene, so beautiful to Jizabel, would have been frightening to anyone else.
Slowly, he picked himself up off of the floor and moved to lean against the bureau, heedless of the broken glass he was now resting on. Hands clenching the wood, he tried to gather himself together, to make some kind of rational sense out of the storm of emotions raging inside him. Fear, shame, anger...and sorrow, too. Although that had been there from the start.
He was shaking but it was starting to subside a little, his breathing starting to return to normal. But still he could hear a voice in his head. An insidious, mocking, almost lecherous voice.
"I can almost hear the cries of your older sisters' organs from within your body," the voice whispered, and Jizabel shuddered as he recalled the words. He felt violated. He had known that the ritual would involve exposing his secrets but had never expected them to then be repeated back to him, although he should have guessed. The High Priest was Cassandra after all. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that this one man knew about everything that Jizabel tried daily to forget, that this one man would no longer be fooled by Jizabel's permanently cold exterior and emotional detachment that served to hide a soul that was a raging fire of passion and emotion, of pain and insecurity. Jizabel had never wanted to show anyone even a hint of that fire and hated the idea that Cassandra had intruded and seen the whole raging inferno.
However, those words were not the reason why Jizabel had fled to his room and destroyed the only remaining ties to his mother and sisters. He had yelled angry words then, as though the organs themselves could hear and transmit the message to the woman who was now free from all of this and who had left her son behind. He had said, "You can't save me." But from what? From who? Even as he asked himself the question, Jizabel knew the answer. Unbidden, the voice slipped back into his mind.
"I was wondering if there was anything I could do for you..."
"Leave me alone," Jizabel murmured, staring sightlessly before him.
Fingers twining in his hair. "I know everything about you."
Jizabel gripped the bureau so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Come to my laboratory whenever you like. We can talk more then."
"Never," Jizabel murmured, moving his arms to wrap them around himself in an uncharacteristically protective manner.
This was what terrified him. Not only did Cassandra know everything that had happened to him, he seemed to find it interesting, amusing, even...attractive? Jizabel knew the rumours that circulated about the Head Priest and now found it easy to believe they were all true. There had been something in Cassandra's gaze, something hungry, that Jizabel had been too conflicted to consider at the time. Cassandra was dangerous, that was certain. And now he had something with which to bend Jizabel to his will...
The doctor shook his head suddenly and dropped his arms to his sides. He smiled humourlessly at his own weakness and then crossed the room quickly. He stopped in front of a small wall-mirror and regarded his reflection apathetically. His eyes were red although he could not remember crying, his hair dishevelled and his clothes covered in formaldehyde. He changed quickly, then returned to the mirror and forced his breathing to slow, thinking of nothing except this moment and of no one but himself...and watched as the scared, childlike face before him shifted slowly into the familiar cold expression of the heartless doctor. He tied his hair back loosely and put his glasses back on. He smiled.
The illusion was perfect. He was good at disguises after all, and this was by far his best one. He looked heartless, logical, uncaring. A being who cared little for life, even his own...which suited his needs just fine. He knew that it wasn't truly who he was but it didn't matter, very few people saw through his disguise. It didn't matter who he was – this was who he wanted to be. He smiled one last time at the face of Death reflected before him and turned to leave.
He was feeling calmer already but to be sure that he wouldn't embarrass himself further, he decided to go and see whether Zenopia was in the study they shared in the medical wing of Delilah's headquarters. If he could just bury himself in facts and figures, he knew that all his worries would just vanish. He may still be a little shaky now, but it didn't matter if Zenopia realised something was wrong. The little man had no interest in whether Jizabel was happy, healthy or stable, as long as they were making scientific progress, nothing else concerned him. Jizabel liked the Hermit for this reason, it made him easy to deal with.
Jizabel crossed the room to the door, broken glass crunching under his feet and was shocked to find it open. Hoping no one had heard the crashing from inside his room echoing down the hall, Jizabel left swiftly and firmly shut the door behind him. He then turned and began to stride down the hall quickly, as though afraid of being seen.
"Doctor."
Jizabel wheeled around to see a small, dark figure sitting beside the door to his room. Cassian. The doctor quickly replaced his involuntary expression of surprise for one of anger.
"Cassian," he said, glad to find his voice was not still shaking. "What are you doing here?"
The trump card didn't answer, raising one eyebrow instead. Jizabel thought of berating him for impudence but another look at the small man convinced him not to. Cassian was sitting slumped against the wall and had clearly been there a long time, meaning he had been there listening while Jizabel raged inside his room. Yet, he didn't appear shocked, frightened or as though he was going to start threatening the doctor, which wouldn't have been a surprising choice in a place like Delilah. Instead, his knees were drawn up to his chest and his features were unmistakeably sad. Jizabel was surprised; he had never seen his subordinate this way before. Cassian was often angry or curious but never did he appear sad. Given the current state of his mind, Jizabel found it a little unnerving and so found himself speaking before he knew why.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asked hesitantly.
Cassian clicked his tongue in annoyance. "I could ask you the same question."
Jizabel drew back at that, and scowled. "Why should you be interested?"
"I heard what Cassandra said to you," Cassian continued, dark eyes now boring into Jizabel's as if searching an answer for an unasked question. "I saw how he upset you. Why...why didn't you tell me?"
"I shouldn't have to tell you anything," Jizabel replied coldly, narrowing his eyes.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Cassian said softly. "I just asked you why you didn't."
Jizabel opened his mouth to reply but shut it again quickly. He knew now why his usually bad-tempered assistant was acting so strange. It wasn't sorrow at all.
"I hope that's not pity I can see in your eyes, Cassian," he said quietly, turning to walk away. "After all, you are in a much more pitiable situation than I."
As he began to walk down the corridor, Jizabel did not dare to look behind him. He knew it was cruel to say such things but didn't really know why this was bothering him. He was cruel. Cassian had overstepped his mark. It was almost as bad as Cassandra, almost the same feeling of violation. Pity was useless, wasted upon humans. Jizabel hated being the cause of such a sickening emotion. He increased his pace, hurrying to reach the medical wing. He was glad and a little surprised when Cassian didn't follow him.
In a few minutes he reached the long corridor which was home to the shared study and the familiar feeling of calm he associated with the place was shattered by a lean figure leaning against the wall. As Jizabel approached, deciding that retreating would be a far more foolish thing to do, the figure raised a hand in greeting and spoke in a silken voice.
"Jizabel. How nice to see you again."
Jizabel did not smile. "It has only been a short while since we last met, Cassandra," he said quietly. "It can't have been more than half an hour."
Cassandra laughed and took a step towards him. "I'm afraid you're wrong, there. It's been over an hour since we last spoke. What have you been up to?"
Jizabel's eyes widened and he tried to smile disarmingly. "Ah, has it? I was...doing research. It's easy to lose time."
Cassandra smiled and draped an arm around Jizabel's slender shoulders. "Oh, is that the case? And here I was thinking you had been sitting in your room and brooding. I'm glad to hear I was mistaken. Remember Jizabel...if you do need to brood about your past, feel free to come and see me."
Jizabel remained silent and stationary, not wanting to run away again and damage his pride any further but hating the situation nonetheless. Without waiting for an answer, Cassandra leaned forward so that his lips were inches from Jizabel's ear and smirked.
"You know what, Jizabel? Your mother was beautiful, but her beauty is entirely overshadowed by your own." He raised a hand to twine his fingers once more in Jizabel's hair, who managed to suppress a shudder. "And do you know why that is? Your mother was openly terrified. Terrified and weak. Whereas you, Jizabel, are strong. Still terrified but...there is a certain...elegance about the way you hide your fears. That makes you far more beautiful than her."
Jizabel turned his face away from Cassandra and but his lip nervously. He would not let the anger control him again, nor the fear. He could not give Cassandra that satisfaction.
"Why are you so interested in my past, Cassandra?" he asked softly, not really wanting an answer but just as a way to stop the taller man from talking. However, the answer he did receive chilled him.
"Why? Well, that's easy." Cassandra dropped his voice to a whisper. "I want to see the fear you hide in your soul shining out through your eyes. Is that so much to ask?"
Jizabel froze for a moment, trying to think of some remark that could both end the conversation and keep his pride intact. Finding none, he began to speak hurriedly and without direction.
"Right. I have to...some research I forgot...is...I must go."
Jizabel managed to wrench himself away from Cassandra's grasp and hurry down the hall without running, but he could hear Cassandra laughing behind him and knew he hadn't come out on top of this meeting either.
As he hurried away, Jizabel's mind was spinning. He was afraid. Cassandra truly was interested in his past and wanted to sue Jizabel for...for what? Some twisted pleasure? Jizabel didn't understand and didn't want to understand. He also felt anger pulsing through him as he ran, building with every step.
"Your mother was openly terrified. Terrified and weak."
"How dare you," Jizabel murmured to himself, "My mother was –"
He stopped himself. He didn't want to think about her. Never again.
Upon reaching his room, Jizabel was glad to see that Cassian was no longer sitting in the corridor like a curious shadow. He hurriedly pulled his door open, entered the room and shut it behind him, glad to be away from prying eyes at last. He took a few steps into the room that echoed against the wooden flooring and then froze.
There was no glass beneath his feet.
He raised his eyes slowly to see Cassian standing nervously in front of the bureau, a cloth that had presumably been used for cleaning in one hand. For a moment, Jizabel felt the unusual presence of gratitude in his mind but it was quickly smothered by anger at the pity still shining in Cassian's eyes.
"Get out," he said softly, his tone laced with danger. Cassian did not need to be told twice and left quickly without speaking.
Once he was gone, Jizabel sank back onto the floor and sat staring at the door, half-expecting it to open again and for either Cassandra or Cassian to come back in and intrude upon his privacy s they already were. He didn't know which scared him the most – Cassandra's blatant advances or Cassian's gentle prompts. He didn't want to open up, didn't need to.
He just wanted to forget everything...but had the feeling that forgetting was one option not left open to him any longer. Two people now wanted to tear into his heart and draw out all the pain he worked so hard to hide. He closed his eyes and prayed that neither would succeed, wishing he could never leave this room again.
As he slowly fell asleep, the mask he made sure to wear whenever he was around others slipped away, leaving the scared child that was beneath open and vulnerable. And for the first time in years, that child felt lonely.
A/N Thanks for reading ^^ Please review if you enjoyed this, we appreciate them more than you know.
