Falling In
To my FFN friends across the pond:
btvs: thanks for another stunning canon vid, and because you like songfics
MissPixieWay: because we agree that political talk never sounded so hot ;)
This song appears on Lifehouse's Smoke & Mirrors.
Songwriters: Jason Michael Wade, Kevin Rudolf, Jude Anthony Cole, Jacob Kasher
Every time I see your face
My heart takes off on a high speed chase
Now don't be scared, it's only love
That we're falling in
Sybil is walking past the library and overhears Carson and Papa discussing the logistics of fetching Mary at the railway station at 11:00 PM. Carson acknowledges Papa's instructions: "Very good, Milord. I will have one of the hallboys tell Mr. Branson." At that moment, she reacts quickly and bounds inside the half-open door, "I am going for a walk, Papa. I myself can go to the garage and tell him." She doesn't care that Carson looks at her quizzically, only that Papa's consent is freely given.
She doesn't really want to admit to herself why she must be the one to give the message to the handsome chauffeur. All she knows is that she wants to see his face, and this is a heaven-sent opportunity to visit him at the garage. Her steps on the paved walk sound confident and steady, and she hopes that they are loud enough to conceal the pounding of her heart. She pauses near the entrance of the garage, and suddenly she is aware of the summer heat, of the perspiration that moistens her palms and of the dryness of her mouth. She licks her lips and takes the sight of him in. It is a familiar one—he is seated on the running board of the Renault, his nose buried inside the pages of a newspaper. She can hear the rustling of the pages as he turns them, engrossed in whatever current event is printed on those pages. She strides into the garage, crisply announcing, "Mary's telephoned. She'll be on the late train that gets in at eleven."
She's not really sure what to say next, after he responds, "All right." For a moment she struggles to find another topic of conversation, and thankfully he asks after William. But then she notices that he wears a faraway look, one of a driver who sees that the air in the front tire is low and knows he will be keeping the Dowager Countess waiting. It is enough to worry her, and she asks, "What is it?"
He tells her of the shocking news he's just read.
This feeling has swallowed me whole
And I know that I've lost control
This heart that I've followed
Has left me so hollow
That was then, this is now, yeah you have changed everything
Branson hadn't meant to touch her. He only wants her company, to have her stay a while. He had done it without thinking: he meant to reach for her arm, not her hand—he already tried that once and had gotten burned—but she was moving so swiftly, he had to stop her, and his hand fell at her waist. He knows he's made a far more dangerous breach of conduct with that touch, and he sees her eyes widen in what? shock? dismay? He swallows and puts the offending hand in his pocket, but he yearns to say fully what's been in his heart for so long. He finds himself babbling about sacrifices, but he knows he's showing a shameful lack of courage as he buries the truth. He's already tried to ask, at the garden party, "I don't suppose…" and couldn't finish. He's made two promises at York, where he was too nervous to articulate everything in his heart. Now all of what he feels is truly important is still left unsaid and he wants to tell her, "I am still in love with you. Do you even love me? Please, if you do, reconsider a life with me. Marry me."
But his words about hard sacrifices seem to have an effect on her. She is looking at him—at his eyes, at his mouth, and her peony lips are parted, like she's thirsting and only he might be able to quench it. He wants so badly to trace those lips with his fingertips, or better still, taste them. But he must content himself to hold only her eyes steadily with his, since he cannot use his hands to hold hers, while she considers.
x-x
The touch at her waist shakes her to the core. She's felt this reeling sensation once before, also on a scorching day, when her fingers brushed his and she discovered she is holding his hand. She can feel his penetrating gaze, can feel the coercion of it, like a gravitational pull into his orbit. But there's something pure and guileless about his look as well, like he is telling her how much he loves her. His eyes are distractingly blue, his mouth so inviting…if she just leaned in a little bit…she hears "sacrifice…future that's worth having…" and finally her focus snaps back clearly at "That's up to you." She blinks.
It is precisely because she knows what he wants and what she wants that she walks away.
I would never do you wrong
Or let you down or lead you on
Don't look down, it's only love
Baby, that we're falling in
He closes his eyes. He knows he's pushed her again, and this time it might have been too far. He has been trying to blur the knife edge of a boundary between mistress and servant, for months trying to convince her of his devotion, of his desire to make her happy. Her steps echo and fade and he is again alone with thoughts that swirl in the maddening heat.
He is arrogant, but it is an act he must put on to shield his bruised heart. Even when he challenged her and said she was scared to admit she was in love with him, it was a risk to say it aloud, to articulate what he hoped were her feelings.
He was enchanted by her from the moment he first saw her, when he had waited at the car, still and stiff as a soldier. He had held the car door open and a pretty girl in powder blue caught his eye. Since then he has been drawn to her like a moth to a flame that could scorch its wings. He has waited so long, and he is no longer sure whether he will ever win her love. But why does she give him reason to hope that she likes him? She keeps popping into the garage, a dirty outbuilding that reeks of petrol, oily rags, and musty wash buckets. He knows he makes her laugh, that she doesn't just come to him so she can learn the latest world news or hear him opine on suffragettes and socialism and conscientious objections. He sighs. The reason he's here is to work, and he would do well to remember that.
Next time: verse 2 and bridge