Author's Note: Just a little something inspired by some rumors floating around tumblr about the potential for Mary and a new love interest.
"They don't approve of me, that much is obvious." She regards him with an arched eyebrow as he paces in front of the fireplace.
"Well it's very good for you then that I don't need their approval." He shakes his head slowly at her response, unable to stop the small smile that forms on his lips.
She closes her eyes and leans back into the cushions of the sofa. She's missed the house, and the library in particular, and she's not going to let his petulance spoil it for her. Dinner had been uncomfortable for everyone, herself included, but she has no intention of playing into his insecurities. She knows him well enough by now to know that he does not really care what her parents think about him. No, he's upset about the same thing he is always upset about.
"I know that I can never live up to him…in their eyes or in yours. I know that the way you love me is different than the way you loved him. I know, Mary. I just wish everyone didn't feel it necessary to constantly remind me of it!"
She lets out an exasperated sigh as she pushes off the plush cushions and makes her way to the drink cart. It's a conversation they've been having forever, and frankly she's bored of it. She pours the brandy slowly, swirling it around the glass before she brings it to her lips. She turns in place and sees that he has stopped his pacing. He's looking at her in a way that infuriates her as much as it breaks her heart. She really does love him—a fact that surprised no one more than it had surprised her. But everything between them happened so easily: attraction, desire, confession. There was no subterfuge, no intrigue. Needs were met, secrets were shared, truths were told, and a bond was formed. As she looks at him now, his eyes shining in the firelight, lips tight with frustration, she feels sorry for bringing him here.
"Well, don't you have anything to say?" He looks at her imploringly, plunging his hands into the pocket of his dinner jacket.
She crosses the room slowly, her eyes locked on his. She takes a sip of her brandy before she hands it to him. He finishes the remaining liquid in one smooth gulp and places the glass on the mantle. Her hands slide up his chest to rest on the lapels of his jacket, and she smiles as he closes his eyes.
"Well you're right, of course. It is different. Everything is different." His head drops and his shoulders slump, and she wants to hit him as much as she wants to kiss him.
"But honestly, darling, how many times must I tell you?" She lifts his chin and he opens his eyes, and she remembers why it is worth it to constantly remind him,
"Different doesn't have to mean less."