This is Milady's and Athos' backstory, kind of a prequel to You Are Still Left With Your Hands. Can be read separately, though. Agender aro ace Athos is canon in this, too, but they haven't figured it out in this and the next chapter (so it could be read as misgendering, if you know YASLWYH). Warnings will be listed at each chapter's beginning.

Chapter warnings: Child abuse, alcoholism, bullying.


I.

we're so young but we're on the road to ruin

"Let's welcome our new student, Anne de Breuil."

Anne is sixteen and she's new to school. It's a fancy school – her new class mates are rich spoiled kids, their mere presence making her skin crawl with the need to lash out before they get a chance to attack -, and the principal had told her to take this for what it allegedly is: A last chance.

They say she's brilliant, but unmanagable. Too sharp, too arrogant, too uncomfortable a person to be around for teachers and peers alike, too easily bored in class, too proud. She regularly gets into arguments, and while she herself mostly sticks to words, others are prone to make it physical when they can't help themselves verbally anymore. Well, she isn't one to run from a fight. (She wins, with bloody lips and bruises and loose strands of hair, smiling smugly. They fear her. Hate her. Until she switches schools, and the game begins anew.)

This is your last chance to make use of your potential. Start over. You know what's at stake. Don't disappoint me, and, more importantly, don't disappoint yourself. She'd snorted about the phrasing, because the principal may be a kind woman, but what does she know? Nothing. It won't be the last school she's new to. There's no reason to believe that this time could be different. She doesn't belong, never has, probably never will. Especially not in an environment crowded with these... snobs.

"Please take a seat, Anne." The teacher turns to class: "The lesson will continue now, let's talk about the different approaches to the text we've read."

She makes her way to the back of the room. The others look at her like she's foreign matter (the label 'poor' written all over her, apparently), and they start whispering, giggling, pointing. Let them. Anne doesn't care. She flashes them a smile, the sweetness not overlaying the acid boiling underneath. They will soon enough find out that she's not to be messed with.

There's a free seat, right next to a posh-looking boy who sports an expression that can only be discribed as weltschmerz, and she's about to roll her eyes when he moves his text book to the middle of the table. He doesn't look at her, doesn't say anything, but the tip of his index finger marks the paragraph they're at. Just like that.

Anne sits down, watching him from the side.

She's... intrigued.

Shit.


It happens in a break between classes. Athos is minding his own business, as usual, as some of his class mates corner him. They don't like him, because in this illustrious school where everyone – well, almost everyone – comes from a wealthy family with a good name, he's still treated like an extra special snowflake. (The De la Fères are big sponsors, and the never let anyone forget about that. And Athos' 'comrades' never let him forget that they never forget. It's an almost perfect circle, really.)

"We've seen you hang out with Anne."

Athos shrugs. Anne... keeps him company, sometimes. Well, she used to, before she became popular - against all odds and obstacles - and was voted captain of the cheerleading team. And the science club. And the debating society. They admire her as much as they loathe her, 'Anne the social climber' as they call her behind her back. If she ever overhears them, she smiles them into submission and shame. She's, well, brilliant.

"Why don't you ask her out?" Not waiting for a reply, the group starts laughing. It's a vicous laughter, meant to degrade him publicly, and what can he say? It works, and he looks down to the floor.

"It's amazing how you're such a failure even with the backing from your family."

Another burst of multiple-voiced laughter. Other may have considered this bullying. In Athos' eyes, this is harmless. Hurtful, yes, but nothing he's not heard from his own father on a regular basis. It doesn't matter what he does, he always has to work harder, faster, better than other people to get the same amount recognition – and he's not talking about school. So whatever they say, it's not like it's news to Athos.

Suddenly everyone falls silent. He looks up just in time to see how Anne parts the group, her face dead-serious, and Athos feels heat crawling up his neck because she must've heard. He looks down, silently praying that she doesn't give him the final blow when she factually has no reason to spare him, when she takes his hand.

"Date me, Athos."

What...?

The silence stretches and he looks up, at her, seeing a smile too bright to be completely real, but her eyes, her eyes are honest, and fierce, and so he nods, quietly. Everyone is stunned into silence, literal spechlessness, as Anne starts walking, dragging him with her, never letting go of his hand.

Anne is his knight in shining armour.


It's graduation night and she's picked out the dress carefully. It is deep red, expensive, exquisite, and pretentious. It's also borrowed. She'll be prom queen, Anne figures, and she has to look striking. The underdog, now Her Majesty for the night. The idea of it makes her smile as she fixes a strand of hair that was out of place. She looks at the watch. Athos should be here in a minute.

The feeling building up in her chest is warm and affectionate.

"Annie...?"

Coldness runs down her back, destroying the warmness, and she turns hastily and finds her mother standing in the room. She was not supposed to be here. Not tonight. Dread bites at her insides.

"Annie, what are you doing?" Her mother's speech isn't slurred, but the way her eyes flicker across the room is off, it's obvious, it's always the same and Anne wants to cry. "What's all this?"

"Prom, mom."

Her mother steps closer, and Anne takes a step back, but it doesn't matter. The change is sudden but doesn't come as a surprise. Not for Anne. Not anymore. Angry lines form around her mother's eyes and mouth, as she asks: "Where's the money from for all- all this? Did you steal from me?"

"It's borrowed. I saved the money. I'd never take anything from you," she replies carefully, softly.

It does not calm her anger. "You're lying, Annie. I know you're lying. Better tell me the truth." The stench of alcohol is omnipresent now, and Anne shakes her head.

"I'm not, I swear."

Her mother strikes fast, and hard. Anne flinches - the pain white and the betrayal crimson -, and squeezes her eyes shut. "You're not gonna lie to me, girl. Now get out of this dress and take off the makeup, you look like a whore."

Anne doesn't move, doesn't dare breathe, until her mother leaves the room. She's shaking. Tears run down her face, and they ruin her mascara, her eyeliner, but it doesn't fucking matter, because she's not going to prom. Not with a cheek as red as her dress. Not like this.

She steps out of the dress, throws on a loose summer dress, wipes at her eyes. Black smears cover her face but it's better than the shame. Without telling her mother, she runs out of the house, and there it is, the limousine Athos has promised her, and she starts crying more violently, more vocally.

Athos is at her side in the blink of an eye, wrapping her in his arms, gently touching her hair, the back of her head.

"Please, let's just get out of here," she forces out and it's a sob, and Athos nods immediately, guiding her into the car: "Yes, of course, wherever you want to go. Driver? Change of destination."

"Your father won't be pleased, sir."

"It's on me, just get us out of town."

"As you wish, sir."

Anne doesn't say anything anymore, resting her head against Athos' shoulder, holding his hand so tightly it must hurt – it certainly hurts her -, but he doesn't complain. He just looks at her, earnestly, and says: "I love you."

She bites at her bottom lip and stares out of the window.

(Later that night, in some dim-lit pub in the next town, Athos gives her a small tiara, and in any other situation she'd be mock-offended that he thought there was even the possibility of her losing the election, but now it makes her cry again, and then laugh. I love you, too, you know. Athos smiles.)


"Marry me, Athos."

They are sitting in a bus to one of Athos' family's summer houses, and Anne has her legs in Athos' lap, and he has placed a book on top of them, reading and reading out particularily ridiculous passages to her. The question (if it's even a question) takes him by surprise. His heart beats against his chest, against his lungs, at least that's how it feels, and he looks up. Anne smiles, but her eyes are serious.

It's the summer before they'll both attend university – different universities, that is -, and they decided to spend as much time together as possible. They promised not to break up, and long-distance relationships are in now anyway, right?, and it's been settled.

"Excuse me?"

"Marry me."

Athos feels a little trapped, not because he doesn't love Anne, not because of what his family will say, not because of any of that – but because of himself. How could she want to...? Him. Of all people?

He reminds himself that he loves her, that she loves him back, and says: "Yes. I will marry you."

"Excellent," Anne smiles, and touches his cheek. "It would have been awkward, if you'd said no."

"I could never." Never. It's true, and it has to suffice to shut down the voices whispering of lies and pretense. Never.


The church is small, rural, but it's charming and intimate. They are standing in front of the altar, holding hands, alone with the priest who recites a passage from the bible. They're both not really listening, they're too giddy and excited.

Anne wears a white dress with floral patterns (because that's the closest resembling a wedding dress that she could find at the small country store) and she dyed her hair, blond for the wedding photos as another surprise, and instead of a veil she wears a big hat. Athos looks ridiculously handsome in black jeans, a plain white shirt, and a bow tie with black and white stripes.

The rings (golden, not fitting too well) were cheap, a huge fake diamond on top of hers, and they don't quite match, but somehow they're sufficent. Athos said that they'd do it again, the wedding, a real wedding, and she'd laughed and told him he was enough for her.

The priest is about to close the ceremony, when Athos interrupts him: "I have to say something first. Please." The priest doesn't look happy, but he gestures him to continue. He looks at Anne, gives her a small smile, and says: "I love you. I've loved you the first second I saw you, and I'm so grateful that you're not a coward like me and made the first move. You're the most brilliant person I know. You outshine the sun. No matter what happens in the future, I'll never regret out time together, and I'll never regret this." In a softer voice he adds: "We will always find each other. You are my fate."

Anne kisses him right then, ignoring the noise of protest from the priest, and whispers: "I'm yours."