I've had the book Neverwhere for years, and ever since I first read it, I've loved the marquis de Carabas. When I looked at the fanfiction available recently, I found very little (and only one other piece that was Door/de Carabas/Richard), so clearly my only option was to write some fic myself. I hope everyone enjoys!
Disclaimer: I don't own Neverwhere.
No matter how much the marquis de Carabas wishes it were otherwise, the experience of dying slowly and painfully is not something that can be easily shrugged off.
One night, when sleep is especially maddeningly elusive, the marquis writes a list of things that have changed since his death. A mental list, of course, not a written one; especially not while he's staying with Door and Richard, a temporary arrangement that seems to be becoming less and less temporary with every day that passes. Door and Richard seem blessedly unaware of the changes, and the marquis aims to keep it that way.
But there are changes, and he lists them silently as he sits in front of the fireplace, huddled in his coat.
1. Dislike of the cold.
(Death was cold, as was the tunnel where Croup and Vandemar tortured him, as was the shock that set in as the blood loss grew more and more dire, as was the water his body was dumped in after death. The marquis huddles in his coat a bit more now, wears a few more layers underneath. He always has a fire burning in his room.)
2. Dislike of the dark.
(He dislikes the dark for much the same reasons as the cold. This is perhaps not quite as easy to hide, but considering he spends a good deal of his time with Richard, who is not quite assimilated yet into London Below and thus very jumpy, he plays it off as if the light is for Richard instead. He dreads the day Richard becomes brave enough that he deems the extra light unnecessary.)
3. Difficulty sleeping.
(Sleep is unnervingly close to death, and the marquis doesn't require as much of it as most people, a fact he takes advantage of. Even more than that, there are the dreams, the memories that replay and seem so real that the marquis wakes in a panic, convinced Croup and Vandemar have him again. He tries his best not to sleep too close to anyone else, not wanting witnesses when he wakes up struggling to breathe.)
4. A more finely-honed survival instinct.
(This isn't a bad change, strictly speaking, but it is one none the less. With your life squirreled away, you can afford to be much more careless, to make reckless decisions, to do things that have a lower chance of success and a higher risk of failure. The marquis doesn't take as many risks anymore.)
There's a light knock at the door, one the marquis recognizes as belonging to Richard. He stands, adjusts the way his coat so it looks more casual, and answers. The house is known as the House Without Doors, but that's not strictly true; each bedroom has a small antechamber and then a door to lead into the bedroom itself, to add a bit of privacy. It's also said that only Door's family can move around in it, which is also a bit of an exaggeration; with her permission, Richard and the marquis can have free rein as well.
"Richard," the marquis drawls as he opens the door, leaning lazily against the frame. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"Door and I were wondering if you wanted to join us for a little snack," Richard asks. The marquis arches an eyebrow and makes a show of looking at his pocket watch.
"At this hour of the night?" he asks. Richard shrugs.
"We're all awake, aren't we?" he counters. The marquis deliberately waits for a moment, pretending to consider it, then shrugs.
"Well, I suppose I might as well," he relents. Richard smiles slightly, and the marquis is shocked to find that he feels a rush of fondness. Oh, dear, he thinks, aware that he doesn't feel as worried as he should. I seem to care for the boy. That'll need fixing.
The marquis is dismayed - but not nearly as dismayed as he should be - to find that he feels a similar fond feeling when Door hugs him and offers him a muffin. Perhaps this is another change that his temporary death has caused. 5. A lamentable propensity for caring for people. It's a problem that has to be solved. The marquis has a reputation for being heartless, and having potential feelings towards Door and Richard is going to ruin that. Caring for people isn't an advantage, and thus the marquis has always tried to avoid falling into the trap as much as possible. It seems he's failed.
"Is the muffin good?" Door asks, watching as the marquis takes a bite. "It's my mother's recipe."
"Delightful, my dear Door," the marquis replies, inclining his head in a sweeping gesture. He sounds sarcastic, he knows, but he's being serious - far too serious, in fact. Door beams, so she seems to be able to tell. The feeling of fondness sweeps over the marquis again, no matter how much he tries to push it aside.
He needs to fix this.
Fixing the problem turns out to be easier said than done.
They're at the Floating Market, and there is the truce, of course, but the marquis is on guard anyway. He has more than enough enemies, and if one of them were to decide to ignore the truce, it'll be too late for him to gloat about the consequences they'll face. He had a nightmare the night before as well, which always make him a bit jumpy.
The marquis is on his way over to see Old Bailey when he notices the shadowy figure following Richard. He immediately scans for Door, but she's safe with Hammersmith, laughing and utterly oblivious of the danger that Richard may very well be in. For a moment, the marquis considers going over to her and having her deal with it, but he dismisses the thought; Door isn't helpless, but nor does she have much experience in defending herself and others. The marquis is better at it than she is. He leaves her be and goes forward quietly. The figure is shadowing Richard, and the marquis is shadowing the figure.
The marquis sees the glint of a knife and acts, grabbing the figure by the arm and yanking them backwards. "You don't know whom you're dealing with," he hisses.
"Neither do you," the figure counters, and in an instant there's a knife at the marquis' throat and he freezes. Panic makes his heart pound and turns the blood in his veins to ice. He can't move, he can't even properly breathe, he knows exactly what it'll feel like when that knife slashes his throat open-
Then Richard acts, having noticed what's happening behind him, and he puts Hunter's knife - his knife - at the figure's throat. "Let him go," he hisses. The marquis barely has enough presence of mind to move away when he feels the pressure at his throat ease. Door's arrived at some point as well; she grabs the marquis by the arm when he almost trips. "I know there's a truce at the Market, but what I don't know is if that'll be enough to save you," Richard says. It sounds very impressive. The marquis hears it as if it's coming from miles away, and most likely through an ocean. "I am the Warrior who slew the Beast of London. Do not test me."
Richard releases the figure, who runs away into the shadows and disappears. "Are you alright?" Richard asks the marquis, who immediately affects normality.
"Perhaps next time, you could notice that you're being followed before I have to get involved," he drawls. "Really, Richard, you're not much of a Warrior if you can't even tell when someone's shadowing you."
Richard rolls his eyes and Door suggests that they return home, considering they're done at the Market. Once he's sure no one's looking, the marquis rubs at his throat, feeling the thin, raised scar and making sure, although he knows it's ridiculous, that the scar is still closed. Of course it's closed; it's been closed for months. And yet...
"De Carabas!" Door calls, and the marquis turns casually and saunters over. "Is something wrong?" Door asks as he approaches. The marquis shakes his head.
"Nothing at all," he lies.
Except there is something wrong, and that something is that he went over to save Richard - putting himself in danger - with barely a second thought. He didn't do it so Richard would owe him a favor. He didn't do it to repay a favor he owed Richard. He did it because Richard was in danger and he could help, simple as that.
He could have told Door. She's able to take care of herself, if not especially practiced in it. But he hadn't done it. He hadn't wanted to put her in danger.
The marquis really had to get this "caring" thing under control. It clearly does its damage; if the marquis hadn't cared, he wouldn't have gotten a knife to his throat, and he might have been able to sleep tonight.
"Can't sleep?" Door asks as she approaches the marquis, who jumps and comes close to falling off the couch, although he'd never admit it. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," she adds.
"It's late," the marquis rasps. He clears his throat, feeling a phantom pain he hasn't truly felt in months. "You should be asleep."
"I could say the same for you," Door counters. She sits down next to the marquis, who slides over slightly to give her more room. "Are you okay?"
"Of course I am," the marquis replies dismissively. "What are you doing up?"
"I had a dream about my family," Door admits, pulling her legs up and tucking her knees under her chin. "It wasn't really a bad dream until I remembered they're dead. That's when I woke up." Door looks over at the marquis. "What about you?"
"I'm not tired," the marquis replies simply. Door lets it slide, even though the marquis is fairly certain he looks about as exhausted as he feels. "You ought to go back to sleep, my lady."
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore," Door scolded. "We're friends, de Carabas. Call me Door."
"If you wish," the marquis concedes. Friends, he muses. Is that how he feels about Door and Richard? Are they friends? He isn't quite sure. He's never really had friends, unless you count Old Bailey, whom he supposes could be considered a friend. Most of the time they've spent together has been because of favors owed, however, so perhaps he doesn't count.
Regardless, the point is that the marquis doesn't do friends. He doesn't get close to people. The fact that he's now close to Door and Richard is disconcerting for exactly that reason. He's not entirely sure if friendship is the right word, but nor is he quite sure what friendship feels like.
"Do you think Richard is okay?" Door asks. The marquis knows she's referencing the current quest Richard's taken on, guarding someone who hopefully won't actually require too much protection. Richard is the Warrior who slew the Beast, yes, but that was mostly luck and Hunter's skill, in the marquis' opinion, and Richard has proven himself to be a fairly mediocre warrior. He's getting better, however, and he now knows more about using his reputation as a weapon - the incident at the Floating Market comes to mind - so when he was offered a position as a mostly-for-show bodyguard, he accepted it.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," the marquis reassures. Door nods, still hugging her legs.
"I hope so," she murmurs. She turns slightly to look at the marquis, frowning. "Have you been taking jobs recently? I haven't heard as much about you as usual."
"I've taken a bit of a break," the marquis replies, only realizing it as he says the words. He ought to get back into the business; he doesn't want his reputation to slip. Luckily, he has something lined up already, something he's been considering and now abruptly decides he'll take. He tells Door as much, and she nods.
"Good," she replies. "Richard and I were worried something was wrong." She stands, smiles at the marquis, and adds, "I think I'll go back to sleep."
The marquis barely notices as Door leaves, his mind whirling. Door and Richard were worried? For him? No one, so far as he can remember, has ever truly worried about the marquis before. And yet Door and Richard were worried something was wrong. The thought of someone worrying about him is a new one for the marquis. He's not quite sure how he feels about it.
The one thing he knows is that, despite his best efforts, the feeling is far from one-sided. No matter what he does to try and prevent it, the marquis worries for Richard and Door as much as they worry about him.
It's been a few months since the marquis' temporary death, and while his new phobias have not yet receded, the marquis has still managed to keep them a secret. If Door or Richard suspects anything, they haven't said so, which makes the marquis think they're as ignorant as he hopes them to be - he doesn't think they'd have kept silent this long.
Then, of course, because things are far too calm in the House Without Doors - where the marquis still stays in an arrangement that no one would call "temporary" anymore - things go awry. Door is still trying to fulfill her father's goal of uniting London Below, while also searching for hints of where her sister might be if she still lives (and blatantly ignoring the fact that the likelihood of that drops with every day that passes). Richard and the marquis help as much as they can with both quests. However, neither is particularly safe, as they've discovered.
The real trouble arises when Door gets it into her head to go to Ravenscourt, both to try and convince the ravens to unite with the rest of the Underside and to ask if they know anything about Ingress' fate. The marquis tries his best to talk Door out of it, but she's resolute and Richard, fool that he is, takes her side, no doubt due to his terrible bout of lovesickness. (The poor boy has been on-and-off in love with Door since he met her; the marquis can't help but wonder which will win out in the end, and if Door - who's much harder to read in this situation - feels the same.) In the end, the marquis can do nothing but follow them, his survival instinct screaming at him but overpowered by his desire to help keep Door and Richard safe. It's a problem, but one he no longer thinks so much about fixing.
Except the ravens at Ravenscourt are none too pleased to see Door, especially knowing of her friendliness with their enemies the rats, and as such, their quest is cut short rather abruptly when they trigger a trap and cause a small cave-in, trapping them neatly in a cold, dark tunnel.
Needless to say, the marquis doesn't particularly like this development.
"Can you Open something to get us out of here?" Richard asks Door, who shakes her head.
"I don't want to risk bringing the whole cave down on our heads," she replies miserably. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should have listened to you, de Carabas."
The marquis doesn't reply with any sort of snarky comment, and that's the moment when all his hard work at acting normal comes undone. "Are you alright?" Richard asks worriedly, going to his side. Door is right behind him. "Did you get hurt during the cave-in?"
"I'm fine," the marquis replies dismissively, hating that his voice is trembling a little bit. He's not fine - it's too dark and too cold and his heart is pounding but he's glad of it because it's reassurance that he's still alive - but he'll be damned if he admits that to anyone.
It's too late for the marquis to feign normality, however; both Richard and Door are studying him with concern etched on their faces. "Are you sure you're alright?" Door asks cautiously. "You look a bit ill." The marquis isn't surprised; he feels ill, shaky and sweaty and mildly nauseated. He knows it's panic. He knows the panic is mostly - well, at least partially - unwarranted. Unfortunately, that does nothing to prevent it.
"Should we figure out how to get out of here?" the marquis asks, aiming for a dry tone and ending up somewhere closer to worried. Door stands, looking around.
"Surely they won't just leave us here to rot," Richard remarks. Door shakes her head.
"No, you're right. They'd want to come down here and brag. If the ravens plan to kill us, they'll do it personally."
"When you say ravens, do you mean birds?" Richard asks. Door frowns.
"Sort of," she replies. The marquis realizes a second too late that he missed a chance to ridicule Richard for his lack of knowledge about London Below, something he usually took great joy in doing. No wonder Richard and Door are worried about him. "They can shapeshift, sort of. They go from being birds to being almost human."
"Wonderful," Richard mutters sarcastically. Door's answering laugh is just shy of being hysterical. The marquis keeps his mouth shut, knowing his tone will do nothing to stop Richard and Door thinking that something's wrong.
That's when the marquis feels something grab him from behind and he's about to fight it when a knife is pressed to his throat and his entire body goes cold.
The marquis doesn't remember much after that; he thinks he may have screamed, and he has a vague memory of Door's arms around him as she tries to calm him down, and another of Richard holding one of the ravens at knifepoint. The others must figure something out and work through some sort of truce - that's supposed to be the marquis' job, that's what he's supposed to do and he knows it but he can't think clearly for long enough to do it - because the next thing the marquis knows, Richard is holding him and Door is Opening something in the rock face and they're gone, back to the House Without Doors, where Richard and Door bring the marquis to his room and stay with him until he falls asleep.
It's in that moment, the second between sleeping and waking, when the marquis realizes that perhaps Richard is not the only one who's in love.
The marquis stays in his room for two days after the incident at Ravenscourt. Richard and Door respect his privacy and stay out of his room, although they knock at his door practically every hour to make sure he's alright. He's not quite sure that he is, but he doesn't tell them that.
Finally, on the morning of the third day, the marquis squares his shoulders, puts on his coat, and leaves the room. He goes to the sitting room, where Richard and Door are talking quietly. They both look up when he enters. Richard moves as if to stand, but Door puts a hand on his knee. The marquis distantly realizes they're treating him like a skittish animal. It's not a way he's ever been treated before.
"I'm sorry," he declares, which isn't a thing he says often. The words feel strange in his mouth. "For what happened at Ravenscourt."
"No, we're sorry," Richard counters. "We should have listened to you, and we never should have gone."
"What happened in there.." Door's voice trails off. The marquis knows she's trying to find the most delicate way to word her question. "Was it because of what happened with Croup and Vandemar?"
The marquis remembers sprinting down tunnels to get away from Croup and Vandemar as quickly as possible, remembers spitting blood in Croup's face when he woke up crucified, remembers thinking that dying wouldn't be too bad because his life was safe with Old Bailey and at least it wouldn't be permanent, remembers the mixture of pain and panic and relief when his throat was opened by a sharp blade... He nods once, barely realizing that his fingers are tracing the thin scar on his neck.
"I'm so sorry," Door whispers. She stands and steps forward. The marquis takes a step closer to her, then Door runs forward and, to his shock, flings herself into his arms. The marquis almost falls over, but Richard is there somehow, putting a hand on his back to steady him.
"What can we do to help?" Door asks when she finally releases the marquis, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the couch. He's not used to this sort of attention, but it's not bad. "Is it knives? Is that the problem?" The marquis realizes then that Richard's knife isn't hanging from his belt, apparently in some misguided attempt to comfort him. Even though it's not part of the problem, the fact that they did that for him makes a warm feeling spread through the marquis' chest.
"Only when they're pointed at my neck," he replies with blunt honesty. It's not something he's used to doing. "And cold. And dark."
"Is that why you never seem to sleep?" Door asks. The marquis nods once. "If we had known-"
"I didn't want you to," the marquis replies. "But," he adds after a moment, the overly-truthful words sticking in his throat, "now that you know, I'm glad you do."
Somehow, they all end up a tangled pile of limbs on the floor, covered in blankets and propped up on pillows. The fire in the fireplace stays lit. Sleep comes more easily to the marquis than it has in months, and if he dreams, he doesn't remember it.
After the marquis' admission, the three become much closer. Door and Richard are less likely to split off from the marquis at the Floating Market, and he only takes jobs that he can do without going too far away. They're friends, and the idea is slowly becoming less and less strange as time goes by.
The nightmares return, though; the marquis had thought that perhaps the dreamless night marked a more permanent change, but apparently not. The phobias remain as well, but now that Richard and Door know, they help when they can.
The marquis doesn't mention the fact that he's started to wonder if he loves them.
It's about two weeks after the marquis' admission that he walks into the kitchen only to find Richard and Door kissing and ignoring the food burning behind them. "Isn't that rather unsanitary?" the marquis remarks dryly, leaning against the wall. Richard and Door jump and pull apart. "And your sauté is burning, by the way." Door whirls around, grabbing the pan by the handle and moving it off the heat. The blackened lumps within it are completely unrecognizable as food.
"De Carabas!" Door cries. "We thought you were out!"
"I've been back for..." The marquis looks down at his pocket watch. "Nearly half an hour. Dear me, you two have been distracted."
"We- Um-" Richard has never been particularly eloquent, but this is bad even by his standards.
"I'll leave you two alone, shall I?" the marquis asks, leaving the room without waiting for a response. He retreats to his own room, trying to puzzle out his feelings on the matter. It's not jealousy, nothing so simple or straightforward as that. He's glad Richard and Door are together. They belong together, and it's clear as day that they love each other, so the marquis is glad they've moved to this new point in their relationship.
What he wonders - selfishly, he knows, but he's never claimed to be anything else - is what this means for him.
He loves them both. He's realized it, come as close to accepting it as he can. And he knows that they don't love him. He's never deluded himself into thinking there could be any sort of relationship between them. He's always known that was a mere fantasy.
But now that Richard and Door seem to have confronted their feelings for each other, what will the marquis do? Will he remain at the House Without Doors, a third wheel to the relationship between the other two? Will he leave, either of his own volition or because they asked him to? He can't imagine that Richard or Door will directly tell him to go, but surely they'll wish for some privacy in their new relationship, privacy his presence would keep from them. They'll never be so crass and rude as to expel him, but no doubt they'll wish for him to leave.
He should leave before they have to ask. He knows that, knows it's the best thing to do. But bringing himself to actually do it is the hard part.
The marquis is selfish, terribly selfish, and he can't bring himself to leave.
The night Richard returns from one of his bodyguard jobs injured is the night that, in the marquis' mind, things irrevocably change.
He's covered in blood, only some of it his own. "Things got violent," he says simply when Door grabs his arm, guiding him to the sofa. The marquis can hardly breathe. He doesn't look too badly hurt, but still-
"De Carabas!" Door cries. The marquis jerks. "Can you get some bandages from the bathroom?"
"Of course," the marquis replies, only barely able to keep from stammering. He goes into the bathroom, braces himself against the sink for a moment in an attempt to regulate his breathing, and then grabs the bandages to bring to Door.
When he returns, Richard is out of his bloody clothes and cleaned up a bit. It looks much less serious when the marquis can see the only wounds Richard has sustained are a shallow cut along his collarbone and a slightly-deeper slash on his upper arm.
"What happened?" Door asks. "I thought this was one of your usual jobs." No one's said it in as many words, but they all know that Richard's usual jobs are acting as a bodyguard for someone who doesn't actually need that much guarding.
"I thought it was too," Richard sighs. "Then we got attacked by a group of ravens-" The marquis feels as if he's choking, missing the rest of Richard's words. Their last encounter with the ravens is the only thing he can think of, the memory of the knife against his throat making his body go cold-
"De Carabas, I'm fine," Richard says, concern in his eyes. The marquis pulls his mask back over his face, scoffing.
"You wouldn't be much of a Warrior if you weren't," he replies automatically. "But if you're alright, I'll be off to bed."
"De Carabas-" Door protests, but the marquis has already fled the room. He sinks to the ground the second he's reached the privacy of his own bedroom, doing his best to push aside the memories of the ravens and the even worse ones of Croup and Vandemar. The fire dances in the grate. He stares into it, hungry for its light, its warmth. If he focuses on that, maybe he'll be okay.
The marquis isn't sure how much time passes before there's a knock on his door. It's Richard; he can tell in a heartbeat. The marquis draws his coat around him as he stands, crossing to the door.
"Yes?" he asks lazily as it opens. He doesn't think he quite hits the right tone, but it's close enough.
"Door made cookies," Richard says. He's bandaged and cleaned up enough that, if the marquis didn't know better, he wouldn't have guessed he'd been hurt at all. "She was wondering if you wanted any."
"Sounds marvelous," the marquis replies, stepping out of his room. It's cooler outside than in, but the marquis keeps himself stiff enough to prevent a shiver.
The cookies are fresh out of the oven, the chocolate chips warm and melted slightly and the cookie itself barely able to stay together. "They're not as good as my mother used to make," Door sighs.
"Nonsense," the marquis retorts. "These are as delicious as anything the Lady Portia could have made. You have a gift for cooking, my dear Door."
Richard yawns widely as he takes another cookie. "I've got to go to bed before I fall asleep at the table," he remarks. The marquis wishes he wouldn't, wishes that this moment could last forever. Door shakes her head.
"Let's all go sleep in the living room together, on pillows and blankets," she offers. "Like we did before. It'll be fun."
The marquis knows he shouldn't say yes. He knows Door and Richard would probably prefer to be alone tonight. He also knows that sleeping with Door and Richard is, thus far, the most reliable way he's found to keep nightmares away.
"If you both wish it, I'll do it," he says. Door turns to Richard.
"What do you say?" she asks eagerly. Richard shrugs.
"Why not?"
The next morning, the marquis wakes in between Richard and Door, although he could have sworn Richard was in the middle when he went to sleep. He's curled up with both of them in a way that's too intimate to truly be called platonic. For half a second, the marquis relishes the closeness.
Then he remembers that Richard and Door are already in a relationship, one he's not a part of. Immediately, the marquis begins to wonder if he can possibly wriggle out of the tangled heap of blankets and limbs without waking Door or Richard. Before he even has a chance to attempt it, Door shifts, opening her eyes and blinking owlishly at the marquis.
"I should go dress," the marquis says quickly, avoiding Door's eyes as he untangles himself from her and Richard as clinically as he can. Richard wakes too, watching him blearily. The marquis finally stands, adjusts his coat, and leaves the room.
He wouldn't call it fleeing, per se, but it's a very near thing.
"We're thinking about getting a larger bed," Door announces out of the blue a few days after the living room incident, as the marquis refers to it. "We should look for one at the Floating Market tomorrow."
"Oh," the marquis replies. It's not very eloquent, but he can't think of anything else to say. "So you two are serious, then?" The marquis has the distinct feeling he's about to be asked to leave.
Richard snorts. Door elbows him. "I suppose we rather are," she replies. "But we wanted to ask you something."
Here it comes, the marquis thinks, hating that it hurts so much. "Of course I'll leave, if you wish it," he replies.
Richard bursts out laughing. "Richard!" Door scolds. "Don't be rude!"
"Sorry," Richard apologizes, his voice shaking with mirth. "I just like being a step ahead of de Carabas for once."
"What do you mean?" the marquis asks, looking from Door to Richard. Door sighs.
"We don't want you to leave," she replies. "In fact, we'd be rather put out if you did."
"Oh?" the marquis asks, fighting to keep his voice neutral.
"We were hoping to find a bed big enough for three," Door offers, a slightly tentative note in her voice.
"But-" The marquis doesn't understand where this is coming from. "You two-"
"Richard and I both think we work together best as the three of us," Door replies. The marquis looks at Richard for confirmation.
"She's saying we want to date you too," Richard clarifies helpfully.
"You- You can't," the marquis stammers. It's embarrassing; he always knows just what to say, except when he's with Richard and Door, apparently. "I'm not- You're- It can't end well."
"How can we know how it'll end if you won't even let it begin?" Door asks gently. The marquis looks from Richard to Door, panic and elation warring inside him.
"Do you want to date us?" Richard asks. "Honestly?"
"I-" The marquis can't answer. If he says no, he'll be lying, which he normally doesn't have a problem with, but Richard asked for honesty. If he says yes, they'll be encouraged and think their idea is a good one.
"Say you don't want to, and we'll never bring it up again," Door says softly.
"I- I do want to," the marquis whispers. "But it won't end well. Not for any of us. Especially not for either of you."
"I don't see why," Richard remarks. "I don't think you're really a bad person, de Carabas."
"You've been better since we all met up," Door adds. The marquis had rather thought he wasn't likely to do any more changing, being as set in his ways as he was, but apparently he was wrong.
"Will you join us, then?" Richard asks. "Should we get a bed big enough for three?"
The marquis grips his coat. "If you wish," he replies casually, but his tone is all wrong. Door's eyes sparkle.
"Would you like to kiss us?" she asks. Richard frowns.
"What, both at the same time?" he asks. Door laughs.
"I wasn't thinking so, but why not?" she asks, leaning in. Richard does too, and after a moment of hesitation, the marquis gives in and does the same.
It's awkward and sloppy, but it goes surprisingly well. If the marquis were an optimistic man, he'd wonder if the relationship might do the same.