A/N: Guess who just finished the academic school year? Yeah, that's me. Thought I'd finish up an old work of mine.
She finds him in the garden, just where the city gossip said he was. He is sitting on a bench, an old piece of wooden furniture that she knows Eliza would adore. She has never seen it before, and it's how she knows Alexander still hasn't been forgiven.
He smiles bitterly at her when she stands in front of him, shoulders slunken and eyebags deep. His voice is hoarse when he says, "Good morning, Angelica."
She doesn't dare dignify that with a response.
He doesn't dare look her in the eye.
It's perhaps the most quiet she's ever seen him, and easily the most defeated. The Alexander she knew stood straight and had eyes sparkling, a loud but lilting voice that simply demanded to be heard. He used to radiate confidence and swagger even when - or especially when - he had no reason to be proud of who he was. The Alexander she knew was also helplessly in love with her sister, to the point where he often bumped into walls trying to catch her eye.
The Alexander she knew wasn't a cheat.
But the truth is that things changed.
She doesn't sit beside the empty space beside him, a space that she knows was reserved for her sister. Although she longs to take away the hurt deeply sated in his eyes, that world-weary sadness that seems to consume Alexander's being - she keeps her head high and her heart hardened.
Be careful with that one, love; he will do what it takes to survive.
As her own words echo in her mind, she looks to a pale blue flower and plays with it delicately in her hands. "She loved you," she states. A fact. Alexander would be smart enough to understand what she didn't say. At the very least, she can trust him on that.
"And I her," he says. He doesn't sound broken. He sounds tired.
She ignores the way her heart threatened to break at those words. Instead, she stares at him with ill-concealed anger.
Her voice is tight when she spits, "It seems as though you have forgotten that, have you not?"
Perhaps it would have been better if Alexander had snarled back at her, furious and angry and so easy to hate. It would have been better if Alexander had flinched back, scared and hurt and oh so easy to comfort. It would have been better if Alexander left instead. It would have been better if Alexander apologized.
But all he does is sigh. Hollowly, he responds, "I know."
And although she wants to continue to spite him, let him feel the same hurt that he had caused Eliza, the same hurt that he had caused her, all the fight leaves her body with those words.
"Stupid boy," she mutters through clenched teeth. "You've destroyed your life."
She turns to see Alexander staring longingly at a young bud. "I've destroyed my family," he whispers.
"Gardens always grow, Alexander," she says.
"It is but a garden I shall never see," he responds.
"Perhaps," she replies. "But the shot is always yours to take."
His hands start to fidget as he looks askance. Suddenly, she remembers a young man with an air of confidence and a hunger in his eyes that he could never seem to quell.
Where's your family from?
Unimportant, there's a million things I haven't done-
"Just you wait," she says.
"Just you wait," he repeats, smiling bitterly.
A silence, as they both observe a green butterfly flutter around before it lands, hastily, on a flower blooming red.
She watches as Alexander bows his head down, not quite masking the choked laugh that escapes him. "What has happened to me, I wonder?" he whispers. "Heavens above know I miss my dear Eliza so. How I wish I could be young again, if only God permits."
"To regain your glory and honor?" she asks.
Alexander ignores her, however. "How I wish that I could be enough," he says instead.
She moves, not without grace, to stand behind him. She lays a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up at her. She leans down, but she does nothing more than place a finger on his lips.
Despite this, he speaks. "I am afraid that nobody ever lives to be truly satisfied, much less myself," he says.
"Perhaps sometime," she responds, "in a very long time, you may learn that being afraid doesn't suit you. I know you as a brave lion, Alexander, little as though you may be."
"Lions may be forgiven, yes?" he asks her.
"My sister loves you much; that has not changed," she says. She removes herself from him, and walks to a small bouquet of flowers placed upon a rather high pedestal. "Give it time."
All alone on the bench, Alexander smiles bitterly to himself. "Time, eh?"
They stay in the garden until sundown, with no other word from either of them. The silence is uncomfortable, and ultimately, Alexander leaves once the church bell has rang for seven in the evening.
He does not say goodbye.
Angelica is left alone.