Chapter 4: A Convergence of Choice

The first few weeks of Ruby's employment passed smoothly: as far as Florian could tell, she was fitting into the staff seamlessly, and not even Noir, as demanding as he could be, had found anything in her performance worthy of reproach. Perhaps more importantly, Florian had seen no more evidence of her second, infinitely more tempered face; each day that she arrived at work, she was the very model of an optimistic, enthusiastic employee, and he was nearly able to forget that the other woman existed.

Nearly.

On Sunday, one of Ruby's days off, Noir went to collect a diamond bracelet that some woman, whose name escaped Florian at the time, would not stop bragging about. "It's almost worth being caught just to shut her up," Noir had told Florian moments before his departure.

Florian, remembering Ruby's philosophy, had felt a touch of foreboding. "You shouldn't talk like that."

Noir, with his customary confidence, had only grinned, somewhat mockingly. "My dear Florian, it seems you've become remarkably superstitious." Almost immediately, his features had softened. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I always am, aren't I?"

"I suppose," Florian had been forced to acquiesce.

However, as the sun set, and the evening grew darker, even Florian's trust in his lover's talents had begun to erode. He was unable to concentrate on anything; his dinner was tasteless. No matter what he tried to focus on, his mind seemed to insist on returning to its categorization of all the dangers that Noir, at that very moment, might be facing, and all the ways in which he might fall prey to them.

What's wrong with me? He's been out on more dangerous escapades before, and I've never gotten this worked up. What's different this time? Even as he sat on Noir's bed, though, interrogating himself with the ferocity of an Inquisitor, Florian knew the answer.

"It's because of her," he muttered. A chill passed through him, and he folded his arms over his chest.

"Because of who?" Noir's voice said from the window, and Florian realized that the chill had been the product of the breeze that accompanied his return.

"Welcome back," he said as he rose, and turned to face Noir. The familiar top hat and cape brought a rush of nostalgia for the not-so-distant past, and the image of Noir sprawled carelessly in the window frame with his whip lying across his stomach was so powerful that Florian wished for any glimmer of the artist's talent. As things were, he had to settle for enshrining the image in his memory. "Is everything alright?"

Noir chuckled, and swung himself into the room in a swirl of black velvet. "Of course. Didn't I tell you it would be?" He raised his left hand, and allowed the bracelet to dangle from his fingertips; even in the dim light of the bedroom, it was nearly breathtaking. "It was even simpler than I'd planned: she'd had a bit too much to drink by the time I arrived." He laughed. "She'll probably spend two days searching the place, sure that she dropped it in a stupor."

Despite himself, Florian smiled. "Well, I'm sure it won't be as painful as listening to her recite that conversation with the jeweller three times in as many weeks."

"I doubt even thumbscrews are that painful." Noir reached behind him to close the window, and advanced toward Florian, tossing his hat on the bed as he went. "How was your evening? I hope you didn't spend it worrying about me."

In reply, Florian cleared the remaining distance between them, and embraced Noir with a fervour that he was powerless to conceal. "I missed you."

Noir tensed, and Florian felt the familiar caress of his fingers, altered somewhat by leather gloves, through his hair. "What is it, Florian?"

"I don't know." Florian's hold on Noir intensified. "I'm sorry. I'm just..."

With some effort, Noir managed to extricate himself from Florian, and held his lover at arm's length. "Calm down." He cupped Florian's chin in his hand, and lifted his head until their eyes met. "Did something happen while I was away?"

Florian shook his head. "No. It's..."

"It's what?"

In the midst of his whirling thoughts, Florian tried to call enough order from the chaos to define it appropriately. There was the ordinary fear, that was simply an unfortunate consequence of Noir's chosen pastime. There was a touch of rapidly-diminishing loneliness. Beneath those feelings, there was a nearly imperceptible foreboding, and a fierce certainty, almost a premonition, that something was about to happen, and there was, perhaps, no way for either of them to stop it.

Beneath that, his suspicion of Ruby reasserted its existence.

Suddenly conscious of Noir's unwavering gaze, Florian returned to his ordinary senses. "I'm sorry, Noir. It must be something about tonight that got to me... perhaps I'm coming down with something again." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he reproached himself.

A mental voice, in a timbre strangely akin to Noir's, gave him the answer. It's because, if you get her dismissed, you'll always wonder whether you did the right thing, or whether you punished an innocent woman for your paranoia.

"You're too good," the true Noir was saying around a sigh when Florian's attention returned to him. "I hate seeing you like this." His hands slid down Florian's sides, and came to rest on his lower back before he kissed him. "Florian..," he said as their lips parted, "do you want me to stop?"

Through half-lidded eyes, Florian searched his face. "What?"

"Do you want me to stop... this?" Noir gestured to his clothing, and the diamond bracelet that, Florian now noticed, had been cast onto the bed with his hat. "I will, if you ask me to. I'll gladly do it, if it will make you happy."

"I am happy."

"Happier, then." Noir's right hand pressed against his cheek. "I'd give anything not to see you upset like this."

Florian shook his head again. "It's not that, though."

"Well, the worry isn't helping, certainly."

Almost unconsciously, Florian leaned into Noir's touch. "How could I ask you to do that?" he whispered. "The thefts, the subterfuge... it's part of you, Noir. It's who you are." He sighed. "I won't pretend I don't wish things were different, sometimes... but I love you as you are, and I would never do anything, or ask you to do anything, to change yourself." He lifted his own hand, and rested it on the back of Noir's. "Do you understand?"

"Completely." Florian had just enough time to register the scintillation of Noir's eyes before Noir kissed him again, infinitely more tenderly than he had only moments ago. "I love you."

Desperation, of the sort which is an instinctive human reaction to impending crisis, suffused Florian, and his eyes narrowed considerably. "Show me," he breathed.

Noir kissed him for the third time, and tenderness became passion. "With pleasure," he replied.

---

"Take a look at this."

Ruby lifted the newspaper that Solomon had so unceremoniously dropped into her lap as though it carried a particularly potent disease. "You know how much I hate reading the news. It's either sensationalistic or depressing... or, most often, both." She dropped it onto the floor. "Summarize it for me?"

Solomon sighed, but obeyed. "There's been another robbery attributed to the Phantom Thief Noir-- a diamond bracelet which, its owner reports, was taken from her home during a party a few nights ago."

"How do they know it's Noir? You know how these society matrons get at parties: she may have been so drunk that she misplaced it." Ruby laughed. "One of the servants may even have mixed it up with the garbage, and made some vagrant very happy."

"I doubt it." Despite his serious mood, Solomon chuckled. "The entire incident fits Noir perfectly: the item was unique, valuable, and its owner was bragging about it to anyone who would listen."

"To hear you tell the story, it sounds as though Noir may have been motivated by a desire to repay this woman for her vulgarity." Ruby collected the newspaper from the floor, and scanned the article. "Who was it, anyway?"

"Some minor noble-- Lucille de Boisclair." Solomon shrugged. "As for Noir's motivations, he does tend toward that sort of poetic justice."

"Poetic justice?" Ruby arched an eyebrow. "It sounds like childish vengeance to me."

A grin spread across Solomon's face. "Agreed, which is more evidence against Ray Balzac Courland. Did you know he's barely twenty, if that?"

"Really? I never would have guessed." Ruby stretched her arms out in front of her. "Quite the prodigy."

"Yes." Obvious bitterness framed Solomon's reply.

"Even a prodigy can be defeated, though," Ruby added, partly to encourage herself and partly to comfort Solomon. "Do you think he'd be stupid enough to keep it at home?"

"Where else? He doesn't need the money, certainly, so he probably wouldn't sell it, and I wouldn't trust a banker with stolen jewels."

"And I can't really picture him burying them in the backyard." Ruby folded the newspaper and set it aside. "If I can get my hands on this bracelet, you'll have all the proof you need."

Solomon grinned, as though this was a certainty. "Any idea where to look yet?"

Ruby's expression mirrored his. "I know just the place," she said.