Trigger warning: Some pretty intense self-loathing and victim-blaming from Bertrand here. Reviews would be really lovely if you can spare a moment.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
"It sounds like you were quite a remarkable man, even at that age." Ingrid seemed genuinely impressed, but Bertrand couldn't feel any pride in his achievements. He'd just detailed the rigorous training programme he'd assumed was a normal part of growing up, the languages he was fluent in by the time he was twelve, the martial arts and the weapons training. He'd had a whole host of teachers, but they'd never even spoken to him on any subject but the ones they were engaged to teach him. They'd come and they'd gone, sometimes passing through to test his improvements months later, sometimes staying with the family for weeks at a time, and never so much as asked him to pass the salt. The most encouragement he'd ever got from anyone was the simple acknowledgement that he had executed a task correctly, and then he'd be set something harder to do.
"Hardly a man. Just a boy, really. And I never felt remarkable. The best that I could do – and I accept that I was pushed harder than most boys my age – the best that I could do was treated as a barely adequate standard."
"But you were remarkable, Bertrand. You still are. So what don't you feel good enough for?"
"I told you, I was treated-"
"No, I mean... what is it that you don't feel worthy of?" Bertrand hesitated, and when he spoke it was barely audible, even to his own ears.
"Any of it."
Ingrid had heard, he could tell, but the silence hung in the air for a very long time until, finally, he spoke again.
"...Any of it."
"Could you explain what you mean by that?"
"My unlife. The Book, Vlad, becoming a vampire, even... even everything that came with that. And Robin. Most of all... Robin."
"I'm sorry, Bertrand, I'm going to stop you for a moment, redirect – you say you don't feel worthy of everything that came with... becoming a vampire? Can you-"
"You know what I mean, Ingrid, please don't make me say it."
"I don't understand. Do you mean... do you mean you didn't deserve it?"
"If I'd meant anything other than what I said, I'd have said something else."
Ingrid took a very deep breath and let it out again.
"...Would you like a cup of tea, Bertrand? I think it would be best if I went and made myself one, and it seems only right to make you one too-"
"Please don't judge me."
"I'm not, Bertrand. I'm not. I promise you that. But as your therapist, I need to get a little bit of distance for a moment to make sure my emotions don't interfere with my understanding and treatment of yours. So. Tea?" He pondered that for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes, please. Just milk, no sugar."
She held out a hand as she passed, and waited for him to reach up before squeezing his fingers lightly.
"I'm not judging you, Bertrand, I promise. I just want to be able to listen properly." He nodded.
"Perhaps I can use this time to think about what to say."
"Yes – but I'd rather you told me the truth, however that comes out, than a well-worded lie."
"And a well-worded truth?" She smiled at him sadly, released his hand, and continued to the kitchen.
"Well?" Malik, it seemed, was more keen to hear an answer than Robin was to give one. "Do you feel safe going back to him?"
"I don't know." The treacherous words pulled themselves from his throat without his orders, beyond his control. "I don't know."
"Then- yesterday, when you went back- we wouldn't have left you, you only had to say-"
"He needed me. I needed him. It... I hadn't really had time to think about it yet, I was so worried about him it didn't really hit me what had happened. I wasn't scared for myself. And now... I don't know, I don't know, Malik-"
"Sit down." Robin was about to protest at the sudden sharp command when his legs gave way and only Malik's hasty intervention stopped him hitting the floor. "That's it, don't worry, I've got you. Come on, armchair- there- right. You alright?" He was shaking, he knew, and somehow the words that escaped his lips were the ones he least wanted to hear.
"...He staked his sire."
They'd both taken more than a few sips of tea before Ingrid looked up and nodded.
"OK, Bertrand, go ahead. Tell me what you meant by that, please."
"...I'm not worthy to be made use of. I was weak, I failed everyone and everything I'd ever had a duty to... and he still used me. He... but he never treated me like a person. Vlad does, you do, Robin does... Everyone treats me like I'm... like I'm a person, not just a tool or a weapon or a convenient toy-" He broke off, taking another sip of hot tea before he could do anything stupid, like burst into tears, and when he spoke again his voice was steadier, more measured. "...I'm not worthy of any of it. I'm just... just a broken toy."
"No, Bertrand. No, you're not. And you're not a tool, or a weapon-"
"I know. Those things are useful."
"Bertrand, you are a person, a real person with feelings and emotions and talents and friends. And you're far from useless, anyway. Who trained Vlad to be more formidable in a fight than Wolfie's cuddly toy? You did. Who is still his most trusted advisor and his go-to agent for important missions? You, Bertrand. Who's the only half-fang to have been promoted to Clan Leader status in over a century? You. And that's even without what you've done for Robin."
"Yeah, kept him at arm's length and woken him up with nightmares and beaten him, they'll be naming me Husband of the Year any day now."
"Bertrand... I think you should call Robin. Maybe you'll believe these things coming from him. You didn't deserve what your sire did to you, but not because you weren't good enough. It wasn't some honour to be bestowed – would you have said that if it had been Robin who was attacked?"
"Of course not-"
"Then try not to think it about yourself. It wasn't an honour, it was a violation, and you're going to get over it but don't think for a moment that it was some kind of unearned privilege – OK. I need to remove myself from the situation again, I'm getting- You need to call Robin. Now. I'll be upstairs if you need me, any time, but I'll let you have your privacy. Just please don't leave the house."
"...What if he stakes me one day when he freaks out? What if... there are so many fears of his working their way into his brain right now, what if he makes one of them happen? He's scared he'll hurt me far worse than he did. He- blood, Malik, I don't know if he'd survive anything happening to me." He smiled weakly. "I know I wouldn't."
"Please don't joke about that, Robin, not- I don't know what to say."
"What's to say? I'll go back to him, and... and he'll be better. He'll... he won't hurt me."
"Robin..." He stopped, apparently deliberating for a moment before continuing. "Robin, you know you don't have to go back?"
There was another long silence.
"I know," Robin admitted eventually, "but I will."
"But you're scared-"
"Yeah, I am. And so is he. But we're both going to have to get past that, because we're both scared of things that aren't going to happen again."
"Robin, if it happens again-"
"If it happens again, I'll call you, you can say you told me so, and I'll work out what to do from there. I'd probably stay at the main house for a bit that time, too. But it won't happen. Bertrand will make sure of it, he won't let himself slip up like that again-" Robin's phone began to ring, and for a split second he considered not answering. It was Bertrand. It had to be Bertrand.
"Excuse me a minute, I should take this." Malik nodded, and Robin stepped into the hall, afraid of what Malik would think of him, afraid of what he might say.
"Hello? Bertrand?"
"Robin..." There was a shaky exhale of breath on the other end of the line, and then Bertrand tried again. "Robin, I'm sorry."
"Wha-?"
"I'm sorry I'm not good enough, I'm never... I'll never be good enough for you, I'm sorry I somehow tricked you into marrying me, I'm sorry I'm a failure and a horrible person-"
"Bertrand, no. No, you're... if anything, you're too good for me. Even with what happened. And you never tricked-"
"I'm just... I'm so sorry..."
"No, no. You don't need to be sorry. Is that why you called? Are you OK, is Ingrid-?"
"She's upstairs, she knows I'm calling- I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bothering you-"
"Bertrand. B. I want you bothering me. Are you OK?"
"I don't... I don't know. I need... it doesn't matter what I need. Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Of course. Of course. Are you sure you're OK? What do you need?"
"I need... I think I just need to sleep. I love you, bye."
"I love you too, sleep wel-" But the call had already been disconnected.
Bewildered, Robin decided that sleep sounded like an excellent idea.
