Chapter Seventeen

The gargoyles were not at all sure what to do to help their charge, for they had never seen him before in such a state, his face taut with rage, pale and drawn in anger. He'd restlessly paced the wooden floorboards of his tower's loft, back and forth, back and forth he went, over and over again, constantly weaving his fingers in between his knuckles.

"This is all my fault," he growled, raking his hands through his red hair in anguish. "Now she really hates you for what you've done." Letting out an agonized roar as he glanced at his model craft of the cathedral, though in particular, at his figure in general, Quasi was hardly aware of closing off the gap of space in two quick strides, clutching the wooden figurine in his gloved hand hard enough that he cracked and splintered the wood, effectively piercing his palm. He didn't care anymore, he felt nothing, even as the crimson droplets formed at the wound site.

A cry of outrage and hurt upon his lips, he drew back his arm and hefted the little figurine of himself as far as he could possibly throw it. As the full realization, and the consequences of his earlier actions, how he had now made his wife a target in Jehan's crosshairs, finally sank in, the pit of his stomach stirred, and he balled his fists together in anger to prevent himself from lashing out in anger. From the very depths of his being, flowed all his emotion, and as the groaning flew past his lips, it became a cry of confession, a horrible wail that echoed off the walls of his tower.

A cry for redemption. One that he already knew Madellaine would not grant him. In his angered haze, he couldn't tell if anyone save for Hugo, Victor, and Laverne heard him. But he didn't care anymore. Let them hear me, he thought angrily. Quasi collapsed against the wall, using a wooden beam for support. He never should have let her go, or even married her in the first place. All he had brought upon her was nothing but a life of misfortune. He had ruined her.

"That might be the first time I've ever seen you lose control like that, kid," Hugo called out, furrowing his granite brows into a frown as his three companions hobbled over, each one with an equally concerned, worried expression on their face. "You want to tell us what happened? Where's Madellaine?" he asked. "We thought for certain she'd be here."

"Not…not here," he whispered, hating the crack in his voice. Quasi could not bear to look up and see the confusion in the stone statues' faces, especially not hers, though Laverne was whose counsel he sought the most in this moment.

"She's downstairs," the old female gargoyle responded in her warbling matronly tone, that no matter her mood, never ceased to put Quasi at ease. "I don't know what you said to her, but the poor thing was almost in hysterics. I overheard her talking to one of the nuns. Sister Maria, I think. She'll be up in a little while with supper, but she wanted time to cool off. We all know there's still time to make amends, but we cannot help you if we don't know what happened. Talk."

It wasn't a request, coming from her. "I…we had a—a disagreement," he whispered, his voice cracking and breaking as he wavered on the last word. He buried his face in his hands and tried not to look around at his empty tower loft. Disagreement was definitely an understatement.

He had more or less yelled at her, claiming that while he loved her more than life itself, their very union had been a mistake, and that he had regretted it very much ever since, constantly swinging between these feelings of elation that he was now married to the woman of his dreams that clashed with his feelings of disgust and guilt at what he had done to his wife by marrying her, effectively shunning her from normal society and making her just as much of an outcast as he, if not even more so now that she was but a month pregnant.

While he had made his feelings quite plain, Quasi knew that it would take more convincing on her part to finally make her see that he was not good for Madellaine. Madellaine had connected to a part of Quasi that others never felt. She had seen into a part of his soul that he never wanted to let out again if he could help it.

He had almost killed Jehan in the mess hall. Because of his wife. For his wife. Because her life had been in danger, and he had only been able to see red, not caring the outcome of whatever would have befallen Jehan Frollo had his wife not stopped him.

Only moments ago, when he had kissed her, touched her smooth skin against his own, and saw her reaction for himself, beautiful, raw, intoxicating, just like her. For those moments, Quasimodo had felt she was more real than the blood in his own veins, and he felt like Madellaine was the beating of his own heart, his joy.

The bond the two of them had forged when they had married was unbreakable, and yet, he could not undo the things he had said to his wife down at the entrance. He could not—would not—endanger her life like this. She had called out to him, cried for him, let her face become wet with untold tears that said of her pain, but he could not look back at his wife and see the pleading desperation in her eyes.

It still hurt too much. He knew she would be up in a little while, as always, but his world felt blacker now than ever before, darker for Madellaine's absence, loneliness crippling his every thought. His lungs struggled for breath against his ribs of stone, his feet seemingly having lost the ability to move. Before Madellaine had quite literally stumbled into his life a year ago, his heart was soft and fragile.

When they had married, it had become strong and vibrant. But now, it was simply broken, for who had he been fooling when he had married her a year ago. "And now she's pregnant. Because of me, I—I couldn't control it," he groaned, buying his face in his hands, dragging his palm along the side of his face in exasperation. "What—what do I do, Laverne?" he moaned, looking to his friend for solace. The female gargoyle had maintained a literal stony expression whilst the other two (as usual) interrupted into what had to be their tenth argument of the day.

Quasimodo felt like he was barely keeping it together as he was, as he glanced down at the stone statue who had hobbled over and was clutching onto his arm, her tiny stone fingers curled into a protective vice grip around Quasi's forearm. He felt one tear slide down his cheek and that was more than enough to open the floodgates, and he let himself feel it, for perhaps the first time in two days as everything he felt just…poured out. Shame. Regret. Hatred for what he had done to her.

His blue irises were threaded scarlet and red-rimmed, and his eyes felt heavy in their sockets. His whole body went limp and it felt like each of his limbs weighed twice as much as before, and just shifting against the wall felt like a slow, painful effort. The sun had hidden behind the encroaching thunderstorm clouds, still shining, but not for him, for without Madellaine, there was no beauty in his world.

Only ugliness. Quasi had pushed the love of his life away, and now she was gone. He had nothing left. What he needed right now would never come, nor did he deserve Madellaine's love and affections, no matter how much he sought it out, he knew that he would never have it, never find it, never able to hold onto her again.

Quasimodo had known since he was old enough, for Master Frollo had ingrained it into his brain time and time again that he was not born for greatness, nor to find his place out there in the sun, for society had reviled him a demon.

There were no paths however, that would lead him to what he truly wanted: to get her back, for she was the only one besides Phoebus and Esmeralda, their son, and the other caretakers in the cathedral that had seen past all of his deformities. What he had said to her downstairs, for he could not un-do that, no matter how hard he tried.

At the thought of Madellaine, he could not stop the visons of her beautiful face flitting through his mind. How could she believe in him, to see the best in himself, when he could not even begin to see it within himself? He wanted his wife to take away her well-meant words, the words that at least right now in the moment, did not help his mood, call it despair if he wanted, but something fake hurt worse than anything.

A voice startled Quasimodo out of his thoughts where he sat slumped against the wall near a rafter beam, shrouded in the shadows. Strange.

He usually heard everything that happened within his tower, as sound tended to travel in the north tower especially. "I hope I am not intruding. Madellaine and Sister Maria said I would find you up here, so did your gargoyles," the woman's voice chuckled, sounding disbelieving.

The voice was not whom he was expecting. "Esmeralda," he breathed, somewhat breathlessly, turning his head slightly to face the young dancer, whose green eyes were twinkling playfully, despite her seriousness. Quasi drew in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as he rose to his feet rather shakily, brushing his gloved hands on his tunic.

"Wh—what are you doing here? I—it's late," he managed to gasp out, lowering his head, allowing that one lock of hair to fall in front of his face as he stepped from the shadows at his friend's encouragement.

Esmeralda smiled softly, dressed in a simple yellow chemise with short off-shoulder sleeves and a deep blue overdress that complemented her tanned skin tone, her dark raven locks pulled up into a loose bun.

"Follow me," she encouraged, her voice low and husky, as she turned away and headed out towards the Rose Window balcony. "You look like you're about to pass out and could do with some fresh air, Quasi."

Quasi glanced down, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious as he glanced out and upwards at the encroaching fog on the City of Lovers.

"It's so quiet," Quasimodo murmured, actively averting her gaze.

"It's kind of like the deep breath before the plunge," answered Esmeralda sagely, folding her hands together and resting her elbows on the balcony's railing. "I would say that things in the city might get better now that Claude is gone, but even now, there never was much hope."

Quasimodo lifted his head to meet his friend's quizzical gaze. Her eyes like a forest. So green, so full of life, and yet so uncertain, almost.

Whenever Quasi dared to look into his friend's eyes, he felt drawn to them and unable to look away, though right now, he saw apprehension. The bell ringer could tell by Esmeralda's posture, the way her hands were on her hips that she was displeased with him, and this troubled him.

He shivered as the autumn breeze carried fine drops in the air, each one a promise of the rain and thunder that was to come fairly soon.

As the clouds moved ever closer towards the cathedral, Quasi let his eyes rest for a moment, feeling the ambiance of the streets of Paris, just to take in the aroma, to let his overactive imagination be still a moment.

She glanced towards Notre Dame's bell ringer. "Madellaine is downstairs in the nave with Maria. Your wife is…upset with you, to put it politely, Quasi, though in this case, upset is a relative term. She told me what happened, Quasi."

Quasi flinched and immediately turned away. He should have anticipated as much. To his surprise, Esmeralda did not scold him.

"Heartbreak is…" his friend began, resting her chin in her hands, not looking at Quasi, but instead out at the thunderclouds, "a funny thing. The devastation we all feel sometimes is an absolute thing."

Quasimodo did not know exactly what to say to that. "I-it is," he stammered at last, painfully wringing his hands together, his nails digging into his skin. Esmeralda chanced a glance at the distraught young redheaded bell ringer out of the corner of her eyes and smiled.

Though the smile did not reach her eyes. "You keep your doors locked, Quasi. No, not your physical door to your tower," she scowled, cupping his chin in her tan hand, and forcing him to look back at her, as Quasi had furrowed his brows in confusion and moved to look back towards the tower's stairs. "The one in here," she added, reaching out her hand and placing it gently over Quasi's heart. "You think of this as a change for change, to keep others like your wife from hurting, but the only one you're hurting is yourself, my friend," she said somberly.

There was contempt in her normally kind green eyes and Quasi could almost not bear it. Esmeralda leaned forward, still resting on the railing, intertwining her fingers together and began fidgeting with her wedding ring. "I am disappointed in you, Quasi," she spoke up softly, and the immense dissatisfaction in her normally kind voice was almost cold.

Quasi knew in this moment he had somehow crossed an invisible line, offended both Esmeralda and Madellaine's sensibilities somehow. He had seen the Romani woman do this to others before, but never him, and now, as a result, his face drained of color and his heart hammered in his chest.

"You abandoned Madellaine at a time in her life when she needs you the most, Quasi. She's pregnant, and you would have her birth this baby without her husband by her side? You would really allow your child to grow up fatherless? You are lucky Phoebus is at home with Zeph, or he'd undoubtedly be giving you a piece of his mind and would not be near as gentle with you regarding this…situation as I am," Esmeralda sighed. "I can't even fathom why you tried to make her leave. Why?"

Esmeralda's voice was clipped and hard, sounding angry.

"I…Master F-Frollo was right, Esmeralda," Quasi snapped, feeling the beginnings of his temper swell. "What I wanted out of life, what I asked of her when she married me, was a fool's hope. I should not have done it."

Esmeralda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as though she were fighting off a splitting headache.

"If anything, this is the time your wife needs you the most, Quasi. Don't give up on Madellaine, Quasi. There are more dreams ahead to come for you and her. More love. I wish you both happiness, joy and love, something Paris could use a little more these days, honestly, my friend."

"B-but h-how can I even dream of a future with her and our child, Esmeralda?" Quasi cried, running a hand through his ginger hair in anguish, not wanting to meet Esmeralda's hardened gaze. "I—I got her pregnant. She—she's a target of Jehan's now, all thanks to me, it's my fault. I've endangered my wife's life by just being near her, and now…"

"You are much mistaken if you think that Madellaine does not care," Esmeralda replied softly. "Your wife loves you and cares for you greatly. I can see it in my friend's eyes whenever I look into that that she loves you, perhaps more than she loves herself, and you love her as well, yes?"

"I—I do," he admitted, his tone pained, not wanting to discuss this further. "B-but if I were to—to make amends, to take a chance on us, what if it's born…like me?" he managed to choke out, feeling hot tears sting and prick at his eyes. "To inflict this upon an innocent life…"

Quasimodo gestured angrily to himself and turned away, folding his arms across his chest, fully aware he was sulking, but he couldn't help it. "What if it's—it's born a monster, just like it's father?" he shouted.

Esmeralda groaned, rolling her eyes, and stomping her foot in anger, a release of frustration. "You are not a monster, Quasimodo. How many times must we all tell you this until one day you finally believe it? Do not let a false label of Frollo's become indoctrinated into your mind and let it define you. You are a brilliant man, and an uncommonly kind and gentle one at that. Madellaine is incredibly fortunate to have you for a husband, and I know that you will be a wonderful father to your child. The blame is to be placed on no one for your condition," Esmeralda answered curtly.

There was no mistaking the hardening stoniness of her sweet voice.

"I do not believe that your…condition is going to be a problem. I think that you are perfectly capable of having normal children with your wife. If she really truly makes you happy, and we all know that she does, do not let her go. You would be a fool if you let her walk out of your life, Quasi."

The light in her green eyes dimmed somberly and she turned away.

"She won't forgive me. How could she? She—she was born perfect and I'm born like this," he growled, though his resolve and voice faltered as he lost himself to his friend's gaze, who looked as though she had plenty more to say on this matter.

"You're going to have to forgive yourself. Madellaine has already forgiven you, but she figured it would do you good to hear it from someone other than her," Esmeralda sighed, though she offered her friend a kind smile. "You can take a chance on love again. You just have to forgive yourself. Something tells me that she already does. Your relationship, if you should so desire, has the ability to be rekindled. I can tell you both love each other more than anything.

"We do." Quasimodo was surprised to hear himself confess it. "But it's too dangerous, Esmeralda, with Jehan after her like this. It's me he wants dead, not her, I think. A-as long as she—she's around me…she's in danger, a-and I won't put her life in danger again."

"All it takes is a tiny flicker of hope," Esmeralda continued. "That's all one needs, really," she whispered. "Just a tiny flicker against the wind is more than enough. Love can conquer anything, my friend. I'm sure you already know that, but I thought I would remind you," she said somberly.

There was a long silence. "Your wife is in your sleeping nook if you wish to speak with her." Allowing the ghost of a tiny smile to cross her beautiful features, Esmeralda rose to her feet, though not without great difficulty, as her joints were still sore from a previous dance performance.

Quasi could hear her murmur a soft goodbye to the gargoyles, and to Madellaine on her way down the stairwell. He swallowed hard past the lump forming in his throat.

The hardest part, he knew, lay ahead of him. Confronting her about her actions earlier in the mess hall.

Still, as much as he did not wish to be angry with Madellaine, she had, perhaps unknowingly provoked Jehan Frollo's wrath, and it scared him. White knuckled from clenching his fists too hard and gritted teeth from his immense effort to remain silent, Quasi knew his face was white with suppressed rage as he made his way to their bedroom, where she sat perched on the edge of their bed, her eyes red-rimmed and scarlet.

"Tell me what you were thinking, Madellaine," Quasi snapped, balling his hands into fists. "You knowingly provoked Jehan, fully aware if he did anything to you, our baby would have been harmed. Why do it?"

Madellaine's head jerked sharply upwards, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing from her husband. She looked as though he had slapped her, her mouth slightly open in shock. "I was there, just as you were. I could not let your father get away with saying those things to you. A-and besides," she whispered, biting her bottom lip, "it shouldn't matter that I'm pregnant or not. I had to stick up for you. You're my husband."

Quasi felt the last vestiges of his patience snap and that was when he lost it. "I DON'T CARE THAT YOU WERE THERE. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!" he yelled, striking out at the wall behind him in anger.

Flustered, Madellaine was rendered speechless at his outburst. She could handle his fiery outbursts, those tended to burn bright and fast. It was these bitter cold moments that threatened to engulf their relationship. There was a cold burning to his rage, an ice that scared her.

She'd seen that look in his eyes before, but never directed towards her. It was how he showed his hatred, dominance, and imparted fear on those whom he felt threatened by. She'd seen the same look in his eyes the night he rescued her. In one stride, he was in her face.

"You—you impossible idiot!" he growled, and for just a brief moment, the shadow of the monster deep within crossed his handsome features, making him look truly terrifying to her. Madellaine was given no time to react as he caught her head in his hands and kissed her. She was suddenly rendered frozen as his mouth covered hers. His warm lips were gentle but firm, passionate in his anger at her. Quasi drew away quickly. "Don't you get it now, Madellaine?" he growled angrily.

She could hardly swallow. Heat engulfed her body as a light blush speckled across her cheeks as she grimaced. Why did I let him use me like that? She wondered, shooting a venomous look of daggers her husband's way. She shivered with anger as well as fear.

These moments were the ones that scared her the most.

"Then please, tell me what it is you think I don't understand. Talk to me, but don't yell," Madellaine began shakily, closing her eyes and willing herself to remain calm. "Tell me why you're so upset. Let's—let's talk."

"Don't you understand what I've done to you by marrying you?" Quasi shouted, still seizing tufts of his hair and tugging on it slightly. He restlessly paced their bedroom, looking beside himself. "Because of me and my…inability to control myself, you're pregnant with my demonic child. I've endangered your life, because of what I am, a monster, and do you honestly think that I could love it, watching it kill you slowly from the inside. That I could even tolerate our baby, Lena, if it killed you? No. Don't ask me to. You would be much better off if we got rid of it before it kills you," he spat, sounding utterly disgusted with himself.

Every word stung, only fueling the fire that burned inside of Madellaine. Every violated phrase was like oil on water in her bloodstream. Her fists began to clench, and her jaw rooted and locked in place. When the final word had been added as words flew from her husband's mouth that she never thought he would think let alone utter, she knew they had hit their mark. She exploded with anger, her wrath like fire.

A fire seemed to ignite in her blue eyes, ready to scorch anything they came into contact with. For now, that thing was her husband. Her primeval instinct took over, and as soon as it had come, her energy drained and she lost the will to fight with her husband. "Go." When Quasi did not respond, she bit her bottom lip in frustration, shoving him back away from her as her husband advanced, looking incredibly pained and seemingly wanting to offer some form of comfort.

But it was too late for that. He'd made it perfectly clear how he felt about their pregnancy.

"GET OUT!" Madellaine screamed, balling her hands into fists. Before she could stop herself, tears began forming, spilling down her cheeks. A muscle in her jaw twitching, she turned away, hating herself. "Now I can see you never wanted this for yourself. What kind of horrible life have I led you in, Quasimodo? You have a wife who loves you more than I could ever love myself, and we're going to have a baby, a beautiful daughter or son to love and cherish and help grow, and you can't even see that! Oh no, it's all about you. You only ever think yourself and your suffering, never anyone else's. You really think you have the market cornered on human suffering? Well, let me tell you something about people like me."

Her voice was clipped and hard, and dangerously soft. Timid, even.

"People like me feel lost and little and ugly," she began, turning back to face Quasi, whose face held such a look of heartbreak and anguish. She knew he hadn't meant what he said, but it was too late to take it back now. And now, it was too late.

"People like me have husbands who…hate them!" she sobbed. "People like me have friends who hate them, but none of that matters. It's you who I care about the most, and whenever you look at me like you're doing now with such—such anger in your eyes, I—I hate you then! I know I've disappointed you; I know you deserve better, but we're all we've got, Quasi! Why isn't that enough? Am I not enough for you?" she cried, screaming now.

Quasi was stunned, at a loss for words and how to respond to this.

"It's like I wake up every morning, and…I fail," she wailed. "And—and I look around and everyone else seems to be pulling up, but I can't."

"You're enough," he responded, the anger in his voice gone. Now he merely sounded deflated, defeated. "You're much more than enough."

When he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, jerking away from his tender touch. "Go," she snapped, her tone cold. "I think you've said more than enough."

Quasi hesitated but gave a curt nod and stormed out of their sleeping nook, down towards the main level of the sanctuary, leaving her alone. Brick by brick, her walls came tumbling down.

Unable to remain here any longer, she bolted towards the balcony, in dire need of fresh air and hopefully, a new perspective, the tears in her eyes turned the now-rainy sky into a whirlwind of grays and blacks. She didn't care if anyone saw anymore. Madellaine just broke down.

The sobs punched through, ripping through her muscles, bones, and her guts. She pressed her forehead against the wall of the door and began to let her heart yank in and out of her chest. As Laverne was often fond of telling her, better to just let it all out than to keep it inside.

She cried. Over and over. In and out. She felt hollow, empty inside.

Her life crumbled in her fingertips as she buried her face in her hands. Then suddenly, Victor, Hugo, and Laverne were there, patting and rubbing her back in small circles. They reached into their son's wife's hollowness. They did their best to reassure her it was going to be okay. But she knew better.

And she in particular was nowhere near all right.