Author's Note: Lordy, where to begin. I hated Q having those kinds of thoughts and reactions towards everything he and M went through over the span of like 3 days, but part of me felt like it was warranted, given he had Claude for a master and growing up, that kind of indoctrination wouldn't just go away, even with Madellaine by his side, so I felt like he needed to expel all of that for...later purposes, and I feel like now things can pick up the pace and get the ball moving with Jehan, so hope you enjoy this chapter and lots more drama headed our way for Notre Dame's bell ringer & the magician's assistant.

Chapter Twenty

Laverne's wise words echoed in Quasi's head, refusing to part from his thoughts. Aren't you forgetting someone? There's someone left who cares. She loves you more than anything, and you'd really do this to her? The old female gargoyle's warbling voice rang in his ears, refusing to part from his thoughts.

Irritably, he brushed away her words with a curt wave of his hand, raising his knuckles and flexing a fist, stifling his groan as he heard the familiar thumping sound of Laverne coming out on the balcony terrace to speak with him. He had requested a moment with her alone. As usual, she did not disappoint him.

"Where's Madellaine? I thought for certain you would have gone to find her to try to make amends, Quasi?" she asked casually with an air of indifference.

"I don't think she would want to see me, Laverne. Not after the way I had behaved." He swallowed nervously how he had thought of breaking their fast with the other caretakers down in the kitchens earlier this morning, how the tension had been so tense when Madellaine entered the room, the air might have been scarlet, and was like to choke the air from his lungs.

She would not even look at him, had barely touched her porridge, a troubling fact given she was eating for two now, and had been the first to rise from the table and leave. Quasi really didn't see how things could get any worse than they already were.

"What could she possibly see in me? I'm nothing but a monster, Laverne," he growled, gesturing towards himself with no small measure of disgust.

Laverne frowned and promptly balled her little stone fingers into a fist and smacked him on his leg from where he sat, his back resting against the balcony's wall.

"Do not say such things about yourself. I'll not have that kind of talk coming from you. Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully, tapping her chin in thought and ignored the pained wince the bell ringer gave as he rubbed his knee. Though she was little, she was fierce, and her punch had hurt. "She has a way of seeing the beauty in others, even and perhaps, especially when that person cannot see it in themselves," she commented, noticing the heat creep to Quasi's cheeks. "Your wife is a special woman, boy. Perhaps she has already forgiven you, and there's only one way to find out," she continued, folding her little stone arms across her chest. "I spoke to her earlier and was under the impression she was planning to spend today alone. You really think she should spend the day alone, Quasi? After everything she went through with Jehan, the poor child needs company. You are her husband. You're supposed to be there for her, in the good times and the bad, right?"

Laverne let out a huff of frustration at Quasimodo's silence, noticing how the man stiffened almost militarily and became rigid. "You made yourself look bad, Quasi," she snapped, waving away a pigeon that had landed on one of her wings in frustration. "Here, give me that," she grumbled, motioning to the bowl of dates on a table near Quasi inside his tower. "Pass me a nut," she growled. "Thanks," she murmured half-heartedly as he did so, crunching on it.

"Y-you're welcome," he stammered, running a hand through his red hair in anguish.

Laverne rolled her eyes and scowled at her young charge. "Had I known you were that bad with women, I would have changed your entire strategy to something where you didn't talk," she taunted, noticing the dark look in Quasi's eyes. "By God, Quasi. I'm not going to lie to you," she said through a mouthful of nut, waving a hand around the room in exasperation. "This is a tragedy, son." She fixed the embarrassed young boy with an icy stare that was unlike her personality. "You've got one more chance to make things right. Tonight. I'd not wait too long, or she might not be willing to listen to you."

The guilt sat not on Quasi's chest but inside his brain. What he had done to Madellaine he could not un-do, no matter how hard he wanted to. He could make amends in subtle ways, but only in his silent prayers could he speak his heart to her and beg for her forgiveness.

Quasi did not feel as though he deserved the former circus performer's love, but still, whether he liked it or not, he clung to it and hung the shreds of his sanity on that little flicker of hope Sister Maria had mentioned to him. He prayed that one day he would feel removed from what he had done, but the guilt of their fight at a time when she'd needed him the most was a stain upon him, another ugly scar in his wretched life. He had to believe that one day, she would forgive him, but…

Quasi let out a tired sigh, knowing full well the old stone gargoyle was right. "We'll be back. You're right. As always," he snapped, not hesitating to grab his cloak and fasten it over his shoulders. "I must be out of my mind!" He shrugged into it, wrapping it tighter around himself for warmth. "Laverne?"

The gargoyle paused, glancing back over her shoulder, something akin to pride mixed with sympathy in her kind eyes. "What is it?"

Quasi hesitated, biting his lip before answering. "Thanks."

"Anytime, dear," she said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I hope you can convince her to come home." For the last two nights, the poor dear had slept down in one of the spare cloister cells, as being near her husband was becoming much too painful for her the longer this little matter went left unresolved.

Quasi gave a curt nod and began to scale the walls of the cathedral. "May the Lord bless you and help you both," she murmured, a note of hope in her voice, before the sounds of Victor and Hugo erupting into an argument as her duty called to break it up led her back into the tower.

Go get her, Quasi, Laverne thought, and she spent the rest of the September afternoon in a dazed distraction, holding out hope for them.

Bring her home.

Gravestones lined the eerie graveyard. Some recently placed, whereas others, cracked and crumbling, had been there for ages now. Mold covered the engravings dedicated to the dead, trees leaning towards the stones, the trees' branches reaching out towards one another. The smell of the old stones filled the dry air, weeds covering the graves of the dead, loved ones, saved for one stopped visiting.

Every week Madellaine came here. And here he was, seeking his wife out in the dire hope of making amends. There was no possible way he could possibly atone for what he had said. Quasi knew that, but still, almost instantly as he had said those horrible things to his wife, he regretted it. Somehow, he'd known he would find her out here, in the graveyard near the cathedral.

He had looked for her up in their tower and when he hadn't found her, he'd begun to panic, but once Laverne pointed out that she could not have gone far, he quickly realized there were only two places she frequented outside the cathedral: the River Seine to sit underneath her favorite willow tree and watch the ducks by the bank….or the graveyard.

Quasimodo did not know why Madellaine was drawn to such a place, of death and torment, though whenever he would ask her, she claimed that it calmed her soul. That sometimes…she talked to them. The people they knew that rested there. She visited Quasi's mother's unmarked grave at least once a week, always placing a single white lily at the foot of the tombstone, hoping it was a small measure of comfort to her spirit.

Though to his surprise, Madellaine was not at her usual spot where she would sit. His wife was kneeling at the engravement of none other than his old master, a single white lily in her hand, that she gingerly placed at his grave, an impassive, unreadable expression etched on her beautiful features. "Why?" he croaked out hoarsely, cringing as Madellaine turned her head sharply, coughing once, a hand over her mouth, hating to see the red-rims of her blue irises.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was hard, bitter, and furious.

"Because…I didn't want you to be alone," he whispered, his voice pained. He coughed once and turned away once, willing himself to stay calm. "Why?" he asked again, turning back towards Madellaine and the grave that she knelt beside. "You and I both know he doesn't deserve it."

"But he does," his wife protested quietly. "And let me tell you why, Quasimodo. Because like it or not, he was your father figure for the better part of twenty years and…" Madellaine's voice cracked and trailed off as she looked away, blinking back tears. "And I feel sorry for him," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you?"

Quasi's mind felt like it was reeling. She was…she was sorry? For Master? How? For a moment, he forgot the immense guilt that rested like a weight upon his chest and felt his mouth drop open in shock. "I…b-but why? M-Master Frollo stabbed you, a-and almost killed you…and you say you feel sorry for him? He does not deserve our love, or even our pity for the things he did to us. You know that, so why? I—I don't understand, Madellaine," he stammered, suddenly feeling like he was returning to his old self again, the worst of his anger evaporating as he offered out his outstretched hand to help his wife to her feet. He hated that Madellaine hesitated then, but finally, she accepted his hand.

"Because," she sighed, still actively averting Quasi's quizzical gaze, though she felt her shoulders slump in defeat, knowing that sooner or later, she'd have to look him in the eyes. "Your master, just as mine was, was a man who lived without love. Without morals. I pity those who live without love. And…I feel sorry for him. To—to never know the joy of being loved back and cared for. I don't think he got much of it growing up, given what we saw of that family back at the estate. Sometimes I wonder what your master might have been like had he grown up with a better family, if he would be kind or would he have turned out the way that he had. I hope that, wherever he is, he has found some small measure of peace in death that he could not find in life," she whispered, biting her bottom lip in a slight pout. She winced and clutched at her ribcage, and Quasi felt his temper flare as the memory of Frollo stabbing her came back to haunt him.

Madellaine winced as she noticed him looking. "I know what you are thinking. How could I, when he did this to me," she sighed, glancing down at her stomach. "But...I forgive him."

He was, perhaps for the second time in his life, rendered speechless.

Madellaine smiled sadly, though it did not reach her eyes. "Life is too fleeting to bear a grudge, Quasi. I would have thought you'd know that better than anyone. But…why are you here?"

Quasi cringed at the look of listlessness and dull acceptance in her blue eyes. "I was hoping that you and I could…talk," he finished lamely, gesturing towards the stone bench, near his mother's grave. "I—I have something that I'd like to say, th—that needs to be said. I—I came to bring you back. I didn't mean to…chase you away, Lena, I…everything felt like it was happening so quickly. And I never want to hurt you. I love you, more than I could ever love myself," he whispered, shivering as a cold autumnal breeze rustled his wavy ginger hair gently.

He looked away for a moment at the moss laden marble pillars that stood as despairing guards on either side of the cemetery threshold. Gnarled old trees hunched over most of the expanse, plunging the rest of the graveyard into shadow. This place echoed with painful grief and the emptiness of heartfelt loss.

"I know there's no way I can make up for the things I said," he began, biting his bottom lip hard enough that he felt the skin crack and blood begin to form. "But…I—I was hoping that you and I could…talk." He bit his lip and fell silent.

Madellaine scowled, brushing her hands on the skirts of her dress. "Haven't you done enough of that already? Don't think I haven't forgotten. You would rather I rid myself of our baby. I don't easily forget something like that. How could I? I...I want us to be happy again, Quasi, but without you by my side or your support, I can't find it. It's like hiding from someone all the way across the world and winning if I find them will set me free. But it'll never happen," Madellaine snapped, though he felt the relief in his shoulders as she gave a tiny nod. Her voice was hard, bitter, and angry, and did not at all sound like his Lena.

He waited until his wife had situated herself on the cold stone bench in the graveyard, smoothing the skirts of her dress and reaching up a hand to tuck a stray wisp of blonde hair back behind her ear. "You have pushed me away, Quasi. I am your wife. Why did you? Do you no longer care for me and wish me to leave? Is that it?"

Madellaine swallowed hard, blinking back tears, a muscle in her jaw twitched as she steeled herself, willing her nerves to calm down.

He flinched. All of this was all his fault. "No. I—I never should have…pushed you away, I-it's just that…it feels like everything is h-happening so quickly and I…I really do love you. You know that, I would not have married you if I didn't. I know there's no way that I can make up for the things that I said to you. I was blind to you, my love, and your needs. I can see that now," Quasi whispered, turning his head slightly to meet his gaze, feeling his hand move of its own accord to the back of her skull, absently playing with a few wisps of her blonde hair.

Madellaine sighed, swatting his hand away from her hair, though that did not stop her from reaching for his hand from her spot where she sat next to him seated on the bench and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Tell me this, love," she whispered, her voice sounding soft. "Why? You have…not been yourself ever since I announced my news. Why the sudden shift? You are much changed, and it is not a change that I welcome, nor one that I like. Why are you acting this way, Quasi? It's—it's…monstrous, and it isn't you. The things that you said to me…why?" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard past the lump forming in her throat, blinking back tears.

Quasi visibly cringed at her last word. "I—I wish I knew," he whispered, hating hearing the dip in his voice. "I am…afraid," he said, turning his head away, suddenly ashamed to look in his wife's eyes.

"Y-you can yell at me if you want," he whispered. "Scream if you want to. But…talk to me," he pleaded, hating hearing the desperation in his tone.

Madellaine coughed once in an effort to blink back the briny tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over.

"I know you, Quasi. Maybe…maybe better than most. A-and I know that this, this isn't you," she whispered, biting her bottom lip in a pout.

"No," he agreed, hanging his head, and allowing that one stubborn lock of red hair to fall into his one good eye. "It…it isn't, but why then do I feel so…angry all the time?" he cried, feeling his own tears mist in his eyes. "I-it's like I can…hear him speaking to me. Frollo," he added, noticing his wife's brows knitted together in confusion. "I—I can't stop it."

"He's dead." She was blunt in her phrasing, but her words were true. "To see him have such a hold on your mind, my love, even in death, like this…" Madellaine's voice cracked and she couldn't complete her sentence. "To see this happening to you, the things you have said in anger, when I know in your heart that you do not mean them, it breaks my heart, Quasi, a—and I don't know what I can do to help you, love."

Quasimodo felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He had been afraid of such, confessing such a revelation to his wife and now he feared he had unnecessarily worried her. Damn, but why could he not have kept this to himself? Now such news would only cause her undue amounts of stress and would not be good for her or their baby, and he flinched.

"But what if…what if I'm becoming like him? That I would be a horrible father to our baby? I—I hear him, sometimes," he confessed. "I cannot help but think that I will be like him. I can't help it. That I might have killed you by allowing this to happen, i-if our baby kills you, is not something that I could live with, my love. F-Frollo, he says it in my nightmares," he whispered, painfully wringing his hands together.

Madellaine frowned, furrowing her brows into a frown. "What does he say to you? Have you…heard him speaking to you before? How long has this been going on?" she demanded, her grip upon his hand tightening.

He breathed a sigh of relief at her questions. He had thought for certain when he confessed this to Madellaine she would think him mad. But she did not, and for that, he thought he might weep. Notre Dame's bell ringer waved away his wife's concern with a light brush of his hand and he was surprised when her hold on him tightened. 'I-it doesn't matter what he tells me. B-but I'm afraid that he's affecting me somehow, and I don't know how to stop it, Lena...I...I need help. I need...you."

Madellaine froze, her voice catching in her throat. She swallowed back her tears and looked away for a moment to compose herself before turning back.

"You have to purge that old life from your mind, Quasi. Shut your mind to whatever Frollo tells you, for he is wrong. That man was vile, cruel, and wicked. So is his family, what's left of them, for that matter. As far as I am concerned, I am not a part of that family and never will be." Madellaine let out a content little sigh and pressed her hand against Quasi's heart. "My family is here," she whispered, smiling a little as his free hand that wasn't pressed against the back of her hair caught her hand in his and held onto hers as though his very life depended on it. "I won't let you destroy yourself anymore, Quasi, like I told you on our wedding night. This person full of anger, it is not you. It is not the man I fell in love with. I've made changes for you, Quasi, when I married you. Think about that. And now, I'd like to ask the same of you. Be the man that I fell in love with again. Leave this side of you behind, please. You must learn to let go of Claude. You will not be like him. I promise. Turn your thoughts away from him and listen to me instead. I am your wife, Quasi, by your side, no matter what, purge your thoughts of your life you knew before you married me," she encouraged, though there was no mistaking the fiery passion in her voice, and the igniting of something new in her blue eyes, a fierce look of determination he had not seen in the former circus performer before. "Claude is killing you because you are letting him, and letting him go seems easier than this—the torture you are putting yourself through, because you won't let him go," she pleaded, biting her bottom lip and blinking back tears. "To see you this way, i-it's got me feeling trapped, like I'm in this horrible cage and no one's coming to rescue me," she whispered, and she let her tears finally fall.

Quasi sat rooted next to his wife, his mind reeling. As he cupped her chin in his hand and forced Madellaine to meet his gaze, he realized that perhaps now it wasn't himself that he was supposed to pull out of this pit of self-loathing and despair, but his wife. And so, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness that Madellaine had dwelled in for much of her life, first with Sarousch, then when Claude had her in his cross-hairs, and now again, with Jehan undoubtedly coming up with some way to trick her into leaving again. Well, he decided he wasn't going to let that happen.

"I know. I just…don't want to…don't want to lose you," he whispered. "I'm not…I'm not strong enough," he confessed, hanging his head in shame. But Madellaine was having none of it as she cupped his chin in her hands and let go of his chin and held both of his face in his hands, the pads of her thumbs caressing his cheek. She smiled and he felt his heart flutter, like it always did whenever his wife smiled at him.

He almost felt undeserving of such beauty, that she would look upon him, kiss him, without fear or scorn. Madellaine smiled. "Oh, Quasi…you doubt yourself too much, but you are such a kind and beautiful soul. I only wish that you could see it for yourself as I do. As Phoebus and Esmeralda do. I promise…things will get better. The world isn't split into good people and bad. We've all got a little bit of both inside us, but it's up to us to keep these feelings at bay. You, though. I know you, my love. Your heart is pure. You have to believe me when I tell you that our love is more powerful than anything Claude could have ever told you. He was wrong, to treat you that way, as is your father. Jehan knows not of which he speaks. You will not be like Claude, Quasimodo. I can promise you that."

At her words, she let out that tiny adorable snort through her nose and a giggle escaped her lips before Madellaine could stop herself.

Quasi frowned. "What? What's so funny?" he demanded, careful to keep his tone neutral, though even he could feel the weighted burden lift off of his shoulders at hearing her laugh. It felt like it had been days since he had heard her laugh like this, and he longed for more of it. Her giggling fit had tapered off and she rested her head against his strong shoulder.

"The very image of you becoming like Claude is laughable, my love. It will never happen. You are too kind and good to ever be like he was. You are not like your master was. Claude was absolutely horrible to you. I know you will be a wonderful father to our child, my love, and any other children we may have," she whispered. "And you never will be. But you must trust me on this. Or else my words are empty. I need you…to try something new. I need you…to trust me, Quasimodo. Do you, Quasi?"

The bell ringer nodded. "Until the end of the world, my love."

Madellaine smiled, but then her smile faltered. "Let me ask of you this one thing, and then I won't ask it again. But I must know, Quasi. I just…want to know…what you want," she whispered, relinquishing her grip on his hand and toying with her gold wedding ring. "Do you want this? D-do you really think that I would make you have a baby you didn't want? If I were to go through with it, then it would be on my conscience, not yours. Never yours, Quasi. If you are not ready, then neither am I, for we make decisions as a couple, now that we are married," Madellaine said. "There are…ways that I can…take care of it, if you say no, my love," she whispered, grabbing his hand, and resting it on her stomach. "But I need to know, and soon. Do we…do you," she corrected quickly, the heat speckling along her cheeks as she brushed back a stray wisp of her blonde hair back behind her ears, "want this baby? Talk to me, Quasi."

Quasi answered without even having to think about it. "I do," he answered. "I—I thought about it, a-and you and I will be wonderful parents, my love. I can't live like this anymore, Madellaine. We can't live like this anymore, darling. Constantly living in fear of what might happen. I-it's not healthy, a-and I was wrong to say those things to you. I'm sorry. For putting you through all of that. I—I should not have. For that, I will spend the entire rest of my life, however long I have on this world, making it up to you and our baby." He rested his hand on the swell of her still very flat abdomen tenderly. "I promise," he swore, not a trace of joking in his tone as he cupped his wife's chin in his hand, tilting her face upward, forcing her to meet his tender, loving gaze.

Madellaine smiled. Her soft, pink lips stretched into a smile, but it didn't quite reach her azure eyes. The bell ringer knew all too well what she was thinking. If he would lash out in anger again, try to get her to leave. Her blue eyes were lit with such sadness, he almost couldn't bear it, and the forced expression of the contrary on her mouth would have looked comical to him if it did not make his heart feel weighted, heavy.

For just a moment, as Quasi stared at his wife, almost certain that her expression mirrored his again. It broke his heart.

He didn't want her to leave him alone, she had saved him from his solitude. He did not want to turn into just another random memory of a faceless person that floated in the back of her mind someday. Quasi did not want to be the smile that squeezed his wife's chest somewhere far away if she were to leave. He didn't want her to go. He wanted her and her beautiful smile to stay, to be in love with him forever, so it was going to be up to him to make sure that Madellaine knew that they were together, that he was not abandoning his wife and child, and that he never would.

She smiled. "Love me, Quasi?" she whispered, scooting closer to him on the bench to close off the gap of space between them, and leaning in to kiss his warm lips. He grinned into their kiss, one of his hands drifting towards the back of her skull, pressing into her hair softly, the other resting on her stomach.

"Always."