Chapter 11
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By the time Ariana has gotten tired of looking at baby clothes, and even a few things in her own size, the sun has begun to sink behind the mountains, and I find myself strolling back to Truce and admiring the beautiful sunset that I won't even bother trying to describe.
I hate to admit it, even to myself, but I'm walking as slowly as I can to ensure that I have to spend as little time with Isaac as possible. I have no idea what I'm going to tell him when he asks, as he inevitably will, where I was today, and why I'm carrying shopping bags, containing a wide variety of nice clothes, and even a real, honest-to-God dress.
That, of course, was Ariana's idea. She saw the scrap of navy-blue knit hanging on the rack, and immediately did this happy-dance that I swear I saw Marle do when she helped me into my wedding dress.
Five minutes later, we left the store, with me as the proud owner of my first "casual dress"…like there's any such thing.
Still, I have to admit, even though it's itchy, uncomfortable, and a demeaning abomination, the close-fitting, knee-length, longish-sleeved, far-lower-necked-than-anything-I've-worn-in-a-long-time dress did give my figure a completely different look than men's jeans and flannel shirts, or even the relentlessly practical skirts, properly fitting jeans, and sweaters I tend to live in the rest of the time.
Ariana suggested that I should wear it for Phil sometime.
I had a moment of crisis, trying to remember who the hell Phil was, and nearly choked on my own tongue of embarrassment when it hit me.
She misinterpreted my reaction, and immediately became all serious and kind and supportive, yet firm with her hopelessly stubborn friend. If I put some real effort into looking good for him, she argued, it would show him that I cared enough to return his gesture from earlier today. Each knowing that the other truly did care might help us open up to one another.
I promised that I'd wear the dress for Phil, mostly to make Ariana shut up before thoughts of parading around in front of Magus in a goofy-looking dress made me die of embarrassment and disgust.
Still, between Cowan and here, it has occurred to me that I do indeed have an actual husband with whom I am having actual problems.
Suddenly, I'm not anxious to waste as much time on this walk as possible.
Perhaps the dress wasn't an entire waste.
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It is now an hour later, and if you can believe it, I'm wearing not only the dress, but a pair of nylons, and even a pair of horribly impractical strappy black high heels, courtesy of Marle's closet, naturally. She left them here once, and when I tried to give them back, she mumbled something about black being too harsh for a blonde complexion, and bolted from the house.
So far, high heels and the matches that I'm using to light some candles have proved a dangerous combination. After tripping, match in hand, several times, and nearly burning the house down, I decide that four candles are enough for the living room.
I remove two wine glasses from our cabinet, open a bottle that I've had chilling for the last half hour, and pour each glass half-full.
Then I settle down on the sofa in the living room in a sexy, yet comfortable pose, and prepare for a long wait.
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Two hours later, I am reflecting with no small bit of annoyance that I hadn't expected the wait to be this long.
What the hell could be keeping him?
What, indeed?
Isn't it quaint? I get Ariana in the afternoons, and he gets her in the evenings.
Finally, just as I rise from my position on the couch, dance around cursing as I wait for the pins and needles to work themselves out of my legs, and start up the stairs to our room, dashing the tears from my eyes as I go, the front door opens.
I turn around briefly, giving him easily enough time to ask what's wrong, or notice the trouble I've gone to in putting on this damn dress, or anything, but he says nothing, deeply engrossed in a novel he's reading.
Disgusted, I climb the remaining stairs and head immediately for our room, intent upon burying those shoes as soon as possible.
As I'm fighting with the straps, the bedroom door clicks open, and I become aware that my husband is staring at me oddly.
"Had a hot date?" he asks me lightly.
I shoot him a poisonous look before going back to my shoes. Somehow, though, my hands are shaking too much to grapple with the tiny silvery buckles right now.
"No; did you?"
He stops short at this, in the act of hanging up his navy blue sports jacket.
"What?"
"Nothing," I sigh, giving up on the shoes and flopping back onto the bed. "What the heck happened to you, anyway?"
"I had some things to take care of."
This is all the explanation I get.
Figures.
If I disappear for more an evening, I'm grilled within an inch of my life. If he disappears for an evening, it's because he had 'important man things' to do.
"Is she pretty?"
He stares at me.
"The girl who left perfume and long blonde hairs all over you," I reply, rising from the bed and picking a hair off of his shoulder.
He catches my wrist and moves my hand away from him.
"Are you trying to insinuate something, Lucca?"
"Just curious," I say carelessly.
"I can't stand people," he says pointedly, "who imply and hint at things, but won't just come out and say them."
I ache to ask him if it's better or worse than people who run around screwing anything with boobs, but don't come right out and say that they want a divorce from their current spouse.
Mostly because I'm terrified that he'll do it.
I fully realize that this is pathetic. I am unable to come clean about what I know, because I don't want to lose a man who isn't worth half the effort.
But somehow, what he's worth isn't important, because he's all that will make me happy. So much so that I've almost talked myself into apologizing.
"You shouldn't leave candles burning downstairs like that," he tells me brusquely. "You'll burn the house down. And why on earth did you open that wine?"
I stare at him helplessly for a moment, and suddenly it sounds incredibly silly to tell him that I thought we might have a romantic evening together.
"I-I thought you might feel like some," I finally say, turning away.
"You do realize that I bought it for a reason?"
I'm sure you did. And I'm sure your 'reason' has long blonde hair and a fantastic body.
"I'll pick up a bottle tomorrow," I shrug. "No harm done."
"Don't bother," he huffs. "I need it for tomorrow."
"Some more things to take care of?" I shoot back before I can stop myself.
I can almost hear his hair bristling with indignation, and I barely manage to suppress a yelp as he grabs me and yanks me around to face him.
"For God's sake, Lucca, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Do I nag you?"
He lets go of my arm in his astonishment.
"What?"
"Do I nag you?" I repeat insistently.
"At the moment, yes, you are nagging me."
"As a general rule. Before now. Is it something that's been a problem for a while?"
"This is ridiculous," he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Well?"
"What?" he asks, annoyed.
"Answer the question," I command.
"Let's just go to bed," he pleads wearily.
"If there's a problem with our marriage," I say quietly, "I think we should fix it."
"Oh, Christ, I don't need this right now."
And while I watch, wondering vainly what the hell just happens, he snatches up his coat and storms out of the room.
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"You like it?"
Magus merely stares blankly at me.
I guess I can't blame the guy.
I'd stare, too, if a mad scientist materialized on my doorstep, wearing a sexy blue dress, drenched from torrents of rain that seems to have been sent especially to annoy me, high heels, and too much make-up, which for me means any.
Of course most of the make-up is probably gone by now, dribbling down my chin along with raindrops and the tears that I haven't been able to get under control yet.
I could swear that, for half a second, he looked actually angry rather than simply smug, or apathetic, or dour. And somehow, I got the feeling that it wasn't directed at me this time. However, before I can decide what to make of this, or even if I really saw it, he steps aside and opens the door wider.
"What happened?"
"Oh, nothing much," I say carelessly, stumbling slightly over those damned heels. I think I'll bury them in the backyard next to Ariana's boot. "I tried to spend some nice quality time with my husband, but my irrepressible nature as a nagging bitch got in the way."
"Wait there," he orders tiredly.
As soon as he vanishes down the hallway, I remove those damned heels (this time with the aid of the pocket knife in my shoulder bag) and kick them to the side.
By the time I'm done decimating the straps of the expensive leather shoes, I find Magus standing over me with a towel.
"What's that for?" I demand, eyeing it.
"Do you honestly think I'm going to let you in to drip all over my furniture like a wet dog?" he asks with a smile that tries its hardest to be mean and nasty.
Somehow, the very fact that doesn't succeed makes me a little uneasy. There's something wrong about my being here, if not to sling insults back at Magus in return for the ones he slings at me. That is great fun. I don't know if I like this grim, somewhat concerned Magus as well. Still, maybe I'm just imagining the difference. If I act normal, maybe I'll force him to stop treating me like a terminal disease patient.
"Thanks," I say as dryly as I can while soaked to the skin, trying to squeeze the excess water out of my hair and dress and removing my likewise soaked nylons before wrapping the towel around my shoulders.
Together, we make our way down the hallway that I'm beginning to get to know pretty well, and into the library. He gestures me over to the couch.
Hello, old friend.
"I don't suppose I can expect an honest answer as to why you're here this time," he asks almost gently. For him, anyway.
"Well, you did say earlier in the coffee shop you'd see me later," I point out, hitting upon a plausible-sounding reason to cover up for the fact that I haven't even thought about what I'm doing here. "Your 'security system' gave me surprisingly little trouble this time; they must all be asleep."
"No, they just haven't had a chance to repopulate since the last time you came in and wiped most of them out."
"Hey, don't get more on my account," I say with a small smile. Then, looking down at my hands, where my engagement ring and wedding band seem to twinkle mockingly at me, I continue hesitantly. "Anyway, sorry about earlier. I kind of panicked. I couldn't really tell Ariana how we actually know each other."
"I suppose not," he agrees. "Still, Phil?"
I grin sheepishly.
"Like I said, I kind of panicked."
"Hmph. So, that's his lover, is it?"
I nod, shooting him a look that just dares him to say anything admiring.
Instead, he snorts.
"The man must be an idiot."
I stare.
"What's that mean?"
"The girl obviously hasn't got a brain in her head," he smirks, and I'm relieved to see that the old Magus is back.
"Hey, guys don't have affairs with girls for their minds," I point out. "And she is sweet."
"Even if you swore three days ago that you'd kill her?"
"I didn't know her," I reply uneasily.
He rolls his eyes.
"Stay there. I'll go get some coffee."
"Why?" I ask, astonished.
"I don't suppose you'll be leaving anytime soon," he replies wearily. "And you'll want to be awake for the trip home."
I laugh.
"Geez, Magus, that's almost sweet. What the heck's happened to you?"
A funny expression crosses his face, as if he's suddenly begun to wonder that himself. Then, with a disgruntled noise, he sweeps from the room.
I take this moment to ask myself very honestly what the hell I'm doing there.
Maybe next time Magus asks, I'll have an answer.
Not at this rate, though.
To be honest, I have no idea why I've come back.
I can keep telling myself it's for the coffee, but that's probably not true.
Before I have time to consider the matter further, my reluctant, but not exactly grudging, host returns with a pot of the aforementioned coffee and two mugs.
After stealing a few glances at him, I finally speak up.
"Can I ask you something?"
He looks up at me with barely perceptible interest.
"What?"
"When you said before that it seems like I'm…enjoying this—"
"Maybe I shouldn't have said that," he admits, this time clearly grudging.
"No, I just wanted to know, do you really think that?"
He is silent for a long moment, looking down into the contents of the mug he has just filled. Then, seeming to shake himself out of it, he shoves the cup at me.
"Drink your coffee."
Suddenly furious, I slam the mug down on the table, and then wince in pain as my hand is scalded in a fine display of the natural laws of the universe teaching a lesson to a temperamental little girl.
"Why the hell can't anyone give me a straight answer to a straight question?" I demand.
"You're making a mess," he points out coolly.
"Will you forget about that for a second and just tell me the truth?" I plead, finding angry tears in my eyes but far past caring.
"I don't see the point. It's none of my business, after all," he finishes, striving for carelessness.
"Well, fuck, sorry for taking up your precious time," I snarl before making for the door of the library. "I'll let myself out."
There's a flurry of movement behind me, and I find myself unable to move. I'm warmer than I was, and it takes me a minute to attribute this to the arm wrapped around my shoulders and the other arm wrapped around my waist.
"Don't even think about trying to pull that again," he commands in a smooth, quiet voice of ultimate anger. "If you're going to keep coming here, you're going to stop storming out every time I say something you don't like."
"I don't mind what you say when you actually come out and say it," I shoot back inconsistently, conveniently not worrying about the fact that I did leave angry because of what he said the last time I was here. "Right now, I'd like to know why you think I'm enjoying this."
"Why?" he echoes incredulously, releasing me abruptly. "You're joking, aren't you?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" I ask ominously as I whirl about to face him, trying to infuse all the terror of my mother into my gaze.
"You aren't going to like this," he warns.
"That's fine, as long as it's honest."
"From what I understand, multiple people tried to warn you multiple times that this husband of yours was not to be trusted."
"That didn't matter. I loved him. Love him," I correct immediately as his eyebrows lift slightly. "I love him. It still doesn't matter."
"And I suppose that's why you've displayed far more annoyance than actual sadness at what's going on?" he asks snidely.
I gaze at him levelly.
"You mean, because I haven't fallen to pieces and tried to kill myself? Is that what a woman should do in this situation? If you don't act like a complete moron and run out into the rain to put your head on the railroad tracks and wait for the first passing train, it means you never really cared? And what does it matter if people 'warned' me? That doesn't make it hurt any less to find out that I really couldn't change him."
"You should have expected it."
"Maybe I did. That doesn't make it hurt any less either. Because believe it or not, Magus, I was honestly under the impression that he loved me."
"Maybe he does."
"Then he has a goddamned funny way of showing it," I mutter, trying to disguise the wobble in my voice with petulance, and staring down at my toes to hide the tears now dripping down my face. Then, with a desperate sniffle, I continue. "Still, that doesn't explain why you think I'm enjoying this."
He sighs again.
"You're sneaking around after them like some sort of would-be detective. You delight in it when you catch your husband in a lie. Your pride and satisfaction don't do much to prove to me that you really care for him as deeply as you seem to imagine you do. Basically, Lucca, you've made a game of it. A game that you seem to be enjoying. And now you've gone so far as to befriend his mistress."
"That wasn't supposed to happen! She was injured and bleeding! I couldn't just leave her."
"The rest of the town did an admirable job of it, from what I gather."
"That's exactly why I couldn't," I point out. "She's still human, and from what I understand, a pretty messed-up one. I really think he's taking her for a ride because she's vulnerable and innocent and in a really bad place right now. She's been treated horribly by one man, and in a weird way, that's making her very responsive when a different man treats her with a little bit of kindness and consideration.
I look up at Magus, startled, as a series of coughs erupt from him.
"Careful with that coffee," I smirk once he can breathe again.
He shoots me a freezing glare for a brief moment, and then looks away with this weird expression that I can't read at all. It's kind of like he's just had an epiphany and been punched in the stomach, and been hit by a train, and bit down on a hot pepper, all at once.
Set a little on edge by the sudden silence in the room, I sip at my warm coffee once or twice before downing the rest of it in a gulp.
I am in the process of reaching for the coffee pot to refill, when his voice breaks the silence.
"I think you had better leave."
I stare at him oddly.
"What?"
"You heard me. It's time for you to leave," he repeats, more firmly.
"So, what the hell brought this on?" I demand, a tiny flare of anger coming to life as I stand up.
He sneers, and I recognize the return of the old Magus – not the one that I'd been drinking coffee with, but the one that I remember nastily informing Crono that if he got "whacked" again, he could damn well stay dead, and making snide remarks to an obviously hurting Glenn about his "dead boyfriend" following our visit to Cyrus' grave.
"I think I've wasted enough time nursing you through your little breakdown. Deal with your own damn problems, you little fool."
Oh, yeah.
This is Asshole Extraordinaire, and I realize suddenly just how uncommonly nice he has been for the past few days.
Still, I guess all good things must come to an end.
Lifting my chin slightly, I sweep from the room as grandly as I can.
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Somehow, I leave the castle with the feeling that I won't be returning for a good long while.
And that I should have kept those damn high heels in tact. Maybe they were demeaning, awkward, and uncomfortable, but they would've beat walking across wet, muddy ground in bare feet.
Yeah.
This is just how I anticipated my evening ending: walking in the rain and dodging monster droppings.
Life truly is wonderful.
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End Notes: Aw, hell. I just wrote myself into a bit of a corner. Not only that, but I depressed the hell out of myself. ()
And rest assured, there was a reason for Magus' little pissy-fit, which I hope shall become clear later on.