Remember when I said I set an alarm for this weekend? I sure did, and here's another update for you all!
This short was actually originally part of a rough draft for the Gifts Love Language, but I ended up going a different direction and liking it so much that I made it its own thing! I am, in short, in LOVE with the décor in Lucas' office, so this is definitely a tribute to the wonderful set designers. I can't wait to see it again in S9!
Thank you all for your kind reviews and messages. It's been a trying day and week and month, but writing always lets me focus on something else for a while, and I think that's going to be even more important moving forward for me. Hopefully that will mean more for you to read soon! I hope you enjoy this one!
Lucas was a collector.
His office was carefully filled with beautiful artifacts from his travels. The walls were covered in artwork from Paris and Beijing alike, displayed proudly next to tapestries and brochures for magic shows he'd attended in his youth. Photographs of his family accompanied models, postcards, and plenty of books on the shelves. There were steins from Germany, dolls from Russia, and even a pamphlet from the World's Fair in Louisiana.
So yes, Lucas Bouchard was a collector, but he was a careful one at that.
Whenever Elizabeth entered his office, she couldn't help but be enthralled by the glimpse she was getting into her suitor's life. She had been aware that he'd traveled, and that he had come from a wealthy family much like she had, but there was something about his collection that felt almost familiar.
"It's a model of an American Revolutionary War ship," he explained to her one afternoon, coming to stand by her side after finishing his work.
She'd surprised him with a homemade picnic lunch, knocking quietly at his door to find him drowning in ledgers for the saloon. He had motioned her inside immediately, but apologized, asking if she wouldn't mind waiting just a moment while he finished tallying the numbers in front of him. She didn't mind, of course, and took some time to once again gaze at the pieces that decorated his shelves, particularly focusing on the small model of a ship carefully protected in a case.
"It's beautiful," Elizabeth responded. "I've always admired the dedication that goes into models like this. Not that I should be surprised that you of all people would have the patience to complete one."
Lucas laughed, "more than one actually." He turned to point at several other small ships scattered throughout the room. "It was one of my hobbies as a young boy."
She crossed to sit in one of the chairs by his desk, taking a closer look at the much smaller ship in a bottle that sat near his typewriter. "What's this one?"
"That happens to be my favorite. A French war ship called Royal-Louis. It was wrecked in 1794 during a tempest and I had read about it in one of my textbooks. My father surprised me with the model a few years later and helped me build it. I thought it was fascinating."
"Did your father help you build all of these?" Elizabeth asked, looking up at him.
He nodded, moving to sit in the chair next to her. "It was one of the few things my father and I did together. He traveled a lot, so aside from our family vacations there wasn't much time together. I think he loved making the models just as much as I did though, and it stuck. We'd work on a new one each time he came home."
"Well, I'm certainly impressed, with everything you have in here actually. It feels like you have something from every corner of the world."
"Not quite every corner," he chuckled, "but nearly every place I've visited. Each trinket has a reason for being here. They all have stories."
Elizabeth cocked her head to the side with curiosity. "Like what?"
Lucas let out a breath, unsure of where to even begin. "Well, they each hold a specific memory. Many of the items here were gifts, but if I did buy something, I bought it for a reason. Take that toy over there," he suggested, pointing to a small horse drawn cart that sat atop his safe. "That was given to me by my grandmother just before she passed. I must've been about three, but she knew I had an affinity for horses at the time. She paid a good amount of money for it too, aware that that Christmas would likely be her last, and she wanted to give me something to remember her by."
"And you still have it? Now I'm really impressed," Elizabeth joked. "Jack goes through toys so quickly these days."
"My mother kept it safely displayed on a shelf for much of my childhood, so I can't take credit for keeping it in pristine condition." Lucas shook his head, eyes drifting off as if lost in thought, "she was aware of its importance long before I was."
"Alright, is there something in here that reminds you of your mother then? No, let me guess," she paused, looking around the room in an attempt to find an item that stood out to her as something Helen Bouchard would appreciate. "The Russian Nesting Dolls?"
"She was with me when I purchased those," Lucas admitted. "I got them on our last family vacation before I moved away. But I think the item I associate with her the most is the wooden duckling right there on the corner."
Elizabeth turned to look in the direction he was pointing, spotting the small wooden bird on the edge of the same shelf as the dolls. She looked back at her suitor, waiting for his explanation.
"I mentioned how she kept the other toy up on a shelf out of my reach? That's how most of my belongings sat when I was little, but the duck was one I can still recall her playing with a few times. On rare occasions, she'd join me in my games, and I think that one was always her favorite because she would pause to tell me the story of The Ugly Duckling whenever she could."
"That's such a wonderful story. I read it to Jack all the time."
"She loved it, and I did too, especially as I got older and felt more out of place." He looked sad for a moment, reaching behind him to pick up the piece of wood and run his thumb over the worn surface. Elizabeth reached out to cover his hand, and the duck, with hers, and he cleared his throat. "Thankfully, the duck survived years of playtime. I always catch the way my mother smiles when she sees it hiding amidst my shelves all these years later."
"And I'm thankful that you've found your place now," she told him softly.
A shy smile appeared on his lips, and he glanced down before lifting his eyes back to meet her gaze, "I have you to thank for that."
Elizabeth took a deep breath, the silence between them lingering. "Is there anything in here that reminds you of me?"
"Everything reminds me of you."
"That's ridiculous, Lucas," she returned, rolling her eyes a bit. "Sweet, but ridiculous. There's no way you think of me when you look at that model airplane."
He laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he turned to place the wooden duck back on the shelf. "When I see the models of the planes and the ships, yes, it reminds me of my father, but it also reminds me of how much I look forward to carrying on that tradition with Little Jack. When I look at the duckling, I think of how much my own mother cared for me, and how you helped her realize the love she still has for my father."
Elizabeth's expression softened, but as she glanced about the room, he followed her gaze.
"I got the steins atop that shelf at the Christmas festival in Munich, so they remind me of our own festival, where I tried so hard to impress you. And the playing cards right there remind me of the day Allie arrived in town, and you stormed into the saloon to give them back to me, furious that I had taught her a card trick."
"You taught her to gamble, Lucas Bouchard, and I still do not approve," she said sternly, although the tears in her eyes made the threat much less serious.
He shook his head, "either way, I knew already back then that you were the woman for me, and by the time we got around to using those darts," he continued, pointing to a set of white darts in the middle of one of the shelves, "I was well aware that there was no turning back for me."
Finally, a tear escaped its confines, running down her cheek, and she reached out again to hold his hand, tightening her grasp. "Lucas, I…"
He leaned closer to brush the wetness from her cheeks with his other hand, the back of his fingers running lightly over her skin. "So yes, my love, everything reminds me of you, but you're more important to me than any of these things on the shelves."
Elizabeth squeezed his hand. "I love you, and I hope that someday," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "you'll tell me the story behind each of them."
Lucas brought her hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss there. "I love you too, and even if it takes the rest of our lives, I fully intend on telling you every single one."