The day after their return from the disastrous trip to Loire, Florian rose before dawn. He dressed silently in his oldest black suit and left Ray Courland's house by a little-used door at the back of the house.

Keeping to the shadows, Florian set an unhurried pace until he was certain he was well out of sight should Ray or any of his household be spending as restless a night as Florian had.

His terrible sense of direction was well-known among Florian's peers, but even he couldn't get lost returning to his own home. What was left of it.

The soft pre-dawn light couldn't disguise the ugliness of the remains of the Rochefort family mansion. In a small way, it was a mercy that his mother hadn't lived to see her beloved home in such a state. What the fire hadn't destroyed, looters and curiosity-seekers had. The trampled grounds were nothing but mud, littered with footprints and debris. The stairs leading to the main entrance were blackened and similarly marked. The grand front door was completely gone, either burned or destroyed, and the boards that had been put in place to prevent entry had been pulled down.

With a quick glance around to reassure himself that he was unobserved, Florian stepped inside. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever he might see, determined to complete his task and return to Ray's home as quickly as possible. If luck was with him, Ray would never know about this early morning venture.

The fine black and white marble tiles of the foyer were filthy with soot and mud. A parade of footprints led off in every direction but Florian lifted his gaze and held it firm as he crossed quickly to the grand staircase and began a watchful ascent. While the looters would be long gone with anything salvagable, the building itself was probably unsafe. The fire had been extensive; there were signs of it everywhere. Still, he had to see. He had to know.

His mother's room was closer than his own, and that was his goal. He had no intention of seeing the ruins of what had once been his private sanctuary. He had a few precious mementos in his room in Ray's home, but if there was something of Mother's here... some small trinket that had survived and somehow been overlooked...

Later he would tell himself that his blurred vision was caused by the acrid air and not the toppled remnants of Mother's bed, or the charred wardrobe, doors splayed with bits of burnt fabric strewn across the floor. Florian half-heartedly prodded the remains, deliberately not identifying them.

The dressing table was next and, while it had sustained damage, it was still standing. The mirror was shattered and the drawers had been rifled. Sooty bits of lace and linen had survived, but what he wanted... what he hoped to find...

He checked the drawers first without much hope, then looked under and around the vanity until...There! By the wall.

He knelt down to retrieve his prize, handling it gently. Of all the pretty bottles, jars, and boxes that had once lined Mother's vanity, this was her most treasured. The one she had vowed that she would never sell.

On his feet again, Florian took the handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped his precious discovery carefully, cradling it a moment before securing the soot-streaked bundle in the inner pocket of his jacket.

With one last look he turned and left the room, retracing his steps down the stairs and out of the house. There was nothing left for him here; it was time to return to Ray's and hope that someday it would feel like home.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"What's this?" Florian asked, holding up the newest addition to his dresser top.

"Don't you recognize it?" Ray walked to Florian's side and took the bottle from his hands.

"Of course I do." Florian turned to face Ray. "But why?"

"Close your eyes," Ray urged. When Florian complied, Ray took a step back. There was a soft hiss and then a sweet, familiar scent.

"Oh." Florian breathed out the word, then inhaled deeply, drawing the fragrance in. After a long moment he opened his eyes again and reached out for Ray.

"I'd forgotten," he confessed, the words so soft Ray barely heard them. Ray set the bottle down and took Florian into his arms. "It was the first gift Father gave to Mother. She said it was outrageous to give such a personal gift to someone he barely knew, but she wore that scent every day."

Ray remained silent but swayed gently, drawing Florian along in an almost dance. When Florian's gaze cleared, old memories safely tucked away again, Ray gave him a smile. A tap on Florian's right hand was the only warning before Ray turned him out into the proper position for a waltz and they began to dance.

On the dresser, two bottles sat side-by-side, one shiny and new, the other smoky and cracked, both bearing the name of a famous parfumerie. Ray had never asked about the broken bottle, and Florian had never explained, but somehow Ray understood. He always did.

::end::