The window is damp against Clive's cheek. His breath forms condensation on the inside of the glass, and raindrops collect on the outside, slowly streaming downwards; out of the corner of his eye, he can see them coursing down, only a thin glass pane keeping them from touching his face. The world outside is monochrome, and, although Clive knows, logically, that the car must be moving at a good pace, they seem to be travelling at a crawl. The buildings of London gradually disappear, and forests and hills slowly take their place, their dull shades of green and brown hardly different from the greys of London. It's all so drab; it's hardly the verdant fairytale scenery that he'd dreamed of. Then again, everything looks dull to him now.

Yesterday, he'd been so excited. He doesn't know why he isn't now, now that this long-awaited day has finally come. It's his first time going outside of London, and that should be exciting. It's his first time outside of the hospital walls since September, and that should be even more exciting. And it's his first day as Clive Dove, ward of Lady Constance Dove. The papers are all signed. He signed them himself. There's no going back now. He's posh now. Now, he's a rich snob, one of those well-dressed kids that he would've liked to punch in the nose half a year ago, and somebody that he'd have envied endlessly. He'd have never gotten this opportunity in his old life. He should be grateful-

Clive suddenly feels sick-carsickness, yes, that must be it-and he moves his cheek against a new spot on the window, the damp cold feeling a welcome sensation against his burning face.

"Are you alright, Clive?"

Constance's voice from beside him snaps Clive back into reality. He'd say "yes," if he could, but, well… he can't bring himself to lie to her completely. "Just tired," he says, as energetically as possible. No sense in making her worry over nothing. He doesn't want to upset her.

Constance laughs softly. "Car trips will do that to you. You'll feel better once we get home, I'm sure."

"Oh really? Well, I suppose the country air will be good for me." Clive's not quite sure whether he's being sarcastic or not, so he keeps his voice as neutral as possible, letting Constance decide.

"You don't need to suppose. It will be good for you." Constance's tone is matter-of-fact, patient, soothing. "And for me too. And for Spring, Cogg…"

"For everyone," Clive says. He doesn't need to say so, but he wants to. It makes him feel a little less "special," a little less odd, to imagine that this is for the benefit for everyone. Still, he knows that it's a lie. It would be far more convenient for Constance to stay in London, closer to her work, instead of going to the old country manor. They're leaving because of him, because he's too weak to control himself, because the psychologist said he needed a "safer environment." It's all for him.

"Yes." Clive hears the forced brightness in Constance's voice, and behind it, the worry; she can't hide it from him. "I think that we all need to get away from London for awhile. The… the smog isn't good for any of us. Say, Cogg?" He hears her lean forward towards the driver's seat. "Are we nearly there?"

"We're about five minutes closer than when you last asked." Cogg chuckles. "My dear Lady Dove, will you ever learn to sit still and enjoy the ride?"

"Never." Constance laughs. "Drive faster."

"And break the law?"

"Well, never mind then." Constance gasps in mock-horror. "We wouldn't want to break the law, would we, Clive?"

The genuine amusement in Constance's voice makes a hint of a smile appear on Clive's face, despite his dark mood. It's so interesting how, though she knows how to appear austere when she has to, she's so childish in other respects. And yet, she's so grounded. It doesn't matter how Clive feels at any given time. If Constance is nearby, he knows things are going to be alright.

He'll be home soon. Everything will be better when he gets home. Constance will get him home.

In all honesty, he's… not sure how he would have recovered from… from what happened, if it weren't for Constance's friendship. Those endless hours in the hospital, the world moving like a blur in front of his eyes… the endless questions from the psychologists, and his silence. He didn't talk for so long. All he could think about was that moment, that feeling of being held back, the sound of his own sobs, heard as if through someone else's ears.

(And he still thinks about it. He's thinking about it right now…)

"I've got something for you up at the house." Constance's voice cuts through his dark thoughts. "It's that airplane prototype I showed you the blueprints for. I thought we could work on fixing it up together."

That's a nice thought. Clive lifts his head from the now-warm spot on the window, looking toward Constance. He's too tired to bother looking her in the eye, but he knows she won't mind that. "Can I fly it?" he asks, half-cheekily. He doesn't expect she'll say yes, but he might as well ask.

"No," Constance says promptly. "When you're sixteen, maybe. And if we can get it off the ground."

Clive's mildly disappointed, but he can't hide a hint of a smile; he's drawn up so many blueprints with Constance, and now, he'll actually get to build something for himself. He's sure that whatever they build together, it'll turn out beautifully; Constance is the best (albeit only) engineer he's ever met. "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"That I'll get to fly it when I'm sixteen."

"Oh, I suppose." Constance laughs. "I'd just picked that number on the spot, you know. Maybe I should make it when you're eighteen…"

"Sixteen will be perfectly fine." Clive leans back, folding his arms behind his head. "Promise me, Constance."

"Alright, alright. I promise."

Out of the corner of his eye, Clive sees the sparkle in Constance's eye, the barely concealed excitement in her expression. "We're going to have so much fun together," she says quietly, almost to herself.

Clive doesn't think that she wanted anyone to hear her, but Spring leans back from where she sits in the passenger's seat. "That we are," she smiles, her eyes alight. She seems almost as excited as Constance. "Your room's all decorated-although, maybe you're a little bit old for some of the toys in there. You might be too big for the rocking horse, actually… I just couldn't resist."

"Toys are nice," says Clive thoughtfully. He'd never had many back when… back in his old life. They didn't have the money for those sorts of things. There was Mama's matryoshka doll that lived up on the shelf, and that funny cat statue that used to scare him when it stared at him at night. Oh, and the giant stuffed bear that Dad had sewn in between his shifts at the factory. Clive forgot how much he missed it. Maybe, once he's settled into Dove Manor, he can go home and get it and bring it-

Oh.

"... but if you don't want them, just say so! I won't be offended, dearie." Spring's talking, but it's so hard to focus. "I hope you like the colour of the room; I spent all weekend painting it. Of course, Cogg helped a little."

"Only a little?" Cogg snorts, but there's humour in his voice.

"Yes, a little." Spring laughs. "It'll be so nice, having someone young around again. It's always so quiet, especially without Lady Dove around."

"I'm not that loud, am I?" Constance asks, mock incredulity on her face.

"I'm sorry, but you are." Cogg shakes his head. "I realized after you left that I'd never known what true peace and quiet was until you were gone. I suppose I'll forget again soon enough."

"You're so mean, Cogg," protests Constance. "I was in the hospital!" But then she laughs, and the other two grown-ups join in with her. Clive watches them silently, feeling the warmth of their smiles, but feeling so far away from actually being a part of it, even though he knows he's the only thing barring himself from joining the camaraderie.

Spring and Cogg… they care about Constance so much. They hide their anxiety behind their smiling faces and bad jokes, but it's easy for Clive to see. Spring and Cogg might call themselves servants, and they might call Constance "Lady Dove," but it's obvious that they're more to each other than employer and employees. They're a family, and they care about her, and they… they care about Clive, too. Cogg, with his patience, and the way he picks up new hobbies and skills as if they're nothing. Spring, with her treasure trove of stories and her needlework talents. Constance, with all of her ridiculous jokes and her genius mind, and the way she makes Clive feel safe… they're all such wonderful people, and he'll be living with them for a very long time.

If he was born as Clive Dove, he'd probably be the happiest person alive.

But, he wasn't.

Clive hears them cheerfully chatting away, their voices a swirling mix of blinding colour in his head, the content of their conversation indecipherable, and he buries his face in his hands.

He just wants to go home.

But home isn't… it isn't…

"Clive."

Constance's worried eyes are the only thing he can see through his shaking fingers. "Clive, are you alright? If something's wrong, you can tell me."

Clive laughs to himself (his voice is disgustingly unsteady), turning from her and gazing outside of the window again. He can't tell her. She's done so much for him already. He can't disappoint her with his ingratitude. "It's fine," he says. His voice breaks in the middle of the second word.

It isn't fine. Everything is wrong. He's out of the hospital, but he's not going home. He's going somewhere he's never gone before, with people that he'd never have met if it weren't for…

"I know. It's all so different, isn't it?" There's a sad gentleness in Constance's voice. "You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not pretending." The words almost come out in a shout. Clive bites his lip, clenching his fists. He won't yell at Constance. Never, never, no matter how hard it is to stop himself. "I'm happy. Everything is fine. I'm… I'm so happy, Constance." If he starts crying, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"...I'm glad."

Is that it? Is she going to push for any more information?

Then, Constance's hand tentatively comes to rest on Clive's shoulder. Clive freezes, but… he doesn't mind it, and he holds very still, waiting for Constance to say something. Finally, she speaks. "You know, you helped me so much, back at the hospital."

"I-I did?" Clive blinks, staring towards Constance's hand. He didn't do anything for her. Constance did everything for him.

"Yes. I'd… almost lost hope, you know." Constance's eyes are far away. "The doctors didn't think I was going to last much longer, and, well… it was hard to stay hopeful. My hands wouldn't do what I wanted. I couldn't even hold my notebook, let alone do the writing I wanted to do. One day, I dropped it on the ground. The dratted papers scattered everywhere. And then, along came this helpful, kind, intelligent young man, who picked it up for me. Do you think you know him?"

"Well, it had to have been me."

Clive isn't quite sure why Constance laughs at his response. It's obvious it was him; otherwise she wouldn't be telling him this story. "Don't laugh," he says shortly (it is nice to feel short-tempered, though… it's better than feeling empty). "And that was nothing. Of course I picked it up. I'm not a saint for doing that."

"Well, no." Constance taps her chin. "But maybe you are for talking with me every day after that. And for designing all of those blueprints with me. And for getting me coffee. And for-"

He's not that good of a person, and he won't let her think he is. All of that time spent with her… it was a way to distract him from what had happened to him. It was pure selfishness. "I wasn't being nice," he says stiffly. "I was doing it because it made me feel happy."

"Maybe. But it made me feel happy too. That's what friendship is, isn't it? It's a kind of… well, mutual selfishness, I suppose, that makes two people happy." Constance smiles. "And I really appreciated your friendship, Clive."

Clive blinks, staring into the back of the car seat. Had his selfishness really made her happy? Does he really have that kind of power?

"And then, I started to get better," Constance continues. "I wasn't going to die after all. And I thought, how could I make it up to you? I just… wanted to give you a place to stay. Somewhere safe for you, where you wouldn't be frightened all of the time. But, well…" she sighs. "I think that I was a bit selfish too. I had this picture in my head, of the two of us just being happy together. I hadn't thought about how difficult this might be for you."

"It isn't. I'm fine." Clive's fingernails dig into his palms. "I'm… I'm nothing but grateful, Constance."

"I'm glad," Constance says again, simply. "But Clive, I… I don't want you to pretend. You don't have to be grateful. I'm not going to replace your parents. I know that. All I want is for you to be safe and happy."

He is happy… or, he could be… or…

To be honest with himself (he doesn't want to be), he still doesn't know how he feels. Clive stays silent, feeling the comforting weight of Constance's hand on his shoulder, trying to think of something intelligent to say.

He's happy to live with her, but he wishes he didn't have to. And he's so glad he met her, but he wishes that he never did. But he can't say that. He doesn't want to hurt her; not after all she's done for him.

"We're here!" Cogg's voice breaks through Clive's musing.

Clive realizes that the car's come to a stop, and he and Constance both blink in surprise. "I thought we still had a long way to go, Cogg," Constance laughs uncertainly, shifting in her seat. Her hand leaves Clive's shoulder as she gets ready to step out of the car. Clive misses the feeling; he puts his own hand where hers was, but it can't replicate the feeling of hers.

"I never said that, did I?" Cogg turns off the ignition, stepping out of the car and stretching his arms. "Home sweet home." He opens Clive's door, and Clive hesitantly slips out of the car.

He blinks at the world he's stepped into. The grounds… they're like something out of a fairy tale. The house is enormous. The whole complex where Clive used to live could fit inside of here. He stares up at it in awe.

Cogg chuckles. "Speechless, are you?"

"No," says Clive, frowning, but truthfully, he very nearly is. Everything is so huge, so overwhelming. He knows that all three of them are only trying to be kind, but it's all so new, and he's… he's not scared. Of course not. He's just… apprehensive.

He wonders if this will ever be "home."

"Let me carry your luggage, sweetie." Spring picks up Clive's suitcase before he can say a word. "And then we'll give you the grand tour! There's the gardens, and the kitchen, and…"

"And the workshop!" Constance exclaims. But then, her excitement fades. "Of course, if you're too tired, don't force yourself. I can always show you another day."

Clive watches her carefully. Should he lie to her? He is too tired. He wants nothing more than to be alone, to sleep in his bedroom back home. Back in his real home.

But… it isn't lying if it makes her happy, is it? Constance tries so hard, and he wants her to be happy. Clive knows she didn't want him to feel like he has to pretend, but he wants to pretend. Pretending is all he can do to make her glad; it's all he can do to feel glad himself.

He's going to pretend.

"But I want to build that airplane." He smiles nonchalantly, the way he practices every morning. "You promised me Constance. I'll be sixteen before you know it. We need to get it off the ground, right? No time like the present."

The way Constance's face lights up at his words makes him feel warm inside. "Then let's go!"

As Constance walks through Dove Manor's doors, Clive lets her walk ahead of him, following several paces behind her. He stops at the threshold, staring through the doors. A strange new world waits inside, and he's… scared (fine, he'll admit it) to enter.

One more step. It's alright. He can do it. He can walk through the doors. He can pretend to be happy, for Constance. Maybe, if he plays pretend long enough, he truly will be happy.

He steps inside.

A/N: This was requested by Kyoukalay on Tumblr absolute ages ago. I'm so sorry for taking so long! I wound up starting a ton of stories and scrapping them (or saving them for later… I have at least two more that are on their way to being real oneshots), either because they were far too angsty, or because I felt like I hadn't developed Constance enough to make them make sense ('nice rich old lady' isn't much to work with, but I tried!). I wound up going for something earlier in Clive and Constance's relationship because I wanted to show their rapport and why they like each other. Baby!Clive is definitely a challenge to write (he acts way too grown up…), but I hope he turned out alright.

Also, if anyone's looking for music recommendations for this, I was listening to the vocaloid song "Lagtrain" on repeat while writing this... it's somewhat connected thematically, so I'd recommend it!

Thank you so much for reading; I really appreciate your time.