Soundtrack: Bring On the Wonder - Susan Enan

ébréchure
Chapter Two

There was something about her that he'd never quite understood.

As sweet, as optimistic as Elena was, there was something distinctly logical about her. She had a tendency to overthink things—she just couldn't leave them alone until she had every last detail of something organized in its little box in her mind, and if something didn't fit, it left her confused until she could reorient the labels and settle back into contentment. That, he could fathom. In a way, he was the same, relying on facts and evidence and laws to provide his perception of the world.

But sometimes she stepped out of her own box. Every once in a while he would catch a little twinkle in her eye that was almost resignation, as she accepted something that she couldn't understand. He'd seen it when they were teens and their other cousins would fight, whether over a girl or a horse or plain ego, when she'd slowly shake her head and purse her lips and instead of looking lost, would give a small smile and close her eyes before she turned to walk away.

Those were the times he realized that she wasn't as plain-edged as he'd thought she was.

First it was the rosary he noticed on her bedstand one day when he helped her fix an uneven leg on her bed. He'd never asked her about it, though he was certain she'd never mentioned church or said grace before a meal. That sort of thing was between a person and themselves; it wasn't his business to ask.

-x-

Once, he'd walked to her villa with a single bag over his shoulder. It had been dark, the early night of a long winter, when he stepped off of the path and began to tread along the rudimentary cobblestones to her door. She was sitting in the open window of the den, fire crackling loudly behind her in the fireplace, oblivious to his approach, facing out towards the hills with a distant expression. Perhaps, he'd thought curiously, it was even what people would call longing.

Dangling between her fingers, twisting and untwisting, tangling and straightening, was the little ivory rosary. She'd set it down when she noticed him, already beginning to smile, and as if nothing was odd she'd ushered him inside, closed the window, and gone about making dinner for the both of them.

-x-

It wasn't that he had anything against religion, really. It was just a tradition he didn't partake in. His mother had been particularly devout, though his father had never done anything but shrug when he'd asked about God as a child. Religion was inspiration; it was motivation. It was something to cling to, to make the world a little steadier. In a way, skepticism and cold, hard facts were his religion. It was how a person chose to interpret the world, what made the way they saw things.

He was remembering the rosary, wondering where it had gone, when he turned her journal over in his hands, impassively looking at her name written in curling script on the spine. A ribbon held it closed.

Daemon hadn't come to clear her room in the Vongola compound yet. It was deep enough that it been relatively untouched, though he imagined that it had rankled her not to have any windows. She always liked to see the grass and the flowers and to feel the breeze, even when it was cold or wet outside.

It took a long time to untie the ribbon and open the book. Something about it made him feel sort of ashamed, as if she would walk through the door any moment and see him going through her things. He could picture the surprised, hurt look in her eyes as she'd ask him why he was reading her journal. His gaze fell on the beginning of an entry in the middle of the volume.

My little brother asked me today what God is.

An old entry. His brows furrowed a little. Alfeo had died in a fall from a horse four years before. He'd been nine then.

I didn't really know what to tell him. Not for a long time.

I didn't answer him for days. It wasn't that I didn't want to. But I hadn't thought about it in a long, long time. He has a good point. What is God? It seems like women cling to Him for strength, and men yell of Him for vindication. But that can't be all, for Him to have lasted so long. I was once told that I seemed like a very devout woman by someone in the city to whom I used to speak. She even asked if I was going to become a nun. The thought is dizzying.

So being devout means being good, doesn't it?

No. I thought about it very hard until I came back to Alfeo and sat down with him. His eyes were so big as he looked at me. What a sweet boy, and here he was, looking for some hint at perfection. What is God to a child? Something to scare away the bogeyman? Explanation for everything they don't understand, perhaps. But then why isn't it discarded, like all fairy tales, as a person ages?

I couldn't bear to lie to him. So I told him the truth.

"I don't know about any man in the sky who tells us how to live, or any son of his who rose from the dead," I told him. "But I know there's something that we'll never understand. I know there is good in the world and there is bad in the world and there always will be. And I think that whether someone's listening or not, if you pray for help, then afterwards you'll feel better about it."

It was obvious he couldn't quite fathom what I was talking about, but like some eager student he nodded and leapt up to kiss me on the cheek. "Thank you, Elena!" he said. "Father said that God is a sail and we're all boats. You make more sense."

That made me laugh, because it was the same thing.

I couldn't stop thinking about it, though. I pulled the rosary that mother had given me from my dresser and was sitting in the window earlier. Alaude caught me. What a silly woman I must have looked. But he didn't ask.

Bless him.

The journal closed with a loud thump. He hadn't realized that he was so tense; his shoulders ached from the pressure. Gradually he forced his neck to relax, then his back, breathing slowly. Bless him. Oh, Elena, he thought with a tiny, bemused smile. I'll never understand.

-x-

There was a little sound as the door opened behind him. Alaude looked over his shoulder impassively at the familiar figure standing there. Daemon was a vain man, but now he looked ragged. There were dark blotches beneath his eyes and his hair was unkempt. His jacket was rumpled.

"Alaude," he murmured softly.

He turned back to looking down at the book in his hands. "You hadn't cleaned the room after a week." An explanation for his being there, though Daemon had been her lover. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as the man shrugged.

"I know." He stepped further into the room, gaze landing on the book. For a moment he seemed thoughtful, and then he looked up at Alaude's face. "You can keep that, you know."

For a long moment he was quiet; his thumb was stroking the ribbon as if admiring the smoothness of it. Expressionless, he held it out and let it fall onto the bed. "There's no point." She's dead.

As he turned to walk out he noticed something beside the door. Hanging from the back of the chair—a little ivory rosary. He didn't pause in his steps even when he heard Daemon call his name quietly, almost pleadingly. Without a word he left the room and finally the Vongola land, expression never changing. It was pointless to keep something of a dead person's.

Nonetheless, the rosary was tucked carefully into his jacket.

-x-

"It's been a long time."

Alaude didn't respond to the man standing at his back. The window in front of him was interesting enough, with its wide view of the rolling hills and distant cities of Italy. The glass reflected the image of the brunette hovering, his expression tentative. He'd just gotten a haircut; the chocolate curls only just touched the nape of his neck. He could remember the feel of them sliding through his fingers.

Enzo tilted his head a little as if he was debating what else to say; colour, paled by the reflection, caught his eye. The tattoo. He'd always been a little fascinated by it. What was the significance? The Italian word for hovel, the flames, the skull? Kind of obvious at first but it felt as if there had to be something more to it. The bucking horse on his arm. Why was he called the stallion anyway? It felt like he'd wondered that before but had never bothered to look into it. Perhaps it just wasn't worth ruining the intrigue.

"You know I missed you."

The voice was just beside his ear. His heart stuttered despite his melancholy mood.

Slowly he turned around to look up, meeting the inquisitive caramel eyes of the man who'd almost been his lover. He took a slow breath before parting his lips to speak.

"I…" What did he want to say? I missed you, too? Had he? When he'd returned to a half-demolished CEDEF he'd lain awake at night thinking of what it would be like with Enzo beside him. Company. Ears that listened even when he wasn't speaking aloud.

It must have been on his face. The don's mouth curved in a gentle smile and his hand rose to stroke Alaude's cheek. He closed his eyes and leant into the touch. It was nice. Warm. When he felt the kiss he didn't resist. This was what it felt like to surrender. Somehow, it wasn't the powerless feeling he'd imagined.

Whether it would make him forget or would simply push everything else to the side, he didn't care. As long as it did one of the two.