Chapter Thirty-five: Resipiscence

Within the small, lone, pine abode, the couple freshened up with damp and dry towels. Then, they followed with a quick change of some dry attire while their washed clothes dried on the wooden clothesline.

Clad in a navy blouse, Joy had chosen plain long johns for her bottom half as all the stored pants were just too oversized for her short frame. But at least with the shirts and sweaters, she could fold the cuffs.

Moreau had opted for dark green pants and a white blouse. It was odd to be able to finally put on clothing over his torso. However, not all the clothes were agreeable on him or his partner. The previous olive pair that Moreau wore appeared to be older and must have been for someone much younger. Because now, the current lower wear was a bit baggy on the small man. And to his dismay, the hemline was still tight and unable to be buttoned.

Despite the double rolling of the sleeves of the sweaters and blouses, Joy couldn't find her hands if she shook her arms too fast. Nonetheless, the petite pair was thankful for clothes that were better being too big, rather than not being able to wear them at all.

Presently, Joy was placing some folded garments in the middle of the beige blanket on the single bed. Whereas Moreau had seated himself on the rocking chair. He had just finished filling his old burlap sack with supplies from the food pantry, along with kitchen utensils and matches to help start what Joy called 'a campfire' to cook their meals. His doctor's kit had been removed and placed back under the small sofa. Being a retired physician, Moreau no longer required nor needed the surgical tools anymore. Besides, he wanted to be done with any sharp knives, no matter the size.

Once the young woman felt she had enough apparel for her and her partner, she bundled the assorted garb with the dried pants and her ocean-blue sweater into the bed blanket; just in case the latter might come in handy if the weather happens to become chilly overnight.

Remembering how her grandmother demonstrated how to tie the ends of a cover to make it a makeshift knapsack, Joy's tongue returned amid her small lips. And over her shoulder, she saw Moreau still sitting on the rocker.

"I hope ya packed lots'a beans," she remarked cheerfully, turning around. "Beans're very important when it comes ta camping."

The man neither replied nor craned his head. Joy fluttered her eyes, considering that he may not have heard her.

"Mo?" The light and chipper voice was raised. "Are ya ready for our big trip?"

Again, no answer.

Joy left the extended area of the living quarters and slowly stepped across the sitting area. The one creaky plank alerted her partner, and he gasped lightly.

"Momo?"

Moreau jerked his head, swerving it towards the standing woman's round face which was full of concern.

"I'm, I'm sorry, Joy. I didn't hear you."

Joy laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are ya alright?"

Gradually, Moreau granted her a small smile.

"Ye-yes. I'm… all right."

Joy's eyes trailed down to the porcelain bowl settled between the fidgeting fingers. Soon after she and her partner had put on new outfits, they decided on oatmeal with bits of mixed fruit for some healthy energy to start their venture. However, something was amiss, or rather not amiss…

"Ya haven't finished?" The young woman mentioned with surprise. "Is da strawberries and berries not sweet enough? Would Mo like some maple syrup?"

"No, no thank you. The oatmeal's very tasty. Just like how Joy always makes it."

With a cant of the head, Joy matched his little smile, but she remained perplexed.

"But why aren'tcha eating? Is it cold?"

"No-no… I was…"

With half-lidded eyes, Moreau blinked at the moderately warm porridge, then at the unlit fireplace. His partner saw what he was quietly staring at… The artwork of the shoreline to which she had bestowed him.

"Oh, don't worry, Mo, we can bring your birthday painting with us!"

The ends of Moreau's lips tugged a bit higher, and he nodded. Joy plucked the small canvas from the brick hearth's mantle, strolled up to the bed, and bent down, gently securing it in her bright blue backpack.

When she returned to Moreau, she found him idly ladling the berries and thickening oats over and over but without lifting the tablespoon.

"Is Mo's tummy upset?"

"Don't worry, I'm, I'm not… icky-wicky anymore."

Joy's mouth-line upturned lightly as did her partner's for he'd begun to slowly swing in the big wooden chair. Listening to the rhythmical creaking of the withered board, a low, impressed chuckle escaped his expanded lips.

"Well… This's the first time I'm using the rocking chair."

Moreau reclined, instigating the sloping, carved timber to move quickly.

"It's… hmm-hmmm… very nice."

After a few contented giggles of her own, Joy looked around the simple interior.

"Is Mo gonna miss our lodge and our comfy couch?"

The couple viewed the mentioned brown sofa. Its one cushion still retained Moreau's indent from all his previous nightly rests as a heavily hunched fish-man.

"Oh, I just remembered," said Joy with a coy titter. "Dat wittle couches are called love seats."

Moreau halted the chair and flittered his eyes at his blushing partner. He rubbed his warm neck.

"Huh-ha… I uhh… guess that's why our hearts felt so… comfy there."

"Tee-hee… yeah," Joy agreed, remembering the relaxing readings before bedtime.

With a weakened smile, the man resumed rocking.

"But yes, I will miss our lodge." He let out a long breath, closing his eyes. "I hope it'll be okay when we leave."

Joy hummed. "Do ya think da person dat gave it ta ya will want it again?"

Moreau's eyelids squeezed tighter. His partner heard several sharp respirations shooting through his nostrils. Her hand revisited his shoulder.

"…Momo, ya sure you're alright?"

The small man's throat made a spasm after a hard swallow.

"Ye-yes… Uh… I'm just… thinking… Thinking… ba-back…"

Pressing her lips, the woman walked into the only other room of the cabin. Perceiving soft grunts, Moreau turned his head to watch her carrying one of the large kitchen chairs. He could still not get over how someone so little could be so strong. Then again, her heart was proof of that. Time and time again.

Fronting the tall furniture at her observing partner, Joy sat down and locked eyes with him.

"Mama Bear taught me when ya don't wanna talk, ya usually really need ta."

Moreau blinked at the warm gaze, but his twitching mouth did not part while recommencing his chair to a steady, perpendicular sway. Joy patted her bottom lip and gasped softly.

"Oh, instead'a da oatmeal, would Mo like some tea?"

Moreau's feet seemed to have just bolted to the floorboards.

"Wh-What?"

"Would'ja like ta drink some tea?" Joy happily reiterated. "I saw a teapot and a silver box behind da dishes in da wittle cupboard…"

Moreau's enlarged sights were unblinking. The tin teakettle and tea box had been pushed behind the plates and bowls, so he'd forgotten about them entirely.

"…I've watched Grandma make cups'a tea a buncha times. Tho it wasn't black tea, all teas are made da same way with-"

The young woman cut herself off because the freed spoon was rattling against the white basin. Gently, she took the half-eaten oatmeal and placed it next to them. She eased forth, taking hold of her heartmate's wrists.

"Momo! I'm here! I'll listen."

Without turning his head and with his palms sealed to thin thighs, Moreau stared at the wooden wall. Until he felt the top of his hands being gently squeezed and rubbed.

"Please, Mo… Just… let it out… Okay?"

Joy paused. She smiled, leaning her head to the side.

"…Okay?"

At length, the man resigned a shaky sigh.

"…O-okay…"

He inclined on the chair rods as much as his curved, upper torso would permit, and Joy parroted his resting posture in her seat, folding her fingers onto her lap.

"Please take your time, Mo."

With a solemn nod, Moreau clenched and unclenched his hands over the arms of the rocking chair. He suddenly felt like he'd just gulped a mugful of screws. However, the horrid heaviness in his chest outweighed the discomfort of a dry gullet.

"Uh-Uh'hem…" Moreau became idly fascinated at his bouncing knee. "The, the, per-person who I, I said went back to his hometown and gave me this lodg- cabin… uhhhhh… he r-really didn't give it to me. I… to-took it."

The small man's Adam's apple jolted from another harsh gulp. His low and calm voice had become higher and tense.

"I, I tricked the silver-scalp man… I made him sleep with some sleepy-bye medicine in his tea…"

Moreau's eyes flitted to his sitting partner; her face appeared bemused but still attentive. After his chest rose and fell from another big respire, he went on.

"…And I, I put my last ca-cadou in him to see if he would be a perfect vessel for Miranda's baby… But, but he… wasn't."

By this time, Joy's mouth-line had fully declined.

"What happened ta da umm… silver-scalp man? Did he go home?"

Moreau shrugged. "Maybe… He was older, though. The cadou must've made him sick and he… went away or froze from all the snow. I, I didn't see the silver-scalp man anywhere. But this place and, and everything inside is h-his."

Moreau looked away for the woman's palm was shielding her open mouth and her red eyebrows were slanted upwards. Following a stark and silent moment with Joy observing the long johns that her legs were currently in, her hand descended.

"I… still don't know what a… vessel means…"

The man kept his focus on the inactive fireplace. It looked like how the inside of his ribcage felt. Dark and utterly lightless.

"I'm not even sure," he replied honestly. "I just know Miranda was looking for someone special to make her special child come back to life."

"'Back ta life?'" Bewildered, Joy's lower eyelids arose. "But… what happens ta da person after dat?"

Moreau shook his head heavily. "I… I don't know… I guess the person who becomes Miranda's real child stops being them. There was some-someone chosen. Miranda used her magic and put the Rose baby in jars for me and my… unreal sisters and brother to guard. But, but I don't know what happened because I left and everything explodeded."

He let out an unexpected, indifferent guffaw.

"I didn't even know Miranda's baby's name or, or why we were doing a test for the snappy blonde man. I still don't. Just… Just more things that I don't know about her…"

Rubbing her elevated socks against each other, the young woman blinked at her fingertips drumming over her kneecaps. This indeed, was egregious knowledge.

"So… if dis 'Rose baby' didn't turn into Miranda's child, would she've… died?"

Another rise of bony shoulders. Joy's eyes grew wide.

"Oh my goodness! Could… Could Mo've died?"

"Uhhhhh… I don't think my cadou liked me very much, but it, it, still used me as its… vessel. But at times, when I hurteded a lot, I thought… it was going to kill me."

"Oohh…"

The pair dipped their heads, taking the time to fully absorb and realize all that had been locked away had been uncaged. Eventually, Moreau reared up a quivering mouth.

"M-Mo… un-understands…"

Joy fluttered her lashes. "Understands?"

"That J-Joy doesn't want to be heart-heartmates anymore."

The woman slowly shook her broad sights at her upset partner.

"Mo, I never said dat."

"But… But, but doesn't Joy think I-I've been BAD?!"

Joy squeaked at the loud, blurted query. Her eyes were welling just as much as his.

"Lemme ask dis first, please… Do you think you were bad?"

With a shaky grimace, Moreau bobbed his head; his parted hair draping the sides of his square-contoured face.

"Ye-Ye-Yes! Mo was bad! And-And I feel bad for being very bad!"

The weeping, small man stopped rubbing his watery vision when he felt his knee being cupped. With an agape mouth, Moreau blinked at his leaning partner because her rosy lips had curved.

"Dis's very good, Mo."

Blinking rapidly, Moreau's wet nose snuffled.

"Huh?"

"When somebody feels bad for something dey shouldn't have done, it means dey know it was wrong and won't do it again. Mistakes help us learn, even if dose mistakes aren't very good."

Moreau peered at his tiny droplets landing atop the fair, consoling hand.

"Now that my cadou is not in me anymore, my head… my… heart knows better. But… knowing what I've done… it…" He circled his palm under his collarbone. "It really hur-hurts!"

Sniffing, Joy beamed, regardless of the flowing, empathetic tears.

"Dis means dat Mo really is all better."

The man's mouth-line tried to quaver upwards as well but failed. He brought his legs up to his seat. Hugging his shins.

"But-But-But me and my fake family broke up a real father with his baby! And I put so many cadous in so many peoples! Even if they didn't, didn't like me, I still sh-shouldn't have done those, those bad experiments! And-!"

Moreau felt an abrupt pang within his chest at the recollection of a pile of discarded skeletons and what the rope twined on his old hood once harbored.

"And I made their bones into a stupid crown!" Tightening the hold of his legs, the man's hung head swished harshly. "I had a, a very scared assistant. He dragged SO many away! He-He never told me his name, but he shouldn't have died, e-either! Sooo many peoples died or became Lycans."

"Ly…cans?" Joy drawled.

Moreau elevated his shimmering view. "Lycans are uhh… not-so-nice puppy-peoples."

"…Oh."

His partner blinked broadly, worriedly amazed that werewolves weren't just movie monsters.

Moreau stifled a shiver. Indeed, there'd been no sightings of Lycans since the Village's obliteration, but just the idea of one of those hairy maniacs lurking in shadows…

Perhaps packing the wrought-iron poker to stoke the campfire would help ere on the side of caution.

He sighed heavily. "Miranda said it was good and an… huner… honore… honorahba…"

"Does Mo mean… honorable?"

"Yes… that's it… Tricky word…"

Joy smiled fleetingly. "Thank you."

Moreau's lifted lips were also brief.

"Ye-Yes… Miranda said it was… honorable to bring her baby back. But I was very scared this would replace me." His shoulders drooped lower. "She said all the… sacrifices were for the greater good. All, all I cared about was making her happy. But I was so sick, and I, I couldn't stop eating so many fishermans when my cadou made me grow!"

Moreau buried his face into his knees. "So-So-So many peoples were losteded… Wait…"

Wide sights shot upwards.

"losteded… Oh, GOD!"

Hastily, he dropped his legs from his seat and took the surprised woman's hand.

"I, I, I wanted to put a cadou into Joy's tummy and I was mad be-because I didn't have any left! Ohhhhh, I could've hurt-! Killed my precious person! My-My heartmate!"

Ten spindly fingers squeezed around the little knuckles.

"I'm so sorry Joy! I was so bad! So very bad! BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD! BAD…!"

The repentant man couldn't stop croaking out the last word. With a shaky chin, Joy got to her feet and nestled on his lap. Moreau's raucous cries dwindled to murmured sobs when her lips caressed his. Then instantly, he clung on as an overboard sailor in a lifesaver, pressing his head on her shoulder. He resumed rocking while the woman stroked his thin scalp.

"Yes, you were bad, but… I know dat my Momo didn't mean ta be. You were only doing what Miranda told'ja ta do. Ya were trying to be a… very good son! You were tricked so Miranda was da one who was very bad!" Joy emitted a flat hum. "Was she ever sorry for what happened ta ya or anybody else?"

"N-no-noo," was the hiccupped reply.

"Den she was very, very bad! A buncha people got hurt or died 'cause'a her. Miranda's da Scary Fairy in Sleeping Beauty!"

Moreau lifted his cheek, blinking the salty moisture away from very pink corneas.

"Scary Fairy?"

"Ya said Miranda was magic and had wings, right?"

"Uhhh… r-right?"

"Were da wings black and did she wear black all da time?"

Moreau bowed his head timidly. "…Yes."

With narrowed sights and a tightened small jaw, Joy nodded with a confirming huff.

"Den yes, da Scary Fairy for sure!"

Without a word, the small man resumed leaning his head on his partner's shoulder. She fondled his uneven brown strands while the angry register evaporated into the melodic hum of Hush Little Baby. With contentment restored, Moreau wiggled his lower legs so the chair could swing them again. He was not shocked that he no longer cared what she called his false mother. It was the pure mercifulness and understanding of it all.

"Joy… is-is not mad at Mo?" the man murmured.

He felt the mighty, comforting little arms give him another clinch.

"Sad, but not mad." Joy tilted back to meet his surprised gaze. "Not one bit, lovtie."

The tender term triggered Moreau's mouth-line to arch thankfully. He took a glimpse at the living area's four sunny windows.

"Even if Mo turned Joy into a uhhh… not-so-nice puppy?"

"Ummm… well," began Joy with a tiny titter. "I think being a… very nice puppy would be kinda fun."

Moreau stared widely and Joy covered her smile.

"Tee-hee-hee… Just kidding. It was never supposed ta happen, so it didn't." She cupped her partner's broad jawline. "Just like Mo not being… umm, a perfect vessel for da Scary Fairy's baby."

"Really?" asked her partner, relishing the soft palm supporting his weary head.

"Really, really." The young woman nuzzled his damp nose with hers. "'Cause I wouldn't have my perfect handsome prince."

At last, Moreau's chest felt not only warm but weightless.

"Thank you, my Joy. For listening."

Joy's eyes glinted from the beloved declaration and pressed her brow onto his.

"Thank you, my Momo. For telling."

With a ruddy face, the enamored man's lids slid down, fully welcoming the much-needed butterfly kiss.

With the stuffed sack slung over his shoulder, Moreau walked out the front entryway of the cabin. It felt quite strange carrying something so weighty without any painful disabilities inhibiting his movements. It was invigorating. Notwithstanding the load on the man's back, his entire core was extremely light. Because it was his heartmate lending an ear for him to express the aware guilt from all his past's cruel actions and intentions to impress…

The heartless priestess.

The big, booming countess with the bloodthirsty trio.

The spooky little puppeteer with the mean, pushy doll.

And the big, crass machinist.

Juxtaposed to all of them, Joy believed in her partner and above all, his resipiscence. Therefore, he was able to forgive himself.

Never again would he willingly hurt anyone else. Never again!

Carefully plopping the burlap bag down with a low grunt, Moreau faced the entrance of the cozy, pine cabin. His extrospection of the six hundred and forty-square residence had taken him some extra moments. Everything reminded him of her. The coatrack, the sofa, the kitchen chair, the rocking chair, the fireplace, the little twin bed...

Everything.

The man could see their past selves laughing and smiling from the engaging and interacting activities… Cooking, cleaning, playing, and reading…

His nostalgic sights landed on the wall shelf by the bed, and he exhaled, flapping his lips.

Reluctantly, Moreau chose to leave all his storybooks behind. Unlike the departure from the Village, the only other brought belongings were the cheese wheels since his late hated-self caught most of his food. But with all the supplies that he and his partner were going to be towing, carrying two dozen hardbacks would've been too strenuous.

However, Joy had reassured Moreau that she had plenty of fairytales at their beach house in LA. A pleased beam resurfaced. Although he would miss them being the Lord and Lady of the Lodge, he couldn't wait to live in his true home.

But the small man droned to himself edgily. Regardless of Joy's assurance that their introduction would be fine, he still hoped that Mama Bear would receive him without screaming. Not once had the former, adjoined Lord of the Village become accustomed to the screams. Though Joy regarded him as her handsome prince, his face and posture weren't exactly picturesque, never mind princely.

With a shake of the head, Moreau returned the big sack to his shoulder and gave the living quarters one final once-over.

"Thank you, little house. I hope someone takes care of you as you've done for us."

And with a grateful nod and smile, the door was pulled in and left unlocked.

Moreau released the unpolished, copper knob and made his way off the small porch. After carefully descending the three narrow steps, he raised his sights to find the humming woman standing next to a tree that was not too far from the cabin. Her back was turned, and she appeared quite focused, as well.

Sucking in a thin, top lip with a curious hum, Moreau made his way to the seemingly intriguing oak.

"What's Joy doing?"

"Almost… …done…" was the slow, concentrated response. "Just leaving something for da animals ta remember us."

During their tread to the cabin, Moreau's peripheral vision noticed a few rabbits and deer silently studying them at a near distance. He assumed he wasn't so scary to fauna, now that his unnatural forms were no more.

"Dare!" Joy veered around and stepped next to him. "What'cha think?"

Bright blue eyes glinted with sheer awe at the little vibrant design. It made the brown bark gleam in the rare sunlight. And the message it portrayed made the small man's heart swell and his beam grew and brightened.

"Momo loves it, Joy."

"Yay!" the woman squealed, pecking his lips. "Joy does, too!"

Putting the held paintbrush into a small art kit, she pushed it down into her backpack. Once it was zipped and strapped on, she picked up the blanket bundle of clothes.

"Welp!" she huffed eagerly. "Shall we go, lovtie?"

"Yes," Moreau concurred with a strong nod. "Yes, yes, lovtie, we shall!"

Clasping the pits of their elbows, the pair readied to see the great lake one last time.

Joy glanced at her sneakers. "Now all we need is a yellow brick road ta follow."

Moreau's eyelids flittered. "Uh... But we're already following a blue water stream."

"Tee-hee-hee! You're right. We'll follow dat."

The hopeful heartmates commenced their travel. As they moved, Moreau inquired about the song Joy had just resumed humming. She explained it was from a fantastical film that was perfect for a path expedition, such as theirs. And Moreau could not help but grin as his precious person gifted his ears with her retelling of the enchanting classic of a girl and her dog embarking on a quest for home.

Just like them.