Maeve
It shatters her to pieces to hear him cry. He shakes and shudders in her embrace, face buried against her neck in an attempt to hide from all that is hurting him. Every emotion ravaging his mind and body; not satisfied until he's completely destroyed. His apology is quiet, rasped against her collarbone with the way he folds himself against her and she shushes him gently.
He would never need to apologize to her. Not for something like this.
His hands grasp her blouse in a death grip as if she's his only life line in that moment as his words spill out. Vague and unclear and leaving her trying to piece together what exactly has happened to make her sweet boy weep in her arms. He doesn't keep her guessing for long, letting everything go in a fumbled rush, finally revealing all he'd kept from her in his letters.
Maeve holds him the entire time. Her fingers never stopping the gentle way they card through his hair nor the slight sway of their bodies as he clings to her. She shushes him again, lips pressing against his temple, "Respire, chérie. Je t'ai eu." Maeve murmurs in their shared tongue, waiting until his shoulders aren't shaking nearly as violently to lead him over to the small couch. She takes his hands in hers, brushing her thumb across his busted knuckles, already making notes of what she'll need to treat his injuries.
"Listen to me, Jude, and listen well. You are allowed to feel anything you need to. If you hate her, then you hate her. If you're angry with your father, then you're angry with your father." Maeve begins, not forcing him to meet her eye, but instead letting the sincerity bleed through her tone. "All of those feelings are valid. Vous êtes valide." She reaches up with a free hand, cupping his cheek in the soft cradle of her palm, thumb barely brushing over his cheekbone. "It doesn't make you a horrible person. If it did, then there would be a lot more unredeemable people in this world." As if sensing that was part of the issue at the root of it all. His fear of disappointing those in his life.
Wiping away at his tears with a feather soft touch, Maeve regards his battered appearance, taking him in from head to toe as he continues to snuffle. "Mais pourquoi ne me l'as-tu pas dit plus tôt? I could have helped. I would have helped."
He would never need to apologize to her. Not for something like this.
His hands grasp her blouse in a death grip as if she's his only life line in that moment as his words spill out. Vague and unclear and leaving her trying to piece together what exactly has happened to make her sweet boy weep in her arms. He doesn't keep her guessing for long, letting everything go in a fumbled rush, finally revealing all he'd kept from her in his letters.
Maeve holds him the entire time. Her fingers never stopping the gentle way they card through his hair nor the slight sway of their bodies as he clings to her. She shushes him again, lips pressing against his temple, "Respire, chérie. Je t'ai eu." Maeve murmurs in their shared tongue, waiting until his shoulders aren't shaking nearly as violently to lead him over to the small couch. She takes his hands in hers, brushing her thumb across his busted knuckles, already making notes of what she'll need to treat his injuries.
"Listen to me, Jude, and listen well. You are allowed to feel anything you need to. If you hate her, then you hate her. If you're angry with your father, then you're angry with your father." Maeve begins, not forcing him to meet her eye, but instead letting the sincerity bleed through her tone. "All of those feelings are valid. Vous êtes valide." She reaches up with a free hand, cupping his cheek in the soft cradle of her palm, thumb barely brushing over his cheekbone. "It doesn't make you a horrible person. If it did, then there would be a lot more unredeemable people in this world." As if sensing that was part of the issue at the root of it all. His fear of disappointing those in his life.
Wiping away at his tears with a feather soft touch, Maeve regards his battered appearance, taking him in from head to toe as he continues to snuffle. "Mais pourquoi ne me l'as-tu pas dit plus tôt? I could have helped. I would have helped."
And I was catching my breath
Staring out an open window
catching my death
Staring out an open window
catching my death
