the bastion
Remi does not move to stop Flora. There is a moment where his body wants to, where every old parental instinct and every newer, rawer one rises up at once, tangled and useless beneath his ribs, but Flora is already a storm with her hand on the door and he knows better than most what happens when someone tries to catch lightning barehanded. He knows her hunger for the last word, knows the brittle shine of her anger well enough by now to recognise that anything said after it will only become another sharp thing for her to throw back or, worse, to carry with her until it grows teeth. So he keeps his jaw locked, keeps his foot moving with careful pressure against the bassinet, keeps Carlo and Calan asleep beneath the low thunder of voices that have not quite become shouting.
Even so, his whole body tightens as she reaches the door, bracing for the slam that feels inevitable, deserved, disastrous, all at once. When it does not come, when the latch only clicks softly behind her instead, the breath Remi has been holding leaves him slowly enough to hurt.
For several seconds he only stares at the closed door, the room suddenly too quiet around the warm smell of pie and wet hair and newborn sleep. Then he glances over his shoulder at Ronin, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion, and leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. The heels of his hands press hard into his eyes, harder than he needs to, until sparks bloom behind his lids and the blackness beneath them turns briefly star-pricked from pressure alone.
I am not sure what it was she was expecting, he says wordlessly, the thought sent through the bond without any of the careful shaping his voice would have required. Almost immediately, guilt follows it, not clean or noble but paternal and sickly, warbling through him like something knocked loose. He shakes his head without lifting his hands from his face, curls still damp where they fall forward against the towel around his neck, and amends himself before the first thought can harden into anything too simple. Or, I suppose she said what she was expecting, he adds, the disbelief still there but softer now, scraped raw around the edges. But I cannot believe that is what she thought she would get.
Even so, his whole body tightens as she reaches the door, bracing for the slam that feels inevitable, deserved, disastrous, all at once. When it does not come, when the latch only clicks softly behind her instead, the breath Remi has been holding leaves him slowly enough to hurt.
For several seconds he only stares at the closed door, the room suddenly too quiet around the warm smell of pie and wet hair and newborn sleep. Then he glances over his shoulder at Ronin, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion, and leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. The heels of his hands press hard into his eyes, harder than he needs to, until sparks bloom behind his lids and the blackness beneath them turns briefly star-pricked from pressure alone.
I am not sure what it was she was expecting, he says wordlessly, the thought sent through the bond without any of the careful shaping his voice would have required. Almost immediately, guilt follows it, not clean or noble but paternal and sickly, warbling through him like something knocked loose. He shakes his head without lifting his hands from his face, curls still damp where they fall forward against the towel around his neck, and amends himself before the first thought can harden into anything too simple. Or, I suppose she said what she was expecting, he adds, the disbelief still there but softer now, scraped raw around the edges. But I cannot believe that is what she thought she would get.
I can't pass the test,
don't wait for me.
don't wait for me.
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
