[ The man is so damn good at stringing words together in the best way possible. And she grins at him as a result, slinking towards him until she's perched on the edge of his desk, holding out her hand.]
[ Funnily enough, he wouldn't even pride himself as being particularly poetic. Margo just happens to bring out the softest side of him that he so very rarely shows.
He takes a step forward, towards her. He leans into her space in order to reach for the book sitting at his desk only an arm's length away and then he passes it into her hands. He didn't have to, but already he wants to be in her orbit.
The book itself is leather-bound, very old, and carefully looked after. On the centre of the cover is an embossed print in gold, reading: M. Rothman-Zecher. ]
[ The moment he hands it to her, whatever way he'd managed to fluster her by being close fades into the background as she looks at the book in her hands.
It's old. Very old.
And her brow furrows suddenly at the sight of it. She takes care to inspect it delicately, glancing up at him for a moment.] I've never seen this book before. [ And Margo is a voracious reader.] Where did you get it? It looks antique.
[ And why does he feel guilty about that? As though his friendship with someone outside of the Volary is something to keep hidden, when it has never been the case before. He has been careful, yes, but he's never hidden it.
It's not a secret to Margo or most of the parliament that he isn't a Rook born by blood. He still maintains some contact with a handful of people some might judge him for, but he's never cared much for their opinions anyway. ]
[ She looks up at his face at the way his voice wavers just a tiny bit at the first thing he says, her eye narrowing for a moment. Usually, he says things with unfettered confidence, something that drew her to him at first. Of course, as she grew to knew him more intimately in every sense, she came to see that his confidence was not unwavering.
And her father might be the one who can read minds but she is quite good at reading people herself, after years of practice (and years of practicing at hiding her own true emotions).
She looks down at the book, brow still furrowed as if it's telling her there's something more to it. Suddenly there are two warring factions in her thoughts, one voice tells her she does not want to know, the other voice reminds her that she's in love with him and that she wants to know everything about him, even the bad.
Only part of that is so she can protect him.
She hands the book back to him, her tone careful...] Like what...?
[ Sébastien accepts the book, holds it in his hands like it is something precious, and it is. He hasn't told her about the handful of handwritten sentences scattered across its pages, a kind of secret correspondence between him and a man who calls himself 'Joe'. Lessons and bits of inspiration; propaganda even.
It has stirred something in Sébastien's chest, maybe something that's always been there even while he'd been relentless on this path into the Volary, sparked by this month's Quarry.
He is careful when he speaks, but he is candid too. He trusts Margo with more of himself than he probably should, but love isn't very logical in most instances. ]
Do you ever think that there could be a better future?
[ There's a sinking feeling settling over her as he reiterates the fact that the book is old. And she almost opens her mouth to ask him how old because that does matter. There's was a time when things were not the way they are now, a time that some people wish they could get back to, that some people think is better. And those type of people are dangerous.
That sensation only gets worse when he asks her a question and the warring factions in her mind return.
Change the subject, steer him away from this.
No, no. Hear him out. Surely he's not thinking of THAT, he's just asking because he's ambitious...
And yet, she cannot stop herself from answering, from wanting to know what is going on in that beautiful head of his. She lets him pull her towards what she thinks might be dangerous ground.
She almost holds her breath after she asks:] What do you mean by "better future"?
[ It feels like he is taking one step that is turning into a walk and then a run — but he can't quite stop the momentum, can't quite hold himself back from spilling at least part of what's been on his mind lately. ]
My whole life, I wanted this. [ Sébastien gestures to the comfortable, downright luxurious space he resides in, waves a hand at his clothing; he'd always wanted more. ] And I did a lot to get here.
[ Not all of it good. Hell, hardly any of it good. ]
But if you are not born into it, or you aren't willing to give up everything to be here — the alternative is suffering.
[ He steps away from Margo now, turns to return the book to the rest of his shelf which is filled with spine upon spine of books, most of which she's probably seen or read. He studies the text written along the spines of his favourite books, almost as though he's speaking to them when he says: ]
There is no in-between. And it is a bleak future for more than it is a hopeful one.
[ Mostly he isn't sure what he'll find when he turns to face her again. ]
[ You know that feeling you must get when you're standing on a ledge and suddenly the ground starts to crumble and fall out from under you?
That's what Margo feels as he speaks, as he turns away from her and explains what's had him so distracted lately.
It wasn't that she hadn't noticed the way he didn't seem as focused on his goals as of late or how sometimes when they laid together in bed, he'd get quiet in a way that isn't peaceful or settled.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She's not naive, she's not a fool, even if this wasn't textbook, she'd be able to catch the way he's speaking and hear the rebellious undertones in what he says. He doesn't need to continue, she already knows where it's going. And already the wheels of her mind are turning...
Who had he been talking to? Had he been seen? Who does she have to fucking put down to keep him safe? Does her father already know?]
No. [ She says it softly, desperate. Panic rises up in her throat like bile as she stands, reaching out to yank at him, to force him to look at her.] You can't be doing this, Sébastien. [ There's a part of her, underneath all the panic and anger that's hurting for him, that he'd been vulnerable and she was about to tear him apart. But it was for his own sake, to keep him safe, to keep him alive.]
You can't be fucking serious. After everything you've done to get here... [ She knows some of it, he's told her some and she loves him all the same.]
I know. [ Sébastien takes her face in his hands, gentle and adoring and a little sad, a little guilty. He didn't need to say anything; honestly, he probably shouldn't have. If even the faintest whiff of rumour reached a Cardinal's ears that there was a kestral sympathizer within the Rook's class, they would be eradicated immediately for treason.
He knows how much it's costing him now to say as much as he has to Margo, but time is running out and he needs to do something. Who has he become? Where he'd once been driven only by his own ambition, now he thinks of the people he'd come to care about, knowing how twisted and cruel and insular the Volary really is, and it isn't prestige or an earned luxury. It is passed down through blood, and it is whored out, and the world outside of it isn't getting any better. The world within isn't either.
He strokes her cheek with a thumb. He isn't sure what he means to say when he speaks next. ]
You are the most precious thing to me, mon trésor.
No, [ she whispers when he says those first two words. She isn't hearing this, he isn't saying this. She had one too many cocktails at lunch and this is a booze-induced nightmare. Except that the way her head is pounding (her heart too), the sharp pain behind her eyes tells her differently.
He takes her face in his hands and all her racing, desperate thoughts halt for half a second as she looks at him. Her gaze meets with his as he speaks those words and she feels like her world is crumbling. She can stop this foolishness, she can make him change his mind. She has to because:]
The fact that I'm in love with you won't keep you safe, Sébastien. [ Her father doesn't fucking care. Order is supreme and Sébastien should know that by now. Tears well up in her eye, threatening to roll down her cheek because she suddenly feels helpless in a way she's never felt before.] I can't protect you.
[ Sébastien feels like his heart might burst; he doesn't remember either of them ever mentioning love in that way to each other before and it's so strange to hear in the midst of his implications against the parliament. Loving the way someone feels against you is different from loving someone, and the earnestness, the plea in her eyes has him half-wishing he could pretend he'd never brought any of this up to begin with.
But it's important. Especially so because the Quarry is soon and he can't bear to think that Nile might die when he could have tried something. Joe's words, harsh but true, have shaken the core of what he'd built up for himself. Everything is beginning to change.
And maybe all of this was never meant to be forever.
He leans in, presses his lips oh-so-gently against Margo's eyelid, forcing that tear to fall, and rests his forehead against hers. ]
Je t'aime. I love you too, Margo. [ His voice is soft but spoken with conviction. All this talk of better futures and the disparity between the Volary and the Congregation, and he needs to say this to her at least once. ] My safety has never been a sure thing. It has always been tenuous and conditional.
[ Only when/if he became a Cardinal could he feel like he was standing on solid ground, making the rules. Or so he thought. ]
[At all costs, Margo tries to disguise any vulnerabilities. And up until now, she'd been excellent at it. Sure, she lets herself appear to be more superficial than she is, but she is very good at playing the part: a seemingly vapid party girl born of privilege when really, she was a viper, ready to strike. Her effectively used venomous jabs and threats can sting for days.
And if he were anyone else, she'd have played him like a fiddle, let him think that she would allow or even support his thoughts of rebellion and go straight to her father to report him, to turn him in as a traitor. Any sort of rebellion was a bad thing, even the small seed of dissent must now be allowed to be planted.
The status quo was necessary to keep the peace, to keep everyone safe, right?
But the man who stands before, she realizes now as she thinks she's about to lose him to a fight she cannot possibly win, has taken a piece of her heart, bit by bit, until it lives out of her chest and in his hands.
He kisses her tear away and she does not let another one fall, she strains against her emotions. However, when he tells her he loves her, she feels a moment of innocent elation before the reality of it all crushes her heart and shoulders again.
She wishes he never told her. No, what she really wishes is that he never had these thoughts at all.] Don't say that like you're not even more at risk now. [ It's sad that their revelation of love has to be set aside for this conversation instead of it turning into a long-ass fuck session. ]
What's changed? Why are you... This doesn't align with what you've been working towards unless... [ She looks at him now, her expression suddenly hardening.] Is this what you planned all along? [ Gods, please tell her that isn't the case. That he hadn't been using her because if that were the case...]
No — no, I couldn't have planned any of this even if I wanted to. Believe me. Everything I've always told you has been the truth. It is me who feels like I've changed.
[ If he had the choice to go back to believing in nothing more than bettering himself for no other reason than to see himself rise above everyone and everything else and never worry about his own safety and life again, would he?
It had been a solitary pursuit for years, and it was difficult, and it was messy. Even at the beginning of this entanglement with Margo, he'd been using her — but she was aware of it and she was even game to help him. And finally, when he'd earned the patronage of a Cardinal within the Volary did he get his chance to know some stability, even if it was still a little like walking on eggshells most days. He had bells for the first time, he had purpose, he had (some) power, he had a place. And more than that, despite his best efforts to keep to himself, he had a family he had chosen who cared about him more than any of his own blood relatives ever had.
Maybe it's opening himself up to Margo and Jyn and Nile and a small handful of others in these past years that have made him see the world differently, see it for more than his own step-ladder, because it was always going to skew imbalanced by the very nature of his birth. And it wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. No matter how much higher he climbed, if by some miracle a Cardinal granted him a position like he'd dreamed of since he was a scrappy child in the lowest level of the Congregation, perhaps the world was always going to shrink around him anyway, a suffocating collar made from gold and greed. ]
[ At least there's that. This isn't some plot to use her and her connections, to trick her. In some way, she knew better, if only because she'd have been able to sus it out earlier if what was going on between them wasn't real.
It's a small comfort in the wake of what it all means.
It's not that Margo is heartless, that she doesn't see that there are people suffering but she has been raised (no, indocrtinated) to believe that this is the best way, the only way things can function or else the world would fall into chaos and everyone would suffer or even die. Margo isn't the idealistic type, she is practical, always has been. And what he's toeing along the edge of is dangerous, reckless and puts everyone around him at risk.
He apologizes and she closes her eye, her expression tightening again because she knows he is but that doesn't make this better, this doesn't undo the fact that he's put himself in the line of fire. Because it won't stay a secret, someone already knows and if someone knows, her father will find out.]
If we're still being honest then... I don't know what the fuck to do.
I don't know either. [ He could lie and tell her that he'll forget this conversation, put all of these thoughts away into a box somewhere and pretend this had never happened— but they both know he would be lying and they both know it wouldn't make a difference now.
Thoughts are a powerful thing, one small seed sown could change the entire world of that individual, make them see and feel and move differently. And like he was at a crossroads between two choices, he is at a loss as to what direction he should take, knowing that one of them will mean leaving Margo behind, perhaps leaving this entire life he'd painstakingly built for himself behind too. For both of their protection.
He lets his hands drop back to his sides and already it feels like a Herculean task. ]
I haven't done anything. [ Yet. ] Haven't breathed a word of this to anyone else.
[ To be honest, she's grateful he doesn't try to lie to her, to act as though he'd drop this once and for all. She knows him well enough by now and she too knows how seeds of doubt are sown. And she can already tell it's too late to stamp it out.
The world feels as though it's moving impossibly slow around her even as her heart feels like it might race right out of her chest. This is a crossroads she did not expect herself to be at... ever.
She reaches for his hands when they fall to his sides, taking them in hers and looking at them as she speaks.]
But you do intend to do something. [ She knows him. ]
[ He lets her hold them, grateful for the warmth of her skin against his, and eventually he makes it so he can twine his fingers with hers, to keep himself anchored even while the rest of his head is swimming in thoughts. Each one chases after the other, racing, so he's left unsure how to respond.
What comes out is a truthful: ] I don't know. [ But the way she isn't asking is enough to answer for both of them.
He's never really been the kind of man who sits back and does nothing, especially not when it concerns him in some way. Selfish, perhaps, but it's a skill he's had to learn from the beginning in order to survive for this long. And now the close circle of those he chose to be a part of his own family are in danger ... it would be cowardice to do nothing.
He thinks of Joe sending him books, risking his livelihood every time he does it, thinks of how badly their last conversation had gone, thinks of the importance of those messages hidden in scribbled text. And he thinks of Margo now, and how much it'll hurt her if he does something that ultimately jeopardizes his position here in the cozy comfort of the Volary, how it might ultimately end the small, private paradise they built with each other amidst the chaos around them. But she would have her family to keep her safe — strong, powerful, practically untouchable; she would always be protected, even if it was from him. ]
[ She's not a teenager anymore, she's a realist (and she's never been an optimist even when she was younger) And in the end, someone always ends up hurt or dead when it comes to star-crossed lovers.
That's where this is going, she can already sense it. Whatever fragile bit of happiness she'd found with him was going to be torn apart at the seams the moment he decides to do more. And she knows him well enough to know that time will come sooner rather than... never.
Fuck, it hurts. And there's a voice inside of her that berates her now, that calls her a fool for being so fucking indulgent, for letting herself fall without checking to see where she might land. Her stomach lurches and her heart aches, she looks down at their fingers tangled together and is afraid to say anything because once this moment ends, she knows nothing will ever be the same again.
Margo doesn't beg. She won't now even if she wants to, desperately. She cannot ask for the impossible, she cannot bend time to her will, to move him back to a time before he'd read the book or speak to whoever he had. And she cannot ask him not to be the man she knows he is, a man of action, a man who does not sit idly by and a man who ruthlessly protects his interests.
She'd come here to be ravaged thoroughly but now... it feels like she might be saying goodbye. ] Then there isn't... I suppose that's that.
The finality of those words, the softness in her voice, it feels like a fist squeezing something in his chest, tight and painful.
It occurs to him that he's never felt this before, the soreness in his chest, the sadness; he never thought he would. Before he can think to restrain himself, he lets go of her hands, pulls her to him instead and memorizes the way she feels in his arms, the warmth of her, the smell of her. Because it does feel like a goodbye, not at all what he'd expected to arise from their conversation, though it feels like it was always going to be inevitable and anything else that happened before it was just one more interaction leading towards it.
God. He loves her. He loves her so much.
He doesn't say anything. He can't confirm what she's said. Not yet. It's another moment of selfishness he grants to himself. ]
[ It doesn't matter how her heart flutters when he tugs her in close, like it always does when he touches her... She wants to rage at Sebastien, she wants to call him selfish, to call him a fucking fool. Most of all, she wants to tear him apart because right now he's doing that to her heart.
But she loves him. And it's not his fault, not really. Even through her own pain, she can see that. It's her own damn fault for opening her heart to him. It was her fault for thinking that anyone could prize her above anything else.
This might be the only way she can protect him and unfortunately, herself. The truth of it is, she's powerless to protect him if he decides to go down this path. And she knows it's not a matter of if but when. Her father is too powerful and he knows too much, Margo would not be able to keep this from Stephen if they carried on.
She buries her face against his chest as she closes her eye tightly to keep any of her weakness from showing, to keep the tears at bay.]
[ It is another selfish flash of a thought that makes him imagine a situation where he takes all of this back so they could return to the moment before he started to ask her about better futures. But what's done is done, what's said is said, and the Quarry is bigger than either of them. Lives of people who never deserved to be tossed into the arena are at stake, people Sébastien cares about.
He presses a kiss into Margo's hair, still not ready to let her go, to break the moment.
But eventually he takes a breath. Lets it out. ]
No one else knows how I feel, not yet. [ Sébastien is a very good actor when he needs to be. ] And I'll go before anyone finds me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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You summoned me.
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You are magic. [ Beat. ] And a sight to behold.
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Let me see this book that has kept you from me.
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[ Funnily enough, he wouldn't even pride himself as being particularly poetic. Margo just happens to bring out the softest side of him that he so very rarely shows.
He takes a step forward, towards her. He leans into her space in order to reach for the book sitting at his desk only an arm's length away and then he passes it into her hands. He didn't have to, but already he wants to be in her orbit.
The book itself is leather-bound, very old, and carefully looked after. On the centre of the cover is an embossed print in gold, reading: M. Rothman-Zecher. ]
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It's old. Very old.
And her brow furrows suddenly at the sight of it. She takes care to inspect it delicately, glancing up at him for a moment.] I've never seen this book before. [ And Margo is a voracious reader.] Where did you get it? It looks antique.
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[ And why does he feel guilty about that? As though his friendship with someone outside of the Volary is something to keep hidden, when it has never been the case before. He has been careful, yes, but he's never hidden it.
It's not a secret to Margo or most of the parliament that he isn't a Rook born by blood. He still maintains some contact with a handful of people some might judge him for, but he's never cared much for their opinions anyway. ]
He works with books like these.
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And her father might be the one who can read minds but she is quite good at reading people herself, after years of practice (and years of practicing at hiding her own true emotions).
She looks down at the book, brow still furrowed as if it's telling her there's something more to it. Suddenly there are two warring factions in her thoughts, one voice tells her she does not want to know, the other voice reminds her that she's in love with him and that she wants to know everything about him, even the bad.
Only part of that is so she can protect him.
She hands the book back to him, her tone careful...] Like what...?
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[ Sébastien accepts the book, holds it in his hands like it is something precious, and it is. He hasn't told her about the handful of handwritten sentences scattered across its pages, a kind of secret correspondence between him and a man who calls himself 'Joe'. Lessons and bits of inspiration; propaganda even.
It has stirred something in Sébastien's chest, maybe something that's always been there even while he'd been relentless on this path into the Volary, sparked by this month's Quarry.
He is careful when he speaks, but he is candid too. He trusts Margo with more of himself than he probably should, but love isn't very logical in most instances. ]
Do you ever think that there could be a better future?
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That sensation only gets worse when he asks her a question and the warring factions in her mind return.
Change the subject, steer him away from this.
No, no. Hear him out. Surely he's not thinking of THAT, he's just asking because he's ambitious...
And yet, she cannot stop herself from answering, from wanting to know what is going on in that beautiful head of his. She lets him pull her towards what she thinks might be dangerous ground.
She almost holds her breath after she asks:] What do you mean by "better future"?
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My whole life, I wanted this. [ Sébastien gestures to the comfortable, downright luxurious space he resides in, waves a hand at his clothing; he'd always wanted more. ] And I did a lot to get here.
[ Not all of it good. Hell, hardly any of it good. ]
But if you are not born into it, or you aren't willing to give up everything to be here — the alternative is suffering.
[ He steps away from Margo now, turns to return the book to the rest of his shelf which is filled with spine upon spine of books, most of which she's probably seen or read. He studies the text written along the spines of his favourite books, almost as though he's speaking to them when he says: ]
There is no in-between. And it is a bleak future for more than it is a hopeful one.
[ Mostly he isn't sure what he'll find when he turns to face her again. ]
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That's what Margo feels as he speaks, as he turns away from her and explains what's had him so distracted lately.
It wasn't that she hadn't noticed the way he didn't seem as focused on his goals as of late or how sometimes when they laid together in bed, he'd get quiet in a way that isn't peaceful or settled.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She's not naive, she's not a fool, even if this wasn't textbook, she'd be able to catch the way he's speaking and hear the rebellious undertones in what he says. He doesn't need to continue, she already knows where it's going. And already the wheels of her mind are turning...
Who had he been talking to? Had he been seen? Who does she have to fucking put down to keep him safe? Does her father already know?]
No. [ She says it softly, desperate. Panic rises up in her throat like bile as she stands, reaching out to yank at him, to force him to look at her.] You can't be doing this, Sébastien. [ There's a part of her, underneath all the panic and anger that's hurting for him, that he'd been vulnerable and she was about to tear him apart. But it was for his own sake, to keep him safe, to keep him alive.]
You can't be fucking serious. After everything you've done to get here... [ She knows some of it, he's told her some and she loves him all the same.]
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He knows how much it's costing him now to say as much as he has to Margo, but time is running out and he needs to do something. Who has he become? Where he'd once been driven only by his own ambition, now he thinks of the people he'd come to care about, knowing how twisted and cruel and insular the Volary really is, and it isn't prestige or an earned luxury. It is passed down through blood, and it is whored out, and the world outside of it isn't getting any better. The world within isn't either.
He strokes her cheek with a thumb. He isn't sure what he means to say when he speaks next. ]
You are the most precious thing to me, mon trésor.
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He takes her face in his hands and all her racing, desperate thoughts halt for half a second as she looks at him. Her gaze meets with his as he speaks those words and she feels like her world is crumbling. She can stop this foolishness, she can make him change his mind. She has to because:]
The fact that I'm in love with you won't keep you safe, Sébastien. [ Her father doesn't fucking care. Order is supreme and Sébastien should know that by now. Tears well up in her eye, threatening to roll down her cheek because she suddenly feels helpless in a way she's never felt before.] I can't protect you.
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But it's important. Especially so because the Quarry is soon and he can't bear to think that Nile might die when he could have tried something. Joe's words, harsh but true, have shaken the core of what he'd built up for himself. Everything is beginning to change.
And maybe all of this was never meant to be forever.
He leans in, presses his lips oh-so-gently against Margo's eyelid, forcing that tear to fall, and rests his forehead against hers. ]
Je t'aime. I love you too, Margo. [ His voice is soft but spoken with conviction. All this talk of better futures and the disparity between the Volary and the Congregation, and he needs to say this to her at least once. ] My safety has never been a sure thing. It has always been tenuous and conditional.
[ Only when/if he became a Cardinal could he feel like he was standing on solid ground, making the rules. Or so he thought. ]
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And if he were anyone else, she'd have played him like a fiddle, let him think that she would allow or even support his thoughts of rebellion and go straight to her father to report him, to turn him in as a traitor. Any sort of rebellion was a bad thing, even the small seed of dissent must now be allowed to be planted.
The status quo was necessary to keep the peace, to keep everyone safe, right?
But the man who stands before, she realizes now as she thinks she's about to lose him to a fight she cannot possibly win, has taken a piece of her heart, bit by bit, until it lives out of her chest and in his hands.
He kisses her tear away and she does not let another one fall, she strains against her emotions. However, when he tells her he loves her, she feels a moment of innocent elation before the reality of it all crushes her heart and shoulders again.
She wishes he never told her. No, what she really wishes is that he never had these thoughts at all.] Don't say that like you're not even more at risk now. [ It's sad that their revelation of love has to be set aside for this conversation instead of it turning into a long-ass fuck session. ]
What's changed? Why are you... This doesn't align with what you've been working towards unless... [ She looks at him now, her expression suddenly hardening.] Is this what you planned all along? [ Gods, please tell her that isn't the case. That he hadn't been using her because if that were the case...]
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[ If he had the choice to go back to believing in nothing more than bettering himself for no other reason than to see himself rise above everyone and everything else and never worry about his own safety and life again, would he?
It had been a solitary pursuit for years, and it was difficult, and it was messy. Even at the beginning of this entanglement with Margo, he'd been using her — but she was aware of it and she was even game to help him. And finally, when he'd earned the patronage of a Cardinal within the Volary did he get his chance to know some stability, even if it was still a little like walking on eggshells most days. He had bells for the first time, he had purpose, he had (some) power, he had a place. And more than that, despite his best efforts to keep to himself, he had a family he had chosen who cared about him more than any of his own blood relatives ever had.
Maybe it's opening himself up to Margo and Jyn and Nile and a small handful of others in these past years that have made him see the world differently, see it for more than his own step-ladder, because it was always going to skew imbalanced by the very nature of his birth. And it wasn't enough. It was never going to be enough. No matter how much higher he climbed, if by some miracle a Cardinal granted him a position like he'd dreamed of since he was a scrappy child in the lowest level of the Congregation, perhaps the world was always going to shrink around him anyway, a suffocating collar made from gold and greed. ]
I'm sorry, mon trésor.
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It's a small comfort in the wake of what it all means.
It's not that Margo is heartless, that she doesn't see that there are people suffering but she has been raised (no, indocrtinated) to believe that this is the best way, the only way things can function or else the world would fall into chaos and everyone would suffer or even die. Margo isn't the idealistic type, she is practical, always has been. And what he's toeing along the edge of is dangerous, reckless and puts everyone around him at risk.
He apologizes and she closes her eye, her expression tightening again because she knows he is but that doesn't make this better, this doesn't undo the fact that he's put himself in the line of fire. Because it won't stay a secret, someone already knows and if someone knows, her father will find out.]
If we're still being honest then... I don't know what the fuck to do.
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Thoughts are a powerful thing, one small seed sown could change the entire world of that individual, make them see and feel and move differently. And like he was at a crossroads between two choices, he is at a loss as to what direction he should take, knowing that one of them will mean leaving Margo behind, perhaps leaving this entire life he'd painstakingly built for himself behind too. For both of their protection.
He lets his hands drop back to his sides and already it feels like a Herculean task. ]
I haven't done anything. [ Yet. ] Haven't breathed a word of this to anyone else.
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The world feels as though it's moving impossibly slow around her even as her heart feels like it might race right out of her chest. This is a crossroads she did not expect herself to be at... ever.
She reaches for his hands when they fall to his sides, taking them in hers and looking at them as she speaks.]
But you do intend to do something. [ She knows him. ]
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What comes out is a truthful: ] I don't know. [ But the way she isn't asking is enough to answer for both of them.
He's never really been the kind of man who sits back and does nothing, especially not when it concerns him in some way. Selfish, perhaps, but it's a skill he's had to learn from the beginning in order to survive for this long. And now the close circle of those he chose to be a part of his own family are in danger ... it would be cowardice to do nothing.
He thinks of Joe sending him books, risking his livelihood every time he does it, thinks of how badly their last conversation had gone, thinks of the importance of those messages hidden in scribbled text. And he thinks of Margo now, and how much it'll hurt her if he does something that ultimately jeopardizes his position here in the cozy comfort of the Volary, how it might ultimately end the small, private paradise they built with each other amidst the chaos around them. But she would have her family to keep her safe — strong, powerful, practically untouchable; she would always be protected, even if it was from him. ]
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That's where this is going, she can already sense it. Whatever fragile bit of happiness she'd found with him was going to be torn apart at the seams the moment he decides to do more. And she knows him well enough to know that time will come sooner rather than... never.
Fuck, it hurts. And there's a voice inside of her that berates her now, that calls her a fool for being so fucking indulgent, for letting herself fall without checking to see where she might land. Her stomach lurches and her heart aches, she looks down at their fingers tangled together and is afraid to say anything because once this moment ends, she knows nothing will ever be the same again.
Margo doesn't beg. She won't now even if she wants to, desperately. She cannot ask for the impossible, she cannot bend time to her will, to move him back to a time before he'd read the book or speak to whoever he had. And she cannot ask him not to be the man she knows he is, a man of action, a man who does not sit idly by and a man who ruthlessly protects his interests.
She'd come here to be ravaged thoroughly but now... it feels like she might be saying goodbye. ] Then there isn't... I suppose that's that.
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The finality of those words, the softness in her voice, it feels like a fist squeezing something in his chest, tight and painful.
It occurs to him that he's never felt this before, the soreness in his chest, the sadness; he never thought he would. Before he can think to restrain himself, he lets go of her hands, pulls her to him instead and memorizes the way she feels in his arms, the warmth of her, the smell of her. Because it does feel like a goodbye, not at all what he'd expected to arise from their conversation, though it feels like it was always going to be inevitable and anything else that happened before it was just one more interaction leading towards it.
God. He loves her. He loves her so much.
He doesn't say anything. He can't confirm what she's said. Not yet. It's another moment of selfishness he grants to himself. ]
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But she loves him. And it's not his fault, not really. Even through her own pain, she can see that. It's her own damn fault for opening her heart to him. It was her fault for thinking that anyone could prize her above anything else.
This might be the only way she can protect him and unfortunately, herself. The truth of it is, she's powerless to protect him if he decides to go down this path. And she knows it's not a matter of if but when. Her father is too powerful and he knows too much, Margo would not be able to keep this from Stephen if they carried on.
She buries her face against his chest as she closes her eye tightly to keep any of her weakness from showing, to keep the tears at bay.]
You know they'll kill you if you do this.
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He presses a kiss into Margo's hair, still not ready to let her go, to break the moment.
But eventually he takes a breath. Lets it out. ]
No one else knows how I feel, not yet. [ Sébastien is a very good actor when he needs to be. ] And I'll go before anyone finds me.
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