The man in the bed sits up suddenly; a flash of instant awareness and existence as he gasps loudly, his chest expanding as a sudden rush of life and air explodes within him.
     Edward's hands splay on the thick comforter, at either side of him. In the darkness of the unwindowed room, he closes his eyes and opens them again, only then noticing his surroundings.
     The smell.
     The comfort.
     And his own nakedness beneath the bedding.
     Edward swallows and closes his eyes again, his palm cupping his cheek, then opening as he runs his hand over his head and around the nape of his neck.
     Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
     Hand covers his closed eyes.
     Fuck. What is wrong with me. God damn, you are an ass. A totally useless waste of ass.
     Instinctively, Edward's hand leaves his eyes to wipe at his nose. He looks down at it, then slumps both of his hand cover his face as he sits in silence.
     The silence is broken by the beginnings of choaked sobs.

     He woke before daylight was gone. He forced himself out of the comfort of his own bed to get to yours. Well, his that you are occupying. In actuality, it is Ian's. He looked at you, watched over you, like some deathbed vigil -- though he was trying not to be morose -- and you kept sleeping...
     William sat so still for so long he wasn't even sure he was visible to anyone. That happens sometimes. He becomes so focused, so still that he vanishes from anyone's conscious or sensory comprehension. A trick of the sewer-dwellers that they should never have shown him.
     As they say in America: Too late to date Sharon Tate...
     "Mon frere," that voice comes perhaps from nowhere, from suddenly everywhere that is William, at your bedside, "...ne vous inquietent pas... sont dans ma maison et dans mon amour..." He stands from the chair and the bed feels his weight. His arm is up and around your shoulders, a hand to your head.
     In your worst moment, see who is there... it is William...

     He'd realized where he was. Memories, a few, presented themselves. But the voice in the darkness startles him, and Edward sits upright even though an arm comes around him. He frowns slightly and discourages the embrace, saying, "Thanks," quietly.
     He's far healthier than last evening. In fact, he looks rather as he often does. Edward exhales and says calmly, "I...gotta go," and then twists to find his clothing.

     "You're welcome..."
     The clothing has been cleaned, pressed and properly set out. It is Chez Dunross et Plantagenet afterall. There is the scent of blood nearby -- his -- left in case. The gun, the cell phone. The silver case. Everything in its right place...
     Almost...
     William's hands fold against his stomach, he remains seated on the bed, and he's looking at you. You think you are going somewhere, ami. "Don't worry about Montague," William notes, "... I told him ... there was some business you and I had to attend to. You'd be home tonight. He was not worried. He does not need to be." I told him nothing, his eyes seem to convey, of where I found you.
     "Dom..." he inserts suddenly. "... Is that someone you know well... in Hockley?" He found you there, Edward. Not passed out later. But in that house. "He may have your motorbike, ami. I was not able to ... drive both...I had to leave it behind." And now he rises. "I will have a car take you home."
     That is enough information for now. The necessary portions only. If you wish more, you'll say so. If not...

     Edward climbs out of the bed, but twists as he's addressed. "Dominic James. One of...Mortimer's," he says, knowing the mess that lay ahead of him. "Sorry on the bike," Edward whispers, moving to his pants and putting himself into them. "I'll get it back," he notes for the record.
     "And, um...that's okay on the car. I can get home." By walking. Edward faces you as he zips the slacks up and picks up his belt. In a few moments, he'll be as shiny as he was early last evening, when he left the garden of Dannerly Court.
     "Sorry," Edward says again. "You," his right eye squints slightly, "...didn't have to." Do anything. "I woulda been fine," he whispers, slipping belt into the loops around his sturdy waist.

     "Be prepared for push back. When your cell phone was being handed around last night from nameless voice to nameless voice, then unanswered after the word 'Hockley' was given. When you did not answer my summons, Edward, I took it..." The expression is more controlled than he thinks it is, one can see that in his eyes, the windows to his very strong emotions. "... very seriously."
     There's a world of understatement in that...
     William swallows, pausing for a moment. "And... you are wrong. I ... had to." Indigo focuses on you. "You are here... because I had to." He gestures for a moment, a burst of emotion, "I don't want to stand here... giving a lecture... that's what I'm doing," he exhales at himself. "Look, we all have our... things that we do. But last night, yours got the better of you. Do you want to know what I saw when I came in? Do you?" And if you were any less of a vampire than you are you'd really want to know. Very suddenly. But it is more directed at the space as a whole than at you.
     William raises his hand the next moment. Nevermind. Don't answer. "I'm going to furnish a car and you are going to use it," he insists. "Davydd," he interjects, "... if you are wondering, since that is what started all of this... is fine. He is here. The two of you should sit down and speak. He loves you beyond his own ability to express anything, and he's never been good at it. You love him more than you can express, and you're rather lousy at it, too. And neither of you will ever realize how much I love you. So... we need to... the three of us... figure out what we are going to do... in this new world."
     One that makes little sense. One that may find the three of you flung off of one another's immense gravity and into the universe, parted.
     "Anyway... be careful, Edward. And I mean with... that..." a glance to the case, "... as well as this..." meaning the situation.

     There's no comment to what's said. At least nothing verbal. The belt is looped and left to hang. Edward picks up his shirt and slides into it, buttoning it quickly and shoving the tails into his slacks.
     The zipper slides up at the mention of Davydd.
     "I know about Hockley," Edward finally replies, perhaps intimating more than he really does know. "I'll take care of that," he restates.
     Silence.
     "Did he...go to Tattinger?" Edward wonders, trying to sound non-committal. He reaches over and picks up the case, only staring at you a moment before opening it - it's empty - closing it, and then putting it into his jacket pocket.

     "I never saw Mr. James." He pauses. "Rather... Mr. James never saw me. A young vampire... don't know his name... doesn't matter I suppose... may tell Dominic. He was yelling about the law of Domain as I left, so who knows. Dominic may tell Mortimer. And Mortimer may tell Tattinger. I didn't really have the time to address the various political nuances, but that's certainly a possibility." At the door, William turns. "...They had... taken your gun. I believe your wallet might be a little lighter, but it seemed in well enough shape."
     Better shape than you...
     "I doubt whether Tattinger would act on a freebase house in Hockley. Where most are too baked to remember anything. Details easily lost. But..." William inclines his head, "... you didn't do anything. You were an unconscious buffet. I don't expect that it'll impact you greatly, though there might be some lingering effect. Depends on Mortimer, really. He's a petulant child. Petulant children are hard to predict. He may just gloat. The ...complaints will be about a large, unnamed fucker wielding a good amount of majesty and a load of domination. And a 9mm."
     Holy shit...what did he do...
     "I'm not going to ... force the issue," he murmurs. "You are both adults. You'll... sort it out..." He speaks of Davydd again, though you do not. But you know him. He will not be satisfied until all parties are at a table and hashing it out. Fighting brothers make him antsy. "I'll be in Scotland. Probably a good time for me to leave town..." He smirks at that and opens the door.
     But he doesn't leave. He looks back to one brother over a large shoulder, thoughts on the one in another room. "He ... will be making his presentation to the fairy court soon," not the vampire court. "You ... may want to speak with him before he does," he murmurs. "I...don't know... and he certainly doesn't know... what's going to happen when he does so. He is... anticipating a response from the Camarilla." William shrugs, but he is clearly concerned.
     Choose wisely, the look says, for it may well be the last you see of him...

     There's a frown from Edward. Fairy court? Responses. Edward's face is much like stone, or as best as he can, and he picks up his gun, holstering it. Apparently, none of this about Davydd is bothersome to anyone but him, and so, Edward keeps his counsel.
     "I'm sorry that...you came," for me. "Sorry for the trouble," Edward says again. It fills the air with someone from his end.
     "Tell him," Edward chimes, mostly together, "...I hope it works out like he wants." Have a nice life.

     The whole thing is bothersome...him... you... this. It weights the room more than his own presence. "I'm not sorry, Eduard," William says. "I am there, even when you don't know that you need me." Or won't admit it.
     What you say about Davydd does not surprise him, nor does he argue. He does not choose sides. He does not debate. He does not insist further than what he has already done.
     William simply stands there and watches seven-hundred years end with something more quiet than a whisper. Vanishing, surely, as if it had never existed. An incantation. Maybe it was.
     "It will be what it will be. The car will be waiting. Good night, Eduard."

     "Thanks again, Will," Edward says, giving a faint smile. But he does not have much in the way of cheer. Quite the opposite, he appears hurt. Not about Hockley -- that will be handled before the night is over -- but about the rest.
     Edward nods, agreeing. It will be what it will be. But he knows you will relay his hope for Davydd. For now, it's all he knows how to say.

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2004 12:41 AM