45th, Ash 122,
It was getting harder to keep his distance from the people he loved.
Delia's hand reached for him often, and while he would not deny her his escort into dinner or where else it was proper that he should lend his arm to his wife, the small touches were beginning to wear at his resolve.
How weak was he a man, that such small things could etch into the walls he'd put up to keep safe the woman he'd sworn to protect?
This did not even mention Eitan, whose eyes followed him with as much confusion and worry as his half-sister's. Stefan had been forced to move away whenever his brother in law came close to him on even the most innocent of pretext. Their fingers brushing as the man handed him a drink was enough to strangle his heart in his chest. After all they had been through the ache of his need for the comfort of his family was like a living thing inside him, constantly in the throws of dying but never allowed to perish and be still.
He could only make excuses, of work, of being needed, of one emergency following the last.
When Delia had asked him, after their little family dinner party, to help her put their daughter to bed he had barely managed to choke out,
"I can't." Turning away before he could steady his voice and give her a polite smile with his explanation of being needed elsewhere.
When he'd decided that he had to pull back into his proper place he'd known that he would have to be cold for a while, return to the aloofness he'd shown to the world before he'd discovered what happiness could feel like. It would hurt them all, even Luca, he suspected, but a temporary pain was better than the betrayal of endangering them with himself.
And he knew, by the razor sharp edges pressing into his mind whenever he tried to remember what he felt like to be held that this was now his hell to live in. There was something wrong with how his thoughts pathed now, he could feel it, but what it was he did now know and distance was the safer road. For them.
It had been ten days since the dinner for Reiner and he'd been able to keep himself from coming home for more than a few hours at a time since then. He slept on the couches in the sitting room adjacent to his office, pressing his face in deep and wrapping himself in the blanket he refused to let Deinerin take to wash for the lingering scent of his brother. The one that he hadn't yet failed. Only almost. So very nearly. And if sometimes it felt like he was sobbing when he shook so hard he could not catch his breath, no tears ever fell. It would pass, he told himself, when he could not make it stop. It would pass, and sleep would come, and tomorrow he'd be stronger.
He'd gotten a note that morning asking him to come discuss the results of the census and survey of what trained work people were available to them that did not fall under his purview in the Windworks. It was important, and it was work, and he had to do it. He sent back a note that he would arrive just before dinner time. They family could share a meal if Eitan was available, or just Stefan and the ladies if not. Then he could say he had spent time with them.
When he arrived it had been more difficult to step over the threshold he'd once bounded over in his eagerness to see those who waited for him. Steeling himself he made his way to the sitting room, moving quickly behind his desk before his wife could be informed of his presence and sitting. He rose when she entered, of course, and she did not try to get to him, though she did pause as though waiting an invitation to do so. When he gestured to the comfortable chair he'd set across from him and sat himself, she followed.
His greeting was pleasant and they spoke while passing papers between them, it was exactly the sort of equal partnership in marriage he'd always hoped for, even if it no longer felt that way. He praised her, honestly, for her efforts, for the speed with which she had managed to organize the people and begin relocating them to more appropriate housing than the basements of the Windworks.
They were just finished and it looked like his wife was about to speak to him of something less business oriented when the bell rang for dinner. Standing he smiled his bland, even smile and offered her his arm. She clung to it as they walked and was reluctant to release it when they entered the dining room to find Eitan and Luca taking their own seats. He greeted them both as pleasantly as he could manage and then sat. The meal passed quietly, without much conversation, and Luca kept peering at him as though something was wrong with his clothing or she disapproved of his choice of tie, or a foul odor surrounded him. When he stood and said he thought he might go to the library to have a drink and see if he could find a book he'd been wanting both women looked at Eitan, for some reason, the one pleading, the other intent.
Stefan went, whatever that was about, poured himself a double of whiskey and stood by one of the beautiful windows looking out at the darkened lawn. The glass was likely some of the only from the capital that still survived. The wards having kept them intact. This thought sent his mind reaching for Eitan and, as though somehow the idea had summoned him, the man appeared. Stefan felt him, caught his scent, but did not turn. Unprepared for the encounter he could only swallow, then take a larger swallow of the alcohol and hope to be left alone.
It was getting harder to keep his distance from the people he loved.
Delia's hand reached for him often, and while he would not deny her his escort into dinner or where else it was proper that he should lend his arm to his wife, the small touches were beginning to wear at his resolve.
How weak was he a man, that such small things could etch into the walls he'd put up to keep safe the woman he'd sworn to protect?
This did not even mention Eitan, whose eyes followed him with as much confusion and worry as his half-sister's. Stefan had been forced to move away whenever his brother in law came close to him on even the most innocent of pretext. Their fingers brushing as the man handed him a drink was enough to strangle his heart in his chest. After all they had been through the ache of his need for the comfort of his family was like a living thing inside him, constantly in the throws of dying but never allowed to perish and be still.
He could only make excuses, of work, of being needed, of one emergency following the last.
When Delia had asked him, after their little family dinner party, to help her put their daughter to bed he had barely managed to choke out,
"I can't." Turning away before he could steady his voice and give her a polite smile with his explanation of being needed elsewhere.
When he'd decided that he had to pull back into his proper place he'd known that he would have to be cold for a while, return to the aloofness he'd shown to the world before he'd discovered what happiness could feel like. It would hurt them all, even Luca, he suspected, but a temporary pain was better than the betrayal of endangering them with himself.
And he knew, by the razor sharp edges pressing into his mind whenever he tried to remember what he felt like to be held that this was now his hell to live in. There was something wrong with how his thoughts pathed now, he could feel it, but what it was he did now know and distance was the safer road. For them.
It had been ten days since the dinner for Reiner and he'd been able to keep himself from coming home for more than a few hours at a time since then. He slept on the couches in the sitting room adjacent to his office, pressing his face in deep and wrapping himself in the blanket he refused to let Deinerin take to wash for the lingering scent of his brother. The one that he hadn't yet failed. Only almost. So very nearly. And if sometimes it felt like he was sobbing when he shook so hard he could not catch his breath, no tears ever fell. It would pass, he told himself, when he could not make it stop. It would pass, and sleep would come, and tomorrow he'd be stronger.
He'd gotten a note that morning asking him to come discuss the results of the census and survey of what trained work people were available to them that did not fall under his purview in the Windworks. It was important, and it was work, and he had to do it. He sent back a note that he would arrive just before dinner time. They family could share a meal if Eitan was available, or just Stefan and the ladies if not. Then he could say he had spent time with them.
When he arrived it had been more difficult to step over the threshold he'd once bounded over in his eagerness to see those who waited for him. Steeling himself he made his way to the sitting room, moving quickly behind his desk before his wife could be informed of his presence and sitting. He rose when she entered, of course, and she did not try to get to him, though she did pause as though waiting an invitation to do so. When he gestured to the comfortable chair he'd set across from him and sat himself, she followed.
His greeting was pleasant and they spoke while passing papers between them, it was exactly the sort of equal partnership in marriage he'd always hoped for, even if it no longer felt that way. He praised her, honestly, for her efforts, for the speed with which she had managed to organize the people and begin relocating them to more appropriate housing than the basements of the Windworks.
They were just finished and it looked like his wife was about to speak to him of something less business oriented when the bell rang for dinner. Standing he smiled his bland, even smile and offered her his arm. She clung to it as they walked and was reluctant to release it when they entered the dining room to find Eitan and Luca taking their own seats. He greeted them both as pleasantly as he could manage and then sat. The meal passed quietly, without much conversation, and Luca kept peering at him as though something was wrong with his clothing or she disapproved of his choice of tie, or a foul odor surrounded him. When he stood and said he thought he might go to the library to have a drink and see if he could find a book he'd been wanting both women looked at Eitan, for some reason, the one pleading, the other intent.
Stefan went, whatever that was about, poured himself a double of whiskey and stood by one of the beautiful windows looking out at the darkened lawn. The glass was likely some of the only from the capital that still survived. The wards having kept them intact. This thought sent his mind reaching for Eitan and, as though somehow the idea had summoned him, the man appeared. Stefan felt him, caught his scent, but did not turn. Unprepared for the encounter he could only swallow, then take a larger swallow of the alcohol and hope to be left alone.
