This is my submission for the Choices Fandom Game: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words
I was given my picture by the wonderful @bobasheebaby who not so subtly hinted that I should write this about Bastien and Annabelle, and I was more than happy to comply. I tried my actual hardest to keep this AT 1,000 words. But, you guys, I am wordy. This was so much fun, though, and I am very excited to share this piece!
A/N: This piece can be read alongside my series The Broken Bits. This takes place just three days after Bastien and Annabelle meet. If you haven’t read their first meeting, you can do so here. Also, fun fact: a “rose of sharon” isn’t actually a rose. it’s used to describe “a flower of the field or valley” but there isn’t a specific flower that is being referenced. (picture prompt appears in body of text)
Word Count: 1,263
Tunes: Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac and Rose of Sharon, Mumford and Sons
He saw her again just three days after meeting her in the entrance hall of the palace. It was a warmer than usual spring morning and Bastien was finishing his rounds before meeting with Jackson to discuss the arrangements for the Milan trip. He made his way through the courtyard between the main building and the outer offices, the sun warm on the back of his neck. The hedges were tall but trimmed with razor precision into thick, solid walls of green. Bastien reached out and ran his hand along the waxy leaves as he passed by. He enjoyed when his patrol took him through the gardens or the courtyards. The palace was beautiful with its sculpted reliefs and oil paintings, everything dripping in gold, but it was stifling at times. A gilded cage was still a cage, and on warm days he much preferred to be outside. He turned the corner and where he would normally expect to see the violet blossoms of the giant Rose of Sharon bush; he was met instead with a shock of fiery orange hair glinting in the sun.
He reacted instinctively, not wanting to be seen, by shrinking back against the hedgerow. She sat in front of the bush, one leg stretched out, her milky white skin practically glowing against the emerald blades of grass, the other bent with a sketchbook propped against her knee. Her curls rolled down her back, some of them dancing on the breeze and blowing into her face. He watched as she used the hand that held her pencil to brush a few stray strands back behind her shoulder, only for them to blow back into her face again. It would be much easier for her if she tied it back, Bastien knew, but he found himself enjoying the fact that she hadn’t. She didn’t strike me as someone who does things because they’re easy, he thought to himself, remembering her quick comebacks and sharp wit…that playful glimmer in her eyes, the way that her cheek would get that dimple in it when she smirked at him. She does things exactly as she wants to.
He’d found himself thinking of her over the past few days, wondering if or when he’d bump into her again. He watched her for another moment as she brought her pencil back to the paper, moving it gracefully, sweeping it across her page like a magic wand, making flowers and tangled vines appear from nothing. Her toes curled in the grass, the sun in her hair and on her skin- she looked like a flower in the field, no wonder she could capture them so perfectly. He realized he’d been watching her for longer than he meant to when another breeze blew through the courtyard, shaking the blossoms and the leaves and her hair, and he knew he had to move before she turned and saw him. He stepped out from behind the hedges and started back on his path, his palms sweaty as he got closer to where she was set up in the grass.
She’s just a girl. Just say hello, what’s wrong with you? His thoughts did nothing for his confidence. You’re training to be the Captain of the King’s Guard someday, man, and you can’t talk to a pretty face? Before he could continue berating himself, he heard something and realized she was not only listening to music on a small battery operated radio, but that she was signing along. The song changed and her nimble fingers jumped to the volume dial, spinning it and making the music louder. Her outstretched leg bopped with the beat and her voice hit his ear, “Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and who will be her lover?” He stutter stepped as he heard her voice, off key; she was an artist but certainly not a singer, though that wasn’t stopping her from belting the song with reckless abandon. Now you really have to say something. You’re watching her, you’re listening to her, for god’s sake, at least clear your throat. Bastien wished he could teleport to Jackson’s office so he wouldn’t have to interrupt her, wouldn’t have to pierce this perfect bubble of sunshine and song that she was enjoying. But that wasn’t an option, so he cleared his throat and took another step towards her.
“I was wondering how long you were going to stand there, Bastien,” she said between lyrics, without turning around. “This is a private concert, do you have a ticket?” she glanced over her shoulder at him and he could see a dark smudge of charcoal above her right eyebrow. She looked amused, that smirk back on her face, one cheek squished up into her sparkling eye.
Despite being caught in the act, he felt a smile creeping up his warm face, a sheepish laugh falling from his lips. He patted his pockets as she spun around, drawing her long legs up in front of her. “I seem to have misplaced my ticket,” he said, “would you happen to have another?”
Annabelle grinned at him and set her sketchbook aside. “Sorry, an act like this,” she gestured to herself, “sells out quickly. “Better luck next time, Mr. Senior Assistant.”
“Apprentice,” he corrected her, but the wink she shot him told him that she knew, and that she was teasing him. He shook his head and checked his watch. He had exactly 3 minutes before he was due in Jackson’s office, and at least a 5 minute walk ahead of him. He’d have to run. “So when’s the next show time?” he asked.
Annabelle looked down at her sketchbook, at the blossoms she’d been working on. With a smirk, she ripped the corner piece off of one of the pages and quickly turned it over, scribbling something on the back. She rose, unfolding her long legs, and crossed the space between them. She smelled like grass stains as she came closer, holding the paper out to him. “You tell me,” she said, biting her bottom lip and looking at him through her lashes.
Confused, Bastien looked down at the paper. It was one of her flowers, gorgeously lifelike, and on the back she’d written her name and a phone number, and two little x’s. When he brought his disbelieving eyes back up, she was already scooping her things back into her bag. “I’ve got to get to a meeting with my advisor. You’re probably supposed to be somewhere too,” Bastien nodded, still in awe of the drawing she’d given him. “Well, you better get wherever you need to before you’re in too much trouble to take me out sometime.” She winked again as with a toss of her hair she set off towards the palace, leaving him to shove the paper on his pocket and sprint across the courtyard to Jackson’s office.
_ _ _ _
On the final day of his post as Captain of the King’s Guard, Bastien Lykel left the room that had been his office, an age softened piece of paper in his hand, the smudged sketch of a Rose of Sharon still as lifelike as the day she’d given it to him. Ever our lives entwined, he thought to himself, recalling a poem she’d read him one day. He sighed, tucked the sketch back into his breast pocket where it had been a constant for the past twenty one years. Time to find out how true that is…
And I will surround you
With a love too deep for words
Hold you from the world and its curse
So long as I have breath in my lungs
Long as there's a song to be sung
I will be yours and you will be mine
Ever our lives entwined
My rose of Sharon
Sleeves up, guard down // take a breath, tomorrow is another day // Tonight we've made it through
.:.
Why ivy? It symbolizes achievement, ambition, fealty, loyalty, protection (hello Kings Guard) + friendship, growth, healing, marriage, tenacity, trustfulness (hello everything else that makes good men like Jackson Walker and Bastien Lykel)
as with all my prototype designs, some lessons learned... in hindsight, I would've made this in an even larger hoop to play with the layout of the text. (Round 2 in the works because I'm a perfectionist) I'll likely use a different "sleeves up" figure on the right next time because I stitched the hands on that motherducker three times before giving up (odd perspective from the reference photo).
Vanna bumped the door open with her hip as she hastily tied her long brown hair in a ponytail. The bell above the door jingled, but the noise of Saturday night swallowed the sound of the bell. Someone was very drunkenly singing “Don’t Stop Believing”, a small group of equally drunken fans gathered near the stage to cheer him on. Ugh, that’s right, it’s karaoke night, she thought as she finished her pony tail and hurried toward the bar. She was only ten minutes late, but the backup had already started at the drink station, and she winced at the look Jay shot her from behind the mixing tin he was shaking furiously- far more vigorously than a martini called for, he was bruising the gin on purpose by the look of it. He shook the container in one hand and haphazardly garnished a long island iced tea with the other by plopping a lemon wheel in it, the dark liquid sloshing out over the top of the glass and onto the rubber spill mat below. Vanna slipped past a group of bachelorettes and lifted the trap door to enter the bar area, an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry, Jay, the baby was-“
“Yeah, yeah, it’s all good, V, just get over here and start pouring beers.” Jay rolled his eyes before giving her a wink to prove that his 5 minutes of hating her were up. He wasn’t really mad at her, it had just been a long night and Kayla, the opening bartender, had all but evaporated as soon as the clock struck ten having been at The Hippo since noon. She was supposed to wait for her relief to get there, but she had a date and Jay’s pleading did nothing to guilt her into staying past her shift time. Vanna smiled at him as she reached into the mug chiller for three cold glasses and began pouring Brooklyn Lagers, expertly tilting the glasses to create the perfect head of foam before sliding them down the bar to Jay at the drink station. The two worked seamlessly with Jay calling out beers and wine for Vanna to pour as they dug out from under the mountain of orders. When the crowd around the drink station had dispersed, the patrons properly plied and ready to make fools out of themselves on stage, Vanna helped Jay get things back in order before the next wave hit.
“So, everything good with the kid?” Jay asked over his shoulder as he replenished the lime wedges from a container he’d pulled from a cooler under the bar.
Vanna laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, he’s fine.” She gestured with the towel in her hand. “Just at that age where everything is a fight, there’s always a tantrum to be thrown, and he seems to have a sixth sense for when I’m leaving. Kid was passed out, asleep and snoring, but as soon as I said goodbye to the babysitter and grabbed my keys he was awake and screaming.”
Jay chuckled. “Yeah, I remember when mine was like that.” He laughed again, using tongs to refill a jar of maraschino cherries. “Fiona used to switch” he snapped his fingers with a loud crack, “like a demon possessed her when I’d have to leave for work. Now?” he blew air through his lips and raised his tong hand. “Now I’m lucky if I get a “later, dad” It’s a phase, V, no worries.”
Vanna leaned against the shelving behind the bar and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well don’t tell me that.” Jay laughed. “Is it too much to ask for something in between tantrums and indifference?”
“Yeah, that doesn’t exist.” Jay finished filling the garnish bin and moved to lean against the shelving next to her. He wiped his hands on his apron before crossing his arms and gently nudging her with his shoulder as the group of bachelorettes took the stage for “Dancing Queen”. “So, uh, you hear from the kid’s dad recently? I know he was here to visit a few months back and then…I uh…I know that whole… attack thing happened and you said you had family there and…I’m rambling now. If you don’t want to answer just tell me to shut up.” He turned his head to smile sheepishly at her.
She felt her chest tighten at the mention of the attack, at the thought of him…at the thought of her family. He’d finally gotten in touch with her a full two days after the attacks, those two days passing like months while she waited to hear about the people she cared about. But it had been a quick, curt conversation that hadn’t made her feel much better at all. She sighed, ran a hand over the top of her head and grabbed the end of her ponytail, tugging and twisting it around her fingers. It was her nervous tic, and Jay noticed. “I…no, I haven’t heard anything since...”
Jay leaned over and gave her a one armed hug. “Sorry I brought it up, V, just…I care, that’s all. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Thanks, Jay,” she leaned into his hug without uncrossing her arms. She knew that he was just trying to show interest, show support. He didn’t know all the ins and outs of her situation. He didn’t know the history of it…and he didn’t know she had a brother. As the group of cosmopolitan drowned girls on stage wound down their song, another wave of patrons started approaching the bar and their moment of reprieve was over. They resumed their positions at the drink station and in front of the taps, and Vanna was glad that she didn’t have to do much thinking to pour beers; she was at The Hippo, her mind was anywhere but.
She went on auto pilot, muscle memory taking over to pour the perfect 8oz servings of wine, her wrist tilting at the same angle each time, arm pulling upwards at the same point of each pour. This way her mind was free to wander from person to person, starting with Bertrand. He’d been the first man she’d fallen for, wide eyed and oblivious, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. He was serious and dignified, he stood for all of the things she admired about the nobility, all of the things she wanted but could never have. He’d promised her nothing, and they’d never talked about what their relationship meant if it meant anything at all. They hadn’t done much talking period, if she was being truthful with herself, spending their time alone with their hands roving under each other’s clothing, their lips leaving hot trails and little marks all over one another’s skin. She’d sighed his name into a kiss more frequently than she’d said it in any other manner; he’d pinned her to a wall, a bookcase, a door, more often then he’d stood before her and had a conversation. There wasn’t love to have been lost. He was the father of her child, and it had hurt that he didn’t want to give it a try, to see if they could be a family, find love where they’d found pleasure. He’d said it had been due to familial duties, and that was when she learned that she’d never be good enough for these people, and she didn’t want her child to live that way. She didn’t tell Bertrand about the baby because she didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to see his son as a burden. She always planned to tell him someday, but someday when she could rightfully refuse any monetary aid he’d try to shove at her to assuage his guilt. She didn’t love him when she left Cordonia, and she didn’t love him now that he’d found her, now that he knew about Bartie. He’d said he wanted to be part of their lives, that since he’d found them he’d felt that he was missing half of himself. But she felt nothing other than relief that he wanted to be involved in Bartie’s life in a real way, and not just by writing a check. Since the attacks though, she’d heard nothing from him, and again, it hurt that this time he’d lied about wanting to be a part of their lives. Two strikes against him and he’d started off down in the count; That night, as she mechanically poured a glass of house red, she decided that she was done considering Bertrand Beaumont family.
Her thoughts went next to her mother. Before leaving Cordonia it had been almost ten years since she heard from Bianca Walker. She was vaguely aware of Jay calling for a Sam Adams and two Amstel Lights, and she poured them as she recalled the last time she’d spoken to her mother on the phone -on her 17th birthday. She hadn’t given any clue that it would be the last time they spoke, simply wished her daughter a happy birthday, told her she missed her, like always, and that she hoped she was doing well, that she was happy…like always. When Christmas came and went followed by New Year’s Eve without a call or card, she and Drake had started to worry. They’d reached out by phone only to find that Bianca had changed her number. They’d sent a letter that hadn’t been returned as undeliverable, so they knew that she hadn’t moved, knew that nothing had happened to her…she had simply just stopped being involved in their lives. The visits had stopped 2 years prior, the invites, 3, and she remembered the painful jumble of mixed feelings she had; my mother wants nothing to do with me, did I do something wrong? How could she just... she remembered the hot tears boiling in her eyes. She remembered Drake’s reaction when he saw how it was affecting her.
“Hey...Savvy,” he hadn’t used that nickname since they were much younger. Hearing it had made her eyes flick up to his as she exhaled slowly. “Screw her. You got me. Always.” She knew Drake must have been hurting just as much, knew he was probably angry and confused just like she was. But he was putting it all aside to take care of her. That’s what Drake did for the people he loved.
She’d given Bianca one last chance when she came to the states. She’d figured, even if they hadn’t spoken, or seen one another, even if Bianca hadn’t tried or even made it seem like she wanted to try, Savannah thought she’d want to know that she was going to be a grandmother. When she’d showed up at Bianca’s family ranch in Texas, she was struck first by the joyful resonance of the wind chime that hung from the porch. She watched, mesmerized as the thin metal rods dangled, swaying in the breeze and catching the sun as they clinked together. The sound and the shine of the sunlight hurdled her back in time to a visit nearly twenty years ago. She was 7, Drake 9, and they were bursting with excitement over the gift they’d made their mother, with Bastien’s help, of course. Bastien had cut the pieces of metal, letting Drake help him punch holes so that they could be strung from a small wooden disk that Savannah had painted. Their mother had beamed and carried on about how gorgeous it was and how lucky she was to receive such a beautiful and thoughtful gift, promising that it would grace her porch forever. The paint was faded and chipped, the wooden disk cracked and nearly split in two from years in the unrelenting Texas sun. But there it still hung. So she hasn’t forgotten about us… That thought and the dilapidated wind chime gave her the courage to walk up the porch steps and knock on the red screen door.
When her mother answered, however, that courage evaporated. The look on Bianca’s face was one of mixed fear, anguish and regret, swirled with a touch of defensiveness, and Savannah wished she could take back the knock, take back her trip to Texas, and go back to New York where it was easy to disappear into the crowd. “Savvy…” she gasped, but quickly regained her composure. “What are you doing here?” the woman asked her, propping the door open just enough to speak, not enough to be welcoming. She crossed her arms over her chest as her graying hair danced on the breeze.
Savannah didn’t know how to answer, so she blurted out, “Just thought you’d like to know you were going to be a grandmother. Just thought you’d like to know that your children are still alive.” She heard the venom in her voice and it both surprised her and didn’t- she was hurt, again, let down, again, by the woman before her. “But I was wrong, I guess, huh?” Bianca said nothing, but Savannah caught her eyes flick up to the wind chime. “This was a mistake…” she followed Bianca’s gaze to the chime before crossing the porch and reaching up to remove the chime from the hook that had been screwed into the porch’s wooden roof. Without a word, she took the chime and turned her back on her mother, climbing into the cab of the truck she’d rented. She drove and drove, tears falling and curses flowing. Bianca Walker wasn’t family anymore.
Vanna was pulled back to the present as she realized that she had overfilled the glass in her hand, cold amber liquid flowing out of the tap and over her fingers. “Shit,” she muttered as she closed the tap and wiped her hand on the rag hanging from her apron. She cleaned off the rim of the glass, poured out a bit of liquid and topped it off achieving the perfect 2 inch foam head before sliding it down to Jay. She let her mind go to one last person- Drake. Drake would always be family. He would always be one of the most important people in her life. But she would always feel a twisting, burning feeling of regret for the way that she’d left him; just a note, but he deserved so much more, and she’d always regret not giving it to him. At the time, she thought she was doing him a favor, leaving before he found out about her child. She remembered, painfully, how destroyed her brother had been when he heard of the loss of his own child- a child he never even got to hold- and she thought that watching her go through a pregnancy, watching her raise a son on her own, would bring things up for him that he’d worked hard to bury. She thought, at the time she left, that she’d be doing him a favor-that he’d be better off without her to worry about, to try to take care of. She knew, now, that she was wrong. Every day she woke up full of missing him. Every day she woke up and knew in her heart that he missed her, too. But every day she woke up in New York City was one more day longer that she’d been away, and as the days turned to years she became embarrassed and anxious to reach out to him, knowing that she’d hurt him with her sudden departure. She wanted to but couldn’t.
When she’d spoken to Bertrand after the attacks, she’d gotten an update that had chilled her very soul- Drake had been shot. She’d sobbed and cried herself to sleep that night, despite Bertrand’s assurances that his surgery had been successful and that he was expected to make a full recovery. The only thing that had made her feel even remotely better is that Bertrand had told her that he was seeing someone, and that she hadn’t left his side, that she would be there for him in his recovery, would be there to help him in whatever way that he needed. Her brother was loved, and from the sound of it, loved fiercely. It was the only thing keeping her from complete devastation, and as much as she wanted to fly back to see him, to beg him to forgive her and to hug him more tightly than she ever had before, she knew that now wasn’t the time- that he needed to focus on healing and having her show up to tear open old wounds wasn’t going to help. She may have lost Bertrand. She may have lost Bianca. But she’d never really lose Drake, and she knew that. Drake Walker and her son were the only family that she had left.
That’s not true, said a voice in the very back of her memory. You have Bastien…you have…there was someone else, someone she knew was there for her, someone she knew had loved her very much as a child…someone she couldn’t quite remember, but she couldn’t completely forget, either. I wonder where she is now…I wonder if she remembers me… Her wondering was cut short as Jay called for more drinks and she pushed all the memories down to focus on the task at hand.
The night wore on in waves as it tended to on karaoke nights, until the clock struck 2am and Jay’s shift came to a close. He helped her restock a few items before she shooed him out. “Go home, Jay, I was late, you’re exhausted. Get home to that adorable little brat of yours.” She gave him a good-natured shove.
“Alright, ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he grinned. “Have a good night, V, hope the last two hours fly for ya.”
Jay lifted the trap door and exited the bar just as the bell above the door jingled, and two more customers walked in. Vanna lifted her gaze from the tap to the door and smiled as she saw one of her favorite regulars. She overheard him greeting Jay amicably before leading the girl he was with over to the bar. Who’s that? She wondered about the girl. Usually he comes with…
“Hey, V…” he said, the tone of his voice slightly off. She let the towel she was drying her hands on fall back down to her apron as she pulled the tap to pour Dan’s beer.
“Hey you, long time no see…where’s-“
“V, we need to talk…”
. . . . . . . . .
Two days before they were supposed to leave for the Council’s trip to New York, Claire was perched on the back of the couch behind Drake, gently kneading the tense muscles of his injured shoulder. Her right leg was draped over his other shoulder, his fingers grazing her shin as he closed his eyes , leaning into her touch. “How’s that feel?” she asked, applying pressure to his shoulder blade with her thumb, rubbing in a circular motion.
He winced and let out a low hiss, but he responded with, “Feels amazing, Berkley, don’t you ever stop.” His eyes squeezed even more tightly shut.
Claire grinned. “Ever?” she craned her neck to look down at him, mischief sparkling in her clear blue eyes. “But if I never stop, how can we-“
Without warning, he gripped her leg and pulled her down and around his shoulders and into his lap, his right arm coming around her, his left hand sliding up to cup her cheek. Surprised laughter bubbled from her lips as he absently brushed his fingertips along her arm. A spark of mischief to match hers was reflected in his dark eyes, and a slow smile spread across his face. “In that case, you can stop now,” he said, voice low and full of intent. He dropped his head to catch her lips, but before the kiss could deepen, a buzz interrupted the moment as the phone in Claire’s pocket rang. “You don’t have to get that, do you?” he groaned.
“No way,” she breathed, kissing him back, bringing her hands up to tangle in his hair. But the phone continued to buzz, even after the caller had left a message. “Ugh…maybe I do,” she whined, reaching for her pocket without pulling away from his lips. She waited until she absolutely had to to pull apart, pressing the answer button before checking the caller I.D. “Hello?” she answered, eyes still locked on Drake’s as he continued to brush his fingers along her arm.
“C?” There was alarm and excitement and news in Dan’s voice, and it made Claire sit up straight.
“Dan?” The way she greeted him drew Drake’s attention.
“C…I just left The Hippo…I think I know where Drake’s sister is…you’re not going to believe this…”
A/N: Well, here it is, the thing I’ve been most excited about since LTLA was still only halfway complete. OF COURSE I love Drake and Claire with all of my heart, and I always will. And they will play a large part in this series, too. But the main players here are my beloved broken bits: Bastien and Annabelle. This series will take a look at how and why they fell apart, and if and when they might fall back together. I’ve always loved the beauty found in broken things- it reminds me that not all is lost no matter how stacked against you the odds may seem. Alright, enough of this or I’ll start waxing poetic all over your Thursday.
Pairing: Bastien x Annabelle, Drake x Claire, Bertrand x ???
Warnings: mentions of character death
Word Count: 3,178
Bastien looked around the empty room that had served as his study for the past twenty one years and as Jackson Walker’s before him. The office of the Captain of the King’s Guard would be vacant for the first time in Cordonia’s history; because for the first time in Cordonia’s history, there would be no King to guard. He spun, slowly, eyes roving over every nook and cranny of the empty shelves, over the nicks in the walls from where things had been thrown in frustration, over the diamond patterns of the leaded window panes. These four walls and the title that came with them had bound him by duty to set aside anything that wouldn’t fit within them. His mind went immediately to the framed photo that used to sit on the desk that used to fill one corner of the room, and to the ethereal, copper haired woman it used to depict. Annabelle. Even thinking her name inside this room was difficult; she was a free bird, and her wings were best spread outdoors. But not a day went by, when, sitting in this room, he hadn’t wished that he was anywhere else, anywhere with her. Not a day went by that he didn’t wish for more than the broken bits of their love, slashing through his memories; her laughter and the way it started in her eyes, her hair and the way it would always get in his mouth, her fingers and the way that they were always stained with charcoal or paint or grass or mud. He tried to imagine her now, imagine how time may have changed the shape of her face, or the curve of her body. He tried to imagine that no matter what had changed, that she was still Belle, still the brightest star in the sky, still the sweetest song on the breeze.
But he knew that he was far from the man that she’d left behind, and he wondered in what ways she may have changed, too. He wondered, more often than he’d like to admit, if she’d kept her word that she’d wait for him. He was surprised to find, as the years went by, that he both hoped she had and hadn’t. Part of him held on to that fragile fiber of “what if”; what if he was able to give her what she wanted? What if he was able to get away from the danger of his position like she’d begged him? Would she still have space in her heart for him? That idea, the thought of her waiting in Paris…waiting for him…waiting with all that love and no one to share it with…that idea made him ache, and as painful as it would be to find out that she’d moved on, part of him hoped that she had. Annabelle Walsh had so much love in her heart, and Bastien thought it would be a damn shame if that all went to waste simply because he couldn’t give her as much of himself as she wanted. She deserves someone that can put all the pieces back together, and show her that she was never broken in the first place, not someone who took a sledgehammer to her dreams, he’d think, sipping a glass of leathery bourbon at the end of a long day, reflecting on all the ways that his life wasn’t right for hers.
Now though, standing in the empty room, he found a third part of himself that he never knew was there, and that part told him that he might be able to erase all the “what ifs” and all the doubts- that he might be able to start over, start fresh. Now, there was a part of him that existed only to find her, to know, once and for all, not what could have been, but what might still be. He tapped his fingers twice against the windowsill, gazing out at the grounds for the last time. Echoes of the thousands of conversations that had happened in this room behind a closed and locked door faded as her voice, like a song, filled his head and he heard the words that she’d written to him the day that she’d left Cordonia. He’d read them so many times he could see the curling blue ribbons of her scripted handwriting with his eyes closed, could feel the soft texture of the handmade paper on the tips of his fingers, could smell the ink as though she’d just dipped her pen in it minutes and not decades ago.
Bastien,
I am broken, Bas. It breaks me, leaving like this, leaving you. But I know that it would only break me more, crush me, really, to stay and lose you. I can’t do what Bianca did, Bastien. I can’t stay here and wait for a car to pull up outside. I can’t stay here and wait for someone in a suit to tell me that you’re not coming home. I lost my brother that way, Bas. I can’t lose you like that. Not you.
You have to believe me when I say that all I’ve wanted since we met is just for us to be together. For you and I to be together, Bas. But we can’t be together if you’re not willing to give yourself to me- your whole self, not just the parts that you can spare, not just what’s left over, or what doesn’t fit in your job description. You told me that your position as Captain would only be temporary- that you would find someone suitable to take over, and that you’d leave the King’s Guard. And I waited, Bas. I waited the six months you asked me to wait, and then I waited six more months. I can’t help but wonder if you ever intended on leaving, or if you just hoped that I’d give in. But I can’t give in to this. You were shot, Bastien, and you were lucky this time. But luck always runs out, and I can’t be here when yours does.
Do you remember Paris, Bas? We talked about it, dreamed about it, about the life we could make there. That’s where I’ll be. I’ll wait for you, Bas, but I can’t wait here. If there is ever a time that you have space for me in your life, come find me in Paris.
Forever yours,
Belle
He tapped his fingers against the window ledge once more as the words he’d committed to memory finally gave him something to hope for. As much as he loved Annabelle- like the moon loved the stars, like the sun loved the Earth- there was something in him, something he was born with, something fostered by Jackson’s tutelage that kept him from being able to put that love before his duty. He’d sworn an oath, not just to his King, but to his future King, to his country, to the other members of the guard, to Jackson himself, and Bastien took that swearing seriously. He reasoned with himself that to break the oath he’d taken would be to prove himself a liar, untrustworthy, and therefore unworthy of Annabelle’s love. If he could break that vow, what was to stop him from breaking another? That was the reason that his 25 year old mind had come up with, and for a long time it was a sound reason, to him. But in the years that had passed in her absence, he started to see things with new perspective. He watched the way that Bianca was broken after losing Jackson- how the fact that he had died honorably meant nothing to her battered heart. He watched as others in the guard fell in the line of duty, watched as their husbands and wives and families mourned them, and not their accomplishments. He watched the way that Drake had allowed Claire’s love to completely transform him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Annabelle’s might have done the same to him. Yes, he still felt bound to his position, but he found that it had less and less to do with the King that he served, and more and more to do with the hope that he was holding onto for the future. And now that future was here- here in this empty room. All those oaths, all that honor, all that duty. What did it mean, now? He looked around once more. There was nothing to see. It meant nothing, now. With an exhale of more than just breath, he left the room, and his duty, for the last time.
. . . . . .
Four months had passed since the attack at Ramsford. Four months since the remaining members of the Seven Devils, Lady Kiara of Castelsarreillan among them, stood trial for their crimes and were sentenced to life imprisonment. Four months since Liam announced the changes that had sent ripples through all of Cordonia. At first, there was shock and some pushback from some of the older Noble families- the Pykes of Essenwood, to be specific, but overall the changes were being well-received. Almost all of the Council positions had been appointed, and new governmental legislation was being passed almost daily. There was still plenty of work to be done, but four months was not that much time.
Four months, and Drake was still recovering from his injuries, still working through physical therapy, still paying for the sacrifice he’d made. He still could barely lift his arm, still had to limit his activity, still couldn’t get through a night without waking in agony. Four months, and most of Claire’s nightmares had subsided, but plenty still seeped in between her closed eyelids. After finally being able to sleep in the same bed as Drake, his presence kept most of the more awful visions at bay, but not all of them were so easily expelled. She had been undergoing therapy since the second week after the attacks, finally making strides to heal not just these new wounds, but the old ones that had been haunting her for far longer than the past four months.
It had been four months since Bertrand Beaumont had learned that his younger brother Maxwell would be chosen as the Representative from Ramsford. He wasn’t at all surprised. In honesty, Bertrand knew that Max was better suited to help usher in a new age. Max was brighter, his mind more open. Bertrand’s mind was shackled by the old way of things, by custom and protocol. He knew that wasn’t what Cordonia needed, not anymore. He thought about the night of the ball... of the attacks on his home... and how all he could think of was them. Would he see them again? She’d called him several times that night, and even as he wondered if he’d ever see them again, he couldn’t bring himself to call her back. She’d made it clear that she didn’t want him back in their lives when he’d finally tracked her down and visited her during the social season. How much could have changed? Four months wasn’t that much time.
Brielle had spent a few sleepless nights after seeing her sister’s name scroll across the television of the bar she was playing at. American Suitor Claire Berkley listed amongst those injured in terror attack at Cordonian royal ball. She hadn’t seen her sister in years. Most days she tried not to think about her, her heart aching with regret over the terrible things she’d said to her the last time she’d seen Claire. But three triangles inked onto her wrist stood as a permanent reminder of the sister she had estranged herself from. After learning that she’d made it safely through the chaos abroad, Brielle had spent a few more sleepless nights, tossing and turning, trying to decide how and if she could reconnect with her sister. It had been four months, and while that wasn’t much time, she thought she’d come up with a plan. A good one. I’m sorry, Claire, I’m so sorry.
. . . . . .
Annabelle sat cross legged in the gallery. For the past four months, all the papers had been reporting on the shifting state of things in Cordonia, one of France’s oldest allies. The dissolution of the monarchy. The end to nobility, to House this and House that, to knights and guardians of the realm... to the King’s Guard. She thought of Liam, the tiny little thing he was when she saw him last; now making big changes, bold moves. She smiled. I knew that little lion would have a mighty roar, she’d allow herself to think. She’d read about Drake’s appointment to the new Common Council... about how he’d been seriously injured in the attacks. My sour little apple, I hope you find the sweetness now. She’d allowed herself to think about one last name that she’d read in the papers. One last name that she still thought about daily. Bastien. My silver eyed hawk... are you finally free? Four months, she’d asked herself that question. But four months wasn’t very long at all.
Twenty one years, though, was a long time to think about one name. It was a long time to wonder, to hope, to cry and love and hate and hate that she loved. It was a long time to defend the love she’d walked away from to her family, to her friends. It was a long time to defend it to herself. She had two allies, and it had been too long since she’d been able to speak with either of them. She looked around the gallery, quiet in the early morning as the sun’s first rays spilled in through the windows, glinting off of the glass in the frames that hung all around her. Most of the art was hers, now, though a few of Brigitte’s works still remained. The gallery itself was hers, now, on paper, though in her heart it would always be Brigitte’s.
She sighed, sipping her coffee and pulling her sweater around her shoulders. She hadn’t understood the full extent of Bastien’s relationship, his attachment to Jackson Walker, until she’d found the same thing in Brigitte. It had been two years, almost to the day, since Annabelle had lost the woman that had come to mean more to her than her own mother; who had been there for her and supported her and helped her grow as an artist, as a woman, as a person. She’d taught her French, she’d taken her under her wing; she’d kept her afloat in the moments when she was sinking fast. “I have no children of my own, mon petit oiseau,” she’d said during one of their last morning coffee sessions together, one of the last mornings that Brigitte was strong enough to come into the gallery. She’d set her warm, nut brown eyes on the grown woman who would always be her little bird, and Annabelle could remember how thin her face had looked, how frail the immensely strong and free woman had become in her illness. “But you, my darling Belle, you have become my family, and there is no one else in this wild world that I would trust more with my gallery.” It had been a short few weeks after that when Annabelle had said goodbye to Brigitte, and at that moment, she’d understood everything that Bastien had felt about his mentor- all the duty, all the promises, all the things he felt like he owed him. Oh what a mistake I’ve made. The regrets that had been building up inside of her since she fled Cordonia threatened to burst from her heart, but she’d fought them back, held them in, kept them from corrupting her. Until now. Until the past four months.
Her other ally, whom she hadn’t heard from in almost a decade, when the two had had a major falling out over Bianca’s absence in her children’s lives, had called her late one night after the news of the attack broke. Annabelle could hardly believe the number that was flashing on her phone as she groggily answered it, heart pounding in her throat.
“Annabelle?” the woman’s voice was raspier than she remembered, more raw, more thin.
She cleared her throat, sitting up in bed. Her eyes immediately went to the small, mosaic frame that had sat on her bedside for the past twenty one years- dried glue was visible seeping out from shells and bits of sea glass that a tiny Savannah had stuck to a wooden frame that Bastien had nailed together. The photo depicted Bastien, grinning with Drake on his shoulders and Liam hanging off of his arm and Savannah leaning against his leg. It was from that day on the beach, when Bas had made good on his promise to help the boys build a clubhouse, when Belle had given Savannah a long “princess braid” and helped her collect “beach treasures”. It was the last real happy memory that she had with them all, and it was her most cherished possession. The call from Bianca frightened her, thinking the worst, she found her voice. “Yes, Hi, Bianca…I’m here…is it…did you hear something?”
There was a second of stillness over the line before the woman spoke again, the hint of a sob stuck in her throat. “No, I…I haven’t heard anything, Belle…I was hoping that maybe…maybe Bastien had…”
“He hasn’t,” Annabelle clutched the blankets around herself and closed her eyes.
“And…” there was another second of hesitation. “And nothing from Drake either? I know…” Annabelle could hear an exhale of breath that sounded like crying. “I know that… that you care about him very much…”
More than you know, Bianca. I care about that sour apple more than you could ever know. “I do, Bianca. Very much. But I haven’t heard from him. I haven’t heard from anyone in Cordonia in ages… I would tell you, if I had.” It was true. Despite her feelings on Bianca’s broken hearted abandonment, she of course would never keep information about her children from her.
Another sound like a sob. “Okay, well…well I thought it was worth a try…”
They’d ended the call and Annabelle had picked up the frame, running her fingers over the shells and the bubbled, dried blue. She’d cried herself back to sleep that night, the frame resting against her chest.
Twenty one years- she’d lived her life, she’d travelled, she’d found happiness. But she’d waited, as well. Twenty one years and four months, she’d waited to be made whole again. The clock tower outside the gallery struck 9 and she sighed again, setting her coffee down on the counter and walking across the room to unlock the door. She passed by one of her more recent works and saw him in it, as she saw him in everything. Come find me in Paris, Bas, she thought to herself as the door lock clicked and another day began.
A/N: (flourish) With this chapter I do hereby proclaim the official end to “Learning to Love Again”! (cease) It has been a long, bumpy, unexpected ride, and I want to thank each and every one of you that read, commented, liked, reblogged, yelled at me, threatened me, suggested songs, gave me input, helped me dig out of a plot hole, or messaged me to chat about this series and Drake and Claire. I enjoyed playing with these characters and bending the rules a bit so that they could have the chance at love that I felt like they deserved. I loved giving them backstories and motives. I answered some questions here, but left a few things still hanging in the balance- those things will come back into play very soon in the planned follow up called The Broken Bits...I left a few things broken, and I need to fix them. ;)
Pairing: Drake x Claire (featuring: Liam, Olivia, Dan, Leo, and Bastien)
Word Count: 5,116
Tunes: Learning to Love Again, Mat Kearney AND Latch (acoustic), Sam Smith
“There was damage to the subscapular artery, which is why the procedure took as long as it did. You had lost quite a lot of blood by the time you arrived, Mr. Walker,” Claire's fingers tightened around Drake's as the doctor explained the extent of his injuries, recalling the scene in the ballroom and the pool of blood she'd seen him lying in. He squeezed back, as tightly as he could, reassuring her that it was alright as the doctor continued. “And once we got that under control we were able to repair the artery. We did have to open the bicep to access the entire affected area, which was unexpected, and does prolong the necessary monitoring period.” Drake flicked his eyes to his left arm. The medication was starting to fade and he could feel the sharp, deep, pain starting to return in his arm and back, his shoulder feeling heavy and unstable. “The blood loss and damaged artery had put a decent amount of stress on your heart, so we made the call to finish the arterial repair and close up. We will still have to go back in to repair the shoulder joint and scapula, but we needed to wait so as not to place too much stress on your body.”
The full weight of how close he'd come to death seemed finally to settle in and he swallowed a hard, dry lump in his throat, nodding at the doctor. He tilted his head to the side to look at Claire, who was still gazing intently at the doctor who had saved Drake's life, listening as he went on about medications, the anticipated second surgery and therapy that would follow. His eyes fell to the bandages that covered her throat and wrist, and he was reminded of how close he'd come to losing her. As that chilling fact settled in his chest, right next to his own brush with mortality, he felt a strangled breath escape him, felt his lungs burn as his ribs contracted and expanded with his quick breathing. His sudden alarm drew Claire's attention immediately, her free hand joining the other one, both grasping Drake's as his eyes found hers, and she saw the fear inside them.
The doctor was checking the monitors attentively, and Claire held her breath until he spoke. “It's alright, Mr. Walker, you're going to be fine, you were very lucky.” He finished taking notes on his chart and said that a nurse would be by in a few hours to take him for some tests and scans before exiting the room.
Claire brought one hand up to Drake's face, her thumb moving slowly back and forth across his cheek. “Hey,” she whispered softly, leaning her top half over the bed, trying to be as close to his as possible. “What's going on in there?” she asked, bringing her fingertips to dance over his forehead.
Drake closed his eyes as her touch lingered over his face, over his temples, fingers eventually brushing back his unkempt hair. He couldn't believe he'd come so close to never feeling that again, to never hearing the way her voice vibrates in her throat when she whispers, to never watching the way a certain strand of hair would always fall across her eyes as she leaned forward. “Berkley,” he finally choked out, eyes still closed, and she paused her movements, returning her hands to his. His dark eyes opened and latched onto hers, and she saw for the first time just how deep they went- down, all the way into his heart, into his soul, into the hidden parts that made him who he was. He slid his fingers between hers as he spoke. “I almost lost you,” his eyes filled with pain as they roved over the place on her throat where a gash had been fixed with nine stitches, to the place on her arm where a bullet had grazed her as she tried to help him. “I've never been more scared in my life, Claire, and it wasn't because of this,” he nodded down at his shoulder and chest. “It wasn't getting shot, it wasn't that I could have died...” although that part wasn't great, either. He swallowed as his voice cracked a bit, throat still sore from the tubes that had been necessary for him to breathe during surgery. “It was the thought that I might never see you again, might never ...hold you again...Claire, I was terrified of losing you.”
Claire took a shaking breath as flashes of the last 48 hours cut through her mind- the waiting, the agonizing expanse of time, the hum of the florescent lighting, the acrid, chemical smell that permeated the paint on the walls; the weakness, the way she felt boneless and frail, how she had relied on Olivia and Bastien for all but air. She blinked a few times, clearing her mind. “Drake,” when she finally spoke she stroked her thumb over the pulse point on his wrist, heard him release a low breath at the light touch. “I was so, so scared that I might lose you, too. So scared...” she bent to kiss the spot she'd been stroking, felt his skin warm beneath her lips. “But I'm right here,” she softened her eyes. “I'm here, because of you. You saved my life, Drake...”
He ached with the need to hold her, but his injuries rendered his arms useless. “Berkley,” he said softly as tears threatened to slide down her cheeks again. “Don't think for one second that you didn't save mine, too.” He struggled, using all of his strength and will power so as not to grimace, but he picked his hand up off the bed and folded his fingers around her wrist, drawing her eyes to where he touched her. “You were my reason to hold on, Berkley...you gave me something to look forward to...you taught me that there's something worth fighting for...you saved me, Claire Berkley, long before this.”
Claire wasted no time in bringing her lips to his before kissing him slowly, like air, like breathing. She felt the little hiss of breath he let out when her mouth found his; felt the way his whole being was reaching and stretching, trying to connect to her- felt the way that her soul was trying to curl around his inside that kiss. “Lets not do all this again, then, huh?” she gasped as they broke the kiss, but smiled as his own lips twitched upwards. “You saved me, I saved you...we're good on this now, right?” she was crying but her smile was bigger than her tears and it caused his to grow, too.
“Sounds like something I could get behind, Berkley,” his eyes flicked down to her lips, summoning her for another life giving kiss. “I love you, beautiful,” he mumbled against her mouth.
“I know you do, you big softy,” she said, leaning her forehead against his. “And I love you. And we're going to get you through this, and then Drake, you know what we're going to do?” That dreamy quality that he hadn't heard in weeks was back in her voice and it made him feel like finally, they could live without fear.
“Tell me, Berkley,” he said, looking at her though his lashes, still holding her wrist, his fingers moving over her skin.
“We're going to live, Drake. Just live. Just us.”
Just us. His heart fluttered and a warm wave rippled through his entire body that had nothing to do with the new round of medication that the doctor had set up before leaving the room earlier. “Just us,” he said softly as his eyelids became heavy and he let sleep take him back under. Claire sat with him, ghosting her fingers over the exposed skin of his forearm, until she too, had fallen asleep, woken only by the nurse that had come to take Drake for testing.
“Why don't you go get some rest, wash up and maybe have something to eat, ma'am,” the nurse was young and bright eyed, but had a soft, warm voice, and Claire nodded, kissing Drake's knuckles gently before the woman wheeled him out of the room.
. . . . . .
Dan had landed in Cordonia International exactly ten hours after speaking with Olivia. He'd gotten a cab and headed directly for JFK, practically before they'd even hung up the phone. He hadn't even bothered to tell himself that he'd sleep on the plane- he knew better than to think that he'd be able to rest until he saw Claire, saw that she was alright, put his arms around her and felt her, solid and safe. The headlines had been hard to read, and harder to believe- Alex had been killed, along with two other members of the rebel group he'd joined up with. Cordonian police, in cooperation with the Royal King's Guard had detained the remaining members, all of whom were due to stand trial, all of whom would likely never see the outside of a jail cell again. The King had been killed, his wife gravely injured, and Liam, Claire's friend the Prince...or, King, now... had also suffered injuries in the attacks. There was nothing in the news that spoke of Drake Walker's heroics, but from what Olivia had told him, Dan owed Drake everything for saving the life of his best friend. There was space in the news for articles about how this all would shake things up at court, questioning the stability of the to crown, speculating on whether or not there were more rebel forces, waiting quietly for the right time to strike, but there was no space for a common citizen who'd risked his life to save the life of a foreigner, and that point wasn't lost on Dan. Headlines or not, Drake Walker had become one of Dan's favorite people and he hadn't even met the man. Leaning his forehead against the window in the plane's cabin as it made its descent into the Kingdom of Cordonia, he silently hoped he'd get the chance to.
He'd taken another cab right to the hospital, sending Olivia a text before he'd even pulled up to the curb. I'm here. Where do I go? He didn't bother pocketing the phone, holding it in one hand as the other dragged across his face and covered a yawn. The phone buzzed not a full two seconds later.
I'll be right down
He waited where she'd instructed him to be dropped off, kicking his shoe against the curb. He sniffed the cool afternoon air, looking around the back alley where he stood. Dan had never left the country before, but had always wanted to travel. This wasn't what he had in mind, but there was no where else in the world he'd rather be. Claire needed him, and he needed her. A door to a stairwell opened and a stunning red haired woman appeared. She was tall and thin, wearing sleek black pants and a casual black top, scarlet lipstick coloring her plump lips. Her sharp eyes flashed, green and attentive, and he beckoned him over as she called out. “Dan?” she crossed her arms over her chest but stood straight as she addressed him.
He took a step in her direction, his hand outstretched to greet her. “Duchess Olivia, or...I,” he nervously stuck his other hand in his pocket as she shook his hand firmly. “I'm not sure what to call you...” He shrugged.
Olivia noted the bags beneath his eyes, the wrinkles in his clothing, and surmised that he'd slept about as much as she had in the past few days. She noted his strong jawline and the dark, inked lines of a tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirtsleeve. “Just Olivia is fine,” she said coolly, trying not to let her eyes linger too long on any one aspect of the attractive stranger in front of her. “I'm glad you're here,” she said, reclaiming her hand and letting it fall to her side.
“Yeah,” he said, a humorless, exhausted laugh leaving his mouth, causing the few days of growth on his lip and chin to twitch. “Wish it was under better circumstances, but hey...” he cleared his throat. “I'm, uh...I'm glad I'm here too...thank you,” he said, a note of genuine sincerity taking the place of sarcasm and snark. “Thank you, for...everything you did for C...I...well, just thanks, hmm?” he pressed his lips together and nodded, gesturing with his hands, hoping they'd make up for his lack of speech.
“You're welcome,” Olivia returned his nod, studying the nervous use of his hands. “Follow me, I'll take you to her,” she inclined her head towards the door to indicate that he should follow her, his sneakers silently one step behind the click of her low but fashionable heels.
“I uh, I heard that the prince... er, King, that he was also injured?” Dan asked tentatively as they climbed the staircase.
Olivia faltered and he saw her clutch the railing a bit tighter for the briefest of seconds. “Yes,” she said after clearing her throat and without turning around. “He's going to make a full recovery, though, Drake too.” She stated the facts as though she needed to hear them as much as Dan did. “They're both very strong...very lucky...”
“Lucky to have people like you on their side,” Dan said as they reached the top. Olivia faltered again, caught off guard by the compliment. She wasn't used to them, not on her personality, not on her character.
“Oh, I don't know,” she said quietly. “I think they'd be fine without me...” she shrugged her shoulders and tried to shrug his sentiments with them, but his words and they way that he spoke them stuck.
“Olivia, just take my word for it,” Dan laid his hand gently on her shoulder, her skin tingling through the fabric of her shirt, not used to the touch.
She nodded, sniffed and averted her eyes. “Well, alright. Thanks.” she sighed. “Anyway, they took Drake for some testing a little while ago. Claire's in the waiting area just through there,” she pointed to the double doors ahead of them. “I have to go make some calls,” she made up an excuse not to follow him, not wanting to be there in the way of Dan and Claire's reunion.
Dan could tell that she was giving him space, and smiled. “Okay, sure,” he said. “Well, I'll see you around then.” She had already started dialing a number on her phone, shooting him a glance before bringing it to her ear and returning his smile with a smaller one of her own. He pushed through the doors and on instinct, his eyes found her immediately. “C!” he called, and hastened his steps to close the distance as quickly as possible.
Claire's eyes widened and she stood bolt upright at the unmistakable sound of Dan's voice. “Dan?!” she felt a relief she didn't even know that she was missing come over her as she looked up and saw him only a few feet away. “Dan! ” she said again as his strong arms came around her in a brotherly hug, pulling her into his chest. Hugging Daniel was like coming home for the holidays and smelling your favorite meal cooking. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket after coming in from the storm, like laughing forever at your favorite joke, finding it just as funny the hundredth time as it was the first. Hugging Daniel was to feel family. She felt his uneven breath on her scalp as he held her tight.
“C, oh my god, I'm so happy you're okay, you're safe...I was so worried when you didn't call me,” he was speaking directly into her hair and she could feel him shaking slightly. She was immediately filled with guilt for not getting in touch with him.
“I'm so sorry, Dan,” she felt tears slip past her eyelids, felt her throat tighten. “I'm..I was...”
He peeled her away from him to look her in the eye. “Hey, no, that's not what I meant, okay? I know Drake was...hurt bad and...look I understand why you didn't call, okay? I'm just so glad you're safe.” He pulled her into another hug and she threw her arms back around him, holding on to the big brother the universe had given her later in life. They embraced for a few long moments before sitting back down, Claire filling him in on everything that had happened, his arm around her the entire time.
After about an hour, Dan drifted off to sleep. The jet lag and general stress of not knowing if Claire was safe, of helplessness and worry had finally caught up to him. Claire stretched and yawned, took a few moments to answer some messages from Hana and Maxwell. She checked the time and saw that there was still at least another hour before she could expect Drake to return based on what the nurse had told her, so she took advantage of the comfort of having Dan with her to get some sleep.
. . . . . .
Drake's scans and tests had all gone without a hitch- they were still waiting for the results, but nothing had happened to inhibit the diagnostics. A nurse informed him that “Ms. Berkley” had fallen asleep in the waiting area, and asked if he wanted her to be woken up.
“No,” he said with a slight shake of his head, “no, thank you, ma'am...she should rest,” he knew how little sleep she'd been getting, and was glad to know that she'd found some. The nurse smiled and nodded, leaving his room. Drake sighed, imagining Claire asleep curled up in a chair in the waiting area, wishing that she could curl up against his body instead. It would be a long while before that was an option, according to his doctors, and while he hated that fact, not much could dim the happiness in his heart just knowing that they were both alive and safe and that they'd have a lifetime of curling up together to look forward to.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, as Bastien appeared. He'd been in the previous evening, shortly after Drake had woken up, and the two had shared a moment of appreciation for the others' safety. Drake had wanted to talk to Bastien about the dream he'd had, about the woman, Annabelle, that he could almost remember- ask him why she'd been part of his vision, why she'd come to him along with the most influential people in his life... but he hadn't even talked to Claire about his dream yet. He could wait to bring it up with Bastien, too. He sensed that Bastien needed to focus on the here and now, and if he was being honest with himself, that's what he needed as well.
“Bas,” Drake greeted him, trying to sit up a little straighter against the pillows.
“Relax, Drake,” Bastien put his hands up. “You have a visitor,” he stepped aside and opened the door wider to reveal Leo, and Drake's eyes nearly dropped out of his head.
“Rhys!” Drake exclaimed as Leo entered the room.
Leo's eyes washed slowly over Drake, taking in the bandages and monitors, his pale complexion, the slightly clouded look in his eyes. “Shit, Walker, you look like Hell,” he said, trying for a joke but coming up just a touch short.
Drake scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, this is a lot, huh?” He knew Leo's way was to cover everything with sarcasm. In that way they were quite a bit alike...well, until recently, anyway, when Drake had learned that it was alright to feel things, and to show it.
“You...you okay, Drake?” Leo asked, a look of shock on his face that he was trying to get rid of by blinking repeatedly. He'd just been in to see Liam, had just met Claire, spoken with Olivia...he'd just learned all the details and seen all the damage, and Drake knew he was having a hard time processing it all, but also that he was having a hard time with the guilt he knew Leo felt for not being around for Liam through the season.
“I will be,” he said assuredly. “Got too much to look forward to, not to make it now.”
Leo nodded. “Yeah, I just met her,” he said with a smile. “You got a good one, Walker. Don't fuck it up.” The joke was back in his voice, a sparkle in his eye that Drake had known to be pretty much constant.
“No intention to do any such thing,” he promised.
Leo cleared his throat. “Good,” he said with a smile before sitting down. Bastien dragged the second chair in the room closer to Drake's bed. “Now, as happy as I am to see you in...relatively...one piece, I'm here on official business for my brother.” He nodded in the direction of Liam's room. “He wanted to come in here himself- he's been wanting to come see you- but the doctors say he can't get out of bed for another day or so, and this couldn't wait.” Leo paused to make sure that Drake understood the gravity of what they were about to discuss. “Drake, you know Liam has a different viewpoint of how the country should be run...different from our father's...different from any other King in Cordonia's history...” Drake nodded. He did know, and he supported, Liam's open mindedness. He knew that the Cordonian citizens were growing tired of the old fashioned ways of the nobility and the crown. “Well,” Leo continued with Bastien's steely eyes focused on Drake, ready for his reaction. “Well, Liam has decided that his first act as King will be to... to dissolve the Monarchy.” Drake's eyebrows flew up and he searched Leo and Bastien's faces. Bastien nodded once and Drake felt a shock that wasn't necessarily unwelcome pass through his mind as he started wrapping it around the idea of a Kingless Cordonia. “He wants to institute a Common Council, with one representative from each Duchy...well, they'd be referred to as Regions...” Leo went on to explain Liam's plans for a new government in Cordonia, one that would give more power to the people, more of a say in how their country was lead, more of a chance to have their problems heard and their questions answered. Each representative would serve a 2 year term, at the end of which their Region would vote on whether or not they are happy with their representation. If so, that representative would serve another 2 years should they choose to stay on, and if not, another election would be held to find a suitable replacement. Liam would serve as the first Head of Council, but would be subjected to the same 2 year terms as the Regional Representatives. Future Heads of Council would be elected from existing Council members, by the Council.
There were still quite a few details to iron out, and clearly a lot of legislation and paperwork that would have to happen, and Drake's head was spinning slightly. But the more Leo spoke, the more he could hear Liam in his words, and the more he knew that this was exactly what Cordonia needed. He looked over to Bastien again, and thought he saw something that looked like hope in the man's tired eyes. He realized that it never occurred to him that Bastien might have been putting a life on hold to serve in the King's Guard, and that now that there wouldn't be a King to guard... Drake found himself wondering for the first time what life might be like for Bastien once he was no longer bound by duty. Again, a conversation for another time.
“He's appointed me as the Representative from Fydelia,” Leo went on, mentioning Cordonia's capital. Most of the other appointments are still up in the air...Olivia will likely be chosen for Lythikos...but...Drake,” Leo wasn't quite done, his eyes still serious as he hit Drake with Liam's last bit of news. “He wants you to serve on the first Common Council of Cordonia, as the Representative from Valtoria. He...he wants you there to support him...to help him lead... to help him take care of the people.”
Again, the shock that wasn't completely a shock passed through his chest and mind, and he found himself nodding as words fell out of his mouth. “Tell him I accept,” Drake didn't need to think twice. He knew that if Liam needed him, he'd be there, and he was actually feeling oddly confident and sure about all of this. If Claire could teach him how to love again after all the pain and damage that he'd had in his life, surely he and Liam and the rest of the Council could teach the country to trust their leaders again. This would be different from a ruling noble class- Liam was calling for the end of titles, the end of rule being passed down based on a name. Several of the estates owned by the royal family would be donated to the State of Cordonia, to be converted into museums, or used as academic buildings. He knew there would be push back from some of the older families- Lord Pyke's smug, yellowed face came to mind- but he knew that ultimately they would have the support of the people, that ultimately, this would save their country from slipping into constant turmoil. Drake wished he could go and speak with Liam in person, wished he could look him in the eye as he made the promise to support him, to take on his new role with integrity and responsibility.
“You should tell him yourself,” Leo said, picking Drake's phone up off of the bedside and handing it to him. “But, unofficially, welcome to the Council,” Leo stood and held his hand out. Drake struggled and grimaced, but was able to shake Leo's hand, a unifying look passing between them- Leo and Drake had a lot in common, but a distaste for the way things had been going in Cordonia was the largest one, and now they'd get a chance to help Liam change things. Leo let go of Drake's hand and exited the room.
“Bas,” Drake looked at the man who'd been his father figure for the past twenty two years. “What do you think of all of this?” he shook his head slightly.
Bastien gazed down at his mentor's son as he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. “I think that this is exactly what Cordonia needs. I think Liam is doing the right thing. And Drake?” Drake had been nodding along with Bastien, but looked into the man's eyes when he said his name. “You are the right man for the job. Even if you reach a point where you doubt yourself. Remember, Liam chose you for this position. It's not a default, it's not a favor. He chose you, Drake Walker. Claire chose you...” Bastien finished with his sleeves. “You've come a long way, Drake. You have a long way to go, a lot of work to put in, but you're on the right road, with the right people...your father...he'd be very proud of you, I hope you know that.”
Drake felt Bastien's words resonate in his heart as he followed Leo out of the room. He stared at the phone in his hand before dialing Liam's number, holding it up to speak with his best friend. It rang twice before Liam's voice was coming through the speaker. “Drake?”
“Hey, Li,” Drake tried to sound nonchalant, but the truth was that they were both overwhelmed with relief and happiness at the sound of the others' voice.
“Hey, didn't anyone tell you not to go throwing yourself in front of bullets, Drake?”
“Not sure anyone thought they'd have to,” Drake joked.
There was a brief moment of silence before Liam spoke again. “I'm...shit,” he cleared his throat. “I'm glad that...”
Drake knew what he was trying to say. He knew he couldn't fathom losing Liam any more than he could losing Claire or Bastien, knew Liam felt the same. “I know, Li. Me too,” he said, clearing his own throat. “But sounds like we have a lot to talk about...” he changed the subject to the Council, accepting Liam's offer to serve. They would have a lot of work to do once they were out of the hospital.
“But you need to focus on recovering, first and foremost, Councilman Walker,” Liam said, “Cordonia needs you in top form...and so does Claire,” Drake could hear the smile in his friend's voice, and knew that even though he was hurting from the loss of his father, from Kiara's betrayal and the shock of everything that had happened, he knew that Liam was still happy for Drake and Claire and the love that they'd found.
“Yeah,” Drake said, as his door opened and a sleepy-eyed Claire walked towards him. “Hey, brother, you focus on that, too,” the ended their conversation as Claire crossed the room to stand next to the bed. Drake could barely keep his eyes open. He had so much he needed to tell her, but it would have to wait for the morning as he felt sleep start to wrap itself around him like a blanket.
“Hey, you,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek lightly, her feather soft hair tickling his skin like magic.
“Hey, Berkley,” he mumbled, turning his head so that his lips would find a bit of skin near her jaw. She sunk into the chair beside his bed and her fingers found his. She laid her head down on her arms, her breath warm against the skin of his wrist as she resumed the position they'd fallen asleep together in earlier that day. “Berkley,” he said her name again, both of them barely awake. She hummed a response. “Berkley, everything is going to change soon...but not you...not us...wherever you are, so am I...always, Berkley. I love you.”
“Gra go deo, Walker,” she yawned the words but he felt the warmth and the truth behind them despite how tired she was, how battered they both had been, how much they'd all been through. “Forever, Drake,” she said through another yawn as her eyes slipped closed. “I love you, forever.”
A/N: Bastien joins Drake and Claire for dinner and memories play a part in answering some questions that Drake has. Annabelle is reminded of all that she left behind and all that she might still get back.
Pairings: Bastien x Annabelle, Drake x Claire
Word Count: 3,022
Song: Remember Me, Augustana
Will you hear me blowing in the wind?
Will it give you shivers down your skin?
Will you stop and stare, wonder if I'm there?
Will you think about me now and then?
The rocks crunched beneath the tires of Bastien’s car as he pulled off of the dirt road and into the long, secluded driveway that lead to the cabin. Thick evergreen trunks cropped up on either side with silver stars starting to dot the sky above, and before long he was met with the sight that had at one time been a staple in his life: the warm glow of the kitchen light through the window, two figures moving inside setting a table. He pulled up alongside the blue truck that was already parked in front and turned the engine off. The Walker home would always feel like home to him as well for all the times that Jackson and Bianca had welcomed him for weeknight dinners and holiday celebrations. He stepped out into the crisp night and headed up the path to the porch, a bouquet of flowers in one hand, a bottle of bourbon in the other.
As the car door closed with a heavy metallic thud, he saw Claire look up and wave through the window, a bright smile on her face. It brought a smile to his own pewter eyes, and he raised one elbow to wave back, both hands full. As he headed up to the front door he was hit with the memory of bringing Annabelle here for the first time; something in Claire’s wistful wave had stirred something that had been dormant for years. He felt a slight tightening in his throat and he recalled the way she’d nervously clutched his arm as they’d climbed the steps.
“What if they don’t like me, Bas?” she’d asked.
“Not possible,” he’d said with a grin before leaving a quick kiss on her cheek. “Besides, you’ve met Jackson already.”
“Yeah, just…” she bit her lower lip and looked up at him as they paused on the steps.
“Belle,” he cupped the side of her face with his hand, fingers sliding behind her earlobe. Bastien looked into her eyes and for the first time in his life, he saw something that he was undeniably sure of. “Not possible,” he said again. She’d smiled and it reaffirmed what he’d seen in her eyes; that this was it, him and Annabelle, and that this was love.
The cool breeze blew through the dark boughs of the tall pines and took the memory away as quickly as it had come to him, leaving only the lingering feeling of her fingertips in the crook of his arm. He’d been thinking about her at lot in the past few months, as he transitioned from life with the King’s Guard to simply having his life to himself. It was an adjustment he was never sure he’d actually make, but one he’d been wishing for since the day he came home to her note. The end of all the things that were keeping him from her- from giving himself to her the way she wanted and deserved. The upcoming trip that Liam had planned for the council would be the last time Bastien provided his services as head of security, and then he would be truly free go to her. Before his thoughts could reach for her, the door swung open and Drake was there to greet him.
“Bas,” he greeted him with a grin. His tie was loosened but still around his neck, the top few buttons undone, and his sleeves were pushed up around his elbows.
“Hello, Drake,” Bastien smiled back and stepped through the door into the familiar surroundings of the living room.
Claire appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a red checkered towel before swinging it over her shoulder. “Hi, Bas!” she exclaimed, all brightness as she snuck past Drake to hug Bastien. Her thin arms came around him before he could unload either of the items he was carrying, eliciting a chuckle as she squeezed him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she let go, Drake’s arm coming around her waist. They looked like a family and it made Bastien extremely happy.
“Claire,” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, his coarse stubble scratching her smooth skin. “Always a pleasure to see you.” His eyes shone warmly as he extended the bouquet of red and white Amaryllis out to her. “Congratulations, Miss Cordonian citizen.” She had finalized her paperwork earlier that day, coming home with her new passport displaying Drake’s address as her new permanent residence.
Claire beamed as she took the flowers, bringing them to her nose to inhale their scent. “Thanks Bas,” she said, looking as happy as Bastien felt.
“And this is for you, Councilman,” he handed the bottle of leathery bourbon over to Drake, his eyes locked onto the younger man’s. He watched as Drake reached out and took it, eyes scanning the label. His Adam’s apple moved in his throat as he swallowed the ball of emotion that seeing that bottle brought on.
“Is this…” he asked, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle, already knowing the answer to the question. It was the same bourbon his father always kept around the house; the same that Jackson had toasted Bastien on his first night in the King’s Guard, and the same that Bastien still toasted him back with nearly every evening.
“He’s proud of you, Drake. And so am I.” Bastien stood watching as the look on Drake’s face changed to one of appreciation.
“Thank you,” was all Drake could say as the two shook hands, Bastien clapping him on his shoulder lightly.
Claire headed back into the kitchen to put the flowers in water and finish with dinner as Drake and Bastien moved towards the table. They sat and Bastien asked Drake how his first day on the council was, Drake excitedly recounting his day. Claire listened in, smiling to herself as she doled out portions of hearty chili with freshly baked corn bread, passing them to Bas and Drake before taking a seat in front of her own bowl. The three dug in, enjoying the warmth of the fire that crackled pleasantly behind them in the next room. Bastien caught Drake glancing over at Claire smiling through a mouthful as she talked excitedly about passing her citizenship test, and watched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. Happy. They’re just happy, Bastien thought, finishing his meal. It was all he wanted for them.
“Claire, that was excellent,” Bastien said when they had all finished, pushing his chair back from the table. “You’re quite the chef.”
“Glad you liked it,” she said brightly, rising to collect the bowls. “Old family recipe.” She stacked Drake’s bowl on top of hers and ran her hand along his shoulder as she passed behind his chair. He reached up and gripped her fingers, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. They locked eyes for a second and Drake’s lips twitched into a small smile. Bastien passed his empty bowl to Claire who thanked him and brought the dishes and silverware to the sink. She busied herself with cleaning up and putting away leftovers, packing a container for Bastien to take home with him as well. Drake cleared his throat as she turned the water on to start the dishes.
“Bas, I…I need to ask you something,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table top.
Bastien shifted in his chair keeping his eyes focused on Drake. “Sure,” he responded. “Everything alright?”
Drake nodded, took a breath and answered, “Yeah, everything is fine I just…” he shook his head. “Bas, when I was in the hospital…after the attack…before I was awake I…” he dragged a hand through his hair as Bastien sat quietly. “I had a dream.” He looked up as Claire shut the water off, coming back to sit next to him. She reached for his hand and he gave it to her, their fingers linking. “I saw my parents, I saw Claire,” he looked over to the woman he loved, his eyes softening as they fell on her face. “I saw you, too, Bas,” he said, looking back across the table at him. “And all that made sense to me, because you’re all the most important people in my life…because there were similarities…what happened to my father… and me…and Bas I saw you get hurt, too…and there was a woman.” Bastien felt his throat tighten, felt a stale, old nagging pain shoot through his chest as his heart pounded. “At first I couldn’t remember her name…but then I heard your voice...”
“Annabelle,” Bastien heard his own voice, felt the name scrape against his tongue as it left his mouth.
Drake nodded. “She must have been important to me…but I can’t remember how or why… who was she, Bas?”
Who was she? His thoughts swam with her; the soft contour of her lips as they pressed between his shoulder blades in the middle of the night; her long graceful fingers wrapped around a charcoal pencil and smudged with dark gray smears; the tingling way her laughter would catch the breeze and float through the air. Annabelle. Her whispered, breathy I love you, Bas. Her eyes full of tears and her voice full of pleading. Her absence.
Bastien sighed and scrubbed a rough hand over his face. “She’s the woman I love, Drake…she…she was my world…she’s my world.” Bastien felt his brow furrow and his heartbeat quicken, but then a wave of warmth washed over him as another memory seized his mind.
“Belle, let’s close up out here and…” he’d come into the small living room of their apartment after cleaning up the kitchen. They were babysitting Drake and Savannah while the Walkers celebrated their anniversary. He’d expected to find Annabelle tucking the children into their sleeping bags on the couches, perhaps bargaining with Drake to close his eyes. Instead he’d come in to find her sandwiched between two sleeping faces, Savannah’s fingers clasped tightly around Annabelle’s, Drake tucked under her arm and nestled against her side, her long copper hair cascading over them like a curtain. She was asleep, too, and Bastien was hit hard with how simple and beautiful and normal and right the whole scene looked. He looked around the living room at the easel in the corner where her latest painting stood, and the two pieces of sketchbook paper she’d taped on the wall for Drake and Savannah to paint on while she worked. His eyes fell on the empty popcorn bowl that they’d all shared while watching a movie after dinner, remembering the laughter that bubbled out of the three of them. This could be mine someday, he thought to himself as he leaned over her sleeping form to brush a kiss to her lips. She stirred awake, blinking her eyes open. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Hey,” she hummed, sitting up gingerly and unwinding her arm from around Drake. “They wouldn’t fall asleep without a story,” she explained, raking her fingers through Drake’s messy locks as his mouth fell open in sleep. She stood, turning back to pull the sleeping bags up over both of them before facing Bastien again.
“Let’s get some sleep, they’ll have us up early I’m sure,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple as he laced his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. All this could be mine, he thought to himself with a smile as he flicked the light off and lead her to bed, all this will be mine, someday.
“Bas?” Drake’s voice snapped him back to the present and he felt her slip from his thoughts again. He blinked and met Drake and Claire’s eyes.
“She loved you and your sister very much, Drake.” He said, truth keeping his voice even. “We…she and I, we used to watch you two for your parents sometimes and she,” he sighed, “she loved you. It makes sense that you saw her in your dream.”
“Where is she, Bas?” Claire’s voice was a curious whisper tinted with sadness as she read the emotion he was sure was clear in his eyes.
Bastien averted his eyes as he answered. “Paris…she…I wanted to marry her…but she wouldn’t while I was captain of the guard.” He shook his head. “She had a brother who she was very close with- Andrew- he was a few years older than her…He was a police officer and he was killed on the job,” his heart ached as he recalled the first time she told him about Andrew and the way her eyes had shattered into tears at just the mention of her brother’s name. “She was afraid of losing me that way…she said she couldn’t marry me while I lived in danger…said she’d wait for me in Paris…” He trailed off, looking out the window at the night sky, wondering if the sun was up yet where she was, casting pinkish light through the slats in the blinds and dancing in her hair.
“We’re set to travel to Paris on this trip with the council,” Drake said, knowing that Bastien had agreed to come along on the trip, lending his services one last time.
The silver-eyed man nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, and something in his tone told Drake not to press the matter further. “Maybe I’ll see her again.” The thought had been the only one swirling in his head for weeks. Maybe I’ll see her again, maybe I’ll love her again, maybe she’ll be mine again. It was the only thought that mattered, the only thought that scared him, the only thought that had his entire future hinging on it.
“Maybe,” Claire said, but there was hope in her voice, and strength, and Bastien knew she was trying to encourage him. It was working; Claire Berkley had a way of making even the most hopeless things seem possible.
He left Drake’s that night with her name echoing through his heart and his mind. Annabelle. I’m coming, Belle, I remember your promise…do you remember me?
. . . . . . . .
“That’s very good, Celine,” Annabelle stood behind her student, watching the way she blended blues and grays on the edge of her brush to add texture and depth to the canvas in front of her. The little girl’s hair was tied back, but there was a dab of yellow paint coloring the ends of her braid, and without warning she became Savannah Walker, perched on a stepstool in front of a taped up piece of paper on the wall, her fingers covered in purple and green. The flash changed and Celine was back, her toothy grin beaming up at her teacher, as Annabelle wiped the paint from her hair with a paper towel. “You’re improving, little dove.”
Later, as they were waiting for Celine’s mother to come get her from Annabelle’s apartment, Celine wandered around looking at the paintings and photographs that covered the walls. Occasionally she’d ask a question, “did you paint this, Belle?” “where are you in this picture?” “is this your family?”- the last question caught Annabelle’s attention and she spun on her heel to see the photo from her bedside table in Celine’s hand. Bastien, Liam, Drake and Savannah with sun on their shoulders and seawater in their hair and laughter on their faces. She could still see the way they smiled at her as she looked through the camera lens, could still feel the way the ocean was crashing in her chest as she imagined someday having all of that with him.
“As close to a family as I ever had,” she answered finally, noticing that Celine was still looking at her and holding the frame. “You remind me of the girl in that picture, little dove.” She ruffled Celine’s hair, taking the frame from her and swallowing the knot in her throat.
“Where are they now, Belle?” she looked up expectantly. Children were always full of questions, and to them, all questions should have answers.
Annabelle sighed as the doorbell chimed announcing Celine’s mother’s arrival. “They grew up and flew off,” she said, moving to press the button on the panel near the door.
“Are they gonna fly home?” Celine clutched the painting she’d done that day.
“Maybe,” Annabelle looked at her contemplatively before her eyes darted out the window. She wondered where they all were now, wondered if they remembered her, if she was written in their hearts like they were in hers.
Celine smiled. “I hope so, Belle.”
“Me too, little dove,” Annabelle tapped Celine on the nose and gave her a smile. “Me too. Now, your mom is waiting. I’ll see you next week, okay?” The girl nodded, smiling wide to show off her missing teeth as she said goodbye and headed out into the hallway to meet her mother. Annabelle waved to the woman and watched as the little girl linked hands with her mother and they walked away chatting excitedly about Celine’s masterpiece.
“I want to give mine to Mommy and Papa!” Savannah announced proudly as Belle stood behind her at the bathroom sink, rubbing her hands together under the water. The white porcelain swirled with wisps of violet as the paint ran from Savannah’s fingertips and down the drain.
“They’ll love it, Savvy,” Belle assured her, shutting the faucet and wiping her hands off with a towel before turning to see if Drake needed help. She knew he wouldn’t, preferring to do everything for himself, the independent little apple. She felt Bastien’s eyes watching her as she helped the kids clean up, and she liked the way it felt. We could have this, someday. We will have this, she thought.
She closed the door and returned to her quiet apartment. Do you remember me, Bas? Do you remember the promises you wanted to make- the ones I didn’t let you keep? I remember. She felt a tear slip past her eyelashes as she allowed herself, just this once, to hope that he was coming for her. Remember me, she pleaded, please, remember me.
A/N: Moving right along with this new age in Cordonia’s history and what it means both politically and personally.
Pairing: Drake x Claire, Bastien x Annabelle
Word Count: 4,124
Song: Hard Times, Eastmountainsouth
Let us pause in life's pleasures and count it's many tears
While we all sup sorrow with the poor
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears
Oh, hard times come again no more
'tis a song a sigh of the weary
Hard times hard times come again no more
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door
Oh hard times come again no more
Claire looked out the window in the kitchen, the just risen sun reflecting off of the lake’s surface like diamonds, the green of the trees and the vines and bushes glowing like emeralds, like jewels of the forest. Home. She took a sip of her coffee as she let the word sink into her bones. Sure she’d stayed with Drake throughout most of the social season, but the constant danger they’d been living under had kept her from ever feeling safe. Safe. Another thing she hadn’t felt in ages. She set her mug down on the counter and moved closer to the window, leaning against the cool glass as she looked out. The last time she’d felt truly safe, truly at home, was 4 years ago when she was with her mother and Brielle; before moving to New York, before working at Keagan’s, before Alex and before Cordonia. When she closed her eyes she could still picture their front porch; the swing with the large, always fluffy cushions covered in floral patterns and caked with actual pollen from the black eyed susans and tiger lilies and lilacs that grew along the rail. She could still see the glass door and the big picture window that would hold candlesticks at Christmas and giant shamrocks for St. Patrick’s Day; could still see the tiled kitchen table, the light wood cabinets, and the one drawer that didn’t quite close all the way from that time Brielle had shoved too much junk into the junk drawer. When she opened her eyes all those images were gone, but the feeling remained, and that’s how she knew that this was her home now.
She listened as the breeze blew through the trees, a gentle whoosh as the leaves and branches swayed in the sunshine. She heard the sweet sounds of swallows singing as they swooped low over the lake. So different from the sounds of the city that she’d left behind, all harshness and volume. She took a breath and focused on the sounds she could hear inside the cabin- the coffee maker dripping, brewing a second pot of coffee for the day, the fireplace crackling, warming the whole first floor, the water rushing through the pipes from Drake’s shower. It was that last one that made her feel the most like this is where she was meant to be- Drake. Claire sighed, thinking of the man who held her heart, who’d held it from the moment that their lips met that first, electrifying time. He’d been making excellent progress in his recovery after the attacks at the Engagement Ball in Ramsford, and Claire knew that he was thrilled to be able to do something as simple as shower without help- up until two weeks ago he’d still been in a sling and unable to raise his injured arm more than a few inches. Small steps, she was constantly reminding him, are still steps in the right direction.
“I know, Berkley,” he’d say with a grumble, brows furrowed and a determined look in his deep eyes. She’d brush the long roguish hair from his face and drop gentle kisses to the corners of his eyes until the annoyed little crinkles there smoothed themselves back out and he’d sigh. “I just hate not being able to do things…or hold you…”
Claire knew that Drake hated feeling dependent on anyone but himself, and that even leaning on her these past few months had been difficult for him; not because he didn’t trust her, but because he wasn’t used to having someone to trust, not in this way anyway. “I know, baby,” she’d say, all patience and love, “but you will.”
The sound of the water stopped as he turned off the shower. Claire helped herself to more coffee, pouring a mug for Drake as well. She pulled the milk from the fridge and added a splash to his leaving hers black before bringing both mugs to the small table. She sat, gazing out the window absently, her thoughts returning to the newly found feeling of home as she waited for Drake to come downstairs. She brought the dark, bitter liquid to her lips, breathing in the nutty aroma before taking a big gulp of coffee. As it slid down her throat waking her up, she heard the heavy sound of his footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned in her seat and pulled one leg up tucking her foot beneath herself. This. This is part of what made this place home; seeing him in the morning, coming home to each other at night. Her heart swelled like it had every morning as he made his way into the kitchen, but faltered at the frustrated look on his face.
“Berkley, I need... can you...” he sighed and frowned, holding a towel in his good hand. His hair was still soaking wet, his shirt only buttoned half way from the bottom up. He’d shaved, a piece of tissue stuck to a nick near his chin, but otherwise his face was completely smooth save for the furrows in his brow and the tight set of his lips. It wasn’t just his shoulder, Claire knew; he was nervous, though he wouldn’t say it.
She rose, wordlessly, and crossed the room to where he stood. Drake cast his dark eyes downward before flicking them back to hers. Oh, Drake, it’s okay. She swallowed a thick knot, her hands going to his face, turning it so he’d look her in the eye. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, simultaneously raising on her toes to capture his lips, and reaching out to grab the towel from him.
The feel of her lips on his instantly softened his frown as he kissed her back slowly. “Good morning, Berkley,” he sighed, relinquishing the towel to her grip, hand going to her waist. Without prompting, she brought it up to his shaggy hair and started to dry his dripping locks.
“How’d you sleep, Councilman?” she asked, finishing with his hair, running her fingers through it loosely.
“Fine,” Drake replied as she tossed the towel onto the countertop. Her fingers went next to the unbuttoned buttons of his shirt, starting around his ribs. He’d done as many of them as he could, but Claire knew it was still hard for him to keep his arm up for an extended period of time, and washing his hair in the shower had maxed out the ability in his shoulder for the morning.
“Just fine?” she questioned, one eyebrow arching high. “You were snoring all night…seemed pretty restful to me.”
“I don’t know…good I guess…”
She could tell that he was on edge about the first official Council Meeting taking place in just a few hours. Of course there had been plenty of strategic meetings and Drake had been in on all of them, but this would be the first gathering of the entire Council since they’d all sworn in two weeks previously. Claire had beamed proudly at him as he swore to serve the citizens of Cordonia fairly and to uphold law and peace in their country, and they’d celebrated that night by going out to dinner, just the two of them. He’d been so happy that day, so sure of himself and confident that he’d do the best job that he could in his new role as Valtorian Representative to the Common Council. Now that it was time to actually step into those shoes, she knew he was having some doubts and jitters. She paused her buttoning to grip the lapels of his shirt and pull him closer to her, pressing her chest flush against his body.
“Hey, look at me,” she whispered, a faint smile on her lips and in her eyes. He complied, dropping his gaze to her face, mouth falling open, a small breath slipping out. Claire held his eyes with her own for a few seconds, demanding his attention, insisting that he drop his insecure thoughts. She placed her hand flat against his chest, over his heart where it was beating with nerves. “This is the best thing to ever happen to this country, Drake. This council… this new chapter…” she felt his fingers curl around her waist as she continued. “And you’re part of it. And you’re going to be great, Drake. I know it, Liam knows it…Bastien has said so…and I think you know it too, huh?” Her smile grew as in his eyes something changed, and he knew that she was right.
He took his hand from her waist and brought it up to cover hers, wrapping his fingers around her whole hand. “You really think so…” it wasn’t a question, it was a realization- she believed in him, and not just because she loved him.
Claire nodded as he squeezed her hand. “I really do,” she said. He loosened his grip to let her finish his buttons before ducking his head to catch her in another kiss. Both hands went to her hips as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against hers. A small, breathy sound came from the back of Claire’s throat as Drake’s tongue slipped into her mouth, sliding against hers.
“You taste like coffee,” he said smiling, lips still pressed to hers.
Claire nodded, breaking the kiss with a tiny peck, and fixing a stray piece of his hair. “Just made some,” she said, stepping away to grab his mug and hand it to him.
“Thanks, beautiful,” he said, and Claire knew he was thanking her for more than the caffeine. He followed her to the small kitchen table, sitting across from her, their feet finding each other, Claire’s resting on top of Drake’s. They passed the morning by talking about everything but how nervous Drake still was; Claire had an appointment with immigrations to finalize her citizenship, she also had an appointment with her therapist, and then errands to run including a stop at the market to pick up items for dinner that night.
“Don’t forget,” she said as she handed him his to go mug at the front door. “Bastien’s coming for dinner tonight.” She smiled as she said it, absolutely ecstatic that Bas had agreed to join them. She had grown to adore the man, and loved the relationship he had with Drake, loved the sense of family that she felt whenever the two of them were together.
Drake smiled, knowing how excited she was. “How could I forget, Berkley?” he dropped a quick kiss to her nose and sighed. “Okay,” he took a deep breath, eyes widening. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, but…luck.”
Drake felt his heart skip as he looked at her standing there in his doorway- their doorway. It could be any doorway in the world, he thought, and if she were standing in it, it would be home. “I love you, Claire.”
“I love you too. Now get out of here so I can be productive.” She pushed him playfully out the door, careful of where she placed her hands so as not to put pressure on the still sore, still healing scars that covered most of his left pectoral and shoulder. As she pushed, she leaned out the door and watched him shake his head, a grin on his face as he walked to his truck and climbed in. Drake Walker, Cordonian Common Council Representative for Valtoria, suit and tie and rusty pick up. She bit her lip. Oh how I love this man. Claire stood on the porch until his truck was no longer visible, before heading back inside to get ready for her day.
As the clock struck 8am she felt the phone in her pocket buzz, and she answered it without having to look at the caller I.D. “Hey, stinker,” she said, a smile drawing itself across her face as Dan’s voice returned her greeting. She had about twenty minutes to kill, and he had just gotten off of work, so the two chatted a bit, filling each other in on what was going on in their lives. Dan asked how Drake was feeling about his first day as a councilman –‘Nervous, but he’ll be great, I know he will,’- and Claire asked if he’d gotten over his crush on Olivia yet.
“It’s not…C…come on you know me… you know I don’t do crushes…I just…she’s nice, okay? We talk from time to time. That’s all.” Claire covered her mouth with her hand so as not to laugh directly into the phone as Dan stuttered and sputtered.
“Sure, D, whatever you say. I’m not rolling my eyes at all,” she said as she rolled her eyes. They amicably filled all twenty minutes talking and teasing as if they hadn’t gone three and a half months without seeing one another, as if there weren’t thousands of miles and an ocean between them, as if there were only precious few hours before they were both standing behind the bar cutting lemons and prepping margarita mixers. Easy. Their friendship had always been easy, would always be easy.
“Love you, Stinker,” he’d said after she promised to call him the following week to let him know how Drake’s first day was. She finished her coffee in one gulp and set about her errands for the day with one last look around the cabin, thinking again how happy she was that they’d be hosting Bastien for dinner.
. . . . . . .
Drake arrived in Fydelia early. While the palace was being reallocated as a tuition free trade school, complete with dormitories, classrooms, offices, athletic fields and more, the smaller Mythra Estate House, which had served as a second home to the Royal family for years, was now being used to headquarter the Common Council. Drake couldn’t even come up with a guess at how often he’d been in this building- dozens and dozens of times throughout his life- but stepping through the door on that day made it feel like a whole new place. Everything still looked the same- one of the conditions that the more traditionalist members of the former Noble class had held tightly to, was that all Royal buildings and estates should be maintained and preserved no matter what their new purpose would be. But just because the trim and carpets were the same meant nothing about how it felt to walk through those doors.
A smiling young intern greeted him from a small wooden desk. “Good Morning Councilman Walker,” she squeaked, as she stood. Her curls were barely contained in a bun at the back of her head, her eyes wide with eagerness and made to look even wider by her glasses.
Drake smiled warmly at her. She looked about as nervous as he felt. “Good Morning,” he responded, gesturing with this coffee laden hand as the other was gripping his briefcase.
“I’m Norah,” she introduced herself, straightening her skirt nervously.
“Nice to meet you, Norah,” he nodded to her. Drake had pushed heavily for college students to be employed as interns for the Council. His theory was that if there were young minds that were passionate about this new page in Cordonia’s history, then they should certainly be a part of writing it. Norah seemed like this was her dream job, and Drake felt his smile widen. “Are you studying politics?”
Her green eyes flashed with excited interest. “Yes,” she nodded so vehemently that some pieces of hair fell from her bun. She scrambled to fix the strays as she continued. “Yes, and, well, Councilman Walker, I know that you were the one that pushed for the interns and I just want to say thank you because you are the reason that I’m able to be here, at the start of all this, and…” the words were spilling from her lips and it reminded him of Claire and how she always spoke in double time when she was nervous or excited or frightened. “And well I just wanted to Thank you, sir, and let you know that I’m happy to help however I can.” She grinned sheepishly and adjusted her glasses.
Drake felt his smile spread and some of his nerves dissipate. “Well,” he cleared his throat, not sure how to respond to her outpouring of gratitude. “Well, it’s my pleasure, Norah. We’re glad to have you. Now,” he glanced at his watch. “Can you tell me where I’m supposed to be?” he let a casual little laugh escape him as he asked.
“Of course, sir,” she nodded and gestured down the long hall in front of her. “The Council Chambers are straight through there, located in the old Library. I believe Councilwoman Nevrakis and Councilman Beaumont are already there.” Drake thanked her and she resumed her position as he headed to the room that she indicated.
Within fifteen minutes of his arrival, Drake was seated at the large mahogany table with the full Common Council: Liam sat at the head of the table with Leo, Representative from Fydelia to his right. Next to Leo sat Olivia, representing Lythikos, Maxwell representing Ramsford, and Kyla Manifustos- Cordonia’s top Social Justice attorney- representing Essenwood. Drake took the seat directly to Liam’s left, with Hana next to him- she’d be representing Portavira as Penelope had declined the offer to pursue the aspirations that the nobility had kept her from. The last seat was given to Asher Kaliphos of Castelsarreillan. Drake didn’t know much about him, other than that his appointment to the council had caused waves with some of the traditionalists; he had been the former head of the coalition for reform, a group that had been responsible for several peaceful protests in the past decade. His appointment had actually come at Leo’s suggestion, his reasoning being that to keep things fair and even, all viewpoints should have a place at the Council table. Drake represented the common people, Olivia and the Rhys brothers were a nod to tradition, while Hana offered an outside view, Maxwell- the younger of the Beaumonts, represented overlooking the long standing tradition of the eldest sibling inheriting titles and land, and Asher and Kyla stood to show the rest of the country that this new system, the Common Council, was not simply a reset of Cordonia’s old ways, but an actual representation of the people that lived there. Drake knew it meant that they might butt heads. He was hoping for it, actually, as it meant that passionate opinions were being represented and heard, and kept from turning into rebellions.
The Council discussed a variety of topics ranging from Education to Disaster Relief to Foreign Policy, but the biggest item of discussion was the upcoming diplomacy tour that Liam had announced shortly after the swearing in. As Cordonia was making drastic changes, they owed their closest allies personal visits to assure them that their alliances still stood, and their first trip would be a three pronged affair stopping first in New York, then Milan, and finally Paris. Liam explained that half of the council- himself, Maxwell, Olivia and Drake- would travel while the other half – Hana, Asher, Leo and Kyla stayed behind. The trip would begin in just three days’ time, and Drake realized that that would be the new pace of his life; short notice, lengthy trips, long meetings. None of that was a deterrent to him though, because he knew how badly this all needed to happen…knew it was the only thing he could do to try to help make his country more safe, more secure, it’s people happier and better provided for. These things were all of great importance to him for many reasons, but of course, Claire was one of those reasons.
Drake rose from the table as the meeting concluded, thinking about her bustling around the kitchen preparing dinner. He thought about waking up next to her and taking her out for a horseback ride and walking hand in hand on the beach. He dared to imagine her in a white dress, dared to imagine a family in their future. These were things that he knew he wanted. He knew he wanted them with Claire, and he knew he wanted them here, in Cordonia, so he’d do his part to help his country for the people, for Liam, but also for himself and the family he dreamed of building with the woman he loved. He said goodbye to the various council members, lingering a while to speak with his friends, before heading back out the way he entered the building. He said a quick goodnight to Norah, who even after six hours still looked at bright eyed and enthusiastic as she had that morning. He shook his head with a smile, thinking to himself how that brand of enthusiasm would have bothered the old Drake, but he found himself already taking a liking to the overly committed intern. He sent a quick text to Claire to let her know that he was on his way home. Home. To her. He smiled to himself as he climbed into the truck and started the ignition.
The drive from Fydelia to Valtoria was about an hour, so Drake had plenty of time to contemplate the evening ahead of him. He’d been meaning to talk to Bastien about the ethereal dreams he’d had right after his surgery, but so much was happening and changing and all so urgently and quickly, and he’d been focusing on his recovery through it all. This would be the first time that he’d get a chance to sit down and really talk to Bas. He’d shared his dream with Claire; he’d seen his parents, a flash of a memory of them dancing and laughing. He’d seen himself and Claire, remembered the way she begged him to come back to her. It had become clear to him why Claire appeared in his dream, why his parents had. But there was a third couple as well- a young Bastien and a copper-haired woman named Annabelle who he could almost remember, but every time he tried to think of her, she danced further from his memory until she was gone. He sensed that she’d been important to him, but couldn’t remember how… he sensed that she’d been important to Bastien, and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been in love with her.
Drake knew that Bastien considered him and-his heart ached to think her name, but even Savannah- as his own family; knew that he had no wife, no children of his own, but until the dream he’d had, until he’d seen Annabelle, he’d never given it a thought. Bastien was Bastien- always there, always strong. He was the closest thing Drake had to having his own father in his life. He’d been there for Drake on countless occasions, and Drake looked up to him more than anyone else he knew. Drake Tonight, in his home with Claire, he’d finally get his chance to broach the topic. He was excited that Bas was joining them, as he knew that Bastien had joined the Walkers for many a family dinner, and now that things were finally starting to feel peaceful for both of them, he looked forward to having that happen more often. No more heartache, no more hard times. Only peace, now; only progress.
. . . . . . .
Annabelle folded the newspaper she’d been reading and stood to cross the darkened room. She gazed out the window of the gallery as the lights along the Seine came to life, thinking about what she’d just read and trying not to let her hopes soar too high. The Cordonian Council was set to travel to Paris and with every beat of her heart she heard his name. Bastien. Bastien. Bastien. For just over two decades she’d only been able to survive by not thinking of him; by simply hoping that one day he’d show up out of the blue. Now she wondered how many times he’d been in Paris and not come to her. She wondered if he’d come with the delegation and if so, if he’d finally be ready to lay aside all that had kept them apart. She hated the way her heart was tearing at itself both wanting and dreading the day to come so that she’d know once and for sure if he was still holding on to her. Forever entwined, she’d told him once, and felt it still. As the moon rose over the river, Annabelle locked up and headed to the place where she sleeps- it wasn’t home, she’d never called it that; home was in his arms, and in just over a week she’d know if home was a place she’d ever return to again.
Annabelle reentered the ballroom, her cheeks warm from the whiskey and the wonder of the evening. She’d just run into Drake and Liam, sneaking back downstairs to steal more desserts. The two boys had frozen in their tracks when they realized that they’d been spotted, but Annabelle winked at them, her lips quirking up into a grin. “Your secret’s safe with me, trouble makers,” she whispered, ruffling both of their hair. Liam laughed and Drake even caved in and gave her a smile from beneath his messy dark locks. She caught Drake watching, mesmerized by his parents twirling on the dance floor as she looked over her shoulder. Before she could turn back around, Bastien’s arms came around her, his lips by her ear.
“There you are,” he said, his fingers trailing down her bare back. “I’ve been looking for you,” his eyes narrowed as his lips turned upwards. “Dance with me, Belle,” his voice was low and primal, his breath warm against her skin. Goosebumps erupted up and down her spine as her arms came around his shoulders. He was wearing a sleek, dark suit, different from the more casual gray one he wore when he was on duty. She tucked her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, running them against the back of his neck, knowing that when she touched him there he’d close his eyes, a breathy hiss coming from the back of his throat at the light contact. She pressed her lips to his while his eyes were still closed, felt his palms press against her back, pulling her into him and towards the dance floor.
Later, a melancholy jazzy tune played as couples swayed slowly, bodies pressed close together. Annabelle rested her cheek against Bastien’s lapel, her fingers clasped in his big, strong hand. This is what I want, she’d thought, listening to the gentle thrum of his heart. Just this, just him, without all the rest. “Bas,” she picked her head up as fireworks burst in the sky outside. Partygoers streamed out onto the balcony to watch as red, gold and purple sparks lit the night to welcome in the new year. “Bastien, would you leave it all behind? All of this... the guard... the palace... would you leave it behind... for us?”
Bastien looked around and realized they were alone on the dance floor. He brought his eyes back to hers and she thought she saw something there, something like disappointment, but it was gone in a flash. “The guard is my life, Belle. It’s all I’ve ever wanted... what I’ve worked for... look at Jackson and Bianca. Look how happy they are. We could have that, Belle, and I wouldn’t have to leave the guard.”
“You’d never be safe,” she burrowed back into his chest. “And i’d always have to worry... and what if we had children Bas... children who could lose their father...” she thought of Drake and Savannah and took a shuddering breath. “Cordonia isn’t as safe as it used to be anymore. I love it here, Bastien. And I love you. And I want a life, a family with you. But I can’t do it while you’re in the guard. I can’t marry you to become your widow.” I don’t want the glitz or the honor or the fairytale. I just want him.
“I’ll think about it,” he said after a long pause where he’d pressed her closer, running his hand up and down her spine. He lifted her chin with the fingers that had been tracing her face and found her lips, kissing her with every ounce of Love he had, hoping it was enough to keep her. They’d gone home that night and he’d fallen asleep quickly, leaving her to fold his discarded suit before it turned into a mess of wrinkles. As she picked it up off the floor, something fell from an inner pocket and clattered to the hardwood with a tingling sound. A glint caught her eye as she bent to retrieve a stunning diamond ring, her eyes darting to the sleeping man on the bed, her breath sticking in her throat as her heart swelled painfully with love and sorrow and hope. He was going to propose, and she’d given him the ultimatum so he hadn’t. He was ready to give his heart to her, just not ready to give up the guard. She suddenly felt guilty for asking. Annabelle tucked the ring back into his jacket and tried to forget it existed as she curled her body around his in the bed, gently kissing the spot between his shoulders. Just this. Just him. It’s all I want. A tear slipped down her cheek as she slipped into sleep.
