And I Don't Want to Forget How Your Voice Sounds
Inspired by x x
For my darling Kate in celebration of her internet's triumphant return!
The fire roared before her as, absently, she drew her finger along the rim of the stemmed glass. Her gaze was locked upon the roaring flames though she stared without really seeing them, her mind lost in the events of the day. That is, lost until he spoke.
"He has you."
Her head snapped up, locking onto his pale face and the mess of black curls scattered across his forehead. Her eyes narrowed as his head cocked. Before she could even attempt an answer, he spoke again.
"You know who I mean. Scaramanga."
There was something in the way he said the name. His mouth widened as he enunciated and his eyes shone like he held a secret he was just bursting to share.
At his words, her red nail stopped its journey around the glass and she leaned forward; toward him. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
Her scarlet lips pursed as she studied him.
He answered only with a smile. Under normal cirucumstances, it would have been a rare gesture but this one was not genuine which made it far less rare. After its appearance, he, too, learned foward, his hands coming together to rest beneath his chin, his elbows resting on his knees.
They held these poses for a moment, studying one another, neither daring to break their silence.
Finally, it was he who spoke. He leaned back, his hands moving to grip the arms of his chair as his gaze moved to the fire.
"Fine. Let him win."
Her eyes narrowed as she hissed, "And what would you have me do?"
This answer seemed to amuse him. He cocked his head to the side as his eyes flicked onto her once more. This time, when he smiled, it reached his eyes.
"You know," he said smugly.
Her left brow rose as a smile started to play on her own lips. "Do I?" she purred.
And, with that, their game had begun.
"Stop chasing him," he said suddenly, his fingers coming together under his chin once more. "Make him come to you."
"And what makes you so sure he hasn't already?"
He scoffed, "Please. You wouldn't be checking your mobile every few seconds if he were after you. No. You're scared. You've reached too far. And now you're caught. You're waiting for the confirmation that he's on his way. You're waiting for the signal to run." He paused, drumming his fingers against one another. "Let him come to you."
"And then?"
"Destroy him."
She titled her head back as her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed as she scanned his face. He held her gaze, just as he always had.
"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?" she whispered.
For a second he seemed to consider and then, slowly, he nodded.
"Wouldn't you rather have the pleasure?" she questioned.
"What makes you so sure I won't?"
She sighed, sadness suddenly filling her eyes. It was an emotion she reserved only for him. Only he could break down each of her walls. Only he saw this, her so carefully guarded side. And yet...
"Because you're not really here," the words were almost inaudible.
And just like that, he was gone. The illusion had broken. She returned her gaze to the fire, her finger moving once more along the rim of the glass as a shadow fell in the doorway.
"Madame?" Mikael questioned. "You called?"
"No," she sighed, without turning.
She could feel his hesitation as he seemed to consider. After a moment, he spoke again. "I thought I heard your voice."
Slowly, she turned to regard the boy who, in the last year, had become her closest companion. But even though he handled her affairs, there still seemed miles between them. Thus, her eyes were hard as she said, "Well you must be mistaken."
Then she slowly picked up the glass and rose, draining the final drops before she crossed the room, passing in front of him. She pressed the tumbler to his chest and paused for only a moment to add, "I'm going to bed. Don't wake me tomorrow."
And as she left the room, her hand dropping to her side, she left the warmth of the fire and the memory of the tall, dark haired man behind.
----
"What do you think of this one?" she asked, turning from side to side.
Tearing her eyes from her own reflection, she caught his eye through the mirror as he looked up from his mobile.
"I like it," he said finally.
"You like everything," she scoffed, pulling the dress off over her head as she turned and chucking it into the pile with the other rejects.
Naked, she returned to her closet and began again. When she reemerged, this time in a short red number, he was watching her from his place on her bed. He restacked his sock clad feet, moving the left across the right.
"Yes?" she questioned, a brow rising.
A small, half smile was his only answer. She pursed her lips as, wordlessly, she crossed back to the mirror. Turning from side to side, she kept up the façade a little longer. But, finally, she stopped her movement.
He was still watching. She met his gaze.
"Would you still want me?" she smoothed the front of her dress before adding, "If I were to return, would you still want me?"
He stared at her for a long moment before she turned. Cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips, he pulled himself from the bed and crossed the room, stopping just before he reached her.
"Why wouldn't I?"
She searched his eyes, trying in vain to determine if he was telling the truth. She longed to touch him but knew she could not.
Pursing her own lips, she crossed her arms over her chest and shuddered involuntarily, showing weakness only behind closed doors.
"How could you ever trust me again after this?"
His head tilting to the left, he gave her the small half smile she knew so well. "How could I not?"
She dropped her gaze then, turning away from him and back to the mirror. "You have to say that. You'll say whatever I awnt." Her eyes narrowed she she watched his reflection. "You're in my head."
"Why should that matter?"
She turned back to face him but he was already gone, the room cold and empty. "I hope you're right," she whispered.
With one last glance in the mirror, she turned, grabbed her bag and headed for the door, saying her goodbyes to Switzerland and The Woman she had been as she went.
It was with a deep sigh that she smoothed her dress absently, the same dress she had worn that first night, as she hoped he would understand.
And, in the space of a few short hours, be happy to see her again.
