In Which Lucien Doesn't Ask

December 24, 1177

"You're sitting a little close, don't you think?"

Lucien stiffened as Vera's footsteps drew nearer. What was she doing up? It was Christmas Eve and she'd had a long day, never catching a break between any of the little snags that seemed to come with the holidays--her father needing help delivering bonuses to the staff, her stepmother and sister-in-law arguing about place settings and needing a third opinion, her little brother arriving from their sister's place and demanding that no one forgot it was his birthday too. After all that, he hoped she'd been asleep.

Hoped, and kind of feared too. "I'm not that close."

"Closer than you were last I walked by." Her footfalls stopped at his side and a warm hand wrapped itself around his own. "Come on. The couch is much more comfortable."

"Not as warm, though."

"That's all right." He could almost hear lyrics in her laughter as she pulled him to his feet. "I'll keep you warm."

Did that mean what he thought it meant? As nice a thought it might have been, he didn't want to suppose. She was a lady, after all. "Uh... all right..."

She pulled him across the room and spun him around, telling him to sit with a light push on his shoulder. His trust was rewarded with a soft cushion and the light rustling of a girl settling at his side. He tried to picture her. She'd let him feel her face, her hair, her sides, even her breasts once--"Just so you know," she'd told him with a wink, or at least he liked to imagine there'd been a wink--and he wondered why he wasn't brave enough to take her hand unbidden. Would his fingertips ruin the image? Probably. They felt so thick and fumbly compared to hers.

Fumbly. What an apt word. Rotting sausages might have had an easier time with the ties of his tunic, the handle of a door, practically anything. His own hands were barely better than useless, just like the rest of him. He hadn't even been able to sit without her help.

"Vera?"

"Mmm?"

"What does your father plan on doing with me?"

A breath. She was considering. She couldn't guess. "What do you mean?"

"You know. I can't stay here and have everyone herd me around until I'm dead."

But who was he kidding? Wasn't as if he could do much else. If he'd been an animal, they would have killed him by now. At least with Remiel he'd had a function; he didn't miss said function, but he could vaguely remember a time when he'd been useful for other things and it would have been nice to have that feeling back. Or at least to be able to walk around a sitting room unescorted.

"We don't herd you around..."

They did, but he supposed he couldn't expect her to understand, not when she'd done so much else for him. There were some things he just couldn't ask of her. "Never mind."

A silken haired-head nestled on his shoulder and her slender fingers tiptoed across the back of his hand. "You're not a burden, if that's what you're asking. We like having you around. I like having you around. You make me happy."

Did he? It wasn't as if she'd been outright miserable before, was it? "How?"

She just laughed again, laughed until a bell chimed and she gave the sound a courteous pause. Shame. Her laughter had the prettier ring.

"Listen."

The bell chimed again.

Again.

"It's from the tower."

Four. Five. Six.

A slender form had placed itself upon his lap. Seven. Eight. She slung her arm around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair; not quite sure of himself, he placed his hand on her side.

Nine. Ten.

"I'd lost track of time."

Eleven.

Hadn't they all.

Twelve.

He wanted to say something but he didn't know what. It was just as well, though. The rose petal lips lingering on his own made it difficult to speak.

He sat stunned and frozen as the remnant of the ring faded into the night. He didn't know what to do with her kiss and it wasn't long before she took it back but the sensation outlived the act. His face grew warm, though he wasn't quite sure why. Embarrassment, most likely. Embarrassment, plus some butterfly-stomach giddiness that was all too foreign.

"Merry Christmas, Lucien."

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