Soundtrack: Precious - Depeche Mode

ébréchure
Chapter Three

The room was small; sounds of construction, of rebuilding, were prominent past the door, as heavy as it was. The plaster walls were cracked but holding; the smaller repairs would be left for last, as numerous as they were. He sat in a leather chair, slightly worn but comfortable, hands folded on his lap with his legs crossed disinterestedly.

"I want you to keep an eye on him, Alaude," Giotto continued, expression earnest. "You know how much this means to him, and how he acted before the attack. I wouldn't put it past him now to hate me; I can't help him." Even though he'd been so loyal in the beginning, so dedicated, it came to this, didn't it? And there was the unspoken addendum: Because you're the one closest to the matter. Because Elena had been the one to bring both him and Daemon Spade into the family, and because she had been so close to him.

His voice was quiet. "Far be it for you to admit that you were wrong."

There was a little twinkle of hurt in Giotto's eye but he only gave a sad smile. "No. And I'm still not."

"It wouldn't have happened if the family was stronger." Matter-of-factly. He watched the don carefully, searching for any sign of regret. But as far as he could see, there was none. Not a single twitch of his lips or curl of his eyebrow. The skin around his eyes was smooth. Utterly undeterred.

"Then it would have been the Vongola, doing this to some other family. That is unacceptable."

"So we become the scapegoat in order to avoid the responsibility of enacting discipline like alphas."

It was quiet for a long time before Giotto replied. His voice was low with determination. "If we have to."

Alaude left in disgust.

-x-

"Did she tell you that I proposed?"

Alaude stiffened. He lifted his teacup to his lips and sipped to hide his surprise, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the man there with annoyance. Any other time he might have left a few coins on the table for the waitress and left, ignoring the newcomer, but his coat was hanging on the back of the chair and his tea was only halfway empty. Not to mention that this was his favourite place to get bergamot.

"Are you following me, Daemon Spade?" he asked mildly. After all, he wouldn't put it past him. He still didn't know how Elena could have put up with him. Such a sneak. He practically exuded untruth, he thought wryly, as the Mist took a seat across the table and crossed his legs leisurely. Good thing he hadn't expected the lack of invitation to matter in the first place.

Flicking a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, Daemon shrugged. Hmph. He couldn't even bother denying it, just for the sake of appearances. For once he was being honest. That made Alaude smile a little in amusement behind the ceramic cup as he let the subtle scent of tea wash over him. It was probably the only reason he was in a good enough mood to put up with this, he reflected idly. Tea always helped his patience.

"It's the only way to get a hold of you, Alaude," he said softly. Unabashedly he leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and laid his chin on the backs of his hands. "You didn't answer my question." The midafternoon light reflected in his eyes. Funny; he'd never paid enough attention to notice them. A rather pretty blue. More like the ocean than his own icy azure.

It was his turn to shrug. "Why does it matter?" No, she hadn't, and it rankled him a little to know that she hadn't bothered mentioning it. So the two were engaged. That would explain part of why Daemon had been so broken at her death. Here they were, two months later, and he still thought he saw a thin line on the illusionist's face that hadn't been there before. Of course it would still be painful. Alaude didn't believe in the worth of pain, not in mourning—when someone was dead, they were gone. To suffer for another's demise was the epitome of stupidity. But he had to admit, to himself, that the thought of his cousin still made his chest tighten. It was human nature, and humans were idiotic beings.

"She turned me down, you know."

That caught his attention. He raised his gaze from the tea, gently swirling around the cup, to Daemon. His voice was low, even. At least he didn't sound like he was going to begin sobbing or something equally distasteful. He had to tell himself that his curiosity was just so that he had a better understanding of events. He was in the intelligence business, after all. "Why?"

He gave a rueful smile. It was almost surprising in its bitterness. For a long moment Daemon didn't answer; he seemed taken with the cobblestone street and the passersby. Then his smile widened a little, nearly showing teeth. It was almost painful to look at. "Because she was smart," he murmured. The smile went away suddenly, leaving his expression blank. "But you know, I think she would have said yes."

Alaude's brows furrowed. "Hm?"

"If it weren't for you."

That made him sit back. His shoulders tensed a little. What was this, some sort of blame? As he'd said, Elena hadn't even told him of the proposal. Obviously he wasn't important enough to have interfered with this. He was about to reply sharply when Daemon held up a finger.

"Hear me out," he said softly. His expression was earnest. For a moment it reminded him of the look Enzo always gave him when he was being distant. The effect was dizzying. "I proposed to Elena out of desperation. Surrender, maybe, even. Both our families would have wanted us married years ago; this would have appeased both of them. You know I loved her, Alaude. I'd have done anything for her."

He was beginning to get impatient. Where was this going? Alaude made a motion to continue. It made Daemon chuckle.

"Well," he muttered with a frown, "I'd have done anything but one thing." He lifted his gaze to catch Alaude's firmly. "And she knew it. I couldn't give her one thing—and that was me." His eyes narrowed a little. With a gloved hand he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully as if trying to figure out how to go on, or to decipher the blonde's impassive expression. "So damn hard to read, you know," he said suddenly. "You are so damn hard to read." Suddenly he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward again, inches from his face. Alaude had to set the cup down quickly to avoid spilling it; the sound of it clinking on the table was annoying. He straightened a little as if facing a challenge.

"I'd have done anything for Elena years ago when we first met. Before I joined the family."

Yes. He could remember the soft look Daemon had, had when he'd first come. Doe-eyed at Elena; bewildered at the entire family. When had that slid away?

He felt Daemon's breath hot against his lip and leaned back quickly, looking at him with alarm.

"The first time she introduced us—her suitor and her cousin—do you remember that, Alaude?"

It would have been maddening, this violation of his personal space and the challenge in Daemon's eyes, but something about his vehemence gave him pause. Slowly he nodded. And he did remember; he'd thought he'd seen why Elena was so fond of this aristocrat with the weird hair. There was a blatant potential in him, some sort of confidence that made him memorable. It had been a short meeting.

"After that, I couldn't look at Elena the same. I still loved her. She was still my motivation, the only thing that got me through some days. But she knew why I couldn't face her the same way anymore. I don't know how she did, but you know, she told me when she turned me down—she said, 'If I accept all of you now, Daemon, you'll hate me for it.' She was right, too. I would have resented it."

Abruptly Alaude made a move to stand. This had gone on long enough; he was certain he was listening to the ravings of a madman.

"Sit down."

The growl made him stop. Slowly he folded his hands in his lap again, eyes narrowed at the man dangerously. Thin ice, he thought darkly. One more annoying word and Daemon wouldn't wake up until the next week.

"It made me realize something. I knew it already, but really figure it out." Daemon smiled again, and this time it was unsettling. There was something raw about it, almost like a man fighting from his knees. Was it really so hard to say this? It seemed as if he needed to so badly anyway. "I've been in love with two people, Alaude. That was why she wouldn't marry me. She knew it."

That gave him pause. Alaude frowned a little, beginning to frown. "Why tell me this? Do you want me to punish you for being unfaithful to Elena?" Another time it might have been tempting, too. The thought of sweet little Elena being put in second place for something like this was enough to have his fingers clenching a little; he had to stop from reaching for his handcuffs. She ought to have known better than to have thrown in her lot with a man like this.

It brought a sharp laugh from Daemon. He shook his head in disbelief before he reached out and cupped Alaude's chin in a hand and before he could react leaned forward and smashed their lips together. It was a rough kiss, demanding almost to desperation, that froze him for a long moment. With a grunt of surprise that was too imbalanced to be angry Alaude pulled back, nearly overturning the chair in his eagerness to get away. He was already pulling on his jacket, cursing himself for being a little clumsy.

He wouldn't take his eyes off of Daemon, narrowed. What was that? It took until he'd slammed a handful of coins onto the table to realize that he couldn't decide how to feel. Was this some sort of breakdown, coming after the person closest to his dead lover, or had he finally gone mad? The thought of his having neglected Elena for him was astounding. It should have been repulsive but he was too confused to find it so.

"You're an idiot," he finally hissed. Daemon only sneered.

"You're the one who didn't notice," he growled, stepping around the table. Alaude pulled his arm back when he reached for his wrist and turned to go quickly, buttoning his overcoat with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The hard grip on his shoulder made him pivot, arm raised to punch him. Daemon caught his fist and leaned in again, making him shrink backwards in an attempt to get free, but he couldn't get his hand out of the Mist's. It was infuriating. He'd already lifted a foot to slam down onto Daemon's.

"You know exactly what I'm telling you!" Daemon told him angrily. "Don't you dare run away, Alaude!"

He slammed his heel down and smirked in grim satisfaction at the yelp of pain it earned. Immediately he grabbed Daemon by the collar, pulling him off balance. "Did you touch her like this?" he snarled. "Did you ever raise a hand to her like this, you egotistical bastard—!"

Daemon's eyes widened. He was still for a moment, long enough to make him think that perhaps the accusation had brought him back to his senses, but with a sudden yell of rage the Mist lunged forward, slamming into him and pinning him back against the brick wall of the café. Alaude caught a quick glimpse of worried, scandalized onlookers on the street and a waiter too nervous to step into the fray before his gaze was pulled to the sapphire eyes just a couple of inches from his face.

"How dare you say that!" he seethed. All of a sudden, it was a new side to the guardian, he reflected vaguely as he raised his hands to grab Daemon's wrists, struggling at the tight hold on his neck. Daemon hissed a little, growling, never moving his eyes from Alaude's. He was tense, like a spring under too much pressure, nearly trembling. Something about him breathed violence. It was as perturbing as it was exhilarating. "How dare you think I would hurt her!"

Alaude should have been alarmed. He should have been fighting hard, he knew, but for some reason he felt suddenly lethargic. He couldn't breathe. It was the oxygen, said a far-off, rational part of his mind. He was already running out of it from his stupid marveling. It took too long to pull his foot back and slam his heel into Daemon's shin, but there was a satisfying crack and immediately the Mist let go, reeling back a little with a glower. He hadn't realized how much effort that had taken until he found himself on his knees, unable to quite make himself stand, hands clutched to his throat as he gulped painful breaths.

He glared up at his attacker from a lowered face, already tasting murder in his mind. You know how to do this, he hissed at himself silently. Slowly, looking ominous, he stood on unsteady legs that he forced still. Pain didn't matter. His hands dropped from his throat and the bruises he could already feel forming there, to the handcuffs tucked into his belt. Was that a little flicker of excitement in Daemon's face? It faded quickly, though, into a frown. He could feel a growl of pleasure already purring in his chest at that as he dashed forward, arm already cocked back to deal a blow, lip curled back in a feral snarl.

His fist met air and his eyes widened angrily. Son of a bitch. An illusion. There, weight around his torso, an arm that pinned his to his sides. He struggled furiously. "Coward!" he hissed. "Let me go and I'll kill you quickly, you—"

A hand clamped over his mouth, making him seethe harder. His leg was lifting to kick backwards, hoping to break something. That would be a pleasant feeling. "Shh, Alaude," Daemon murmured in his ear suddenly. He blinked in surprise. Where was the violence of just a moment before? The hand left his lips and gently tugged at the cuffs he held.

He felt his brows furrow in confusion. What was he doing—trying to trick him into disarming himself? No, he shook his head hard, almost hitting Daemon in the process. The anger was draining quickly, gradually replaced with frustration. "You son of a bitch," he whispered, closing his eyes a long time. "Coward."

Daemon only murmured something inaudible in response. It might have been an apology, but no, he knew better than to think that. Slowly he let go, at first only loosening his grip as if testing whether Alaude would attack him again, and then stepped back. He was limping, the blonde noticed with grim bemusement. After a moment of watching him the Mist only shook his head and turned to leave. He looked upset. The first step almost made him fall as he stepped on his bad leg but he caught himself and with a growl disappeared into the crowd.

He stood there a long time, feeling like all the strength had been sapped out of him. It took a while to realize that the waiter was speaking to him, pleading with him to please go, they'd handle the mess. Free of charge. His lips thinned. After a moment of reluctance he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill and, though the man flinched, tucked it into his shirt pocket before he turned and left. Idiot, he hissed silently as he slid onto the street and away, as far away as he could get. What had that been?

It was a struggle not to turn into an alley and lean against a wall, head in his hands. There was a pounding ache between his temples. Hasn't happened in years. That bloodlust—that was something from his teenage years, maybe even his early twenties. It had been what, seven years since the last time? Sure, he'd been tempted; it was like some beast encroaching on him in the middle of a battle, when his temper ran high, at the sight of a fight. He raised his collar and buttoned it to hide the marks of Daemon's hands. It was something he'd grown out of, or at least, forced himself to leave behind. It was immaturity, almost bestial in its simple aggression. It had no use. The knowledge that he'd been such a thoughtless thug before was humiliating, in a way.

The crowd didn't change but it was suddenly more suffocating than before; with gritted teeth he ducked down a side road and looked to see that no one was there before he crouched, back to a dirty brick wall, and rubbed his temples. He'd lost his control. It was still frustrating; he could feel the fingers tightening around his neck as if they were still there. He couldn't stop cursing Daemon in his head. All of the guardians would have known that he disliked losing his temper. That it was a point of pride for him to maintain composure even in a battle. Actually, secretly, it was more than pride. When he couldn't control himself, he couldn't trust himself—and he was the only person worth trusting.

Was that why Daemon had stopped and tried to calm him down? He knew that it had been excitement he'd seen at first. It wasn't surprising that the Mist had enjoyed the sight of him so furious. He was a sadist, there was no question about it, not anymore. And as he thought about it he could remember how disappointed he'd always seemed when he'd watched Alaude emerge from a fight completely under rein. He liked to see him without his control. Whether it was because he liked to see him suffer or because he enjoyed the strength that came with it, he didn't know, and he didn't want to imagine. He'd liked it and yet he'd stopped it.

He wasn't thinking straight, he scolded himself harshly. Dirt and small stones grated beneath his feet. Daemon had known his own life was forfeit when Alaude went for blood. He'd only done it to save himself, like the coward he was who started a fight and refused to finish it.

The thought of his doing it for Alaude's sake was troubling in that he'd even entertain it. No. Certainly not thinking straight.