Original: Adagio
Title: Adagio
Series: Original (L'oiseau du Bonheur)
Characters/Pairings: Tristan/Eleanor
Rating: G
Warnings: I continue to indulge myself in the most predictable ways imaginable.
Summary: She bit him.
After the fifth day of her continued refusal to see him, Tristan gives up on hoping she'll enter the decidedly neutral space halfway between their houses again on her own. She has not been coming, and while he felt at first that perhaps she just needed space to think and to calm herself, Eleanor has never been a dramatic or hysterical girl and he can't imagine her needing quite this long. He needs to talk to her.
He walks alone the rest of the way to the dark house, hunched over its tall grass in silence. The iron gate creaks when he pushes it open, and while Adrian would probably be pleased at the overall effect, Tristan can't help but feel the house seems sad on behalf of one of its inhabitants today. It doesn't seem proud like usual of its weathered exterior, of its creepy facade. It seems tired.
The door is not locked.
As usual, it seems too heavy on one side and slams shut, announcing his presence with its resounding slam.
"Eleanor?" Tristan calls out from the foyer. The silence is so heavy. He doesn't feel right leaving this spot until he's made some kind of verbal contact. "I know you're here. Please talk to me."
She appears at the top of the stairs, one white hand on the railing. Even from a distance, her expression is visibly displeased. "You shouldn't be here," Eleanor says after a moment. She sounds exhausted, but she also sounds sad--a deep, tired sorrow that comes from having too much time to think and none to sleep away one's problems. "I can't see you anymore."
Tristan walks to the bottom step and puts his own hand on the railing. Up above, hers retracts, like his warmth has traveled up the banister and reached her. "Can't or don't want to? If you don't want to see me, say it, and I promise I won't be here again."
Her voice breaks slightly. "You know I want to. I want to be with you all the time. But this could happen again, and I can't let that happen. Please go... I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"There is nothing stopping you from seeing me," he offers fondly. He is happy to see her, but it hurts that she has to be so sad about this. His neck is fine. The injury was small and easy to cover, and no one at home inquired further when he shooed away their concerns with nonchalant answers. "I'm not hurt and I'm not afraid."
"I'm a vampire!" Eleanor cries out exasperatedly. "We could deny it before, but we can't now. I can't see you anymore. I..."
The boy sweeps up the stairs to her, and she doesn't try to fight him when he pulls her into his arms. She's quivering just slightly with the effort to not embrace him in return. She feels cool, and her clothes are starched to stiff perfection. She feels like no one else in the world to him.
"I love you," Tristan says.
"I'm a vampire," Eleanor repeats, tired and defeated, her voice muffled slightly against him. "You shouldn't."
"I knew you were a vampire when I made you my friend; when I kissed you under the sun; when I said I loved you the first time. How does this change anything? You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew what I was doing, myself, and I'm not sorry at all."
Her arms slip around him in an instant, gripping tight to trembling fistfuls of his shirt, and she sobs. Never in the entire time he's known her has Tristan never really seen Eleanor be anything but thoughtful or curious or shy or pleasant or witty. Even her small flashes of negative feelings--annoyance with her silly brother, primarily--are mild and infrequent. She has been, overall, very kind-spirited. For all the terrible things he knows have happened to her, she has never seemed resentful. He has never seen or heard her cry. How long has it been? Did she ever cry on any of those long dark nights back before he knew her? He doubts it, because this weeping cannot be for one thing alone.
They stand for a long time at the top of the stairs until her sobbing doesn't seem to be making any more tears and she slowly begins to collect herself. There is a wet splotch across part of his chest, but Tristan doesn't care. He smooths her hair, and she pulls back from him, looking a little embarrassed, rubbing at her eyes with her long sleeve.
"There, ma cherie, you see?" Tristan brushes his thumb across her cool cheek. He cannot imagine loving her more. She fights so hard to be brave and to be happy. "Everything will be alright." He cups her face in his hands and kisses the same cheek, then just beside her lips. She throws her arms up around his neck and he holds her again in silence for a few moments longer. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Eleanor says quietly against his shoulder. "Can... can you stay with me awhile longer?"
"As long as you want." He will hold her until he can't stay awake any longer, and even beyond that. He will hold her in his dreams until the morning sun comes tomorrow. "I promise."
Series: Original (L'oiseau du Bonheur)
Characters/Pairings: Tristan/Eleanor
Rating: G
Warnings: I continue to indulge myself in the most predictable ways imaginable.
Summary: She bit him.
After the fifth day of her continued refusal to see him, Tristan gives up on hoping she'll enter the decidedly neutral space halfway between their houses again on her own. She has not been coming, and while he felt at first that perhaps she just needed space to think and to calm herself, Eleanor has never been a dramatic or hysterical girl and he can't imagine her needing quite this long. He needs to talk to her.
He walks alone the rest of the way to the dark house, hunched over its tall grass in silence. The iron gate creaks when he pushes it open, and while Adrian would probably be pleased at the overall effect, Tristan can't help but feel the house seems sad on behalf of one of its inhabitants today. It doesn't seem proud like usual of its weathered exterior, of its creepy facade. It seems tired.
The door is not locked.
As usual, it seems too heavy on one side and slams shut, announcing his presence with its resounding slam.
"Eleanor?" Tristan calls out from the foyer. The silence is so heavy. He doesn't feel right leaving this spot until he's made some kind of verbal contact. "I know you're here. Please talk to me."
She appears at the top of the stairs, one white hand on the railing. Even from a distance, her expression is visibly displeased. "You shouldn't be here," Eleanor says after a moment. She sounds exhausted, but she also sounds sad--a deep, tired sorrow that comes from having too much time to think and none to sleep away one's problems. "I can't see you anymore."
Tristan walks to the bottom step and puts his own hand on the railing. Up above, hers retracts, like his warmth has traveled up the banister and reached her. "Can't or don't want to? If you don't want to see me, say it, and I promise I won't be here again."
Her voice breaks slightly. "You know I want to. I want to be with you all the time. But this could happen again, and I can't let that happen. Please go... I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"There is nothing stopping you from seeing me," he offers fondly. He is happy to see her, but it hurts that she has to be so sad about this. His neck is fine. The injury was small and easy to cover, and no one at home inquired further when he shooed away their concerns with nonchalant answers. "I'm not hurt and I'm not afraid."
"I'm a vampire!" Eleanor cries out exasperatedly. "We could deny it before, but we can't now. I can't see you anymore. I..."
The boy sweeps up the stairs to her, and she doesn't try to fight him when he pulls her into his arms. She's quivering just slightly with the effort to not embrace him in return. She feels cool, and her clothes are starched to stiff perfection. She feels like no one else in the world to him.
"I love you," Tristan says.
"I'm a vampire," Eleanor repeats, tired and defeated, her voice muffled slightly against him. "You shouldn't."
"I knew you were a vampire when I made you my friend; when I kissed you under the sun; when I said I loved you the first time. How does this change anything? You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew what I was doing, myself, and I'm not sorry at all."
Her arms slip around him in an instant, gripping tight to trembling fistfuls of his shirt, and she sobs. Never in the entire time he's known her has Tristan never really seen Eleanor be anything but thoughtful or curious or shy or pleasant or witty. Even her small flashes of negative feelings--annoyance with her silly brother, primarily--are mild and infrequent. She has been, overall, very kind-spirited. For all the terrible things he knows have happened to her, she has never seemed resentful. He has never seen or heard her cry. How long has it been? Did she ever cry on any of those long dark nights back before he knew her? He doubts it, because this weeping cannot be for one thing alone.
They stand for a long time at the top of the stairs until her sobbing doesn't seem to be making any more tears and she slowly begins to collect herself. There is a wet splotch across part of his chest, but Tristan doesn't care. He smooths her hair, and she pulls back from him, looking a little embarrassed, rubbing at her eyes with her long sleeve.
"There, ma cherie, you see?" Tristan brushes his thumb across her cool cheek. He cannot imagine loving her more. She fights so hard to be brave and to be happy. "Everything will be alright." He cups her face in his hands and kisses the same cheek, then just beside her lips. She throws her arms up around his neck and he holds her again in silence for a few moments longer. "I love you."
"I love you, too," Eleanor says quietly against his shoulder. "Can... can you stay with me awhile longer?"
"As long as you want." He will hold her until he can't stay awake any longer, and even beyond that. He will hold her in his dreams until the morning sun comes tomorrow. "I promise."