April Showers Bring Mae Flowers

Maelie couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this nervous. Well, actually, that wasn’t entirely true. She had been plenty nervous many other times, many of which were recent, but this was slightly different. When she had explained everything to Jack, at least it had been within the confined space of her home. And that was Jack, Cam was entirely different. Sure, they spoke perfectly pleasantly at the wedding, but was this to be the same? She knew she had to prepare answers in advance, be able to explain her life the last few years just in case he asked. 

Her answers wouldn’t be completely truthful, but he wouldn’t want to know the truth anyway. 

As he didn’t know Paris very well yet, Maelie had chosen the restaurant. It was a good place for conversation - not too formal, and a bit of live music to cover up any questions they may not want others overhearing. Just in case. When the blonde arrived, she took a deep breath, pausing at the door a moment. She’d arrived several minutes early, just to be sure that she wouldn’t be late, but now she had trouble bringing herself to open the door. 

Cam was as much an older brother to her as her real siblings, and he’d probably known her even better. It felt childish, but she could feel the fear of disappointment ringing in her chest. What if he disapproved of the life she was living? It was wildly different from the life she was bred for. She would have had several children by now, if things were different. A large home, a husband, a staff... instead, she had a flower shop, a small flat, and a cat. She was respected in her field, but her field was not what she was meant to be doing, if her upbringing was any indication. 

Finally, after taking a deep breath, the blonde lifted her chin, and raised her hand to open the door to the establishment. Music flooded her ears from the pianist in the corner. Mozart, she was certain of it - nothing too distracting, anyway. Once arriving at her table, she sat down, trying her best to not appear nervous. The menu in front of her, and the door, were fighting for her eyes’ attention, as she waited for her lunch companion to arrive, terrible conversation scenarios spinning around in her mind.

@camlambton​

Where everyone can be happy. That was the idea, after all. For a wedding. A marriage. Creating even just a corner, in all the world, where you could be not only happy, but happy in togetherness. Wonderful thought. Wonderful thing, to witness. Wonderful to have. 

Another drink wouldn’t do any harm, would it? Quite the opposite. Catching a server’s eye over her fresh tray of champagne, Cam turned back to Maelie, shining up all the confidence he’d been born for. “I’m certain you do an entirely spectacular job.” Easy to believe; she did care so very much. Always had. Minding everyone else, remembering dates and favourites and the like. Perhaps he’d never imagined Miss Brindamour spending her days doing that sort of thing for a living, but… Cam could hardly imagine she’d be any less than splendid at it.

As for talk of the army, and so on. He sighed, a thinness to the sound, his smile atrophying away. “Well, for that, I find myself rather glad.” It was something of a relief that she’d never had to know. Was Maelie in Paris, during the shelling? Cam could only hope not. No good asking, rousing such memories from their rest. The work, though. What had Jack said? Something indecent, and disrespectful. (And less than wholly wrong. Such an absolute ass. Like it wasn’t his wretched book that had Cam here in the first place, wasting - wasting everything.) He shrugged that aside, shortly. “But there’s certainly enough to do, yes.” Barely. “I keep quite busy with it all, day to day.” By sheer force of will, if he were to be thoroughly honest. Which he wasn’t. Be terribly presumptuous, wouldn’t it? To be thoroughly honest with her, about anything, when… really, they hardly knew a thing about each other anymore. So many years, gone by.

Obligingly, Cam tapped a knuckle against the nearest arbor. “With any luck.” Then, he took her card, sliding an ever-so-slightly puckish sort of smirk over it. Obviously Maelie wouldn’t say that. “Well, you’ve always been so terribly generous. I’ll pass this on,” Cam tucked that card into his breast pocket, and, at last, swept up a flute of champagne as that server arrived. Thank God. He offered that first glass to his companion, naturally - garnished with an invitation. “And perhaps I’ll see you? Socially. For lunch, sometime. Or tea, at the very least.” There was a note of hope, in that; slightly crumpled, but legible, if you squinted. 

At his words, Maelie’s smile grew. “I appreciate you saying that, thank you.” She told him modestly. Typically, she hesitated to accept a compliment. Rather, she would insist that it was all the clients, and that she was only there to pull it all together. There was some truth to that, of course... but she had certainly grown some pride in her work since she had started. What had once started out as a hobby, a distraction, had turned into a career for herself.

A career. Her mother would be horrified at the idea of it.

“Yes, of course.” She was happy to make small talk, for the most part. It was nice seeing him again, and they certainly couldn’t talk openly at an event like this, not about the time after she left. It was rude, it wasn’t done. No, if he had questions... they would have to figure out somewhere else to discuss it. And she doubted he thought any differently. “I’m sure the embassy keeps you extremely busy.” Or perhaps they didn’t, and he kept himself busy. She didn’t want to assume he hadn’t been to Paris before, and suggest some sights for him to see in spare time... she truly couldn’t assume anything about his life anymore. Just hope that he was some sort of happy. 

It was strange seeing people that had known her as a child. First Jack, now Cam. All this time, ever since her arrival in Paris, no one had any prior knowledge of her. She was a stranger; there was no always, no assumptions on her character. She wasn’t sure if she had really always been so terribly generous, but it was nice to hear something of the sort. “I appreciate that.” She told him softly, accepting the champagne glass as he offered it to her. She typically didn’t drink at events, but one glass of champagne couldn’t hurt. “Yes, that would be lovely.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of one of her staff trying to get her attention - subtly, but with a hint of frantic energy. With a sigh, she met her companion’s eyes again. “My apologies, it seems I am needed. My information is on the card, to set up lunch, please excuse my hasty exit.” Her expression was truly apologetic, and, after handing off her glass of champagne to one of the servers, she hurried over towards the concerned member of her staff.

“Warmer and cooler all at once. The ocean isn’t even cold.” Sometimes he imagined giants beneath the surface of the water, breathing great fiery breaths. He hand’t included them in the book as it felt a bit too English for the setting, but he could never quite shake the image from his mind.

“You have to spend money to make money, God Mae.” He was false annoyed but he committed anyway. It would have been disrespectful to do anything else. “A prestigious client like me? I’m worth more in name than francs, you know that.” A winking nod to the state of most English nobility, unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, Jack remained divided.) Wealth was an illusion now as much as class. They were all hanging on by the skin of their terrible teeth. 

Jack demurred a little, self conscious. “I did translate it. Was an utter brat about it too, wouldn’t let anyone else touch it.” Well, aside from Odette, but that subject was delicate at the moment. “So it might be quite coarse in comparison to the books you used to offer me. Perhaps an English copy would be more forgiving?” He grinned. “Almost certainly, I think.”

“Odie told me everything.” he said gently, trying to offer it as a comfort. “Everything she knew, I should say.” 

Jack felt yet another small part of him breaking. A part he hadn’t even realized was intact. If she had waited. God, if she had waited. “Mae, I…” Was it worth mentioning now or would it make it worse? Tell her, poppet. It’ll tear you up if you don’t. It does anyway. Jack replied in his mind. Then practice, love. 

“Before that, your parents came to my mother for a match. They didn’t like that she wanted to delay the wedding until the end of school, but she thought they were coming around. That they would have told you. I wish you had told me.” 

Jack never wanted to guilt her. It was a genuine wish, more frustrated with the universe than his friend. He looked to the side, sighing. “The Countess didn’t tell me either, not until it was too late. I can’t imagine why she thought it would be an argument.” He offered Mae a soft smile. “I would have been absolutely honored to trap you.” He hoped his meaning was clear, that he would have been protecting without controlling. Their friendship was too important to be anything else. Plus they both knew he’d never give up Odette.

He and Maelie’s sexual interests had never quite matched up in the right way at the right time. Perhaps Jack flattered himself in thinking that she leaned slightly more towards girls than boys, as if that explained it away. He had had to face the specter of an unconventional marriage three times now. He and Odette has been spared. Mae had been missed. And Nadja. Well, Nadja had been tricked. 

“But I’m proud of you, anyway.” He finished, wanting to give Mae an out. “That’s your own adventure, Paris. And on your own.”

Maelie shook her head in disbelief, trying to imagine it. Sure, she’d seen the blurry photographs on occasion, sometimes art depicting tropical, warm, countries... But the image of a beach, with the knowledge that the water wasn’t even cold? That was something that surprised her. “Clearly I will have to take a trip there sometime. Escape the cold one winter.” She was struggling to stay real, not to drift into pleasant small talk she made at events. A trip off the continent wouldn’t be in the cards for a long time, if ever. She hadn’t been outside of Paris since she left home, and had barely been anywhere else before that - her idea of an adventure had been visiting Jack and Odette.

“Oh, you’re right, forgive me for forgetting how prestigious a client you are.” The blonde teased, a playful look on her face. Her smile went from playful to warm, however, as Jack explained how he had translated the book himself. “I think that’s wonderful. Translations too often lose the soul of the original - I’m glad you’re doing it yourself.” As he suggested an English copy, she pondered for a moment. “Whichever you prefer. I’m sure both are wonderful. I have not practiced my English much, though, so keep that in mind.” She had gotten quite good at reading and writing in English, when they were young. Speaking less so, but she liked to think it wasn’t bad. 

Everything. Everything Odette knew would be quite a bit, but at least she didn’t need to explain it all. Just the end, really. Why she left, what had happened since she left... although, she was hoping he wouldn’t notice if she left a few things out. There were things he simply didn’t need to know.

“Right.” She finally spoke again, if only to acknowledge that she’d heard him. How could she possibly put the rest into words? But before she needed to, he was saying her name, and her bright blue hues flicked back up to his face.

Mae had never been good at hiding her feelings, but she’d always tried. Sure, she was good at remaining polite. Keeping a pleasant smile on her face when she needed to, but brushing off passive aggressive jabs, or unintentionally insulting remarks, was much different from what Jack was telling her. No, this time, as he explained, she could feel the inner points of her eyebrows twitch in and up, and the rest of her face fall.

"They never told me.” It was barely above a whisper, but it came out nonetheless, to confirm what he’d said. Of course they wouldn’t have wanted to wait for Jack to be done with school, they wanted the problem handled as soon as possible, and he wasn’t the quickest option. Finding something to say wasn’t something that she usually struggled with, but now was a different story. Lip now trembling and tears starting to come to her eyes, she couldn’t help but imagine all the pain that could have been avoided if she’d just told him. Everything she went through after arriving in Paris, all the things she wanted to forget, simply wouldn’t have happened. 

But it did. Because she chose to leave. 

“Maelie.” Jack said, quietly chiding. “I shan’t have you doing that.” He strongly disliked self effacement at the best of times, but he especially disliked it in his friends. “You deserve to deal with Jamaica’s mosquitoes like the rest of us. You’d look quite gallant in a pirate costume. Straight out of Peter Pan.” It was the kind of story they’d grown up with, a little more quaint than his work but certainly hard to forget. 

“You are remarkably argumentative for a merchant, Miss Brindamour. You’re negotiating yourself out of my business.” This was how it went with them. She pointed out his self indulgence, he called her a brat, and around it went again. Well it does sound like marriage. Do shut up, Reg. 

“More written word, yes, but it’s of great value to read it aloud when one is working on translation. All the best translations preserve the music of the thing.” A pang of regret echoed round the cathedral of his heart. That was what his friends had liked so much about his work. Knocking the dust off, they called it. Making the old feel new and ageless.

Jack blushed in spite of himself at her offer to read his work. Writing, especially his kind of writing, could be like ripping off a piece of your soul and holding it out with an open palm. It was likely to tell her far more about him than any attempt at catching up ever could. “Of course! If they haven’t gotten you a copy I’ll bring you one.”

The apartment reminded him a bit of Nadja’s. A sweet little hole-in-the-wall. Cozy and clearly its owner’s in terms of style and warmth. It was a good sign. Mae had made a home. And she was bustling around it the way she always did when she was avoiding a subject. It had never been one as big as this, but they had never been as big, as grown and distant, as they had been at this moment. He caught her hands in his sole own, well practiced at well controlled physical contact by necessity. Amputated limbs could twitch, even jump, if you didn’t keep your moods and senses under control. Sometimes they still did no matter how badly you tried to avoid it. 

“Stop hosting for a moment. Tell me what happened.” He’d heard it from Odette’s side in her gentle, mournful way, but Mae had always been more overtly emotional than Odie was. To see her trying to hold it in felt like the furthest thing from kindness. “Please.”

Maelie looked at him carefully, but nodded gently at his words. If it was a bit of a test, she wasn’t going to admit it out loud... She truly had no idea how he felt about her, until today. She wouldn’t have even batted an eye if someone were to say he hated her, or forgotten her... and she wasn’t even sure which of the two would be worse. “I’m not sure about a pirate costume, but Jamaica itself sounds lovely. Much warmer than here.” Even in the summer, Paris had never been especially warm. Not like it was elsewhere.

“Ah, but you told me I owe you one hundred roses, so would I really be losing any business were you to receive less? Or would I be saving more flowers for paying customers?” The blonde countered, her eyebrows raised playfully with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She missed this.

“Yes, of course... and have you done the translation on this book yourself, or did you have someone else do it?” As much as she’d teased him about the quality of his French, there was great potential that he’d learned more during their time away from each other... although, he did say otherwise. As he told her he would bring her a copy of the novel, however, she shook her head, despite her excitement to see it. “They told me they would drop one off, but they haven’t yet. I’m sure it’s on its way though, and I wouldn’t want to bother you with it.”

Maelie flitted about the kitchen, trying to get a kettle going on the stove, so she could make tea, if nothing else. Before she could get very far though, he had stopped her, and her gaze immediately flew to his face, her eyes wide and surprised. Not that he had stopped her, more that she had fallen into such an old habit... she hadn’t done something like that in quite a while, buzzed around like a honeybee. Although, she wasn’t going from flower to flower, rather cupboard to cupboard to try and look for what she might need. And now, it was if time was standing still, as he asked her what happened. 

Odette didn’t quite bite back her smile successfully, at the comment about shock, “I’m fairly certain that I am a lost cause on that front - far too shocking for most polite company.” If nothing else, certainly some of the outfits and costumes she ended up wearing were. They were all the more delightful for it, in her opinion. 

The familiarity of Maelie was both comforting and slightly jarring - she smiled the same, looked so similar that it kept putting Odette to mind that almost no time had passed. And then the uncertainty bled through, the fact that they were both so hesitant and cautious shattered any potential illusion that she might have held. Odette so badly wanted to believe that Maelie was still the same friend that she and Jack remembered but - well, if anything had become increasingly obvious over the years, it was that people changed. Odette herself had, as did Jack - but for as much as they changed, they had remained entwined together. Others… others did not. And they lost them. Over and over, they lost them, more often because of fate. But choice as well, it seemed, for at least one. Perhaps fate would be more kind, just this once. 

Permission given, Odette reached out to Maelie and hugged her carefully. Years and years between this and the last time they had, but the familiarity still remained. Something of the memories of it made her think of that past summer, as though she could close her eyes and will the years away to do it all again. This time make the right choices, protect Maelie and Jack and Reg and all those others from Oxford, Cam too, if he’d let her - try to help them all make the right choices, on another attempt. But that was a fantasy, one too unrealistic to think of it even a moment after the hug was over. 

She didn’t step too far away, kept closer than what might have been acceptable considering how long they’d been apart, but Odette was fond of being close to those she cared about. She appreciated Maelie’s smile, some small knot in her finally loosening at not being rejected or scorned - for being there at all, for daring to presume some closeness, for any number of potential factors. Maelie was still there, not angry or spiteful. Smiling, in fact. Perhaps Jack was right, after all. 

Not that she was certain she would tell him that. He ended up being right far too often, sometimes - and anyway, he would find out soon enough whether she told him right out or not. 

“That much, I completely understand. I ran here too, when I finally made a break for it. I’ve been in and out of the city on occasion since - I would meet Jack places or invite him to others, on occasion. But I made my ties here, called it home. It’s more forgiving, in many ways, than other places can be.” Her smile was fond, both as she spoke of the city and looked at her friend, “And is a good place to start again. Or to find oneself. I only wish that I or Jack could have found you sooner, so that we could have shared our adventures with you.”

Maelie couldn’t help but laugh gently at the other’s words, her eyes crinkling for a moment from the smile that remained on her face. “I almost wish that were my life. But no, when you plan people’s weddings, the last thing you can be is impolite. Or worse, yet: improper.” It was the world they grew up in, she was certain Odette would understand what she meant.

There was a question she knew was going to come up... and Maelie very much didn’t want to talk about it. Why had she never come back? Why had she never even written? They were questions she asked herself many times, over the last few years. It seemed so silly, now... if she’d had an old friend who ran away, would she have turned them away? Of course not. So why had she been so convinced that everyone else would do that to her? Because of the scandal? Possibly. But she was still young, then... She could have invented a lie, what she had been doing... and that would have been that. She’d considered it, once. Running from Paris to England, finding Jack and Odette. She even bought a ticket, but when it came down to it, the fear of being rejected was too much, and she stayed - ripped up the ticket and threw it out with a few tears running down her cheeks. 

Maelie wrapped her arms around her old friend, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment. It was a deja-vu moment, of sorts... the last time they’d hugged had been under much different circumstances. It was baffling how many things had changed. The latest fashions, the city... let alone how many things the war had changed. And yet, Odette still seemed like Odette. She wasn’t her Odette, not anymore... but being wrapped up in her arms, even if it was cautious, Maelie felt a wave of familiarity wash over her. 

And then, just as quickly as it had arrived, that wave was gone as Odette let go, but not out of sight. The blonde let her step away, eyes landing on her again. Sometimes she told herself that she must be remembering her wrong, that she couldn’t possibly have been that beautiful... but somehow, she was, and even more so. She was like the princess in a storybook, Maelie was sure if Odette were to put on a tiara and a fancy dress, children would stare with amazement. 

“So you two have traveled then?” Maelie asked curiously, trying to put pieces together of what their lives had been like since she left. The lives they’d had without her. “Paris does seem to be the city for wanderers to settle, so I’m not surprised you decided on it.” Her smile faltered slightly as she thought for a moment, a quick debate going on in her mind as to whether she dared explain herself quite so soon. “I... I did think about writing to you both. For years.” She admitted quietly, meeting her eyes again. “There are letters in my drawers, stamps and all... but I worried they wouldn’t be wanted. That it had been too long.”

Odette disliked feeling controlled, always had. She tolerated it well enough, as a child, because it was what was expected of her. But when given the slightest chance, she’d slipped the yoke of it. Upon being hired at Le Ciel, she waited for the opportunity, gathered her resources, and bought her way into partial ownership simply to ensure that she wouldn’t be under anyone else’s thumb. She chose how she danced, who she danced for, who she took to her bed, and who she actually wanted to work with. Odette found her own control, ensured that it wouldn’t be taken from her - not easily, at least. The choice was, for her, an easy one. 

To force herself into what society expected of her, to what her mother had wanted for her, would’ve been to clip her wings. A compromise would’ve likely been marrying her to Jack - that likely would’ve suited them both fine, though she rather doubted it would’ve made either of them the fine, upstanding citizens that their parents might have hoped for. But they would’ve still been happy, at least. 

But, at least then, it still wouldn’t have felt like a choice. Would’ve felt like they were both being forced into the expected, into the little boxes that they were supposed to. She couldn’t shake the fear that it would’ve stunted them - held them back, somehow, from who they could be, what they were capable of. Which was unacceptable - she was far too proud of who Jack was, what he was writing about and choosing to stand for, to ever even think that she might have held him back in any reality. Even if it might’ve spared him some heartache, to have her closer to his side for some times. 

She wondered, distantly, if Maelie would make the same choices over again, if given the chance. 

The what ifs, though, were hardly the point - the reality they all lived in, that they had all chosen for better or worse, is what they lived in. That reality, Maelie’s reality, was what Odette wanted to learn more about - try to help, if needed. At the very least, she wanted to know what had happened to her friend, hope that she still was her friend. 

“He’s frequently eloquent even in unplanned conversation, though perhaps less focused,” Odette’s smile was fond, as it always was when it came to Jack, “Maybe a little less… practiced, but I’ve always liked his tangents. I feel like I’m always learning something new from him, how he thinks. I, on the other hand, think far too much before I speak - any eloquence comes from overthinking, I fear.” 

That much was always true - Odette was more than capable of being reckless or headstrong, but it was usually after thinking through the potential costs and benefits of both actions. If the potential consequences were worth it, she was more than happy to charge forward - but of the two of them, Odette had always been the one to look towards the long term, while Jack was the short term. They balanced each other well, in that. 

She saw the shine come to Maelie’s eyes and instinctively stepped closer, starting to reach for her before hesitating briefly, wondering at her welcome. “May I - this may be odd, after so long, but may I hug you? I am so glad to see you, that you are doing well.” She didn’t want to push too far, to have this welcome wear off and find herself unwanted. 

“I am well,” Odette tried to push past the sinking feeling that things were not quite as well as Maelie wanted her to believe - it was not her place to push, anymore, after all. So she smiled more widely, tried to cover the awkwardness and find her own happiness instead, “I’ve been here for many years, now. I found work at a nightclub,” Her next glance at Maelie was more assessing, pausing as she spoke. She reached for another flower to cover her quick thoughts - this was one of those moments, after all. 

How much should she say? Odette wasn’t particularly ashamed of the life she led - she enjoyed it, had fun in it. Met people and danced and loved and laughed, it fit what she’d always wanted. But would it be too much for Maelie? She’d prefer not to ruin whatever scraps of friendship they still might have left but… Well, it’s not like she wouldn’t find out sooner or later, Odette supposed. Better to be blunt about it. She twirled the flower stem in her fingers and tucked it behind her ear, a white lily. Something somewhat angelic, she thought with amusement. 

“Have you heard of or been to Le Ciel? I act as one of the dancers there. The headlining act, in fact.” She continued on, not allowing time for the statement to sit out there, “I love it. I get to meet so many people, hear their stories. Where they come from, how they got there. And the dancing really is quite fun.” 

“What about you? What brings you to Paris?”

Maelie wished that the only feeling she had seeing Odette was joy. She really, truly, wished that were the case. But, as her life had proven, wishes didn’t often come true. The truth was, as much as she tried to put on a face that it was all happiness, there was hurt there. Nothing caused by Odette, no. Of course not. But it brought back memories of what once was. If she had stayed, they wouldn’t be speaking to each other this way. Careful, polite... that had never been how they communicated. 

It brought her back, in fact, to when Jack had been at the shop just a few days prior. “You know such things are slippery with me,” he told her, just as a joke. That was all it was, a joke, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She couldn’t possibly go back to the way things were before she ran away, there was no way out of that. It had been fourteen long years since Maelie had seen Jack or Odette, and she knew all of them must have changed quite a bit since then. As much as she wished things could go back right away, she simply wasn’t confident she really knew them anymore. Not in the way she did before... and certainly not in the way Jack and Odette knew each other now. The fact was, as much as she laughed along at Jack’s eloquence, Maelie couldn’t confirm - she hadn’t seen it, save for the short time she’d seen him recently.

“I’m quite the same... although, it shouldn’t be too surprising. We were trained to bite our tongues, lest someone be shocked.” Maelie pointed out with a small smile. It was strange to talk about a time so far in the past. She had left that world behind, but the habits were still there. She thought far too much before speaking, but she made excuses. After all, she was a woman who owned her own business. She had to be careful with what she said.

As the other woman reached for her, but stopped, Mae blinked, before her smile widened again. “Of course you may, of course.” She wanted to say that Odette needn’t ask, that she was always welcome to hug her... but, of course, it had been quite a long time since they had last hugged each other. 

“Oh, good.” Maelie wasn’t quite sure if Odette was telling the truth, but she chose to believe it. It was what she hoped for her, anyway. But then, working in a nightclub, for years. It wasn’t the nightclub that caught her attention, it was a brief thought - just how long had they both been in Paris? Had they really been running around this city at the same time, with no knowledge that the other was there? That seemed a particularly cruel twist for Fate to throw at her... that through all the years of loneliness, one of her closest friends from childhood was just down the road.

The blonde’s smile only grew as Odette explained what she did. The headlining act in one of the biggest nightclubs in Paris... it was never what she would have placed Odette doing, but she could imagine it, once she’d placed the idea in her mind. She supposed she also wasn’t doing what anyone would have expected of her... but she hoped that it was fitting in people’s minds, the same way Odette being a dancer or Jack being a writer fit. 

“What brings me here?” Maelie repeated, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Right now, I suppose, it’s the shop... but it was just a big city to hide in, at first.” It was a way of talking around it, she supposed. To say that she’d been in Paris the entire time... without coming out and saying it in those words.

“Still time.” Jack replied gently. He knew a thing or two about running. He was just lucky to have had a companion for it, but all Mae had to do was ask. That was the sum of it, wasn’t it? Near misses. He wanted to shake her. What were you doing? Why didn’t you wait? But it wasn’t fair to think, especially from him. He’d leave that to Odette. Odette who was so delicate with these things. Both she and Mae were. The cruelty of circumstance made him angry even now. Odette had had to repeatedly talk him down from marching to the Brindamour estate in a huff, but she was correct that that would make it worse and not better. “You deserve an adventure.”

“Not a heavy one, Maelie, my God. What kind of service do you have at this place? Simply awful.” If they were teenagers he would have stuck his tongue out at her. Even so, he nearly did. He felt frozen in time for a moment, too young and too old all at once. In his mind, Mae hadn’t grown old because he hadn’t gotten to see it. He had to keep reminding himself that she was actually here. Safe. He’d settle for safe. Happiness was a tricky thing. 

“Because all the texts written in them are wilting on the vine. That or have been turned into children’s stories that rob them of all their poetry.” Like his beloved Beowulf, which he didn’t touch now aside from using it for his and his nephew’s book code. It was cleaner that way. Easier. Less likely to tumble into temptation to return. To try to pick up in Oxford without Reg. Without Kit or Freddie or so many other scholars he’d liked or hated or fucked. “Old English mostly, though I dabbled in Northern European variations in general.”

“Let’s see. I went to Oxford, taught at Oxford, went to war, lost some things.” He nodded to his arm to cover. Keep it light, Jackie. “Didn’t go back to Oxford, disappeared for two years, went a few places, wrote a book, now I’m here.” He was glossing over so much, so much. But that was the nice thing about being the storyteller, wasn’t it? You got to edit how you liked, make heroes and villains. Where did he fall in that, he wondered. Perhaps it depended day to day. Whether he stumbled into a shop that reminded him of Nadja or somehow landed in a place at a club that had once been occupied by him, and Reg, and Kit, and Freddie, and Odette. He saw all their ghosts then, not just Reg. Heroes, Freddie used to say, are not defined by their deeds, but their deaths. Jack had avoided heroism then, somehow. Though he also seemed to push it away at every turn. 

That was why his relief at Mae’s safety ultimately mixed with wariness. He was protective of Odette, perhaps overly so, as his most recent stand off with his brother proved. The Mae he grew up with would be blaming herself rather than their dearest friend, but it had been so long that it physically hurt to think of it. He might have depressingly been the same nineteen-year-old having the most stressful summer of his lifetime (Cam’s wedding, Mae’s almost wedding, the start of the mess with Vi), but Maelie seemed so much more grown. Sadder, somehow, but glowing all the same. She’d made something beautiful, after all, with her own hands. He could relate to taking solace in that. 

“Of course, of course.” Still time, yes. That was what she told herself, too, when she wanted to feel better. It was what everyone told each other, when they regretted not doing something. “There’s still time, you know!” And it was the truth. Despite that, however, she doubted it would ever happen, at this point. She had her routine, her life... it was all in her little book. Her whole life was in there, where she was to be at nearly every moment, even if that was just in the shop filling bouquet orders. There was no time to have some grand adventure, and even less money to make it happen. “I’m glad you think I deserve anything at all.” She admitted carefully, showing just a flash of the worry she had with seeing him again. 

That smile she was known for returned, however, as he continued with the joke. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have demanded one hundred roses, you could get something more manageable.” Although, that never seemed like Jack’s style. When he set his mind to something, he usually managed it... at least he did when it came to the trivial matters she remembered from their youth. 

“Ah, of course.” Maelie had read quite a bit when they were younger - partly to try keep up with Jack, at one point, but even before that, she’d always been interested in it. Books had always facilitated dreaming, for her. Escaping and going on an adventure far away, meeting a perfect stranger and having them change your life... they were all stories she grew up thinking could happen to her, when she dared to think her life would be any different from her siblings. Now, she was certain it had been very, very different. “I can’t imagine learning those sorts of languages. How do you even speak it? Or is it more reading and writing than speaking?”

Maelie wanted so much to know that he was happy. That even though her claims at happiness were often lies, one of her old friends had managed to find it... but that wasn’t what she’d asked. She’d asked about his life, and that was the question he’d answered. She knew there was so much they couldn’t talk about in the span of a day, it had just been so much time since they had seen each other. “Oxford...” She trailed off, completely able to picture him in that kind of position. It made sense. But, then the war, and yes, it made sense to not want to go back to the same job. “The book! Yes, of course, the book. M’sieur Aubert told me about it a bit when we talked, but I’ll have to read it soon.” Hopefully, before the signing itself. 

He’d misspoke. The fact of it flickered by fast, a faint cloud crossing Maelie’s otherwise sunlit self. Cross it did, though. Which - which meant they really ought to move on. That was the polite thing to do. And he was meant to do the polite thing. “I do hope that’s not so rare. Good taste. Good enough to spare you too much trouble, at least.” Trouble, over a marriage; such an ugly thought. A wedding ought to bring out the best in people, really. That’s what he’d been striving for. To be the best he could. That was the whole notion. To have that turn into bickering over cummerbunds and table placements seemed just… gruesome. 

But Maelie, rude? The very idea. “Oh, no. No.” Cam waved her question aside, lightly, nodding to a server as they took his glass and swept away. “I apologize, I was being awfully facetious. Lord Crewe, he’s a fine statesman. Barring the speech-making, obviously. All the same, he’s, well, broadly unfamiliar with military matters.” Very broadly. Almost entirely. “So, I manage all that. Even with the war over, we’re still…” Tying loose ends? That felt awfully medical. “We’ll be seeing to what’s left behind, out there, for - for some time, I dare say.” Until all the bones and shrapnel were dredged up to the surface, or broke down of their own accord. It would be centuries, some said; he could believe that. Easily. 

Hideous subject. Best left alone. She was right, anyway. On both counts. Notes on knighthoods and the like were hardly the sum of his work at the embassy, and it did seem they had a certain, surprising amount in common, professionally speaking. At the moment, anyway. Damage control. Funny. 

No, not really. Given his usual. 

Pushing that far out of mind, Cam cast a considering eye over the proceedings - fashionable, stately. Just as they’d been all evening. “Well, your end of things has gone rather swimmingly, hasn’t it?” Remarked with warmth, the sort that would glow, honestly. If he had the energy for it. “And I’m sure the Marquess would be delighted to make your acquaintance, properly. If you could bear the excitement.” The cheek, on that. Dreadful. Impertinent. If only his Lordship weren’t so awfully easy to make fun of - and so tiresome, to work with. “Truly, though. Should I take your card? We do a great deal of hosting at the embassy.” Perhaps too much. Certainly more than was, strictly speaking, any kind of diplomatic necessity. Still, it was fine work, in terms of compensation, and exposure, as they said. Her kind of work, these days. (So strange to think. He’d hurt her, on the subject. Clearly. Hadn’t meant to.) “Of course, you’d have to put up with the lackluster company.” Cam turned a rueful glance her way, an apology in there. “But the gardens are quite charming, at least.” Maelie had always loved her flowers; some things, at least, never changed. 

Maelie let out a soft chuckle at his words, nodding. She was certainly grateful to talk about the weddings themselves, rather than how she was the one planning them. There was quite a bit of difference in that, although she was sure a stranger wouldn’t understand why. “It isn’t, really. And every couple is different, it isn’t like I could produce the same event every time. The couple, the families, they all want different things, and usually I hope I can steer all members involved in a direction where everyone can be happy.” 

She was talking, not performing. There was a great deal of difference in those, for her - one was what she did with clients, when she was trying to impress people... but she couldn’t do that with Cam. He knew too much, she knew that. And he didn’t deserve it. She had made this her life, whether it was what she wanted or not. Putting on a mask was just part of that life. However, when she actually took that mask off, even just a little bit, she felt the anxiety start to creep in. What if she had said the wrong thing? What if she offended him, and he never wanted to speak to her again? He let her off, thankfully. She certainly didn’t want to go insulting his profession right after their reunion. 

“No, no, of course. I’m afraid I’m rather unfamiliar with them, myself.” It wasn’t her job to know. Though, she wasn’t going to point that out, lest it seem that she was insulting Lord Crewe. “Yes, of course. Much to do for an Englishman in Paris, these days.” For him, anyway. Or it seemed that way. 

A warm smile came over her face as he brought attention back to the proceedings of the evening. “As long as we get through dinner, the rest should be smooth sailing... with any luck.” She absently reached over to the side table, knocking on it gently. A silly superstition, but why tempt fate? “Oh, if it ever becomes too much, I can invent a matter in the kitchen I have to check up on. The advantage of running these things is I can always find another place to be.” She lowered her voice just slightly for that. Perhaps she shouldn’t be speaking like this to him, but she fell into it naturally. It was what she would have done, all those years ago, and old habits - even ancient ones - die hard. “Oh! Yes, of course, let me see.” The blonde opened up her bag and, momentarily, produced a business card from inside to hold out for him. She had many made long ago, and still hadn’t run out. She was low, though, she would need to have more made soon. With one being tucked into nearly every purchased bouquet, it was a marvel she hadn’t run out yet. “I wouldn’t say lackluster.” She met his eyes, shaking her head just slightly. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m sure they are. I haven’t been, but I assume they’re just lovely.” She knew perhaps he was catering to what he remembered of her - but she didn’t mind that so much. Besides, gardens were a completely normal thing to compliment about a place. 

Flower Girl

@maeflcwers​

Paris was lovely this time of year.

It felt strange, being out in the city on her own. Octavia was prone to traveling as part of a group—first as part of her extended family, and then as part of her own family. To be here in France, basking in the culture and romance without Arthur, felt…odd. In a sense, it was quite exciting to have the options of seeing whatever she pleased, but there was also a noticeable absence as she went about her business. She hadn’t slept well these past few nights, missing the familiar warmth of her husband, and so she endeavored to leave the hotel behind and distract herself in the sights and sounds of la quintessence de la culture.

Octavia walked by a flower shop, admiring some lovely bouquets when she stopped short, eyes catching glimpse of the woman sorting tulips in the display.

Could it be?

She was being quite rude, staring at this young woman, but her features were resonating through time to a face she’d nearly forgotten. A darling child turned darling lady. To the frantic request, the marriage that hadn’t been, and the hushed whispers, lips dripping with talk of scandal. To have been told nothing of consequence had only served to make the rumors worse. Add fuel to the raging gossip fire rather than extinguish it, leaving naught but scorched earth and a shattered reputation.

But before she had been a fire, she had been a friend. And Octavia was thrilled to see her again, as alive and vibrant as the flowers that surrounded her.

“Maelie? Is it really you?”

It had been a beautiful summer so far, in Maelie’s opinion. Sure, it had its moments; everything did, really... no matter the time of year. But the sun was shining, the birds chirped outside her windows in the morning, and her business was booming. People bustled in and out, picking up gifts for family, bouquets for lovers, and watching their faces as they saw the flowers always made Maelie smile. Walking into the shop was like a wave of sweetness, but in the most natural way she could ever imagine. She knew that some must see what she did as trivial, but she couldn’t disagree more.

The blonde turned and, immediately, her brows furrowed, just slightly. The tulips hadn’t been like that all day, had they? 

Maelie moved to the display and began moving them around, placing them back in their correct order. It didn’t matter much, she supposed, it wasn’t like being the way they were would actually affect the longevity or health of the flowers - but she thought they always looked nicer that way. Sometimes she found it strange, how she had landed in this profession. She resisted for so long against the hobbies women were supposed to enjoy. She’d found gardening through her grandmother, and now she assumed that she enjoyed that because she could use her hands. She didn’t have to sit still, and she could see the results of the work as things grew. And, while gardening itself wasn’t the hobby her mother may have chosen for her, flower arranging easily could have been. It had to do with symmetry, somewhat, and colours... and there she was, having made it her job. 

It was unusual for Maelie to hear her first name used in the shop. Not completely unheard of, but it didn’t happen much. Her surname was used far more, or a simple Madame, to get her attention. But, when she heard her name, she immediately turned, a look of surprise forming on her face the moment she saw the woman.

It was imperative to be able to anticipate people in order to be a good wife, a good hostess, a good lady - reading someone and being able to tell what they needed, what they wanted, before they could think to ask it. A lesson that had been drilled into Odette over and over when she was younger - anticipate, read the person, look them over and try to think exactly what makes them tick. What they’d need or want, give it, and make sure to keep an eye out for when they would next need something. 

The anticipation, the reading, also allowed for better control over a situation or interaction. One person didn’t like speaking on this topic, time to quietly nudge the conversation into another direction and ensure their distress or dislike doesn’t become obvious. It was all so similar to dancing - anticipate the stage, the crowd, how everyone else around you moved and fit yourself into their steps, into their patterns. Never step out of line, never break the illusion of perfection and pleasantness and manners and - and - 

Well. It was no wonder Odette strained against it all so early. Jack and his fantasies, his wonder, his imagination, his dreams - all of it was so freeing. Worlds where there were women warriors and dragons and - anything. Absolutely anything was possible, where she was welcome and loved. She could learn what she wanted, ask whatever came to mind. Was it really any wonder at all, really, that she had spent so many years planning how to leave the structure of it all, all their plans, and strike out her own course? 

Some of those skills, though, those she continued to hone - all the while deeply amused that she doubted her mother would be so thrilled at the fact those lessons of anticipation and learning what people wanted or needed was applied, instead, to her chosen profession. To knowing what part of her skin to show, learning to apply some of the ways she’d learn to dance and move to a different kind of stage - to reading people to see when they needed someone to listen versus when she should take them to a bed. 

And yet, for all of Odette’s honed skill, all that instinct she’d spent so long learning and perfecting - that moment after Maelie breathed her name so softly was still tense. It was painful, for just that one moment, wondering what would come next. Would it be the very deserved accusation, insult, or heartbreak? What if she was angry, angry as Odette had been so angry with herself, early on, for missing that chance and for letting her friend slip through her fingers and have to cope with a fucking war alone? 

War was hard on women, especially women alone. God knew she’d seen it often enough - or simply stopped seeing them at all, over and over. Maelie was always so kind and Odette hated to think what might’ve happened to that person - she’d been lucky, always. Jack had been able to provide her with money early on, allowed Odette to stake a claim on Le Ciel. She solidified her own spot, took a stake and drove it into the ground, weathered through the war by keeping her head afloat with that one, solid claim. And she had to wonder - what did Maelie have, to pull her through?

The rest though - Odette couldn’t help but smile, laugh shakily in relief. It was… it was more than she could’ve ever hoped, that Mae would’ve missed her too. She stepped forward quickly, already shaking her head, unable to stop herself from interjecting - “No! No, please don’t apologize - there’s no need. Nothing to apologize for, not at all.” She only slightly forced a smile, trying for humor, “Jack has always been the most eloquent of us, I think - we’ll leave the speeches to him. I just want to hear about you, how you’ve been.” Where she’d been - Odette tried not to wonder just how long they’d both been in Paris, how she’d manage to miss her for this long. 

“You’ve only grown more beautiful, Maelie,” The smile was less forced, at that, no longer trying to lighten things. “I am so glad you seem well - the shop seems to suit you. All these flowers. Do they make you happy?” Please, please be happy.

Maelie would never go around saying that her life had become monotonous, because that wasn’t necessarily what she was feeling – but it was somewhat true. She woke up at the same time every day, bright and early, ready to face the world. From there, she got up and got ready, and either walked down to the flower shop, or to the flower markets. That decision was even marked down. Mondays, and Thursdays, she went to the markets. Sometimes even on Saturdays, if she didn’t have a wedding going on that weekend.

Then, when she was ready, she would arrive at the shop, and begin her pre-opening routine. There were always orders that had to be ready soon after opening, so those were first priority. Usually, by that point, she would have already had at least one cup of coffee, maybe two if she’d visited the flower markets that day. And, finally, once that was all done, she was ready to open up the shop. Usually Amelie arrived just before opening, and helped her along the way. In the afternoon, Maelie usually had appointments, leaving Amelie in the shop to handle the rest of the day until she finished.

It was a smooth schedule; she really didn’t mind it. The afternoon appointments were usually for weddings, sometimes other events. Usually, they would be in the shop, but there were weeks where she would travel all over Paris, looking for venues, investigating potential vendors, and other little things that had to be dealt with in her work. She returned home rather fatigued most days, but that was how life was supposed to be, right?

At least, it was what life had become.

If she had never left, she knew her life would be different. She would have been married to the man her parents chose for her, the one she couldn’t stand to be around for more than an hour. It would have been a grand affair, that she was sure of, and then she wouldn’t have to be her parents’ problem anymore. They would hand her off to her new husband, and she wouldn’t be their responsibility.

Sometimes, Maelie considered what would have happened if she did marry him. Perhaps, they would have grown to get along. Certainly not love, she knew that much. They were just too different… but maybe an understanding of some sort could have been made. They would have children, rather quickly after being married. She would have another routine, one that would involve attending the events she now planned, and if she were to plan any, it would likely just be requesting certain meals from the cook, and planning the decorations.

An entirely different routine, indeed.

Seeing Odette again was never something Maelie had planned for. Odette was part of the life she gave up, she never considered that Jack, and now Odette, would ever find her in the one she chose. Sure, she had pondered what a reunion might be like, but only in the way that she pondered how Odette’s life would be going. She hoped, she imagined; yes, beautiful lives, full of happiness. She dared to hope that they didn’t miss her, that they didn’t even think of her anymore. It was just easier that way, they would be happier if they had forgotten she even existed. If one of them had disappeared the way she did, she never would have stopped worrying... and that was the last thing she wanted for Odette.

But now she was there, in front of her, in her shop. And she was insisting that Maelie had nothing to apologize for, which the blonde knew was simply untrue, but it was a kind lie, at least. She couldn’t help but crack a smile, though, as the other said that Jack was the most eloquent. “In writing, certainly. I suppose speeches would be the same, since he can write them down in advance.” She tried to joke along. The truth was, she didn’t know what they were and weren’t good at, not anymore. Fourteen years was a long time to improve on things like eloquence and speech-giving.

It was all Maelie could do not to start crying right then and there, when Odette spoke again. It was like she was seventeen again, all of a sudden, emotions flooding like a tide returning to the shore. “I… yes, I am well. I’m happy.” Maybe it was just a kindness, saying that she was happy. Or, maybe it was a plea – that if she said it enough times, maybe it would come true. 

“How are you? What brings you to Paris?” She had to say something else, she couldn’t leave it hanging on her weak admission of happiness. And she truly did want to know how everything for her old friend was. She needed to know that she was alright.

Glad to see him. Was she? Kind to say so, at least. Maelie had always been that, kind. If perilously direct, when she took the mind to be. And so staunchly wild. How many skirts had she mucked up, tearing around the moors with him and Jack? She’d been scolded by the housekeepers, he knew, coming in with her nails all full of dirt from the gardens, muddy-shinned on those damper days. But, that was alright so long as the young master said it was, and he did. The linens would survive, as would the carpets. They’d be out again, tomorrow, anyway. And the day after, and so on. There was always more to see, wasn’t there? It had seemed so, on those long summer days. It had seemed so. 

He missed them. It wasn’t too maudlin, to admit that, was it? To himself, anyway. Just to himself. 

Here, and now, Cam blinked, in polite but genuine surprise. Planned the wedding. “Did you? Goodness, it’s -” not at all what he’d have imagined, for her. Not… not in a terrible way, just. A shock. “It’s splendid. Well done.” Really was. Shouldn’t be any wonder; she’d had such fine suggestions back when they were putting his own together. Though, Viola had all the final words, on that. As she should, shouldn’t she? Perhaps it had been his first wedding, but her second. In the shadow, and the light, of the last one. He’d assured that she’d have it however she liked, no matter the cost. And Cam had hoped, sincerely, that Vi wound up happy with it. She deserved that. Didn’t everyone? A happy wedding day. He’d been happy, certainly. Oh, yes. Petrified, but. Common enough. Not that he’d let it show. Because he wasn’t common. An earl-in-the-making, and an officer, to boot, had to be rather better than that.

Her laugh had grown. Obviously. Still such a strange thing to realize, to hear; his must have changed, too. So much had. Cam finished his champagne, and came up with a chuckle of his own. Or, nearly. Close enough. “Perhaps, yes. But that wouldn’t cross my desk, thankfully.” As if he was at all eager to regale her with the sort of thing that did: reports from the Zone Rouge, and the Imperial War Graves Commission, mostly. Made for miserable small talk. “Not my department. I’m only meant to come along and ensure he doesn’t mistake anyone’s rank. God forbid he take a Hussar for a Horse Guard.” A thinner sort of smirk slid over his face, there. God forbid, indeed. “Beyond that, well. I simply have to hope for the best. Frightfully dull man. Some fascinating friends, though. Seems to know everyone. I suppose you must, too? From work.” Paris was the City of Love, as they said. Which - damn. How many weddings would he be dragged along to? Fuck. 

Maelie always insisted that, if she had been allowed to wear pants, she would ruin less skirts when she was off with Cam and Jack. But, no, skirts were what girls wore, so she wore them. She quite liked dresses, actually - liked getting dressed up for events, but the next morning, she was ready to run around, again. Full of energy, looking for adventures, eyes wide and bright and ready to absorb whatever the world had to offer her. Except, the world didn’t offer her what she expected, and the older she got, the more she learned that perhaps allowing her eyes to stay wide open wasn’t in her best interest. She learned to close them, if only just for self preservation. It was just safer that way... when she, herself, was the only one to look out for her.

But, when she was a child, she had her siblings, or her parents, or Jack, or Cam. If she went to far, someone would pull her back in... and she could still feel free, at least when they were on one of their adventures.

Maelie spotted the look of surprise on his face almost immediately. She wasn’t ashamed of her profession, not at all... but when someone like Cam, who knew where she came from, learned of it... it was hard not to feel down on herself. She never would have been planning weddings, if she hadn’t run away. She would be attending them, making small talk with other semi-familiar guests as she waited for one of the servers to bring over her meal. She didn’t want that life, not really, but the surprise on Cam’s face still stung just a bit. Although, she was good at covering it. “Thank you. Thankfully, the family already has good taste... no need to reign it in at all.” Not that she had to that often. 

“I would hope not. Surely, those aren’t the sorts of things he has you doing... right?” The blonde asked curiously, before hesitating slightly. “Perhaps that was rude of me to say, I didn’t mean it like that.” She quickly added, worried of offending him so soon after reuniting. It had been so long, and although she had always been closer with Jack... Cam may as well have been another brother to her, especially when she was away from her own family and staying with his. The last thing she wanted to do was make his first impression of her a negative one. “Ah, of course. I suppose we have similar jobs tonight, then. Sit, and wait for something to go wrong... and then solve it. Or pre-emptively solve it, ideally.” Most of her job was already finished, by the day of the wedding itself, and especially by dinner. She was truly just there in case staff had questions, or if anything went wrong. “I’m sure I’ve met him before, but I don’t know him personally. And he’s never been a client of mine.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. I half thought you’d been spirited away.” Maybe he only hoped so. Arcadia was an easy excuse for absence. Time passed different there. Farmers slept in fairy rings and disappeared for centuries. To him, it was the only thing that made sense. Sure he’d disappeared on his family but never on Odette. And never on Mae. If she’d stayed. He tried to not be hurt, tried to tell himself that the idea of marrying him wasn’t so horrifying that someone would actually run away. (No that’s you, Jackie. Sod off, Reg.) But the anxiety remained, winking behind her shoulder along with his fallen love. 

He laughed at her fixation on the flowers. She’d always liked them, so seeing her surrounded by them was reassuring. It might not be the world that their parents imagined for them, but it felt like her. Little pixie Mae among the blooms. Jack nodded to his empty sleeve mischievously. “Well, I wouldn’t be carrying them, will I? So whose problem is that?”

Jack sometimes made a point of acknowledging his disability since other people didn’t. It was rarely aggressive or judgmental, really just an indication that it was alright to mention. He’d gotten into enough fights with doctors and photographers about the supposed horrors of what he and Cam had become. He wasn’t going to let anyone else entertain the notion if he could help it. 

“Well, yes, my French is awful. I focused on other things.” He paused. But she didn’t know that, did she? So many things she didn’t know. So many lives he’d lived, the only constant being Odette. Odette who blamed herself for harming Mae so. He’d need to feel out that situation before he went any further down that path. Make sure they weren’t going to harm each other in a different way. “By which I mean to say I know a lot of dead languages now. None of which I use.” Not since Nadja. 

And the monster in the book. Because only monsters seek to revive dead things. 

Jack had always been good at catching the moments Mae faltered (partially because he tended to cause them if he went too far) but now the moment was catching him. “Oh.” He said, struck by a rare brought of speechlessness. Luckily she gave them both a moment to recover. He nodded, knowing that that explanation was a longer conversation. One that an employee really didn’t need to hear. But he recovered quickly, as he always tried to do, especially when she’d been embarrassed or upset. He plucked a rose from one of the displays and held it out to her. “Now you hold that for me, as mine will be otherwise occupied.” He held out his arm to indicate his intention. “Where do you want to start?”

Maelie let out a quiet laugh at his words, nodding a little bit. “No, although that would have been quite an adventure, I’m sure.” And an adventure wasn’t what she would call her life, so far. Maybe when she first escaped to Paris, but soon after, it no longer felt like that for her. She felt trapped, nearly as trapped as she’d felt in her engagement, and that was around the time the regret started creeping in. She’d wished for an adventure, wished that she could travel around, meeting new people, but she never plucked up the courage to ever leave, once she had settled in her life in Paris. 

As Jack nodded down towards his empty sleeve, Maelie’s grin faded only slightly, eyes falling down to it again as well. She wasn’t going to bring it up, not yet. It would have come up eventually, she was sure... but she was glad that he was the one to mention it, instead of her. “That’s not true, you have one good arm. That’s all you need for a bouquet.” She teased gently, hoping it was polite to joke along with him. 

Maelie looked at him curiously as he mentioned that he focused on other things. Of course, when they knew each other, French was never really his focus. She could speak in English, and she never minded speaking in English with them. Her mother helped her with that, really. She wouldn’t have been able to learn that quickly without her around, that much she owed to her. “Dead languages? Why?” She was intrigued by the idea - but it was so very Jack. “Although, it sounds fascinating, studying the languages no one else can speak anymore... seeing how expressions were perhaps different. Which did you focus on?” 

Perhaps if she focused on his interests, they could put off the inevitable hard parts of the conversation for a bit longer.

@maeflcwers

There were precious few things that Odette genuinely regretted in her life - most of her choices, most of the things she had done, were things that she would do again and again if presented the choice. Stepping stones to becoming who she wanted to be, that took her to where she was now. Or, in some cases, things that were beyond her actual control, that she had made the best choice possible in a given situation. Most choices, most actions, most decisions had been the best possible for her at the time, with the information that she’d had available to her. Odette had always been the one to think things over, to try and understand consequences before acting. 

If she presented an idea, a plan, it was often something she’d put time and effort into thinking through. One of her strengths was always how long she was willing to listen, learn, and wait for the opportunity she needed, or until she could make the best possible decision available to her. 

And yet, there were always exceptions to every rule. For Odette, one of the few regrets she had was always one that she kept locked up as tight as possible. To worry over a choice, over consequences, was rarely productive - she knew that, knew that endlessly agonizing over her mistakes and over the what ifs, was useless. Knew it would make no difference, to continue to dwell. But it ate at her, all the same. Her regret simply ate away at every box she would place it into to lock away in the back of her mind, clawed its way back out as though it were acid devouring all confinement. Demanded attention, demanded that she continued to think on it. 

If only she had been smarter, she could have ensured that they were more isolated - that she and Maelie never would have been caught by her mother. Odette should have known better, she’d been experimenting and discovering her own sexuality for longer - she and Jack were rather adventurous in that, as with everything. She knew the consequences for two women being caught would be more severe, especially given their status. Odette was a guest, for God’s sake, she should’ve been more careful and protected their friend that she and Jack cared so much about. 

If she’d been careful, if she’d been responsible, if she’d bothered to think things through enough - Mae wouldn’t have had to disappear. Odette could’ve moved her own plans up, could’ve run with her. Or, at the very least, could have helped. She’d been planning her own way to escape for years and she wasn’t there when her friend needed her. She was, instead, the catalyst. She’d been at fault. All her fault. 

It was one of the few things that Odette tried to hide from Jack, her worry about Mae. Her guilt, as it ate at her heart. As time went on, it became an old wound - still hurt, when it came to mind. When she thought about those letters she and Jack would write, things that she wished they could share with an old friend. When she remembered her friend’s laugh, imagined it when she and Jack had travelled together as though she was still on adventures with them. 

Hearing that Maelie was in Paris, after all this time - Odette knew better than some, perhaps, the sort of dangers of the city. But Jack spoke well of where she was, so that was something to be glad of. Perhaps she had bloomed in Paris, much as the flowers she looked after. It might have been better to simply keep her distance, be happy that her friend was alive and well - who knew if Maelie blamed her as well, after all? But Odette was not particularly good at keeping her distance, not from the people that she loved so dearly. 

So she went to the shop Jack had described, though not so early as to beat customers inside. Odette spied them through the window, so she entered quietly, trying not to interrupt and looked around instead to pass the time. The flowers were beautiful, hard not to think of the gardens that had been on the grounds of Maelie’s family to see them. Easy enough to close her eyes and think of the summer, of laughter and friendship and just - that feeling of being known and the ease of love. 

Perhaps browsing was not the smartest choice, Odette acknowledged wryly to herself, slipping a peony back into place from where she’d taken it. She continued browsing absently until the other customer had finished working with such a familiar voice, trying not to stare too much at the back of her - friend’s? She could hope, at least - head as she waited. As soon as the other was gone, she stepped forward to claim Maelie’s attention, speaking in quiet French, “Hello, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

Embroidery. Paint being brushed onto a canvas. Crystal vases, always with a handful of fresh flowers. And then, there were the teacups.

The Brindamour house always appeared flawless. The reason for this was, evidently, the staff – all going about their daily duties, to ensure that the house was spotless. No dust, no scratches, everything shining. Everything perfect. This was the environment that Clara Brindamour ensured. She came from an upper-class British household, and although she married a Frenchman knowing that France was very different, she wouldn’t let her home be anything less than the one she grew up in. Her parents, god rest their souls, had six children, all girls, and she was the second youngest. There was little hope for her to grow old in her childhood home, so instead, she placed her aspirations elsewhere.

Ever since Clara was a little girl, she had adored teacups. She would admire them whenever tea was served, and as a young woman, she began her collection. Wherever she traveled, she would bring a teacup or two home with her, and placed them in their case. And, when she got engaged, the collection was one of the first things packed, to be sent with her to France.

The Brindamours wasted no time in having children. It always seemed that she was pregnant, one child after the other – finally ending with their baby girl, Maelie. Blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, just like her mother. She looked just like her mother, in fact, and it was something the little girl was always told growing up: but, according to Maelie, that was where the similarities ended. Except, of course, for the teacups. Clara had always done her best to raise her children the way she was raised, to survive in the world they were born into, and to live in it with grace and dignity. Her other children mostly emulated that, but all Maelie wanted to do was run around in the dirt with Clara’s mother in law. Clara’s efforts to introduce her to other hobbies mostly seemed futile. She couldn’t get into piano, or art, or needlepoint. But, when Maelie was eight, she discovered the teacups.

They had always been there, always in the background. In their case, occasionally being added to after trips, or as Christmas presents… but Maelie hadn’t ever noticed them, not really. It was during a lesson, that she finally looked up, and spotted the rainbow of colours, laid out neatly on the shelves. It soon became a method of distracting herself, staring at the intricate patterns, the little details… they were so delicate, that when the sun shone through the windows just right, they appeared almost translucent. 

And, through all of Maelie and Clara’s arguments, the teacups always seemed to bring them back together.

Except for when it didn’t.

It had all happened so quickly, truly a whirlwind of emotions. Maelie and Odette had known each other for years, nearly as long as Maelie had known Jack. When she was younger, suddenly, her mother being English was useful. She practiced her English with her, and soon she was able to write to her new friends with much less difficulty. And then, Odette’s parents were going on some trip, and asked the Brindamours to allow Odette to stay with them in the meantime. They were happy to oblige, and Maelie was ecstatic to have a friend stay there for the summer. It wasn’t long, however, before Odette started to become something more than just a friend. They first kissed in the gazebo, in the center of the garden, surrounded by flowers. It was a rush, being with her. Her heart raced, butterflies danced in her stomach… and she could see the stars in Odette’s eyes. It was bliss, until the moment her mother walked in on them.

And it wasn’t something a teacup could ever fix.

Maelie always knew, if she were to ever return to her parents, she would bring a teacup with her. Premium china, the most intricate patterns, without a flaw to be seen. She couldn’t see such an item without thinking of her mother, and the soft smile that would form on her face as she gazed into the porcelain. Yes, memories of her mother – followed by Maelie showing Jack and Odette the violet cup, far in the back, that had a chip in its base. Clara always turned it just so, that no one would ever see that her collection wasn’t completely perfect. Maelie had always been surprised that her mother never threw away that cup, as she would with many other imperfect things… but she never did. “Your father gave it to me, my sweet,” Clara would tell her, “long before you came along.” 

There were times that Maelie wondered about the What Ifs. What if she and Odette had never been caught, what if she ran to London instead of Paris, what if she told Odette or Jack where she was going, or even just that she was leaving… and what if she just married the man she’d run away from? But, she couldn’t dwell on any of those questions for too long. They would drive her mad, she knew that. So as much as she missed her friends, she couldn’t let herself wonder for too long. Wonder about how they were, or even if they were still alive. She’d written several letters, throughout her time in Paris, all addressed to Jack or Odette… and all to be stowed away, never to be sent. 

Seeing Jack had been a shock. She’d wondered for years what a reunion would feel like, how her friends would react to seeing her again, if she could even consider them her friends anymore. If they hated her, for leaving without any word. But Jack didn’t seem to. He even informed her that Odette was in Paris as well. The idea of seeing her again gave Maelie much more anxiety than she’d ever anticipated, but surely, it was inevitable, right? She was working up the courage to go to Le Ciel and try and find her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about all the things Odette could be upset about, how she could be angry at her… and she hadn’t found the confidence to brave that. So, when she finished up with a customer at Tout en Fleur, the last thing she’d been expecting was to hear a familiar voice behind her. 

Maelie spun around, eyes widening only slightly when she saw her. She’d changed so much from how she remembered her, and yet, she hadn’t changed at all. “Odette.” She breathed out, voice barely a whisper. It was different, seeing her for real. She’d imagined this moment a hundred times, even within the days between her reunion with Jack. “I’ve missed you too.” The nerves were clear on her face as she spoke. Goodness, she must look like a child, with such a reaction.

“I...” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I thought I knew what I wanted to say, when I saw you... but I... you know I’m terrible at these things. Giving speeches, that is. I get in my head and the words get all jumbled, and then I start talking too quickly and I - I’m doing it now. Goodness.” She shut her eyes for just a moment, trying to calm herself. “You’re just how I remember.” She admitted a moment after opening her eyes, her voice softer this time.

Over a decade, entirely lost. Without a word, a rumour, a whisper. But there she was. Maelie Brindamour. She looked so much the same, really. While Cam couldn’t help being suddenly, terribly aware of every bit of gaunt, graying age  that had sunk its teeth into him, since then. And all the war he couldn’t help wearing. Those fangs, sharper still. 

(That bloody draft. Leaving hungry, vicious shapes slinking around in the dark at the back of his skull, snarls stalking up his backbone. Snarls that pitched and yowled like the roiling of barbed wire, and rumbled, of course. The arty in action, again.)

(And the tigers. In words swept right out of his own mouth, stolen from a lazy, laughing afternoon visit at Oxford. Bastard.)

Thankfully, Maelie managed to rather outdo him in the awkwardness, and quick. “Don’t be, please.” Cam brushed the apologies aside, just as fast. As if he were about to expect Lord Lambton, or the like, from a childhood friend; nonsense. Even a childhood friend who… somehow, had wound up as - as what, exactly? The caterer? No. Not a fellow guest, though. That was plain enough; how she’d dressed, where she’d put herself. Maelie was working. At an evening where, years ago, she’d have been part of the shining crowd. Naturally. How utterly bizarre. But his curiosity felt awfully sordid, so Cam kept it to himself, as he stepped around - side by side with her, on the fringes. Side by her right side, that is. So she’d have his left, his better. Taking a deep breath, and a neat, needy sip of his champagne, he carried on. Making conversation. 

“I’m glad, to hear you’ve - to know you’re here, and… alright, in the end.” Was she? It was a pleasant enough surprise to find her alive, at all. He hadn’t known even that, before tonight. But his years of worry (faded, sore as any other scar) were hardly relevant or appropriate to air. So he didn’t. “It’s lovely to see you. Truly. And I’ve been marvelous. Busy, of course. They’ve attached me to the embassy. Hence…” Cam gestured, vaguely. Moving right along. “… Paris. Broadly.” No need to mention the blasted book. None at all. What to talk about, though, with so much left unsaid? Why she’d gone. Where to. What she’d done with herself. The impropriety of asking after anything of the sort, that was beyond him. Wasn’t it? With another tip of his drink, Cam glanced Maelie’s way, a lightness to the look. Not pressing. “Such a place to happen across each other, isn’t it? A stranger’s wedding.” He’d been preparing for his own, last he’d seen her. And then she’d vanished, just before hers. God, so long ago. “Unless you’re familiar, with either party? I’m afraid I’m no closer to any of it than the Marquess,” that with a slide of his eyes, pointing her towards the Lord Crewe, if she’d lost track of which title went where. Easy to do, in this crowd. “My employer, these days. And always like that, before you ask. To his credit, he’s rather aware of his shortcomings - as a public speaker, anyway. Just feels so dreadfully obligated to make a show of things, all the same…” A bit candid, but. Maelie was a friend. Or had been. 

Maelie could remember discussing details of Cam’s wedding with him, just shortly before she left. It was going to be beautiful, a tremendous event, that she had been sure of. He deserved it, after all, so why shouldn’t it be spectacular? Of course, she didn’t know anything about planning events back then - she simply helped recommend some flowers that would be in season when the time came, so they could prepare for what the decor would be like. And even that, she had to do some reading on to find out.

Ah, how things changed.

Awkwardness was something she had developed as a child, and took a while to shove down. It was, perhaps, why she and Jack bonded so quickly - she didn’t have much of a filter. She could be polite, when it pleased her, but she certainly wasn’t the quiet little doll of a girl her parents wanted from her. As a child, however, the awkwardness was bluntness, impulsiveness, and not much else. Now, her version of awkward had turned into fear of saying the wrong thing, of embarrassing herself... of proving that she didn’t belong in this world anymore. 

However, all of that faded away when Cam brushed away the apologies, and her expression turned from one of hesitance, to a soft, warm smile. “Thank you.” She said quietly, relaxing just a bit. She wanted to give him a hug, to tell him she was sorry for everything, to ask how he was doing, and what his life had been like... but, unfortunately, she was still working a wedding. And dinner had only just started. She had to maintain professionalism, she couldn’t simply throw her arms around a guest, especially when most of the other guests weren’t likely to realize how far back they really went. When Jack mentioned his brother was also in town, Maelie was certain she wouldn’t be as shocked when she saw Cam. And while shocked may not be the correct word, she was certainly overwhelmed. 

“I’m glad to see you again.” Maelie admitted, voice gentle and honest. “Oh, of course, the embassy. That makes sense.” He wasn’t there just to follow his brother, obviously. Jack was there for the French book release, Cam was there because of the embassy. Perfectly logical. Her bright blue hues flicked up to his again after a moment, trying to read what he was thinking. There were bound to be questions he had for her, right? She was just about to open her mouth again, tell him to ask whatever he felt like... when he mentioned what a coincidence it was for them both to be there. A chuckle left her lips and she nodded slightly, trying to think of a way to explain what she was really doing there. She wasn’t a guest, and she couldn’t let him think she was for too much longer. “I’m not familiar personally,” she told him first, “but, I planned the wedding. So we have become a bit familiar in the whole... business side of things.” There was that awkwardness again. She followed the other’s gaze towards Lord Crewe, and couldn’t help but laugh at his words. “There are worse qualities to have, I suppose. Perhaps he should have someone look over his speech next time, though.”

How long has it been since they’ve last seen each other? Noor did try to make an honest effort to stop by the flower shop whenever she had the option, always buying a small bouquet for herself, a rare luxury. Mostly to serve as decoration for her small apartment. But it seemed like it’s been ages since she’d last spoken with the blonde.

Perhaps it was faith then, that the little caterpillar found his way atop her head. 

She was about to combat her statement - that she was, indeed, rather dull. There was not much in her life besides work, which she treated with utmost seriousness. Perhaps the occasional visit to the cinema or reading in a park. But Noor didn’t quite see herself as the definition of fun. She decided against arguing with Maelie, however. “No, he strikes me as a Hemingway man.”

Her gaze followed, towards the tree, then back to Maelie. Living in the park, a sweet and simple fantasy. “That would be fantastic,” she agreed, “although, you might grow tired of anyone and everyone stepping onto what is, essentially, your backyard.” Living here would suit the florist much better than her. Despite her cramped living quarters, their proximity to the hospital was a bonus she was not so willing to simply give up.

“How have you been?” she regarded her friend with a warm smile, “I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by the shop, but the hospital has been keeping me as busy as ever.”

Maelie should have dropped by at some point with a bouquet. That was what she should have done - instead, she would think about Noor while she was out on an errand, or finishing up at a wedding. Never when she actually had the time (or flowers) to stop by. Besides, she didn’t know Noor’s schedule at the hospital... and it would be rude to drop by unannounced. That was how she made herself feel better. 

The blonde nodded slowly at Noor’s point about everyone invading, wrinkling up her nose slightly at the thought. “That is a good point.” She admitted, eyes scanning around the park for a moment as she took a deep breath. “And I’m sure that watching strangers would get boring, after a little while. Even if it is entertaining for a few minutes.”

As her friend began to apologize, Maelie immediately shook her head, looking up at her. “Nonsense, I should have come to you. I’m only at the shop half the time nowadays anyway, with all the events to do...” She trailed off, thoughtfully, “I really should start limiting my appointments to two days a week. Amelie can run the store that much...” She paused, shaking her head at herself as if to snap herself out of her thoughts. 

“Apologies, I have work on the brain.” She admitted with a small laugh, trying to turn that part of her mind off for a minute so they could talk like normal friends. “I’m good, though. Just busy: a concept you seem to be familiar with.”