Pandora Hearts Secret Santa

He liked the way she sipped at her tea the most.

Today it was lavender. One teaspoon of sugar. A slight drizzling of thick honey. A splash of milk, creamy clouds billowing out to swallow and blend with amber. Fingers encased in a glove of silk and lace placed the teaspoon in the mixture, whirl pooling the colors together.

A soft clink that could only be produced by fine china thinned out into the cold winter air as she set the teaspoon in a saucer and with practiced grace brought the cup up to her pursed lips for a sip. Ever so dignified, she dabbed at her lips with a napkin and made a noise of contentment.

Or, it wasn’t so much so that he felt that the act of drinking tea perfectly encapsulated her, there were other things that could do that, too, and more successfully; rather, the normalcy of it helped to tether him to the here-and-now. And it was a silly thing to think, even he knew, that something so simple could pacify him but it was true.

Teatime stirred nostalgia within him. Made him fondly recall a time when tiny clumsy hands had gripped at a recently polished silver teacup and enthusiastically banged it against the dining room table, much to the chagrin of her instructor, eager to learn about proper etiquette. She’d stumbled her way through every lesson, each ending in various degrees of chaos (at one time, the family had, had to buy multiple sets of tableware on account of Sharon’s unintentional proclivity for destruction) , but no one could deny that she was resolute in wanting to uphold the reputation of the Rainsworth family.

And now… in looking out at her composure, at her conviction…

“What a nice day,” she said, her voice pleasant and serene. Small puffs of air accompanied her every word and danced with the cold she seemed to love so much.

“‘Nice?’ Hmm…,” he echoed, but even that seemed to drain him of his energy. He leaned back, supporting his weight on his elbows atop the railing of the balcony to look up at the gloomy sky. What was so nice about the gray and wet and filth that came with snow? “To each their own, I suppose…”

Her eyes remained trained on the pure white below, a sign that she had chosen to ignore his disagreeable tone. “It’s beautiful out… We haven’t had snowfall in so long…. This outing is long overdue.”

It was an almost-quiet that blanketed the vast Rainsworth grounds. Save for the occasional trill and blur of flap of wings, there was nothing to perturb the stillness, nothing to relieve Monotony from his reign over the stillness of large mounds of white and the occasional splash of evergreen and coffee brown. The servants were out, bundled up, struggling to clear the cobblestone pathway leading up to the estate of snow and stray debris.

Of all things on this earth, he liked snow the least.

No matter how hard he tried to fight against it, there was no way to stave off the onslaught of memories. Just the sight of snow caused him distress. Made it so that there was no peace in his recently sleep addled mind. Reminded him of the bright-eyed girl and bloody halls he’d tried to push back into the dismal cobwebbed corners of his mind, back with other long forgotten memories he didn’t care to remember. He’d managed to change the past, of that pain he could be somewhat alleviated of, but the fact remained: in his mind, once the dust of time was brushed aside and his full attention was focused on it, there was still a girl in mourning over a family taken away due to his own carelessness and his own horrid tamped down guilt. To be free of them… what would he give? Give up?

All that he’d been through and here he was, the same selfish man-child he thought he’d grown out of. Rendered useless by frozen water.

“You sure have been in a pensive mood. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“’Pensive?’ Hardly. Just a tad worn out I assure you, milady.”

“My very own parrot and house-cat-on-a-rainy-day all in one. Your inventory of talents grows larger by the minute, Break.”

He rolled his eyes. “I live to impress you.”

“As you should.” She patted the table once with a firm hand.

A dry chortle escaped past his lips as he adjusted himself so that he was facing the white grounds and away from her probing eyes.

Down below, he caught sight of the trio under his watch falling over themselves in the snow, the oldest of the three frantically trailing after the rowdy teenagers with enough coats and scarves for five other people. At least.

“Oh, Gilbert, you fool,” he sighed out. “Foolishness suits you a little too well…”

The sound of a chair scraping against the stone of the balcony came as no surprise to him. He didn’t turn as the clack of her heels grew closer to nearing his spot.

Luckily, she came to stand a few feet away from him, daintily folding her hands over the railing as she joined him in watching Gil tripping over his own feet and landing face first in the snow. “Gilbert knows you’ve been acting strange as well, you know.”

He hummed, withdrawing into himself. It wasn’t near him, not in the slightest, but he could almost feel the cold and wet seeping into his knees, much like that long ago time when he’d let himself fall apart and a younger oblivious Vincent had found him at his lowest.

“He’s been quick to distract Alice from commenting on your perceptible disposition.”

Oz’s laughter tinkered out clear and elated. With a great amount of effort that could be seen even from where they stood, he plodded his way back to a sputtering Gil with Alice tugging at the back of his blazer trying to lead him in the other direction.

“Your words aren’t as caustic,” she said. “Gilbert, a fool? I’ve heard worse… In the past, you’ve leapt at any chance, no matter how small, and quite joyously I might add, to comment on Gilbert’s uselessness… not that I agree, of course!”

“Hmm.”

“And the sweets on the table… you hardly touched them at all…”

Alice had pushed Gilbert back down again in an act of desperation to get him to stop touching Oz.

She sighed. “You’re… awfully quiet.”

While wrapping a green scarf around his neck Oz began to laugh again.

“I don’t like it.”

Her voice was closer and when he glanced to his right, she was there within arm’s reach.

A frown twisted up her features. And her glassy eyes spoke of her concern, of a self-assuredness that she was going to get an answer from him whether he liked it or not. That she would be the one to save him from himself if need be.

In looking out at her composure, at her conviction… at her infallibility…. Entrenched in the depth of her eyes, he could see it.

Here, with her just a few inches away, he felt a quietness wash over him.

She felt so much, did so little to hide her strengths and weaknesses, while he himself was of limited emotional capacity and boastful of a rickety strength he knew wouldn’t hold under pressure. In her fragility, she was strong, she was sure of what she wanted, of what she thought she needed to change, she was accepting.

His entire past was a testament to their contrasts.

He was weak. He was selfish. He was slipping.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Alice’s voice was loud and angry as Gil made to grab at her. Both had failed to notice that Oz had begun to make snow angels

Sharon glanced up at him with large eyes, waiting for an answer.

But, here, away from the turmoil of his past, away from his regrets and guilt, there were tiny things he wouldn’t trade for anything else.

He liked the way she sipped at her tea. Liked her now-steady hands as she held polished silver teacups. Liked that past her controlled mannerisms, past her glossy hair held by ribbons and gloved hands, her emotions roiled and surged. Liked that she was honest with herself.

There was… so much he’d seen. So much left to see.

 “I don’t… like the snow very much.”

And she was always there, always mindful, always accommodating.

A small hand wrapped around his wrist and lead him towards the glass door leading into the mansion.

“Honestly, Break…,” she fussed. “The day you decide to tell me whatever it is you’re actually feeling without my prodding… that’s all I wish for.”

He allowed himself to be led through the doors, said farewell for now to the wispy ghosts in his mind and they waved back, said we will see you soon as he was led away from the pure white that would only ever cast shadows over his thoughts and Oz laughing, telling Alice it wasn’t very nice what she was doing, pulling on Gil’s hair as he shouted out obscenities.

Someone to look out for him. Someone that cared about him. He liked that about the girl leading him away, fretting over getting him sweets and something warm to drink.