#marou

BERLIOZ: Today, Ber was gonna tell Marie and Lou about Jenny. And it was probably going to go spectacularly wrong.

It was important that Berlioz started at this pessimistic baseline. Sure, some of Simba’s sunshine had rubbed off over the years. In fact, enough had that Berlioz thought in the end, everything might be alright– that end might just be very very very very far from now. First, he’d have to endure his siblings’ shock and then, perhaps, some quarreling. He tried to play out the scenario in all the worst cases possible just to prepare himself. Yelling, fighting, insulting. In one torrid nightmare version, Berlioz imagined Lou disowning him from the family, though it wasn’t like he had the power to do that.

He probably wouldn’t either. It was just an exercise, remember. Expect the worst. Hope for nothing. At best, expect an awkward conversation and pouting from his elder brother. Marie, he dared think she might be slightly delighted, if only because she had always wanted a sister…though she’d probably change her mind if she ever met Jenny. One thing at a time, eh? So here they were all gathered in the Bonfamille Manor again. Berlioz decided it was best to do it outside. It was at least pretty outside. The flowers were all blooming, Nounou making wonderful work of the garden as she always did. Sun out, a few clouds, rather warm– at least if Ber was going to get yelled at, he’d do it somewhere very pleasant. 

Simba, by the way, was not here. He’d thought very hard about it and asked him to come, then changed his mind, when one of the nightmare scenarios involved Lou and Simba fighting each other over tea while Berlioz slumped off a chair and crawled into the hydrangeas. 

If Ber was to be sneered at, he’d just take it, then go. That was the official plan. Just. Black out a little, wait for Lou to be finished, then hop the fence and meet Simba at the lake to decompress. 

“So,” said Berlioz as he looked at his siblings, unsure how to even… how did one begin a conversation such as this, eh? “How’s everything then?” 

Apparently, like that. 

TOULOUSE: Being called around for tea wasn’t so strange. He tried to stop by the manor a few times a week. It usually was not hard. His schedule was open enough to leave him restless, especially with the twins in daycare all day. Yes, most of the time he was watching Opal, but especially on the weekends, when her parents were both home he felt--adrift. 

So, he had taken to coming around the manor to sulk when he felt…unnecessary at the Acherons. No one noticed this. Belle and Hades because they had their hands full with the children. His mother, and sister because she was delighted any time he showed up. His brother, because he came around even more seldom than Lou. Although Maman scolded him for not coming by as often as Lou, which was empty in terms of evidence, because even if Lou and Ber came over the same amount, his mother would probably scold Berlioz for not coming over enough. Plus, even if Lou came once a week, it would be more than Ber bothered to show up. 

It was even more rare that the three of them were all together like this with no distractions from the Acheron children, their mother, or their cousines. 

For Lou, it felt a bit strange, but nice. The weather was perfect, if a bit chilly with the wind (not that he minded a bit of a chill these days.) The food was delicious and, even if they had nothing to say to each other, his siblings were the best kept company, in his opinion. 

There was something to be said today at tea, however. Lou could sense it. He had no idea if this was because he was simply an older brother, or if the wolf sensed the unease in the air. Regardless, Ber was being particularly twitchy.

So, Lou endeavored to make him say whatever was on his mind by remaining stubbornly silent. He poured his tea, put his sugar in, stirred it. Once the crystals had melted and he’d tapped his spoon on the rim, Ber was ready to speak--and give nothing away.

“Adequate,” Lou replied to his brother. He did not have a better word to describe it. Anything too positive would feel like gushing, anything less would make it sound like he was discontent. Adequate was, indeed, high praise from him. 

“Marie? Did you have a good birthday?” 

MARIE: Marie thought this was very strange.

All three of them, just… enjoying tea in the garden? Without a parent involved to shoo them all into one spot and make them sit politely? Of course it was not uncommon for her to spend time with her brothers, the three of them all together, but this felt like something their Maman would organise, not Berlioz. Something was afoot.

And yet, Marie wasn’t too bothered. Maybe a tad suspicious, but she wasn’t worried. She liked to think that if it was something urgent, or awful, there wouldn’t have been time for tea. How many times now had the three of them been in mortal peril? She was starting to understand the difference between real danger and domestic troubles. Whatever it was that Berlioz had to say, it couldn’t be too bad. Not if it was being done over a cup of tea and some of NouNou’s madeleines. 

In fact, Marie was so not bothered that she hadn’t been paying much attention. She had been playing with TuTu’s ears as the puppy slept slumped over Marie’s leg, pinching them gently between thumb and forefinger and thinking that they were really far too big for her tiny head. She looked up when she heard her name, glancing between her brothers before she broke out into a bright smile.

“Wonderful as always,” She chirped, reaching over the dog for her tea. “It was actually sort of nice to keep things low-key for a change. Certainly a lot less stressful than party planning.”

BERLIOZ: Well this was all well and good, wasn’t it?

  This was the best case scenario: Marie happy, fresh off the high of getting yet another pet (she should probably chill out, but he was married to Simba who was constantly begging for more dogs, so he got it). And then Lou… who was– adequate. In Lou speak, that was a goddamn glowing review of this life, not that Ber would point that out. These updates, as brief as they were, were almost enough to give Berlioz hope that they’d gotten through the worst of their growing pains and might actually be on the other side of it. 

But that would be naive. And Ber could be a lot of things, but never naive. In fact, he usually overcorrected to be so bloody prepared for disaster that he caused it. 

He might be about to cause some disaster right now. 

Berlioz nodded, his hands under the table, rubbing over his exposed knees through the rips in his jeans. Right, so, er, as much as he’d like to draw this out, nice and painful, his shit communication skills meant he couldn’t think of any small talk beyond asking about TuTu. And Lou was a bit sour over TuTu so that would just put Lou in a worse mood so…

Best. Do it. Now? 

“Yeah, I’ve been tellin’ you that. Private’s always better,” said Ber. He leaned back in his chair, scratched behind his own ear. His gaze jumped from the table to Lou. Lou was staring at him. Lou knew. Or he knew something. C’mon then, out with it. 

“Er, so– so anyway actually– er– so uh– here’s somethin’ funny.” Was it funny? “So uh, I actually ended up lookin’ into the whole– birth father situation and get this, I ah– found him. I sent him an email and everything.” 

Pause– brace for impact. 

TOULOUSE: Lou blinked slowly at his brother. 

His half-brother, technically, as he was so rudely reminded out of the blue. Lou did not like thinking about Ber that way. It didn’t make sense to him. As soon as the truth of it all had come to light, Lou had immediately pushed it out of his mind. It didn’t matter in any way that counted for something, but--he couldn’t help but worry that Ber would use it as an excuse. Lou was under no false impressions about how Berlioz felt about the Bonfamille name. 

He had just, foolishly, hoped that Berlioz would leave it alone. That it wouldn’t matter, because who needed a father anyway? Lou barely had one and he’d managed. Marie had more or less gotten Toulouse for a father, and she’d turned out decently enough. 

“Quoi?” Lou asked, eyes narrowing slightly. 

He wasn’t sure what else Berlioz wanted from him. Was he supposed to congratulate him? Or be curious about this man who had broken apart their family? (Oh yes, Toulouse certainly blamed him--how could he not?) 

MARIE: Marie looked up, and just like Toulouse, blinked owlishly.

It was perhaps ironic that Marie had acted exactly the way Lou had, in that she didn’t really like to think about Ber technically not being one of them. A Bonfamille. He was… someone else. And if you had asked her as recently as five years ago, she would’ve rolled her eyes and said well, duh. In a far more ladylike manner, of course, but still. She would’ve said that much was obvious. Berlioz had always been different — it was why he and Marie had squabbled so much. They hadn’t been able to agree on anything, really.

But that Marie wasn’t the one who was sat at the table now, looking at Berlioz as though he’d just grown a second head. She and Berlioz got along a lot better nowadays. He’d been the first to support her, when she’d decided to leave her coronation. They were certainly friends now, which she wasn’t sure she would’ve said a few years ago. 

Though, that didn’t change the fact that Berlioz was still, had always been and always would be, so different to his siblings. And now he had found his father. Whatif this father was exactly like Berlioz? And what if there was another Lou and another Marie that were exactly like Berlioz, and he ditched the two of them? Maybe now was a little late to be realising it, but Marie didn’t want Berlioz to ditch her. Worse yet— if he did, he’d probably take Simba with him.

Marie didn’t voice any of these concerns, however. She looked between her older brothers (her older brother, her older half-brother), and sipped her tea. Lou had pretty much summed it up, anyway.

BERLIOZ: Ah– so this was going to go exactly how he thought. 

In a way, this was a relief. But Berlioz’s body still stiffened slightly as his brother cut his eyes toward him. What was honestly more surprising was Marie’s non reaction, though. He’d expected– well, Ber didn’t know exactly what he expected, but he did expect something. Marie liked to be vocal about her opinions, and sure, she knew how to mask when she needed to but it wasn’t like she’d ever shied away from telling Ber exactly how she felt or what she thought of him. Yet here his little sister was– just looking. Waiting? Thinking??

He realized he’d been relying on Marie’s support more than he thought. He swallowed roughly, not really sure what to…

“Uh… yeah,” uttered Berlioz. His hands fell in his lap and he fiddled with a leather bracelet on his wrist, pulling it back and forth so it rubbed into his skin, though not hard enough to hurt or anything like that. It was just something to do, some other thing to think about, instead of the blank faces of his siblings. 

“I mean I didn’t– I thought maybe he wouldn’t even write back. I dunno. I just had to do it or I’d always wonder, I guess,” he confessed and looked down at that wrist, that bracelet, feeling like he was in a pew, telling a priest all his sins. “But I guess he did write back and uh– well he seems like an alright bloke actually, and he’s got a daughter, so that’s– she’s younger than you, Marie–

He looked up at her now, desperate for something. Surely she’d be happy– or interested? Or something?

“Name’s Jenny. She does jazz piano.” He swallowed again. “Uh…yeah.” 

MARIE: Marie almost dropped her teacup right down onto her dog’s head. 

Inside Marie there were two wolves. Although they were less like wolves and more like little, perfectly groomed kittens, but that was not the point. One was desperate for a sister. She had grown up as the youngest of two brothers and even though those brothers had taken care of her she knew it was nothing like having a sister. There was a bond between sisters that Marie had seen, on the television, with her friends, between her own mother and her tantine, and the idea that she would never really know what that was like gnawed away at her. 

The other one, however, was terrified of being replaced. Or, well, up until now it had been terrified of being left behind, which was the natural fear of the youngest sibling. Always following on the heels of her brothers, Marie had felt like, lately, the distance between them was growing faster than she could keep up. And this Jenny and her jazz piano– piano! The one thing she and Berlioz had ever really done together, growing up, had been to sit at that piano under the direction of their mother. And perhaps he hadn’t really wanted to be there (Marie couldn’t be sure; she had enjoyed herself, most of the time. She had liked any excuse to sing), but Marie thought that was one of the few things they’d bonded over. That they had in common. This Jenny, she would just slot right in, wouldn’t she? 

She wasn’t sure which voice in her head she should listen to first. The one that wanted to know more, or the one that wanted to panic. The one that wanted to know more had a lot of very clever and very reassuring points to make, but the one that wanted to panic was a lot louder

But Marie was mature now. Ish. She could read a room, at the very least, and she had a feeling Toulouse was not going to take this very well, and she could see that look in Berlioz’s eyes. The one of a man in open water, hoping for a lifebuoy.

She glanced at Toulouse. She looked back at Ber. She put her teacup down before TuTu got soaked right through. 

“Have you spoken to her?” She asked, leaning in a little closer. “What’s she like? Have you said anything about– us?”

BERLIOZ: Lou was dead silent. 

This was a very bad thing. 

Berlioz was trying not to focus on that. He reminded himself that it was expected– that he was prepared for it. Lou was entitled to his feelings and he could get upset if he liked, so long as Berlioz remembered it had nothing to do with him - that he himself had done nothing wrong - he was perfectly in his rights to reach out to whoever he wanted and go about this on his own timetable and in his own way. 

He could hear Nancy’s voice as he recited these affirmations to himself. He had gone over all this with her in advance, as anxiety dictated. 

But he could also hear Simba too. He could imagine him here, the weight of his hand squeezing Berlioz’s knee, his eyes bright and fierce as he stared down his brother. It was definitely a good thing he wasn’t actually present, but… imagining him still gave Berlioz an anchor. Once this was all finished, no matter how it ended, he’d have a home to go back to and a husband who loved him. More than any of his affirmations, this alone gave him the confidence not to apologize. 

At least Marie had, er, an expression. His eyes darted back to her as he saw her lean forward, put down her little tea cup. Her questions were quite polite and a bit restrained, but when he lifted his eyes to meet her own, she at least looked sincere.

He’d never appreciated Marie more than now. 

“Oh uh– yeah, course. I told her about both of you,” he said, nodding. “She knows you’re trying to open your own boutique…that Lou paints and uh– likes dinosaurs–” a bit of a weird anecdote to come out, but it had. It was one of Berlioz’s favourite things about his brother, maybe because it reminded him of their youth, playing legos and pretend. “She’s um… she is actually much more like you two than she is like me.” He chuckled, tugging at that bracelet of his again. “Sort of… confident and strong-minded and all that. Her parents– well, uh, my bio dad I guess– they’re divorced too and she was pretty protective over him. Thought me reaching out was some ploy for blackmail or whatever. But uh, yeah, she’s cool.” 

TOULOUSE: “Suppose that’s another tick in the nature column,” Lou said, his voice measured but underneath it was scathing. 

He didn’t like this. He did not like it at all. His immediate instinct was to forbid Ber from seeing her. From seeing his biological father. It was like when you slipped and grabbed onto the person next to you by instinct. Except it was Berlioz he felt slipping—away from him. Away from their family. This was a fear that Toulouse had had as far as he could remember. He used to hold on so tightly to Ber’s hand, at galas, at performances, at dinner parties in their dining room. Always knowing Ber wanted to run. 

The same feeling had been there not too long ago, when they’d sat on the balcony at the beach and discussed the deaths of their loved ones. Toulouse had known then there was nothing holding Berlioz to him. There was no tether. Not even string. 

And Lou was self aware enough to know that this was his fault. No matter how much he had tried: first to comfort Ber, then to mold him, then to punish him, and finally to try and accept him as he was—Ber didn’t care. And Ber wasn’t interested. 

There was too much baggage and this new family was shiny and new. 

“The appropriate term is birth father,” Lou continued in the same tone: nonchalant bordering on furious. 

“Are you planning on pursuing a relationship with them?” 

BERLIOZ: Here were some good things, eh? 

Lou was not yelling. Lou had not openly insulted anyone yet, really. That first comment was a bit…well, Ber didn’t know exactly how to take it, it was just a bit sarcastic but Ber was plenty sarcastic all the time. Point was, in his nightmares, he had built Lou’s reaction up to be explosive and cutting. It wasn’t going well. Ber could read the bloody room in that sense. But it could always be worse. 

And see, times like these really drove home why pessimism was the correct philosophy of choice for Berlioz. 

Not that any of those good things made this any easier. 

Berlioz was still on edge, expecting a proper blow-up at any moment. Lou would probably not yell, but that didn’t mean his anger couldn’t lash out and do its damage. Ber swallowed, a beat passing. He had hoped Marie might jump in with something, just to give Ber an extra second, or to distract from the question at hand, the answer to which Ber knew was gonna proper piss his brother off. Unfortunately, nothing. So the clock ticked again. Ber put his hands on the arms of the chair. He had to say something, or Lou would fill in the silence with something worse. 

Though what was worse than ‘yes’ for his brother? 

“Well,” stalled Berlioz, since ‘well’ was not ‘yes.’ 

“Well,” a second time. “I mean, um, sort of– I dunno exactly… they live in the States so s’not like I’ll see ‘em all the time or like I’m plannin’ a trip or anything like that but uh, y’know, email exchanges and all that, I was thinking, maybe, if they er… were okay… with that…” 

He trailed off, words getting quite mumbled at the end there. 

MARIE: Marie looked between the two of them, wondering if this was about to turn into a very big, very snippy argument. The worst Bonfamille arguments were always snippy, in her opinion. Yelling was vulgar, and unnecessary in the first place because a point that had to be made by shouting wasn’t a very good point at all. Arguments that were even-toned cut deeper, because you knew the other person really meant what they were saying.

She looked at Lou when Berlioz explain, stumbling and starting, but the more mumbly his voice got, the more he tripped over his words, Marie’s gaze was drawn to Ber, her lips pressing into a thin pink line. 

The thing was, Marie wanted nothing less than for Berlioz to go and find some new family, a family that would be much better suited to him than the one he had now. Was it not enough that he had found and crafted a family of his own in Swynlake? Why did he have to go looking for a new one? And from America, no less! It was all horrible. Not just because they were Americans, though that was part of it (and yes, she loved Pacifica, but honestly), but because America was on the other side of the world. What if Ber like this family so much he moved there? Distance made people forget things. Forget other people. Easy to forget your little sister when you had another, littler sister that you got on with a lot better right at hand. 

She swallowed thickly, picking up her tea cup again so she could take a sip from it, hoping that might help. Even if Ber said he wasn’t planning anything, that just meant he wasn’t planning anything now. Things would change. They would grow closer. And then Ber would leave. 

Marie knew she should be happy for him, but it was very difficult, and Marie had never really liked doing anything that was particularly difficult. Still, she tried for a smile, even if it was a tad more like a grimace. “So you’re going to… email them? That’s… good.”

BERLIOZ: Lou was quiet again. Bad. 

But Marie was quiet too. And this, this was definitely worse – and entirely unexpected. Even in the nightmarish scenarios he’d dreamed up in order to prepare for this, he’d never imagined Marie rather stoic and still, drinking tea with a pinched lip. Where the hell was his sister? Wasn’t she going to ask more questions? She was nosy as hell, outgoing to a T – didn’t she want to look up Jenny’s Instagram or start making snooty comments about the Americans that shared half of Ber’s DNA? 

If she did, even if she was mean and judgmental, Berlioz woulda thought, okay, things were gonna sort themselves out. But Marie was quiet. Polite. Holding herself back. More than ever, she resembled not their mother, but Lou, who was sitting right beside her.

They were… going to gang up on him, weren’t they? 

Great. Good. Hadn’t prepared for that one. Though it also just didn’t make sense, like sure, Lou hated all this from the start, but Marie? What was Marie’s problem? 

Time around Simba meant that he really, almost, nearly said this out loud. His gaze traveled from sibling to sibling, the silence spreading between the three again, like a second tablecloth. He could rip it from underneath them all and risk breaking everything. That had never been his move. 

“I mean, yeah,” he said after that beat. “Just to keep in touch.” Another beat, waiting for someone to say something, but they didn’t. And that desire to break things resurfaced. Strange. But he’d been prepared for disaster, waiting for disaster, so to walk away from a stilted, awkward conversation with no climax was probably worse, yeah? It meant the disaster would lurk and bite at Berlioz’s heels when he least expected it. He’d rather just get it out of the way.

And so he decided he’d piss ‘em off. 

“I mean….I think you’d actually like ‘em. Jenny and Steve,” he said. 

MARIE: Marie looked at Lou, waiting for him to say something. Lou, specifically, because there was absolutely no way he didn’t have any opinion on the matter. That he didn’t have something he wanted to say. She had expected him to steer the conversation – he was the eldest, it was his job to be in charge. 

And Marie really, honestly didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to be happy for Berlioz whilst also feeling like a little girl trying to cling to his trouser leg to keep him from leaving. Had she ever told Ber that she was sorry for all those teenage years spent squabbling over the stupidest little things? They had all just gone away, water under the bridge, but maybe she should’ve said something to him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have gone looking for a new family, because he’d have a perfectly good one right here in Swynlake.

There was a very small part of Marie’s brain that was capable of rational thinking, and had she ever listened to it, she would’ve known that that was pretty mean. She would understand that Berlioz was allowed to look into his birth father and to the other half of his family, especially seeing as he’d been lied to for a very long time now. It was a shame that she didn’t pay more attention to that little rational voice, really. Everything might have gone a lot more smoothly if she had.

As it was, Ber’s comment irritated her a little, because her first thought was that she didn’t want to like them. They weren’t family and they were trying to take her brother (brothers, she kept reminding herself, because Simba would surely go as well) so why should she like them? But she had to be happy for Ber, so she hid the small crease in her brow by looking down at TuTu momentarily; when she looked up again she smiled, as encouragingly as she could.

“Are they both into music?” She asked, remembering the jazz piano comment. Marie didn’t really like jazz, but she supposed that made sense, for an American. 

TOULOUSE: Lou’s scoff was loud enough to cut across Marie’s innocent inquiry. 

He knew Berlioz was trying to rile him, in the way that only his siblings really could. Almost anyone else and Lou could keep his demeanor calm. Aloof. But the comment grated because it spoke to that deep, clawing fear that had been rising in him ever since Ber had started talking. That Ber liked this new family. That Ber liked this new family more than the one he already had. 

And Lou blamed himself for this. He knew he had not been the brother Ber needed for—most of their lives. Certainly their adult ones. Potentially ever since they’d come to this forsaken town. Now, because the universe was cruel, it had given Ber another option. A better option. 

It hurt and so, Lou did exactly what he always did when he was hurt. When he felt out of control of a situation. When he felt the people he loved, whether real or in his own head, slipping away. 

“Marie, his father,” Lou spat the word with as much disrespect as he could manage (which was a lot, as you might imagine), “was in a touring rock band.” 

Lou sat up from where he’d been sulking in his patio chair. The wolf inside him was whining, making it hard to think. Though, whether it was because Ber was trying to pick a fight or Ber was trying to leave was anyone’s guess. 

“But yes, sure, we will all get along splendidly. You know, you should invite them for tea,” Lou suggested scathingly, “Maman would love that.” 

BERLIOZ: Ah, and there it was. 

Well, Berlioz had poked the dragon on purpose, so he wasn’t surprised. In fact, as Lou finally let out the sneer he had been holding, Berlioz only felt relief. There, a real reaction– as unfair and stupid as the reaction was. At least it sounded like his brother. At least Berlioz had been right. At least now, Berlioz could actually deal with it. 

Would this go the way all the fights from their childhood would go? Ber would press back, but Lou would be stronger? Would Berlioz’s lip wobble? Would he slink away in retreat only for Lou to come find him later, with a cigarette, or a drink, or other metaphorical olive branch? They wouldn’t talk about it. The silence would become the agreement. If Ber never brought up Jenny and Steve again, all would be well. 

Normally Berlioz would be fine with all that but this time was different. Maybe he was just sick of playing the same broken record and tiptoeing around his big brother when he bloody shouldn’t have to. 

He sighed, a short puff of air– clearly exasperated. Not trying to hide it. “This isn’t about Maman,” he said, thought that wasn’t what he wanted to say–

This isn’t about you. Ah yeah, he wanted to say that. But even Berlioz wasn’t quite brave enough yet. He felt like a kitten dancing around a much bigger cat, trying to swat at its tail without getting its head bit off. 

“Look, I’d just rather we all treat each other decently, okay? I dunno what’s goin’ to come of it.” His shoulders raised to his ears. “Maybe we’ll talk a lot, maybe we won’t, maybe they’ll visit, maybe they won’t, but I don’t wanna pretend like I’m doin’ something wrong either way. I’m not.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse knew what he expected from Berlioz: for him to shrink. For him to get small, so that Lou could wrest control of the situation. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Lou, suddenly feeling out of control. Suddenly feeling like his brother was leaving him. It made his world tilt on its axis until everything was distorted, like he was slipping, grasping, floundering—trying to stay upright. It made the wolf whine, riotous in his chest. 

Prehaps he shouldn’t expect his brother to shrink. Or want him to. In many other situations, he wouldn’t. If he was standing up to anyone else. 

If he reflected on this later, maybe he would feel guilty. 

But Lou was the worst of himself: impulsive, cruel, and angry—when he felt those he loved slipping away.

“You can’t just expect us to all get along,” Lou snapped. “If you didn’t think you were doing anything wrong why didn’t you tell us you were contacting them if that’s what you planned on doing? You haven’t told us anything for months and now are forcing these people into our family and just expecting us to all get along. Why should I treat this man decently when all I know about him is that he didn’t care about tearing a family apart in the first place? I don’t understand what you’d want to do with him either.”

MARIE: Marie had been quiet, thinking about their Maman. Poor Maman. Marie knew what it was like to make…. romantic mistakes. To get caught up in the moment and let it sweep you away, caught in a tide that just dragged you out to a whole ocean of trouble. Marie doubted Maman was sorry about it, because that dalliance had given her Berlioz, but she was probably going to be mortified to have that man back in her life. And their father! Poor Papa. She knew that things had not always been easy between the boys and their father but Marie knew her Papa, and she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be, to have to play happy families…

But she was pulled away from that as Lou’s voice washed over her, his words bringing her back to the table. She watched in abject horror, her eyes wide, flitting from one brother to the other. This was going from bad to worse, and the way Lou snapped, just as Berlioz had wanted him to– 

Marie was not much of a problem solver. She caused more problems than she tended to solve and she usually needed someone else to help her with those problems, but she usually meant well. And that was all she could hope to do right now - to mean well. She had no idea what the right thing was to say, but she had to say something, before Berlioz could use this as an excuse to leave the Manor and run away to his new family, never to return again.

“I understand.” She said, her voice squeaky. She didn’t chance a glance at Toulouse, knowing that he would be glaring at her. In her own defense, however, it was sort of impossible to appease both brothers at the same time right now. “I understand why you would want to know him. But…” She spoke slowly, gently, trying not to visibly wince. “Lou’s right. It might have been nice to know you were thinking about it. It’s… rather sudden. Or it seems that way, anyways.”

BERLIOZ: Thank god for Marie, honestly. 

Without her, Ber wasn’t sure what he would have said. But he would have said something. He was a coiled up snake, the tension having built this entire bloody tea, and now he wanted to strike out as Lou just as Lou tried to strike out at him. It was a miracle that Lou’s shots hadn’t done more damage as it was. Perhaps a year ago, they would have. But now when his brother spoke, Berlioz just saw the holes in his words, the holes in his own confidence. It wasn’t fucking about Berlioz. It was never about Berlioz. It was always about Lou– his opinions and his desires. 

But as Marie tried to soften everything, some of that tension did bleed from Ber’s rigid shoulders. His gaze darted to his little sister. And he did feel– a little guilty. But not that guilty. He never claimed to know what he was doin’, after all. He’d approached his new father like a kicked animal, moving very slowly. It wasn’t like he’d planned for Jenny to show up on his door. 

Not that he was goin’ to tell either of his siblings that much. They didn’t deserve to know.

(It was sad that Ber felt that way. But he’d hold up his guards. Lou proved he needed them.)

“I’ve just been figuring it all out for myself, okay?” he told them both. “I didn’t even know if he was going to answer me or if he did, what I was gonna feel about it. It was a shot in the dark– not some grand plan to go behind your back. I don’t fucking do that. It’s not like I’m tryin’ to hurt anyone.” 

Why would his brother think he was? Why did Lou always treat Ber’s decisions like personal attacks against him? 

“So I’m tellin’ you now, cuz, well, he has contacted me and all that. Isn’t that good enough?” 

TOULOUSE: “But why?” Lou pressed. “You don’t have to figure it out for yourself.” 

That was what Lou didn’t understand. It wasn’t Ber’s decision so much that upset him (though, yeah). It was the fact he decided it and then just…did it. Told them after the fact. Like they were an afterthought. Like they didn’t matter.

When Belle and Hades had asked him to move in with them, the first people Lou had told were Marie and Berlioz. He told Marie because if she told him she still needed him at home, he would’ve stayed. And he told Berlioz--because…because he had wanted to. Because Berlioz was his best friend. It felt as simple as that to him. 

So Lou didn’t understand why Ber hadn’t said anything at all to him. Had Lou not been supportive? When Pere had been horrible, Lou had severed his own relationship with him. He barely talked to their father anymore. Only text messages to let him know he was still alive once a month or so. He hadn’t done that for himself, but for Ber. All he wanted was to talk. To know these things. 

Had he asked? Not necessarily, but that was because he hadn’t known there was anything to ask about! Ber had never once indicated that he wanted to contact his birth father. And Lou had done the research too, because of course he did. About what to call the man (birth father) and avenues to find him. But Ber had done all of those things without him--because he thought he had to do it alone? 

Lou felt like he was standing there, a little kid with a drawing he’d done, holding it out for a parent who took it and turned around, throwing it away. 

It made him bristle against the hurt, his jaw set as he stared at his brother. 

BERLIOZ: Because you would have told me not to do it. 

Berlioz didn’t say that– but he believed it. Lou would mean well, because Lou always meant well, but he also never made room for other people to have different opinions, or feelings. That’s how it felt anyway. He was always right. He was the eldest. He was taking care of everyone. Well, Berlioz hadn’t needed his brother this time– not when it came to deciding somethin’ like meeting his birth father. 

Sure, Berlioz had gone back and forth on whether or not to send the email to Steve. And he’d gone back and forth on whether he’d tell Lou and Marie, before or after. A heads up, he could see, might be nice. But it still didn’t really have anything to do with them. 

It wouldn’t have changed what Ber woulda done, one way or the other. 

And even though his siblings were lookin’ at him, Marie all baffled and Lou clearly pissed off, none of the usual guilt squirmed in his stomach. Was this how Simba felt? Ber wondered. Was this what it was like to feel good about a decision? Would he still have felt this way if Steve and Jenny had turned out to be total dicks?

Those were sorta useless hypotheticals though, so he put them aside.

“Well– maybe I needed to figure it out for myself. This time,” said Berlioz. That was true too, the lesser cruel version. “It’s not personal. I just had to do it my way.” 

Didn’t Berlioz always? 

MARIE: He just had to do it his way. As with all things, their entire lives, Berlioz did whatever he was going to, in the way he was going to do it. Had Berlioz’s different parentage ever actually been a surprise? Or, when it had come to light, had Marie just been more surprised that this hadn’t all come up sooner

She pressed her lips into a thin line, resisting the urge to nibble away at the inside of her lip with anxiety. It would be very easy to side with Lou right about now. She almost wanted to, just to ease some of the hurt etched into her eldest brother’s features. Because whilst Marie was a little hurt that Ber hadn’t brought this up sooner, she thought that herself and Berlioz were not quite as close as he was with Lou. In fact, she knew that was the case. Just because they got along these days didn’t mean they were suddenly best friends. 

But she knew she couldn’t take sides. Taking Ber’s side would only upset Lou further, and taking Lou’s side would only push Ber further away. She remembered when they were little, and about to cross the street, how she had reached up and held onto their respective hands. She felt like they were back there, except now they were pulling away, moving in different directions, and Marie didn’t know how to hold onto them both.

“But… you’ve told us now.” She said, trying to shift away from things that had already happened, and that they couldn’t change. “So if anything else happens you’ll– you’ll tell us. Right?”

BERLIOZ: “Right,” said Berlioz right away. 

His eyes jumped to Lou, but away just as fast.

But there wasn’t any reason to hide it anymore. Not that Ber had thought he was doing it. He hadn’t been hiding, he was just…waiting. He was just figuring it all out, like he’d told them. Maybe he woulda met Steve and hated the bloke, eh? Then what was the point of continuing on a relationship? There wouldn’t have been. And he wouldn’t have caused any unnecessary ripples in his life. He would have spared himself the additional embarrassment, or spared Lou and Marie the obligation to hate the man on his behalf, or whatever. 

But now… yeah, well… he really did think they could get along. That didn’t mean Lou and Steve would get downright chummy or that Jenny and Marie would become best mates. But if every now and then, they came around, they could just say hi and it wouldn’t be…weird.

Okay. It would be weird. But not the sort that would torture Berlioz privately. It was a weird he could handle.

This was only if Lou got on board with the whole thing, and he wasn’t sure that his brother would. 

“I don’t think much is gonna happen soon anyway besides, I dunno– texting or emailing but– yeah if I uh, decide to visit them or they come here or whatever, you’ll know.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse did not believe Berlioz. 

And why would he? Ber had not been forthcoming with any of the other details of his new family. Even though Lou had never wavered in his loyalty. He had ruined his own relationship with their father. (Yes, their father. Hector had raised Ber, even absently. He had been the only father Ber had known. He counted.) Lou had easily shifted his definition of family. It had already been shifting to accommodate Hades and Belle, the children.

He had told Berlioz he would support him, no matter his choice. To tell Hector. To never tell him. That promise had extended to what Ber chose to do with the new information. 

But apparently, none of that mattered because Berlioz was not loyal. He did not care about Lou or Marie or their feelings. He was selfish. 

He had only ever felt trapped by them, hadn’t he? 

Lou looked at his brother and felt like he was seeing him for the first time. The feeling burned through him like the coldest winter wind, until his insides felt scraped clean and numbed. 

His expression was as smooth as marble and he stood in one fluid, graceful movement—as if he was worried that an extraneous twitch of a finger would shatter him. His voice, when he spoke, was cool and even.