#mortedoc

                𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘,  Miriam picked up a scent that  hadn’t  been there when she had left a couple of hours ago.  She’d been stuck in the lab trying to further her research, but decided to take a break and go out to get some fresh air.  Careful to protect her belongings and space, she’d  locked up  before stepping out.  Eyes narrowed and exhaled when she put the pieces together.    ‘  . . . Marcus ,  ’   she thought, and searched the room for his familiar face. 

Astoria's hands settle on his shoulders, then move to his face to draw him down so she can press a kiss to his forehead. There is something marvelous to him—she has admired him from the moment she met him, the steadiness of his hands and the power of his compulsion to do something good in a world that has not been kind to him.

Prior to meeting Marcus she had no desire to make children, certain that she would fail in any attempts at motherly care and concern. Now, though, she finds herself thinking about it, catching Freyja's eye when his back is turned and exchanging a look with her sister-in-law that suggests that the maternal warmth he inspires is neither unexpected nor likely to abate any time soon.

"We need to work on your greetings, sweet thing." She knocks a gloved knuckle gently under his chin as she drops back on her heels. "Though I suppose the most effective approach would be to work on this family having fewer problems. It's good to see you, all the same."

Beside her, Baldwin drops a kiss to her temple and gives a gentle squeeze to her elbow before slipping around them to get inside. She can hear Matthew and Philippe arguing from here, which likely makes them the source of the problem Marcus has mentioned. Once they're alone, Astoria tucks her hand into the crook of Marcus' elbow and beams up at him.

The question earns a laugh, gentle rather than mocking; her husband is off to a rocky start with his new nephew, but Astoria likes him. He's earnest, and sweet, and entirely too gentle for a life like this. Freyja and Baldwin have vanished with their father to discuss the matter of Matthew's son.

"Turned him and abandoned him?" Astoria had asked Gallowglass in a low voice before he left, and she's keeping Marcus company now, something not entirely unlike a maternal instinct making her want to look after him when it is increasingly clear that, even if he is still learning what it means to have been left behind like this, he is aware of its weight.

"You would be welcome to," she says with a grin. "We take family very seriously." The de Clermonts take most things seriously. If he hasn't taken note of that yet, he will soon enough. He's young, fresh, as if their world hasn't yet crushed him. She wonders how long it'll be before he begins to feel terribly alone. "You're being looked after, aren't you? Freyja takes good care of you?" Not that she doubts it; she trusts Baldwin's sisters infinitely more than she trusts his step-brother.

There are so many lessons to learn. She learned them alone, but in relative quiet and certainly in isolation; she can't imagine how exhausting it would be to have the family moving around so close to him when he has yet to master the art of tuning out the world. She watches him for a moment, then stands fluidly, moves across the empty kitchen to collect a bottle of wine. When she pours them each a cup, she pours heavily.

                       @mortedoc​  said :  i’m  going  to  deal  with  this  myself .

        ❛❛  MARCUS . ❜❜   name  escape  her  lips  in  more  of  a  dehydrated  croak .  the  coddling  has  been  incessant . if  she  weren’t  in  such  dire  need  of  it ,  she’d  ask  them  all  to  give  her  a  minute .  just  a  minute .  but  moments ,  she  realizes ,  are  fleeting  &&  precious . so ,  she  allows  the wound  dressing  and  the  pillow  fluffing  and  suture  -  checking  with  minimal  complaint ,  but  she  cannot  without  conversation .  she  reaches  out  to  grasp  weakly  at  his  wrist .  the  contact  feels  strange ,  unfamiliar .  she  is  his  ‘mother’  only  in  the  terms  of  ancient  vampire  practices  that  she  does  not  quite  understand ,  she  does  not  expect  him  to  open  his  soul  to  her . 

                 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑  when he spoke, allowing the words to fill the spacious laboratory.  Miriam narrowed her eyes, and along with it, a crease  slowly  formed between her eyebrows.  It had been just the two of them there, and perhaps it was why he had decided to confide in her.  The consistent noise of soft hums and buzzes of machinery was broken by her voice.      “      NO ,                        I  did not  say  that .      ”      Miriam replied, her voice clear so as to not have it be misinterpreted.      “      I’m  merely  pointing out that a lot has been put on your plate ;   albeit  not  by choice ,  but for a reason nonetheless .      ”