#theeclipsedwritesstuff

And funny, sweet, loving and beautiful.

Fanny bit her lip as she reminiscend about their relationship.

They lived down the streets as children. Giac was adopted, it was rumoured that Giac’s mother became an opera star. It didn’t make him feel any better though and growing up, he surrounded himself with projects to distract from the pain. Music, art and science. Even law.

In school, he was the star, and was admired by Fanny—but not for his popularity. But rather for his able to fabricate. She knew the other side of him, and she was fascinated at how he was able to conceal his true self.

She was a bit more shy, she had focused her attetion on literature and only saw Giac when they walked home together.

Four years they spent in school and each day they walked back. Occasionally hand in hand and talking about their days, but they always remained close friends.

Years went by and nothing ever escalated between them. Fanny was always intimidated by the numerous women (and sometimes men) they came into Giac’s life. Even though they were usually one night stands, aside from Bellino— they were never really serious.

Until Giac met her.

Henriette. With dark hair, full eyes and olive skin.

From the first time Fanny saw her, she knew something was different. Giac had a certain look in his eye that Fanny had never seen. And it slightly saddened her, even to this day. She could swear she had seen him look at her like that. But perhaps it was merely her besotted imagination.

Snapping out her thoughts, she saw Giac standing in front of her with a quizzical look on his face.

“You okay, Fanny?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

“You seemed lost in thought for a moment. What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

Oh, how his flatteries hurt now more than ever.

“It’s just….have you ever….how come we….why…”

“Fanny?”

“Why her, Giac?” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

He looked startled. “Fanny?—”

“I mean…I’m so sorry. I am so happy that you’ve found love but I guess I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what? Fanny, please. You’re scaring me.” He grasped her shoulders.

“Is there a reason that….we….that we never….”

“Oh…Fanny.” Giac’s eyes grew morose. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“I never stood a chance…Did I?”

“Mio dio! Fanny! Please. I didn’t even know…Ugh, you tell me this now?!” He released her shoulders and stood at the other end of the room. Placing his palms against his desk and groaning.

Fanny started crying then. He had never raised his voice at her, but she was more upset because she felt she deserved it.

“Giac, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just….”

“Do you really want to know why, Fanny?”

“I—”

“It’s because I thought you weren’t interested.”

“What?!”

“You never showed an interest, Fanny! I always tried to woo you with words and make you laugh and smile but you never..once looked my way….and then things got complicated.”

“You mean you got popular and gained the attention of every girl in the school.”

“That’s not fair! I couldn’t help it if girls took an interest in me. And besides, what would you care? Whenever I was with someone you were a lot more distant.”

“And why do you suppose that is, Giac?” Fanny asked incredously.

“CHRIST!” Giac bellowed making Fanny jump. All fight left both of them, leaving nothing but somber feeling.

“Giac…I want you to be happy. Above all else, that’s all I want.”

“Then why tell me this now, Fanny? Why now?” He asked miserably.

Because I’m a fool. She thought. Because I love you, and I am a fool. “Because…this may be my last chance, isn’t it?”

“Fanny…Please. You’re my best woman in my wedding. I…can’t think of this now.” Giac shook his head, and Fanny was shocked to see tears on his cheeks. “What I’m about to say my change everything. But I feel it needs to.” He took a deep breath and gently reached for her hands. “Fanny Price. I love you. Ever since we were kids. You’ve always known the real me. Even more than Henriette in some ways. No one could ever have what we do. Part of me always has loved you, truly, and always will.”

Fanny’s lip wobbled as more tears trailed down her cheeks. “P-part of you?”

“Fanny…I need to think,” he reached a trembling hand up to her cheek. “But right now, Henreitte and her entire family are waiting for me for this damn dinner. So…I need to go.”

“Giac—“

“I’ll tell them you’re unwell and you couldn’t make it.”

“Like the family would even concern themselves about me.” She grumbled.

“Fanny…”

“Do what you need to, Giac…You’ll….you’ll call me?” She asked as he reached the door. His shoulders still shaking.

“Yeah.” He replied after a few moments. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

As Fanny watched him leave the room, all her built up anguish came pouring out. Her hands shook and her knees buckled and she collapsed into a ball on the floor. Sobbing loudly into her hands.

It had been a harrowing day.

News spread quickly, such a gruesome death as the one that occurred was bound to be known quite abruptly.

Betty pulled the sleeves of her cardigan down further and brought the two cups to his office. She tapped the door lightly with her foot.

“Come in.” He said.

Betty entered his office, the faint smell of tobacco and scotch roamed the air, she cringed a bit but swallowed it down as she set his cup on his desk.

He stood with his back to her, staring out the window. Tall, and handsome. His lean figure was hidden by his thick wool jumper that Betty wished to curl against. She shoved that thought away, she barely knew him for heaven’s sake!

“I didn’t know how you take your tea, so I left it black. If you want me to fix it I—”

“Black is fine.”

Betty bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She looked around the room fidgeting, wishing she had the right words.

He turned to her, eyes rimmed red and brown curly hair disheveled. He blinked a his cup, and then hers next to it.

“Will you be joining me then?

Betty furrowed her brow, “I can leave if you want. I shouldn’t have just assumed.”

“No,” he shook his head and sat heavily in his chair. “Please join me.” He sighed.

Betty sad, and reached for her cup. They sat in silence, it lingering in the air. Making the apartment feel even colder than it already was.

Betty set her cup down “Sir I—”

“Call me Jean-François, please.”

She looked him in the eye, meeting his solemn gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

Betty was his neighbor, she moved into the apartment complex after she got a job a seamstress for a nearby store. She had met Mercier while she was moving in.

He greeted her with a kiss on her hand, and ever since that day Betty could still feel his lips on her skin.

She was infatuated.

Yet from afar.

Due to his tedious enigmatic work, she rarely saw him. She knew little of his work. She knew it was at the Embassy, and it required frequent traveling, very late night returns, and was rather dangerous.

However each time they miraculously did see one another, he always greeted her the same:

“Good evening mon étoile” he’d say with a weary smile, and then he’d disappear to his flat. It always left Betty floating, she had no idea what an étoile was but it made her feel special. A feeling she was unfamiliar with.

Which each familiar greeting Betty soon gathered information about the enigmatic Jean-François Mercier. Another tenant in the complex, Mr. Fawcett told Betty all that he knew about Mercier. Widowed, French, and possibly dangerous.

Betty refused to believe that last one.

She later learned that even though he was rarely at the apartment, he had a maid. Betty never forgot the day she heard noises from his apartment when she knew he was away. She brought a frying pan and pressed her palm to the unlocked door. Neck drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, she was so on guard she very nearly bashed poor Wlada’s head in.

Wlada. His maid.

A short plump middle aged woman, with a warm smile despite her missing front tooth. Betty shrieked so loud when Wlada came out, she dropped the pan on her foot. Wlada patched her up.

While she did so, Wlada explained that she had been his maid going on 15 years.

“He took me in after my husband beat and left me.” Wlada shuddered, her thick Polish accent almost incomprehensible. But Betty saw tears glisten the poor woman’s eyes and Betty rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

Betty felt guilty for breaking and entering and causing such a distress for Wlada, she hemmed her maid’s uniform for no cost.

Betty and Wlada were becoming friends.

Were being the operative word.

She wasn’t in the apartment complex when it happened, nor was Jean-François. But after an exceptionally tedious day at work which consisted of angry, unsatisfied women and multiple needle punctures in Betty’s fingers—she wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. But when she returned, she saw everyone standing outside, police cars in the street and no sign of Wlada

Betty stood off to the side, a little further down from the apartments. She didn’t want to be near it, she didn’t want to see, she stood in the cold London air trembling. She heard running footsteps and looked up to see Jean-Franćois racing towards her, and that’s when she started to cry.

He halted to a stop in front of her. Uniform askew, hair shaken, panting harshly. “What’s happened? Betty, Ms. Stevenson what—” He was cut off by her flinging herself into his arms. Sobbing harshly. He stood, unknowing what to do except hold her close.

“Wlada was killed.” He heard her whisper.

He tightened his grip, both to comfort her and in anger, disgust, fear and shame. 

Sitting in his office, the policemen, reporters, other tenants all finally left—leaving Betty and Mercier alone with their sadness.

Both sipped their tea quietly, unsure of what to say until Mercier piped in.

“Word of advice, don’t drink black tea after scotch. Rubbish taste.”

Betty looked up at him, slightly smiling. She set her cup down with trembling hands.

“I um…want to apologize for before.”

He looked at her and furrowed his brows.

“For erm, y’know…Crying on you and all.” Betty looked down at her skirt, afraid to meet his eye.

She heard him get up and make his way over.

Oh God, she thought, this is where he tells me to leave or he leaves himself. You foolish girl you—

His hand went under her chin and tilted upwards. His gaze was blank but his voice was soft. “Nonsense.”

“B-but I—”

He shushed her gently and knelt in front of her, eye level with her.

“Mon étoile, I think you needed a hug.” He chuckled once, “God knows I did.”

Betty didn’t say anything, just nodded once.

“I’m riddled with guilt.” He sighed looking down.

“Wha? Why? It’s not your—”

“It was because of my job, Betty. They were after me but they got her instead.” He shook his head, his curls to her face. Betty bravely put her hand atop his head and ran a circuit. She heard him him but he still bowed his head. “She was killed by Germans who I was spying o—” His head snapped up. She pulled her hand back gasping.

“Merde.” He whispered and stood up so quickly, Betty felt dizzy.

“You must forget you heard that.” He was by the window with his back to her again. Betty could see his shoulders shaking. “The drink must have loosened my tongue, I…Oh, please. For your safety, forget that I—”

He was cut off by the feeling of Betty’s arms around him yet again. Betty hid her face into his back, rubbing her cheek against the soft wool. Her hands rested gently on his chest and she felt his hands cover hers.

“S’alright. Consider it gone.”

Mercier sighed and relaxed against her. Betty tried her best to rock them side to side. He turned around her arms and when she tried to pull her hands back he stepped closer and wrapped her in a tight hug. He buried his face into her hair.

“Thank you mon étoile.”

She giggled, “What does that mean?”

He pulled back and tucked her hair behind her cheek. “My star. I only ever see you at night, and when you smile,” he started and grinned as she blushed and looked down, “Your eyes get this sparkle in them. Like the ones in the sky.”

She looked up at him, “Jean-François, I don’t think this is….the right time to…”

He nodded once and slightly loosened his grip. “I agree. I won’t take advantage of you during a time like this.”

“I was gonna say that about you.”

He smiled at her and she blushed.

He stepped away from her, presumably to choke down his cold black tea when Betty said,

“I could…fill in for her while you find a new maid.”

He turned to her, “What?”

“It sounds awful of me to say, and please don’t think bad of me. Cos, while I know I’ll never be her I can….I can just clean for ya while you…” She trailed off and gestured aimlessly with her hands.

“I…that’s very kind.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

He grinned gently, “But how about I see you not as a temporary maid.”

Her head started to spin, “I thought we said to—”

“As a friend.” He declared, “I know you and Wlada were becoming close.”

“I….” She started to tremble.

“I noticed the extra tea cup she would be washing,” he said wistfully. He looked at her, “I think you and I both need friends. Why not together?”

She smiled, and blinked back tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that….Wlada would too.”

He nodded again and picked up his teacup, “To Wlada.” He saluted.

Betty picked up hers, mimicking his gesture, “To Wlada.” She whispered.

Her favorite time of the day was tea time with Giacomo. She had met him in London after he escaped from prison, one of her favorite stories from him. Before they used to exchange stories over tea across from one another at a table, now they could do so in the comfort of their shared home, in front of a warm fire and wrapped in one another’s arms. He, of course loved hearing her recounts of her life at Mansfield Park, no matter how grim. It meant he could kiss her tears away.

“Tell me the story of how you met Rocco, Giac.”

“What was that dog’s name that you loved so dearly?”

“What about the time you healed a priest you sent into cardiac arrest?”

“What about that man Crawford, you mentioned how unsettled he made you?”

“They chased you all through Venice?!”

“Blimey. Edmund really was a dunce wasn’t he?”

“And Henriette was no angel, was she?”

He loved her enthusiasm. The way her eyes always gleamed when he told her of the many places he had been. He even loved when she winced at the gruesome parts of his stories, it meant he could hold her even tighter.

Though his tales always seemed to be light and adventurous, sometimes they went too far. Too dark.

Presently, Giac was awakened by frantic movements from Fanny. He peered his eyes opened and adjusted to the dark where he saw her form shaking and squirming. Her breath came out in gasping shudders and not the ones he was used to hearing in their shared moments of ecstasy. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder but it only made her flinch and cry with more volume. His chest clenched. He propped himself up and leaned over her.

“Fanny? Fanny! Fanny, love wake up. It’s just a bad dream. Fanny, Fanny!”

“Giacomo! Oh no, someone help him! Someone call a doctor! Help me stop the blood! Someone please, help me stop the blood!” Tears poured from her cheeks and she helplessly flailed her body around much to Giac’s horror. “Get off of me, get off of me please! Get off!” She cried. He had never seen her this upset and he was at a complete loss of what to do.

He shook her harder and whispered her name into her ear. “Fanny, come back to me. Come here. Wake up.”

It finally worked as she shot up from the pillows with a strangled shout and quickly turned her head, asserting where she was.

“Fanny? Fanny, look at me. It’s Giacomo. And you’re in our home, and you’re safe.”

Her red-rimmed whisky eyes met his glazed and concerned blues as she choked on a sob and put her hand to her mouth.

“Come here,” he whispered and pulled her to him. “What was that about eh?” He cradled her head to his chest, rubbing his head down her golden curls and across her cheek, clearing away the tear stains.

“I…You…He, and the—“ She hiccupped through more tears and he took her face in his hands.

“Slowly now. Please. Breathe deeply and tell me, Fanny. What’s the matter darling?”

She turned her head down, still in his palms and more tears came as she whispered, “He shot you, Giacomo.”

Giac’s heart plummeted when he instantly what she dreamt about.

When he once again fought for Henriette’s affections, her husband Grimani challenged him to a dual. Even after refusing to fire, Grimani still shot him in his hand. Tricked into crime and a fugitive yet again, Giacomo fled Italy for England where he met Fanny. By then, he was all healed, after a brutal recovery, and Fanny’s presence seemed to make the ache go away.

He was apprehensive to tell her of that, because he feared it would upset her. He hated to be proved right.

“Fanny, I…I’m so sorry.” He pulled her against his chest and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I should have never told you that story.”

She shook her head against him and delicately wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Giacomo.”

“Don’t be. Don’t you dare.” He chuckled through the lump in his throat.

“I asked for the story,” She peered up at him, “I wanted to know. I’m glad you told me…I want to know everything about you.” She pressed her cheek to his chest, specifically her ear to his heart and listened to the steady beat. “I’m sorry I’m…acting so distastefully emotive.”

“Fanny, I don’t blame you for being upset.”

“Y-you don’t?”

“No. Not at all! Honestly if our roles were switched, I’d be upset too.”

She merely sniffed and his heart broke more. He hated seeing her in pain, especially caused by him and furthermore pain that could have been avoided.

“Fanny. My love, talk me through it. What did you dream of?” He maneuvered their bodies so they were resting against the headboard, her head against his shoulder and his arm around her waist.

“I was there…With you in that field you described. Rocco was there and….I saw you two. From a distance and he…I saw you go down and…it seemed to take forever to run to you. And..and when I did, you wouldn’t….There…There was so much blood…And I couldn’t stop it.”

Giac closed his eyes in shame. “Oh Fanny. Fanny I’m—“

“Please, don’t….Please. I don’t want this to change anything.”

“What do you mean?” He furrowed his brow. 

“I want you to keep telling me these things, Giacomo. You’re my….I still want to know everything. All your stories, I love them. I really do.”

“Oh, Fanny.”

“Please don’t think me weak for crying.”

“I would never! Come on now, you don’t think I’ve had nightmares about the stories you’ve told?”

Her eyes went wide and her face paled of color.

“What do you dream of?”

He paused for a moment looking down. She ran her hand reassuringly through his hair and waited for him to tell her what was wrong. “Sometimes I dream that he got you. That you’re Crawford’s wife. Sometimes I see you in tears, which enrages me of course…But sometimes I see you happy. You’re laughing and smiling, but at him…In those dreams it actually hurts to see you happy.” He laughed mirthlessly. “God, that sounds awful of me doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t.” She choked out. And she hugged and squeezed him tightly, “I would never be happy with him. Never! I’m sorry, so sorry. I want you Giacomo. I only love you!”

He held her against him and nuzzled his face into her hair, murmuring soothing sounds to help calm her.

“Blimey, we’re a right mess.”

She pulled back and laughed breathlessly. “What do we do, Giac?”

He pondered her for a moment, mindlessly stroking her cheek before he said, “We make promises.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Promises?”

“I promise to continue telling you my stories, as long as you promise me to tell me when you’re upset. That way I can try and prevent your bad dreams.”

She beamed at him and how sweet he truly was, “Yes. I promise. Same to you, please.”

He bent over and kissed her gently. He felt her take his left hand into both of hers and she pressed her lips to his scar. Again, and again, and again.

“Promise me you won’t get shot again.”

He laughed and clasped her head in his palms, “I promise.” He waited for a moment, “What did Grimani do, after he—?” He hated making her relive it but he felt the need to know.

“He tried to pull me away from you.” She shuddered.

Giac frowned, remembering her yell ‘Get off of me’. He shook his head with a grin and kissed her cheek and neck. “Don’t worry. I’d sooner get shot again before I’d let him lay a hand on you.” He kissed below her ear, “Or any man for that matter.”

She smiled gently, “You mustn’t say such things.”

“Mustn’t I?” He lightly tickled her sides and felt his heart swell upon hearing her laughter. He stroked her hair, “Do you feel better now?”

She smiled, “A little.”

“Want to go back to sleep?”

“No, but I would still like to stay in bed.” She giggled and kissed him passionately and he smiled into her lips and rolled on top of her. All unbidden images of blood soaked clothes and happy smiles at other men were soon forgotten.