Decisions [Will]

That was until she started to actually do the research on her own.

Which is where we find her, right here, right now. When he comes home tonight, it’s to the welcome scent of dinner on the stove, something she still delights in doing for him, because he takes such delight in finding each every day recipe waiting for him. Tonight it’s a hearty beef stew made from the leftovers of the past couple days, thick and filled with fork tender beef, potatoes, carrots and onions, with biscuits leftover from breakfast on the side. The scent is thick in the air, and makes her belly rumble – though she ignores it.

As for her part, she’s seated in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded books, stacked in a variety of sizes and haphazzard piles. On closer look, they’re law books, and encyclopedias and research texts, and she seems lost in the middle of them. She has her journal on her bare knee, her backpack tossed haphazzardly on the couch, contents spilled over onto the cushion and the floor, and the end of her pen is between her teeth as she gnaws on it in frustration.

She’s in a tank-top (hers), and pair of his boxers, tacked at the side to keep them on her slender (almost non-existent) hips – and, of course, a pair of his socks. Cross-legged and doing her best to decipher what she’s reading – frustration almost bleeds off of her as she pulls the dictionary closer and looks up yet ANOTHER word.

well, that wasn’t what he was thinking about right then. He came home to the smell of beef stew; Maija had singlehandedly cut down his food expenses as that, now, he wasn’t looking like a bachelor, eating like a bachelor, and living like a bachelor. There he was, fast approaching thirty and living the life that he hadn’t led while he was married.

Maija was eating a pen. Maija was researching, and she went and looked up a work or something for the who-knew-how-many-eth time that day.

“If you’re needing civil law, you’ll have to give me time,” he said. He knew those books, he knew what was strewn across the living room because he didn’t forget these kinds of things.

“I ain’t exactly sure what I need. How in th’ell do ya know all these fuckin WORDS without havin eatin a damn dictionary?! I thought… well, i thought it’d be easy t’fuckin get an answer before I talked to ya about it, but now… now I jus’ feel stupid.”

She sighs, and drags her fingers through her hair, pushing it back off her face and holding it there for a long moment. A slow inhale, held deep in her lungs before she exhales again. “an’ ya know how I hate t’ask for help…” pause. A quirk of her brow. A slight grin, again. “…but… help?”

Curiosity started to wash over him. She seemed frustrated. Will started to loosen his tye, making his way to the living room and looking over the books. He wanted to be sure he knew what volumes she had, what order she had been looking in.

How did he kmnow all those fuckin’ words?
Worse, he used all of them, too.

“Don’t feel stupid,” he insisted. “What do you need help with? Tell me what you need and I’ll tell you where to look.”

She catches herself, and the little grin turns almost sheepish as she surveys the sea of information before her again. She catalogs things in her mind, and then decides to just say it – just come out and ask. “I’ll be 18 soon, an’ I was thinkin’ that even if he still lookin for me, it’d be harder if’n I ain’t have to use my name no more. Right? So’s if I kin change my name, an’ he can’t find me so easy… then..”

A pause, and she looks up at him again. “then maybe I kin stay, an’ won’t have t’run no more.” unspoken – because she has a reason to stay, for a change.

As though it was this easy. He unbuttoned his top button, looked down at the books again and seemed to be thinking. He knew these things. he knew what to do, he knew how to change names,make identities… Hell, once upon a time. William D’Aubigne had the connections necessary to forge passports, make a new person, etc. He did it for a lot of reasons.

But that’s when his name meant something. Neither here nor there.

“You have those?”

She listens to the list, and tugs on her lower lip gently between her fingers. She shakes her head, slightly. “All’s I got is my id.” She leans over the books, stretching out a long arm to snag the edge of her backpack, and pull it off the couch and to her. She digs out her wallet, and simply offers it up to him. She’d offered before and he’d decided not to look. Now, now it’s different.

“S’washington state id. Ain’t even a driver’s license. S’all I had when I left.”

This was going to be harder than he thought.

“We’re going to need more identification than this. You can apply for missing documents because you’ll be an adult, but… it’s going to get complicated for awhile. Not completely undoable though. I think that you have your work cut out for you though.”

He sighs, and says that it’ll be difficult, but doable. He holds her biggest secret in his hands, and he’s not telling her it’s impossible, he’s not telling her that it’s too hard, that he doesn’t want to help, that he won’t help. He’s not saying anything that she might expect when he holds the single key to her past in his hands.

She pushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear as she watches him. She takes a breath, and nods. “How complicated?” a beat, and then softer as she looks again at the books and closes the ones closest to her. “…I jus’ ain’t wanna haveta leave – I..”

She is finding a home here, and she doesn’t want to lose that… she just don’t.

William paused for a moment. He then smiled a little, as if this would be something reassuring for her. As though him talking and saying that it wasn’t impossible was going to help. Sarah Brown was a normal name, a forgettable name; it was one that was hard to track as it was.

“Hey, look, you’re not going to have to leave. Not now, not if you don’t want to, okay?”

“I jus.. I ain’t that girl no more. I ain’t want anythin’ to do with that name, with all the shit that comes with it. An’ if it keeps him gone, keeps him…” she trails off, though he is perceptive enough to figure the end – if it keeps him from hurting Will, from hurting what they’re trying to build whatever it turns out to be… if it keeps them off the radar, and safe…

“I ain’t her no more. I ain’t broken an’ fucked up an’ lost.” She looks up at him, and studies his eyes for a long moment – and then she smiles – a slight, bemused flicker that slides across her lips and actually remains for longer then .0231 seconds. “I ain’t wanna haveta go till ya get tired of my cookin’ or m’ass.”

Leave it to the brother of a galliard to want to know these things. Would hold onto the meaning of something more than the practical purpose of it, because in the end what were they? They were creatures of story and song. And, for his part, he lived them. He lived them and breathed them and maybe that was why he was so enamored of her. She was story and she wa song and they were different than the tales of glory that he had been raised to hear. Different than the ones that he memorized and could recite.

He knew his tribe’s history better than some cliaths. He wanted to know hers.

“Well, I don’t foresee your ass or your cooking becoming any less pleasing any time soon.”

He is a brother of a Galliard, he is the son of kings, with royalty singing through his veins, and he still wants her, wants to know her. Her story is unlike some, and similar to others, but in the end, it is exactly what makes her who she is. Maija. Not Sarah. She stands, and stretches slowly, before stepping over the book and lifts her hand to rest it at his hip.

“Good.” is what she says, as she looks up at him, before tucking her head to rest her cheek against his chest, breathing deeply of his scent, of the fabric softener that clings to his clothing even now, after a full day of work. “So, it ain’t gonna be easy, but is possible. Kin yeh help me get started? And..” there’s a sound, almost a snort, almost a chuckle, brief as always. “..pick out a las’ name? I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue there. Been jus’ Maija for a long while.”

he was going through names, rambling through them. He looked at her and sat himself down nearby. His posture was comfortable. And here he was, thinking about names, about picking who she was. She had the opportunity to build a legacy here, that was enough for him.

One of the names makes her chuckle, again. “Sven – th’ guy what named me Maija, his name was Sven. Was only about a month or two after I done left Seattle…”

Strauss, duVall, the possibilities are practically endless. She tugs at the edge of the socks, pulling them up again, before she pushes them down a little right after. Then she looks up at him again. “Yer brother – what was his name again? Deed name, t’whole works…” Curious, and maybe a complete deviation from the topic.

Or maybe not.

He looked at her again, and for a moment he was nervous. He was nervous and unsure, and that uncertainty came across ever so briefly. He was composed. Of course, he was always composed; he was born into this. His was the blood of kings, diplomats [traitors]

“.. why do you ask?”

“Was jus’ thinkin aloud.” Not exactly an answer, at least not at first. She shakes her head then, coming back from wherever her thoughts had taken her, to meet his gaze once more, her own dark and deep, bottomless windows to a soul tainted and torn by a past she barely escaped. His, vibrant and intelligent, careful, yet carefree. They really could not be more different. His the blood of traitors, hers the blood of whores.

“Jus’ thinkin, that I ain’t got much I could ever give ya – not anythin’ that’s more than… well. ya know. An’ sure I am pretty good at, ya know, but..” a little grin, and she pushes her hair back. “I dunno. Was jus’ thinkin if I was gonna pick a name, that maybe I’d like t’honor someone ya love more’n anythin’. If it were my choice, n’all. Cuz if it ain’t for you, I ain’t even been thinkin’ of stayin in one place, I wouldn’t even be thinkin o’takin steps an’ figurin it out so’s I kin finally settle in one palce. I dunno, s’jus’ a passin thought. I ain’t wantin’ to soil nuthin that’s yers, though, ceptin’ maybe yer socks,” a lil grin. “so it ain’t jus’ up to me.”

A pause, a shrug. “was jus’ a thought, s’all. I’m perfectly happy jus’soilin ya socks.”

William really was trying to say something. It just wasn’t working though..

After a moment, of the pregnant silence, he responded. “Well, shit, Maija…”

He was looking for something to say still and all he could say was something vulgar and sit in quiet awe. The Silver Fang, for his part, just sat in quiet awe, hands in his lap for a moment before he started to take his tye off entirely.

“… wow.”

She chuckles, softly as she stands and starts to collect the books she’s scattered across the floor this afternoon, and tuck them back where they belong. She can’t help but tease him as she lifts a foot to nudge his knee on the way past. “Coulda asked ya t’marry me. Thought ya might run screamin if’n I did that though.” a pause, and deadpan serious. “Figured I’d wait for that until th’pee stick came back positive.”

But her eyes give her away, those dark depths almost dancing with the tease, as the corner of her lips tugs into a little grin. A month ago she’d have hidden her nerves with a snarl, a growl, maybe just a pulling of her hoodie low and ignoring everything around her instead. But here, like this, she’s different. She’s… happy.

And truth be told? It scares the livin’ shit outa her.

He looked at her for a moment, and then, she said the … she was… she was aluding to-hhh man. He almost panicked, the color almost drained from his face, and he almost felt the world go black. but there were a lot of almosts in that statement, and William D’Aubigne stayed conscious long enough that he caught that she was, gasp, joking about all of this.

“God, how would you pitch that? Will, marry me, you knocked me up? I would appreciate it very much if you didn’t end up pregnant any time soon. You know, within the next two weeks.”

Poor Will. Fortunately, she has no intention of getting pregnant anytime soon, and she can prove it, too. With a little smile, she steps forward, straddling his knees, before settling to sit in his lap, her knees pressing into the couch on either side of him. She straightens his collar, with a little smile. “Yeh ain’t got nothin to worry about. See this?” She lifts her arm, and runs her fingers down the inside of her bicep to showcase the little bumps there. “Got three more years left on these puppies- ain’t gonna have no kids till I’m good n’ready.”

As familiar as he is with her skin, her body, every single inch of her, it’s likely he’d noticed them before, but he hadn’t asked, so she hadn’t told. Sure, one would think they’d discussed such things before – but they hadn’t. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, as both expect the other is smart enough to have taken precautions. Thankfully, she has.