Mag Paget, Shotgun Knight (clippedwing) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-23 16:12:00 |
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The previous weeks had been anything but a ray of sunshine. The issue with Aspel's avoidance seemed to have been resolved, and she had done all that was within her grasp to help Lav. If a higher power had decided to conspire against her friends' happiness, then she would just have to fight back. Do whatever she could, say anything she could say that might help. One thing in particular had gone unsaid far too long, but Mag did not want to risk words being insufficient, and so. Her footsteps sounded loud in the hallways. The sun dictated the fighters' training hours, and so when she made her way through Bahamut Hall at midnight, the guildhall was deserted. But if she knew Bram -- and she liked to think that she did, after so many years -- he would be working well into the night. She looked at the door and took a deep breath. Her apology was long overdue, but she took another few seconds to go over the things she needed to say one last time inside her head. Then, there was nothing for it but to dive in and hope her temper had not made her lose one of the people dearest to her. Balancing her tray on one hand, she knocked and opened the door a fraction to peer inside. "Hi." She smiled, trying to mask her anxiety. "Thought you'd be feeling like a good cup of coffee right around this time." The man looked up from his desk, where he’d been half-slumped and on the verge of falling asleep, the text swimming blearily in front of his eyes and reports blurring together. Surprise registered on Bram’s face, fleetingly, before he managed to sweep it aside. The sight of Magnolia installed in his doorway, bearing baked goods and hot drinks, was such a familiar one that everything seemed fine—as if life had crept back to normal without his realising it, their friendship resuming its beating pulse without either of them having to lift a finger. But it hadn’t. They hadn’t exchanged a word since she’d stormed her way out of his office at Shieldwyrm, leaving Bram to piece together the remains of two cases. “I could,” he said warily. How did you know I’d be here? lingered on his lips, but it was a pointless question. Of course she’d known: possibly already suspected that the inspector’s bed often lay empty and unused at home, Vera sleeping alone, Bram having nothing but a sofa to look forward to. “What are you still doing up and about?” She saw it: the instant that, in the grip of drowsiness, he had welcomed her arrival as he usually did, and the walls going back up a half-second later. Considering the way their last encounter (calling it a conversation seemed to be stretching it) had gone, Mag could hardly blame him. "I was making coffee," she said, wry. "And trying to figure out how I'm going to apologise for being such an impulsive idiot." A pause, a moment for that to sink in. He didn’t smile, but for a woman who could read him so well, there was the slightest twitch that might’ve been the beginning of one. “It happens,” Bram said, setting his paperwork aside and leaning back in his seat, hands lacing over his stomach. He nodded towards the spare chair. “It definitely happened.” Something had thawed with Bram’s not-quite-acceptance of her not-quite-apology, and Mag sat down with a smile. “I ran into a few of your agents in the hallways the week after that and they were still giving me nervous looks.” The tray now placed on the desk, nestled between a stack of papers and a pencil holder (much like the one she had knocked to the ground during their shouting match), she picked up one of the mugs and placed it in front of Bram. “Black, no cream and no sugar.” As an afterthought, she reached out to nudge the pencil holder aside, making a show of straightening the pens inside and trying not to laugh. “You’re a terror on the office equipment,” he said dryly (his own attempt at humour), accepting the cup of coffee and wrapping both hands around it, letting the warmth seep into him. Bram savoured the sensation for a moment, before finally speaking again: “You were out of line. But thank you for this. I apologise as well, for losing my temper.” Though his slightly-raised voice and profanity measured but little compared to Mag’s reaction, it had still been a lapse. "I was out of line," she agreed, taking the second mug for herself. "I said things I didn't mean. I'm sorry. I'll do a better job of keeping my temper in check from now on, I hope." She sipped her coffee, thinking of a way to get past the sudden veil of formality that seemed to have fallen over the conversation. "And your office equipment will have nothing to fear from me." She put the mug down and held out a hand, a peace offering. Bram watched it warily for a moment, as if expecting her fingertips to bite—but then he reached out and gripped her palm in a firm handshake, sealing this reconciliation between them. And then, even more carefully, at the risk of shattering this newfound pact, he added, “You know. If he’s innocent, Mag, then I’m doing everything in my power to ensure that that’s found out and proven.” Her first impulse was to say he is innocent and she barely bit the words back, to avoid falling into the same argument that had landed them there in the first place. "I know," she said instead. "You'll do what's right. You won't settle for anything less." That acknowledgment was a victory, carrying them out of the rut that would have otherwise led to arguing each other into circles, a snake gnawing on its own tail. And so, in relief, they both steered the conversation away, back to safer territory and more well-treaded ground: Mag’s training, her impressions of the squires in their guild, Bram’s thoughts on the latest monster attacks, what she knew of Councilwoman Cassul’s current state, whether or not she’d like to come over for dinner sometime (the house was dark and empty and too often in need of voices to fill its walls). In time, they chipped away at the awkward silences between them, wearing away the sharp flinty edges until all that was left was the comforting ebb and flow of something close to family, warts and all. |