JASMINE CARRAN + ROBERT TACROY
MISS ROSALIE + MORDECAI ROBERTS PG | IN PROGRESS
Robert Tacroy was getting married in three days and was over the moon. Robert Tacroy was happy. He had friends, family, a respected position at work, and the woman of his dreams. He was, in the opinion of Mordecai Roberts, the most fortunate man in any world.
Mordecai was terrified. On the scale of poorly-conceived ideas ranging from wearing black shoes with a brown suit to walking through the gate to Series Eleven, going ahead with this wedding was definitely high in the ranking. Mordecai had spent years doing what he was told, doing what was easiest, and managing the right choice only rarely and at the last moment.
He'd been putting off dealing with the slowly returning memories, spending more time at work, nodding along with last minute preparations, and avoiding any actual lies. Having colleagues who respected him, an actual sister, and a vision of Rosalie - not Rosalie, Jasmine - in a wedding dress were more alluring than any temptations the Wraith had placed before him. Still, he knew that it couldn't last, that it wouldn't end well, that there were duties in two worlds to which to return. When Jasmine - Rosalie - posted on the network, speaking of Gabriel, he knew he could no longer feign ignorance.
At any rate, Robert was far too honest a man for that. Perhaps, it was some of his sincerity leaking through that prompted Mordecai's response, or perhaps it was Mordecai's own wistfulness. He'd known it couldn't last, but it had been a very pleasant dream. Robert was a brave man, as well, far more so than Mordecai, which might also be the reason that instead of responding to Rosalie's dig at his capacity for constancy with a characteristic retort, he'd accepted her challenge.
There was too much of the gentleman in both Robert and Mordecai to declare himself over the network, however, so he stood now in front of Rosalie's door, devoutly hoping not to have it slammed in his face the moment she answered his knock. He sent up a brief prayer to that effect. Mordecai wasn't usually the praying sort, but perhaps Robert had enough credit to give some efficacy to the petition.
Jasmine was not so far removed from Rosalie. Sure, there was a different wardrobe, but she appreciated the conservative feel to the style, despite the contemporary designs. When Rosalie had first arrived in Atlantis, she never thought she could be comfortable in trousers and shirts, but it wasn't the soft denim capris or v-neck 'Breckentale College' t-shirt that was causing her to pace the room.
The decor was understated but stylish, and the apartment was tidy save for the various wedding paraphernalia. There was an open binder on the coffee table outlining seating arrangements sitting next to a half-finished cup of tea. The dining table was covered in samples for the reception-- a floral centerpiece for the table, the napkin and balloon designs, pictures of the planned layout.
And then there was the hall closet. Rosalie paused in her step, pressing her hand to the door thoughtfully. On the other side, tucked neatly into a garment bag, was the dress... The dress. She remembered agonizing (or rather that Jasmine had agonized) over fittings and design touches. It was quarter sleeved, with a scooped, slightly off-shoulder neckline, high waist, and full skirt that stopped around mid calf. The satin material was smooth, no frills, as understated as the apartment around her, and she looked perfect in it if she did say so herself.
Would she even get to wear it? Mordecai was on his way over to... To what, she wondered. If he were Robert and she were Jasmine, Rosalie might think he was just on his way over for a cuddle on the sofa, and perhaps some last minute discussions about the seating or the music... But Mordecai was often an enigma, and Rosalie had given up on trying to predict his behavior a long time ago.
When the knock sounded at her front door, Rosalie jumped in surprise. Was she nervous? No, she shook her head as she moved over to answer the door. What did she have to be nervous about. Still, the held breath and the hesitating hand on the door knob seemed to contradict her internal scolding. Rosalie exhaled softly as she opened the door, trying to keep her expression impassive as she looked up at the man on the other side of it.
"Hello, Mordecai," she greeted him.
His own name spoken aloud sounded like the death toll of something, but there was a comfort in it, as well. He matched her bland expression with a familiar smile that nonetheless felt too heavy. “Rosalie. You look lovely.” T-shirt and trousers notwithstanding, she was always a sight for sore eyes. The courage that had brought him to the door failed momentarily. “I suppose I ought to say this isn't my fault. Whatever this is.” He cleared his throat. “May I come in?”
She couldn't help but chuckle at his confession. Stepping to the side, Rosalie held the door open and gestured for him to step in the apartment, her eyes crinkling with the barest hint of a smile as she shook her head lightly.
"Take off your shoes," she added reflexively. It may have been a weird comment for Rosalie, but the part of her that was still Jasmine had made the house rule when she first moved in, and was hoping to get the security deposit back when she... if she moved out in a few days.
The smile, even a hint of it, reassured Mordecai enough for his own to relax into something more genuine as he complied with the order, removing his shoes and placing them next to the door. “To be fair,” he said, entering the tidy apartment. “I don't know who could do this besides Gabriel or…” Christopher was too young, and Mordecai blanched at the other possibility that presented itself. “And he wouldn't,” he said instead. “For numerous reasons. If this is Atlantis, I imagine things will right themselves soon. It's gone on rather longer than I'd expect.” Rambling was still habitual, but one thing had to be gotten out of the way. He squared his shoulders. “I wouldn't hold you to anything.” It hurt to say, but that had to be clear.
And there it was. Any comment Rosalie might have had regarding how they ended up in their current situation was gone. To her ears, it sounded like he wanted he an out. Of course, she'd made assumptions about Mordecai's feelings before and been terribly wrong. This time, she wanted a proper answer from him. She even opened her mouth to request one, but then her nerves got the better of her. Did she really want to be rejected by Mordecai again? Instead, she closed the door and watched him for a moment, and the response that finally came was, "Would you like something to drink?" Rosalie tried to keep the emotions out of the tight lipped smile that followed her question, but there was still a flash of anger in her eyes.
“Rather.” Liquid courage might be useful, Mordecai thought looking at her hand on the door. Rosalie wore Jasmine's engagement ring. It wasn't the one Mordecai had bought for her. That was back in Twelve-A in a box in a drawer, never worn and never seen. At least, a drink would give him something to do with his hands besides sticking them in his pockets like an abashed schoolboy. He shifted from one stocking foot to another, feeling uncomfortably like said schoolboy, and said, half-jokingly, “Brandy?”
She wished. Brandy sounded like a treat to Rosalie's ears. However, that of her which was Jasmine was not one to keep much alcohol in her home. There was an odd bottle of wine from time to time, but rarely did she have hard liquor on hand. She was about to say as much when she remembered a night, not too long back, when she'd hosted some of her former Sorority Sisters, and someone had made daiquiris. Holding up a finger in response to his question, Rosalie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him to follow or not at his leisure. For herself, she went toward the cupboard above the refrigerator, standing on tiptoes to open the door. Sure enough, there was a half-empty bottle of spiced rum sitting next to a set of pans she never used.
She didn't bother to look back, but focused on trying to retrieve the bottle as she called out to offer, "I have rum?"
Mordecai paused for a moment and then followed. Robert would have followed. “Rum will do nicely,” he said, coming up behind her. “I can help with that,” he added, seeing her reach for the bottle.
Rosalie wasn't expecting his voice to be so close, but she was grateful for the offer, and she turned to make a sweeping gesture at the fridge, as though to say, 'by all means'. She stepped out of his way and moved over to retrieve a pair of tumblers from another cupboard. After setting the glasses on the counter in between them, she turned to lean back against it, remaining silent as she regarded him curiously.
Mordecai nodded acknowledgement, reached up, retrieved the bottle and closed the cupboard after it. He raised his eyebrows at the glasses and then poured a generous amount of liquor into each before setting the bottle on the counter. He lifted his glass, but did not drink, just stood swirling the contents, instead. After a moment, he met her eyes and lifted the glass in salute. “When you look at me like that, I always imagine I'm being weighed in the balance and found wanting,” he said. Then, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “And that didn't even take rum! Robert's an honest sort. I'd forgotten what it was like.” He took a sip from his glass then, closing his eyes. “Perhaps Atlantis is trying to teach us all something.”
She frowned at his assessment of her expression. Perhaps she had been overly harsh with him, and she was willing to concede that she didn't handle betrayal well. Keeping him at arm's bay with coldness was more in an effort to try to protect herself rather than legitimate feelings of hostility toward him. Although she intended to sip the rum, Rosalie found herself taking a rather large swallow once she retrieved her glass from the counter. Her eyes watered and she coughed her way through the burning sensation the hit her throat.
"What," she coughed, wiping her eyes as she continued, "is the lesson?"
Mordecai opened his eyes at her coughing. By the time he could ask, “All right,” she seemed to be recovering, however. “I wouldn't mind knowing that,” he said. “The last time something like this happened to me - it wasn't everyone - I learned what I was willing to die for.” That memory prompted a longer sip, and then the next words came in a rush. “I suppose it's worth knowing there is something, but this doesn't feel the same as that, thank heaven.”
Rosalie nodded at his words, and looked down at her glass of rum thoughtfully. If she were fully herself, she'd have likely made several assumptions by now. She prided herself on knowing how she felt in any given situation. But Jasmine was more comfortable with being uncertain, and with sharing her doubts with others-- which was probably why Jasmine and Robert were almost married, and Rosalie and Mordecai were... Well...
"I don't know what to think," she confessed. She glanced up at him, but was unwilling to meet his eyes.
Mordecai smiled weakly, but stopped himself from remarking at the rarity of such a thing. Unfortunately, that left him without words. He resorted to another swallow and then asked abruptly. "Do you know if you'll forgive me, eventually?" He gestured vaguely, causing the liquid in the glass to slosh slightly, although it didn't spill. "I don't expect it, but a man can hope, and I'll miss that most. Having your good opinion rather than just your reluctant amusement."
"You already have my forgiveness," Rosalie replied. She raised the glass to her lips, sipping the rum this time so as not to make a fool of herself again. She didn't add that it was her trust in him that was wanting. Perhaps it was unfair of her, but she was using their current predicament to gauge how and if her opinion of him was going to change. The memories of Robert helped, certainly, but it was not quite the same thing.
“But not your good opinion,” said Mordecai. It wasn't meant as a question. Perhaps forgiveness wasn’t what he'd meant anyway. “I'm trying. I told you that I didn't deserve your - friendship." Against his will, his tongue tangled on the last word. It was almost certainly bad form to bring up that night at the opera, but here in the place of a man who had done everything right, it was on his mind. He'd spent the evening chattering inanely, thanking her for being such a good friend, ignoring the ring burning a hole in his pocket, and searing his conscience against thoughts of his own betrayal. "I didn't. I don't."
Rosalie was self-assured, practical, capable, and unselfish. She was straightforward, earnest, and everything Mordecai was not. Even in hindsight, it had been better to let her go than to compound every offense with the worst lie of all: that he was free and worthy of asking for her hand. It would have been better still never to have betrayed her at all, but that had been inevitable. He hadn't been capable of being the man she’d thought he could be. "But I want to - to earn it."
Rosalie had opened her mouth, prepared to disagree, but one particular word in his reply halted her. It shouldn't have had this effect on her. She'd decided after that humiliating evening that she was never again going to entertain romantic notions about the man standing before her. But here they were in another life, planning a wedding, and he was prattling on about being her friend.
"My friendship," she repeated softly, as she glanced down at the ring on her finger. She fidgeted with it with her thumb, not really looking at it as considered her response. Was it all in her head? Could she really blame Mordecai for how she was feeling when he'd never actually vocalized any intentions beyond... friendship?
With a deep breath, Rosalie drained the remaining rum from her glass, and then looked at Mordecai with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You needn't worry," she said simply. "You already have it."
There was a reason that Mordecai usually avoided these sorts of conversations. More often than not they led in directions he'd rather not follow. “Yes,” he said without a great deal of enthusiasm. He finished off his glass in silence. It was the best he could hope for, all things considered. He hadn't been a reliable prospect before the Wraith, and he'd done too much damage to her trust since. But there was the rum. And in some world there was... “But if I don't deserve it, then I can't very well ask you for more and then what becomes of Anastasia?”
At first she wasn't paying much attention to his words. Part of her wished he would leave. Rosalie prided herself on keeping her emotions at bay, and yet right now she wanted nothing more than to have a good cry-- not that she would allow herself to do so in front of Mordecai. But then he was talking about another woman as though she were a piece of the puzzle that was their relationship.
If Rosalie wasn't confused before, she certainly was now. She shook her head as she turned around to face the counter, reaching for the bottle of rum to refill her glass. "I don't know what that means," she responded, her voice tinged with frustration as she poured herself another drink. Her hand was shaking slightly, causing her to spill some of the liquor on the counter, and there was a loud thonk as she set the bottle down. She wasn't sure that he'd give her a clear answer, but she still had to ask, "Who is Anastasia?"
Mordecai startled at the sound of the bottle on the table. “That might be a bad idea,” he said, claiming the bottle and promptly refilling his own glass, despite his words. “I'm a bad influence.” It was said in jest, but he really was. The idea that any future had seen fit to entrust him with a child was mind-boggling. “I don't know how she turned out so well. I attribute that to you.”
He mentally backtracked to her question. Had he actually answered it, yet? “She's ours. In the future. She was in Atlantis for Christmas.” Mordecai tried to remember if Rosalie had been introduced to any of the future children of Atlantis. “There's a doctor on the base. Or was. He's from one of the possibilities, the one where we lose the war. In another we win. You came, we won, and--” Mordecai gestured with his glass again. “Anastasia.” He looked at his glass, at the bottle, at the spill on the counter, anything but Rosalie. “Her picture is in Atlantis or I'd show you. She’s remarkable. She gave me more hope than I'd had in years.” He smiled bleakly. “I wouldn't hold you to anything. I just wish she'd told me how I managed to convince you.”
She had a vague recollection of people discussing the possible futures and the children who came from them, although Rosalie had not met any, nor experienced it firsthand. The idea of a daughter was somewhat surprising, given her complete lack of maternal instinct. Was Anastasia even real, or was he using the story of future children to toy with her emotions? She wanted to believe it, but everything with him was so... uncertain.
Her glass of rum sat forgotten on the countertop as Rosalie paced the room. She felt angry, like she was being manipulated. And perhaps there was more than a little bit of Jasmine left after all, because she found herself turning to face him. "You know what the problem is, Mordecai?" She crossed her arms over her chest as she continued. "I can never tell if you're being sincere. Your words are either rife with innuendo, or they seem vacant... Hollow." She shook her head. "I don't trust you because... you don't trust me."
With a sigh, Rosalie reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose before crossing her arms once more. "If you are trying to convince me of something, speak plain."
It was hard to know which accusation stung more. "Can you blame me?" Mordecai asked, setting his glass down too hard. He was no longer even slightly smiling. "When I'm honest with you, you throw it in my face. If I pay you a compliment, I must want something. Yes! I want you to smile at me for once." That last wasn't fair, but - When he was younger, Mordecai had had a recurring nightmare about looking in the mirror and seeing a faceless figure in his reflection. It had gone away, but the lurking sense of being lacking had not. And Rosalie - Rosalie had always seen through him for better or worse.
They were probably overdue for a fight. Even Robert and Jasmine had had their disagreements, and he was much more Mordecai than Robert just now. "I'm shallow, Rosalie! I want to enjoy your company without sniping at each other. I want to be able to tell you something without being reminded of everything I've done wrong. I don't want to spend forever waiting for a kind word you'd have no trouble giving anyone but me. I want you to tell me what I have to do to have a chance at winning your heart or if I've already lost it." He was out of breath when he wound down. "And I've said it every way I know how short of asking outright because I'm terrified of the answer. I don't know how to be plainer."
With that, he picked up his glass again and turned away, taking a slow, but steady draught.
To her mortification, Rosalie could feel the hint of tears in her eyes. It wasn't all because of his words, though the accusation that she never smiled at him hurt. And yet, she couldn't honestly dispute the claim. She knew that she'd put up emotional walls when it came to Mordecai, but she hadn't realized how obvious they were to others... To him. Emotions that she'd been stamping down, pretending not to have, were threatening to come out. Turning her head away from him, she tried to subtly wipe the corners of her eyes.
Crossing her arms, she took on a defensive stance and glanced back at him as she began speaking. "I have responsibilities. I cannot get carried away pining after you, especially when you compliment everyone. You smile at everyone."
Closing her eyes, Rosalie took a deep breath before continuing. "You had my heart," she said softly. It wasn't an easy confession, and not something she'd ever said out loud. She didn't exactly have a lot of confidantes, and Gabriel wasn't one to discuss his employee's love lives... or lack thereof. As she opened her eyes, she continued, "And you didn't want it. What was I supposed to think? That I was special when you turn from me to Sally, or Erica, or any number of women, and grace them with the same charms?
"And then you... You..." Rosalie drifted off, not quite willing to bring up Mordecai's time with the Wraith, but at the same time she knew it was a part of the issue. "I wanted to be angry with you. To focus on your flaws. I thought that if I did, your betrayal wouldn't hurt so much."
"But it did." She shook her head, and looked down at the floor. "It does."
There was a beat of silence and Rosalie thought she had said her piece, but she found herself confessing, "For a moment, I actually thought that maybe this... Jasmine and Robert and the wedding... This was going to be our do-over. We could start fresh, and just be two people who love one another." She made a sweeping motion with her arm as she spoke, gesturing back toward the collection of wedding paraphernalia that lay temporarily forgotten in the other room.
"But then you come over here, telling me you won't hold me to anything, and it feels like you're rejecting me... all over again." Her voice wavered with those last words, and Rosalie had to blink the tears back once more. A small, mocking smile crossed her features as she mentally scolded herself and tried to stave off the physical manifestations of emotions that she still wanted to pretend did not exist, despite her grand confession.