uncertainrelation | IC Inbox

. . . it seems too good to be true.

[There, at last, is the problem. It's nothing to do with Robert, nor their circumstances. It's nothing tangible. It's just . . . thirty-eight years of defenses built up, all of them screaming at her not to trust this golden opportunity.]

...And what's too good to be true likely is.

[He finishes the thought effortlessly, as natural as breathing.]

I'll not ask you to be complacent with this. You know that. I've asked so much of you already...I won't ask for any more.

I know.

I want it. I do want it, I want . . . I can so well imagine what it might be like. It wouldn't be a, a concession to you. I want . . . all the things you do as well.

[She closes her eyes again. A long few seconds pass.]

. . . I want to talk about it. To start with.

Then we'll talk about it.

[And for a while, then, he just holds her, keeping one eye on their surroundings but the rest of his focus on gently comforting her. It's only at length that he ventures a thought, and when he does it's light, and evidently calculated to try to ease a smile out of her.]

You did get both once, you know. When the universe said, "which Lutece will it be: Robert or Rosalind".

You didn't settle for anything less than "both".

[And indeed, she does smile: thinly, yes, but genuinely all the same. And with that smile comes a slight easing of tension. She's still upset, yes, but not quite as panic-stricken as she'd been a few moments ago.]

. . . do you want to get married?

...Yes. I do.

[And it's hard, sort of, to admit that. It's nervewracking on the heels of comparisons to Charlie Astor, and how bitter a pill it still is to think of...well, everything that she'd endured, in that delusion.

But they're talking. The point is to talk, and it does them no good to keep quiet.]

Not because we need to be, or anything so stupid as that. But because I want to do it — stand up before the crowd, call you mine, put a ring on your finger...see you in a white dress. All of it. The...ceremony of it. I do want that.

[Her eyes flick downwards again, her breath leaving her unsteadily. They're only just getting used to telling other people about what they truly are, and that's nervewracking. Each time she tells someone, she has to steel herself for the worst. The thought of a giant party loudly boasting that fact is . . . uncomfortable. Never mind the fact she'd be expected to be emotional, not just in front of Robert, but everyone . . . god, what a prospect.

It's not that she's opposed to the idea. Marriage itself, the ring and the state of being both, that suits her just fine. It's all the fuss surrounding the event she has trouble squaring away, but that fuss is precisely what Robert wants.]

Tell me why.

[She reaches for one of his hands, gripping it tightly.]

Do you . . . is it because we've never gotten to be affectionate in public before?

No. It's not — it's nothing to do with proving a point, or having something we can't, or...

[He hesitates, like he's searching for words and not precisely sure he'll be able to come up with them in any sort of satisfactory way.]

It's just...well, what purpose is there of a birthday party, or a graduation ceremony? It's a lot of pomp and circumstance and spectacle, and none of it has a single thing to do with what you have learned or haven't you. It's being surrounded by people you care for, and sharing — being happy together, and —

[And gradually he falls silent, as the act of actually spelling out his whim seems to bring the weight of reality back into them. Because of course, that's a dream for a universe where he belongs, isn't it? One that takes for granted the presence of parents and friends, and being known.

It begs the sobering question: even if they were married tomorrow, who would he even invite?

He draws in a slow breath, contemplating the crumbling of his fancies, and shakes his head.]

...It's just a whim. I can't explain it any further than that.

[She sees it: the moment his enthusiasm fades and reality sets in. His expression fades, the light and enthusiasm flickering out of his gaze. Who would they invite? Her students? Her friends? But they all of them are still hers. Oh, they're all friendly enough to Robert, but-- well. Urameshi had only meant it as a compliment, but he'd put it quite well: we already have our Dr. Lutece.

It stings. It had stung twenty years ago, too, when he'd asked about their parents and friends and realized that neither group would ever know who he was.]

. . . we'll indulge it.

[She meets his eyes. It would be for him, yes, but not entirely. The ceremony, the fuss, the party . . . that would be for him, and she would deal with it, for his sake. But the state of marriage itself-- that, Rosalind would enjoy very much.]

We can do it here. Or we can wait, and . . .

[She hesitates for a long few moments.]

If we resume our other state of being. We could do it in your universe.

You know, it's...

[It's his turn to hesitate now, fumbling for his thoughts in a way that he usually doesn't, and it strikes him that it's going back and forth between them at this point, this inclination to find themselves at a loss and have to grasp around blindly for a way to proceed. It's so antithetical to science and so standard for emotions, he thinks idly, and not without a touch of wry humor. Perhaps they ought to just stick with being scientists; it's not as though they've ever had difficulties with that.

But he ducks his chin, kissing into her hair more for his own comfort than to impart it onto her, and casts around for his vocabulary once again.]

We've never been normal, have we? You haven't and I haven't. But I think...you've taken to being extraordinary better than I have, sometimes. You're content to be extraordinary, and I sometimes find myself still longing for the normal.

[...But that's just it, he thinks, and realizes abruptly that this is one thought he shouldn't keep to just his thoughts, and reopens his mouth instead.]

But — no. No, it's that I'm allowed to long for normal, and you're not. Because a "normal" woman is...less than...a normal man. And that's why —

[He hesitates again.]

That...is why, isn't it...?

. . . yes.

[Not entirely. But certainly she'd found more joy and freedom in being extraordinary than she ever had being ordinary. She tips her head back again, catching his eye.]

. . . normal for you was a vastly different experience than what normal was to me. And mine . . . I was not miserable, not for all of it. Not after you came into my life. But . . .

Normal here is a vastly different thing than it was in Columbia. I'm still learning about normalcy here. God, I'm still shocked every time one of my students gives me respect without thinking. And . . . I don't mind being ordinary here, not all the time. I miss our other state of being, but I don't loathe being human, not the way I would have in Columbia.

IC Inbox | rubycity_rp

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