[ Of course he remembers the moment they found Victor, sprawled out and cooling in a pool of blood in the middle of the ruins of Violet’s precious collection. That image, and the moment that followed where Mary broke down and absolutely refused to leave her brother’s side, will be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. Right alongside the image of his brothers, barrels turned toward him, stunned and betrayed as he gunned them down from the top of the clock tower.
Anger flares up first, the sharp desire for revenge clawing at his breastbone, but Violet isn’t here. He can’t make her pay for what she did now any more than he could in the moment. Wherever she is, she’s Olivia’s bargaining chip now.
But the more Mary cries, the louder her sobs become, he realizes that he can’t just sit here. He’d tried so hard to talk to her about it back home, but she put on a brave face and acted like nothing was wrong until she could break down on her own. Now, however, he’s right here, and he doesn’t want her to have to deal with this by herself, not again. He couldn’t save Victor, couldn’t even avenge him, but this? This he can do.
He gets up from his seat and moves over to where Mary sits curled over, her small body shaking with the force of her grief, and for a second, now that he’s here, he’s not quite sure what to do. He’s never been good at this. Another sob wracks her and he thinks suddenly, fuck it, and drops to one knee to curl his arms around her. He doesn’t say anything – what could he even say right now? Nothing that would help, certainly – and instead simply holds her. ]
no subject
Anger flares up first, the sharp desire for revenge clawing at his breastbone, but Violet isn’t here. He can’t make her pay for what she did now any more than he could in the moment. Wherever she is, she’s Olivia’s bargaining chip now.
But the more Mary cries, the louder her sobs become, he realizes that he can’t just sit here. He’d tried so hard to talk to her about it back home, but she put on a brave face and acted like nothing was wrong until she could break down on her own. Now, however, he’s right here, and he doesn’t want her to have to deal with this by herself, not again. He couldn’t save Victor, couldn’t even avenge him, but this? This he can do.
He gets up from his seat and moves over to where Mary sits curled over, her small body shaking with the force of her grief, and for a second, now that he’s here, he’s not quite sure what to do. He’s never been good at this. Another sob wracks her and he thinks suddenly, fuck it, and drops to one knee to curl his arms around her. He doesn’t say anything – what could he even say right now? Nothing that would help, certainly – and instead simply holds her. ]