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The door from the end of the universe leads into Meg's bedroom from what should have been a very small walk-in closet. (Meg puts duct tape across the catch on the doorknob, to keep the door connected to Milliways -- simple, but she and Laura tested it very carefully and it seems to work.)

It's a short walk after a shorter phone call, from her apartment (where Carrie due back any moment) over to Alain's (where Meg spends half her time, anyway).

It's foggy in Montreal today.

Not excessively or dangerously so, but enough to make even the short hours of winter daylight not all that bright, but softly grey instead.

Which is handy, if your guest has a tendency to sparkle in direct sunlight.

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From the bedroom, to the apartment, and into the city beyond, Edward followed simply enough. This was the first time he'd decide to go backwards within time in Milliways. And especially into a time he'd already been part of.

He looked rather resignedly relaxed though. At peace with following behind the young woman who led him. Carrying a medium sized bag, with a box-shaped object inside it, from his right hand.

They neither of them exactly look out of place.

He looks rather like any of the students who live in this part of the city and make their ways up and down the streets.

And as for Meg, who actually is one of those students, this is about as "in place" as she could ever be. Of the various places she could lay claim to or that could lay claim to her -- southern Ontario and her parents' house, Milliways and the end of the universe -- this is the one she chose for herself.

This is home.

It's just another two blocks. Turn left at the corner.

He does very well at not sticking out when he wants to. It's far easier than most people give it credit to blend in, especially when you're aiming for it, and even more so when people aren't on the look out for you.

He doesn't usually choose to walk around places out the open a lot, but there really isn't much of a choice here. So he nods. And he follows. Well, her thoughts at least more than Meg herself.

Alain has lived here since the summer, but it still registers in Meg's mind as his new apartment.

Were she alone, she'd let herself in with the key in her purse. As it is, though, she'll knock, and wait for Alain to open the door.

"Hi," she says, when the door opens, all but standing on tiptoe to kiss Alain's cheek.

She'll wait till they're inside the apartment, though, to continue.

"Edward, this is my fiance, Alain Gagné. Alain, this is my friend, Edward Cullen."

So this is Edward.

He's not what Alain is expecting.

Oh, yes, of course, Meg had explained, but Alain was still kind of expecting the widow's peak and the cape and the fangs of a B movie vampire.

Edward looks . . . normal. Pale, but normal.

Alain's left hand comes to rest at Meg's waist as he offers his right to his guest.

"It's very nice to meet you. Won't you come in?"

The living room and kitchen behind him are small, and mostly tidy (it would be, with the amount of time Meg spends there), though there are lunch dishes stacked next to the sink and a pile of papers at one end of the dining table.

"You're a welcome break from grading a pile of tests on Dumas."

He doesn't react to that, but then no one in the room expects him to. Meg can't hear it, and Edward has listened to far worse things done to his character and person by teenage girls, while they doodled his name in sparkly gel pen. He can manage B Movies references.

And trusting Meg in her judgement. On a different world.
Where that trust could not endanger his family if it slipped.

His glance almost, but doesn't, flick to Meg at the out stretched hand. He'd already had time to glance around the room as they gravitated toward each other, in the millionths of seconds that amount to the time it took to turn back to him. Until there is the hand, and his gaze rests solely on the young man in question.

He shook the proffered hand, rather middle of the road, letting going as quickly and politely as he possibly can, as he inclined his head. "Thank you." Beat. "Which work are they focusing on right now?"

Well, if nothing else, the narration can promise that Alain is highly unlikely to start doodling Edward's name with any kind of pen, sparkly or otherwise.

"Le Comte de Monte-Cristo," Alain says. "I think they've enjoyed it.

"Those who have read it."

Which, if certain test papers are to be believed, isn't all of them.

"Would you like to sit down?" Alain adds, gesturing with his free hand to a couch grouped with two chairs.

Standing is fine, but he inclined his head again, skipping the ending platitude and went where directed.

"The abridged version?"

Edward has rather defined views on Edmund himself.
And they vary on how much source material is related.

But expecting your guest to stand is less welcoming, and more like you're expecting him to leave at any moment.

"An abridgement, yes," Alain says.

(He'd be surprised to learn there was only the one.)

He waits until Meg has sat down before sitting as well.

"The version I read at that age was an abridgement, too," Meg says.

"And a translation."

She smiles in response to the face Alain makes at this.

"Alain doesn't quite approve of translations."

As he told me the night we met.

One point against. One point for.

"It's a wiser stance to take, if one actually wants to know the sentiment behind the text, and not the storyline and the interpretation of the translator in question."

Not to mention the great loss of linguistic nuance.

"Precisely," Alain says.

One point for.

"It's always better to read the original, if you can.

"It was one of the first things Meg and I ever talked about.

"We met at a production of Tartuffe that my brother was in. She very kindly gave me her extra ticket. And then told me she had only ever seen it in English before."

Alain will never admit this to Luc, but none of his clearest memories of that night involve the action on the stage.

"My French wasn't really good enough for Molière until about then," Meg says.

In her defense.

"Even then, there were lines I missed.

"But I did admit it was better in French."

"People seldom take the time to discover what the original version or format of a piece is now. It used to be a passion for people to trace things back to their genesis, as far as it could go."

Though he doesn't state whether now is their now, or his now. The statement actually works rather well for both of them, and large allotment of the now of Milliways that can ever be thousands of years in the future.

Well, that sounds very much the final words on a subject, doesn't it?

At least, Alain can't really think of anything to add to the topic, being unfamilar enough with it to either agree or disagree with him.

So there's a slightly too long pause, and a less than graceful segue.

"So, un, Meg said you met over a baseball game, yes?"

"Yes." Edward didn't nod this time. He stayed simply stayed completely still, studying the boy. The way he moved through things. The attempts, and unspoken reactions. "My family is quite fond of the sport."

And by family he meant Carlisle this time. But everyone did, too.

"She said you were quite at it as well."

Alain looks over at Meg, relaxing just slightly and smiles.

"Actually, she has once or twice lamented the fact that you don't play centerfield for her Blue Jays."

"Once," Meg says.

"The ball went right over the top of his glove and into the stands for the game-winning homerun."

Edward would have caught it.

And she makes an effort, with Alain, to talk about the people she knows from Milliways like she talkss about the people she knows from anywhere else.

"My youngest brother's would appreciate the ability to more."

Edward would find it amusing, but it would not hold his attention. He liked the games, as they were, momentary, there and over. But the sport itself was simply a sport to him. It was not Carlisle's passion. Nor was it Emmett's drive to compete.

"And why--" Alain starts, and then breaks off as the phone rings.

"The machine will pick it up," Alain says, but when (four rings later), the machine does, it's his mother's voice and Alain, with a slight frown, apologizes and picks up the phone.

We tend to answer, when it's one of our parents. Just in case it's important.

After everything. Kim and Fionavar, the accident.

Alain has stepped back into the bedroom, but then, Alain doesn't exactly speak as quietly as he thinks he does. (Which might not make a bit of difference for Edward, but does matter as far as Meg's ability to overhear.)

Especially when the conversation appears to be about her -- yes, she's here; yes, he knows his mother has been trying to reach her; yes, he knows it's important; no, it's not a good time and he'll ask Meg to call later.

Excuse me, please, Edward. I'll be right back.

Meg stands, walks back to the bedroom, and takes the phone from Alain, with a whispered, "It's fine. If she's that insistant, I'll just go ahead and talk to her now."

"Oui, Micheline? Meg says, stepping into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

Alain is frowning slightly, as he comes back to where Edward is waiting.

"I'm sorry about that.

"Meg may be longer than she thinks.

"Maman has been trying to reach her about the church."

And Meg is a little too nice to hang up on her future mother-in-law.

Edward didn't appear to be bothered by the fuss. At least outwardly. His eyes lingered only briefly on the door as it was closed, before shifting back to Alain as he sat down. Very still. The kind of stillness really not given to any living creature. Only the shift of his eyes coming back to the Boy.

Maybe more critically for the lack of Meg, whose voice and thought hadn't left him still, but whose presence was at least several dozen more feet physically away. Not that it mattered all that much to any of his senses. Not that some part of him wasn't staying focused on exactly what she is staying and thinking, even now.

"There is a problem with it?"

Edited 2012-01-29 03:11 (UTC)

Alain sighs a little, as he sits down.

"It's not the one my aunts think I should be getting married in."

Not the building or the denomination.

There's a hestitation, for a moment, while Alain decides whether or not to go into it with someone he's just met. But since Edward's already heard at least some of it . . .

"Meg's not Catholic, and she's not converting, and we're getting married in her Anglican church. It . . . "

Alain pauses, thinking.

"It matter more to her? She goes every Sunday, I don't. I don't care where I marry her as long as I get to marry her and she's happy. So when we had to make that decision, we choose her church. Not mine. Why wouldn't we?

"But I have a couple of aunts who were very upset to learn this at Christmas, and they've taken their concerns to my mother and made her promise to discuss it with Meg. And Maman thinks she has a duty to do so, to her sister and her brother's wife.

"And Meg will let her say everything she wants to say, and then probably promise that she and I will talk about it again, so that my mother can say she tried.

"Because she's very kind."

If Edward were one were great expressions, his eyebrows might have risen somewhere in the middle. Maybe even further more as the Boy continued to spin out the tale, without a moments hesitation.

For a good middle portion of he wagers the why and the what of the background on that choice. Emotional reactions of two different kinds, between mothers...and Meg.

"That she is."

He does almost leave it right there. Except.

"And patient, regardless of whether the situation merits it."

"Yes.

"And I wouldn't want her not to be."

He just sometimes wishes that she didn't need to call on those particular qualities for certain things.