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The coffee pot is almost empty when Meg reaches the kitchen.
Which means that not only has her definitely-not-a-morning-person fiance woken up earlier than her definitely-a-morning-person self, he's been awake for a while.
Meg pours the not quite a cup that's left into a mug. She's not much of a coffee drinker (at all), and Alain brews coffee that's very strong and fairly bitter, but some times just seem to call for it, and this is one of them.
Alain is sitting in the floor of the living room, his back against the couch. Meg sits down next to him, so that their knees rest against each other. Alain's eyebrows go up for a second at the sight of her mug, but neither of them speaks.
They sit like that for several minutes.
"I didn't think it bothered me this much," Alain says, finally, his eyes on the window across the room.
Meg nods, even though he's not looking at her. "I know."
"I don't like it."
"I know that, too."
"I don't like it, I don't understand it, I don't trust it, and I don't really want you going there. And I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for any of that, Alain."
Alain turns to look at her. "Not even the last?"
"No. You might have to apologize if you were trying to forbid me from doing something, but you don't have to apologize for not liking it or wanting it to happen."
Alain's smile is faint and very wry. "I don't think it would do me any good to try to forbid you to do something."
"Well, no. Probably not."
"And I know it's important to you, and I wouldn't even ask you not to go there, but I just . . . "
"You don't like it."
Alain shakes his head. "It's not that simple, Meg. It's . . . my fiancee is friends with an angel. How long can I possibly compete with that before you -- "
"Alain, you're not competing with that. You're not competing with any of it. There's no contest here. I don't see my life as some zero-sum game, where you can't win unless someone else loses."
"But you stayed there. When something was wrong and you needed help, you stayed there. You didn't come home to me."
"That's true. And I'd do it that way again. Because it's not that simple, either. It wasn't a question of 'something was wrong and I needed help.' It was 'I was ill and I needed medical attention.' And I had very good medical attention there, and I was safely quarantined so I couldn't make other people sick, which would have been much harder to manage here."
"But I wasn't there."
"No, you weren't. Look, Alain, I can't promise you that you will always be the single most important thing at any given moment of my life or the single deciding factor in every decision. You can't be. There will always be circumstances that affect that."
"That's not exactly encouraging, ma belle."
"But," Meg continues, "when you take all the decisions and all the moments and average them together . . . it's you. It's us. And no one and nothing matters more. Here or there."
Alain opens his mouth and then closes it again, shaking his head a little. But he's properly smiling for the first time since the evening before. "I hate it when you say things like that."
"No, you don't," Me says, with a smile of her own. "Even though you can't argue with them."
A moment passes before Alain speaks again. "Your friend Edward said I was 'very accommodating of all this.'" Meg winces a little. "What, you don't think I'm 'accommodating'?"
"It's not the word I would use. It makes you sound like . . . like a hotel. Or like you're just indulging some whim of mine or something. I don't know. I would say that you're amazingly accepting, and terribly supportive, and generally remarkable, but not 'accomodating.'"
"The current conversation wouldn't seem to support the theory that I'm accepting or supportive, Meg."
"Of course you are. You don't like this or understand it or want it to be happening, and you're still here, and we're talking about it. If you weren't accepting or supportive, we'd have been done a year and a half ago, when I first told you."
"Maybe," Alain allows. And then, in a bit of a rush, "I didn't like him. Edward."
"I know you didn't."
Alain looks just a little taken aback. "How? I didn't say anything or . . . "
"No, you've been very tactful on the subject of Edward Cullen. But I'm your fiancee. I know you, and I know when you're being tactful."
"He's your friend."
"Yes, he is. But you don't have to like all my friends."
And Edward told her that he hadn't been entirely kind to Alain.
"He made me feel like he didn't expect me to be good enough for you. And he talks like he thinks he knows you incredibly well. Maybe even better than I do."
"Well, he doesn't get a vote on whether or not you're good enough for me, and he doesn't know me better than you do."
Even without mind-reading, Alain knows her better than Edward does.
"I don't like him. And I can't say I really like this, either," Alain says, reaching out and touching the gold bracelet from Edward, where it rests on her right wrist between the silver one from Alain and the steel one from Laura.
Meg waits until he has moved his hand away, then turns the bracelet on her wrist until she can reach the clasp.
"No, I didn't mean . . . You don't have to take it off," Alain says.
"I know. But I don't have to wear it every day, either," she says, setting it carefully on the table beside her.
"Thank you."
Meg nods. "I know I'm not the easiest person you could have chosen."
"You're really and truly not," Alain says. "But you're the only one I've ever wanted to choose. And I won't stop trying to understand things, even if I don't like them. So here we are."
"Here we are. And of all the places I have been or will go, this is my favorite. Even though our coffee's gone cold."
Alain leans over and kisses her. "I'll make us more."
Which means that not only has her definitely-not-a-morning-person fiance woken up earlier than her definitely-a-morning-person self, he's been awake for a while.
Meg pours the not quite a cup that's left into a mug. She's not much of a coffee drinker (at all), and Alain brews coffee that's very strong and fairly bitter, but some times just seem to call for it, and this is one of them.
Alain is sitting in the floor of the living room, his back against the couch. Meg sits down next to him, so that their knees rest against each other. Alain's eyebrows go up for a second at the sight of her mug, but neither of them speaks.
They sit like that for several minutes.
"I didn't think it bothered me this much," Alain says, finally, his eyes on the window across the room.
Meg nods, even though he's not looking at her. "I know."
"I don't like it."
"I know that, too."
"I don't like it, I don't understand it, I don't trust it, and I don't really want you going there. And I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize for any of that, Alain."
Alain turns to look at her. "Not even the last?"
"No. You might have to apologize if you were trying to forbid me from doing something, but you don't have to apologize for not liking it or wanting it to happen."
Alain's smile is faint and very wry. "I don't think it would do me any good to try to forbid you to do something."
"Well, no. Probably not."
"And I know it's important to you, and I wouldn't even ask you not to go there, but I just . . . "
"You don't like it."
Alain shakes his head. "It's not that simple, Meg. It's . . . my fiancee is friends with an angel. How long can I possibly compete with that before you -- "
"Alain, you're not competing with that. You're not competing with any of it. There's no contest here. I don't see my life as some zero-sum game, where you can't win unless someone else loses."
"But you stayed there. When something was wrong and you needed help, you stayed there. You didn't come home to me."
"That's true. And I'd do it that way again. Because it's not that simple, either. It wasn't a question of 'something was wrong and I needed help.' It was 'I was ill and I needed medical attention.' And I had very good medical attention there, and I was safely quarantined so I couldn't make other people sick, which would have been much harder to manage here."
"But I wasn't there."
"No, you weren't. Look, Alain, I can't promise you that you will always be the single most important thing at any given moment of my life or the single deciding factor in every decision. You can't be. There will always be circumstances that affect that."
"That's not exactly encouraging, ma belle."
"But," Meg continues, "when you take all the decisions and all the moments and average them together . . . it's you. It's us. And no one and nothing matters more. Here or there."
Alain opens his mouth and then closes it again, shaking his head a little. But he's properly smiling for the first time since the evening before. "I hate it when you say things like that."
"No, you don't," Me says, with a smile of her own. "Even though you can't argue with them."
A moment passes before Alain speaks again. "Your friend Edward said I was 'very accommodating of all this.'" Meg winces a little. "What, you don't think I'm 'accommodating'?"
"It's not the word I would use. It makes you sound like . . . like a hotel. Or like you're just indulging some whim of mine or something. I don't know. I would say that you're amazingly accepting, and terribly supportive, and generally remarkable, but not 'accomodating.'"
"The current conversation wouldn't seem to support the theory that I'm accepting or supportive, Meg."
"Of course you are. You don't like this or understand it or want it to be happening, and you're still here, and we're talking about it. If you weren't accepting or supportive, we'd have been done a year and a half ago, when I first told you."
"Maybe," Alain allows. And then, in a bit of a rush, "I didn't like him. Edward."
"I know you didn't."
Alain looks just a little taken aback. "How? I didn't say anything or . . . "
"No, you've been very tactful on the subject of Edward Cullen. But I'm your fiancee. I know you, and I know when you're being tactful."
"He's your friend."
"Yes, he is. But you don't have to like all my friends."
And Edward told her that he hadn't been entirely kind to Alain.
"He made me feel like he didn't expect me to be good enough for you. And he talks like he thinks he knows you incredibly well. Maybe even better than I do."
"Well, he doesn't get a vote on whether or not you're good enough for me, and he doesn't know me better than you do."
Even without mind-reading, Alain knows her better than Edward does.
"I don't like him. And I can't say I really like this, either," Alain says, reaching out and touching the gold bracelet from Edward, where it rests on her right wrist between the silver one from Alain and the steel one from Laura.
Meg waits until he has moved his hand away, then turns the bracelet on her wrist until she can reach the clasp.
"No, I didn't mean . . . You don't have to take it off," Alain says.
"I know. But I don't have to wear it every day, either," she says, setting it carefully on the table beside her.
"Thank you."
Meg nods. "I know I'm not the easiest person you could have chosen."
"You're really and truly not," Alain says. "But you're the only one I've ever wanted to choose. And I won't stop trying to understand things, even if I don't like them. So here we are."
"Here we are. And of all the places I have been or will go, this is my favorite. Even though our coffee's gone cold."
Alain leans over and kisses her. "I'll make us more."