How Long Can I Stay Lost?

Alice.

Oliver was convinced at first that he was imagining her smell. He could practically feel her there, just like the morning when- well. Still, it was so real that Oliver was sure that Alice had to be there. Had she come back? The idea made him want to jump up and search for her. But his eyes opened and he wasn't on his couch. He wasn't sure where he was at all, actually.

His body stiffened at the realization, the fear setting in rapidly. When he jerked back, though, trying to get a look around, it became quite obvious that he had not actually been imagining the entire thing. Because it was Alice. He really could feel her and smell her, and she was really really there. A quiet, desperate groan pulled from his throat as he shifted about in and among the blankets, turning in Alice's hold so he could face her instead.

In the hour between his arrival and his regaining consciousness, she had apparently taken it upon herself to play vigil, even if that meant she had to lie there waiting for him. Oliver couldn't find it in him to care where he was, because while one of his arms folded to fit between them, the other curled around her waist to keep her close after all of his wriggling about.

"Babe," he breathed, the word falling thoughtlessly as his eyes coursed over her features. Oliver was perhaps not worrying after it, exactly, but he was still curious as to where they were and why. Really, he was just in shock. "Alice," he mumbled, burrowing into her neck.

It didn't fully register until then that Oliver hadn't been sure he would see her again. Until Marie showed up, he hadn't expected to get better. Even after, really, Oliver had been conflicted. He had wanted to believe her, but he had not been determined until he'd woken to find himself in Alice's arms. Until he'd turned and pulled her into his. As Marie had so bluntly put it, he had 'his girl' back.

Oliver understood very suddenly that he was not, in fact, better. "Allie," he started again, his lips brushing over her neck as he pulled away. "You need to get up. I'm sick, love, you need to get up. I can't get you sick, too." His hand drifted from the hollow of her back, up to her waist, giving Alice a little nudge to encourage her to do as he said. "Please. I need you to be well, Alice."

It was so easy to pretend that between them all of the conflicting feelings were resolved. It was easy to wind around him and pretend that they were at home, cuddled in against the autumnal breezes blowing in through the gaps between the glass and the window pane. It was the mistral that took her closer to him, shrinking against his heat which seemed to permeate from every poor in an unnatural and sickly manner that made her want to weep for him. Instead of that she curled them beneath the blankets and fell into a wistful slumber, never truly relaxing into it though certainly the warmth and his presence was enough to make her sleep without fear. And so she did, until his disquiet roused her from slumber and made her open her eyes, weariness shining out from beneath her lids.

“Ollie,” she whispered. “You’re awake,” she snuggled closer into him, pressing her lips down upon the closest strip of skin she could find – somewhere between his neck and shoulder though she couldn’t discern quite where in amongst the cushions and other things padding out the floor. She breathed him in again, filling her senses liberally with his essence. Relaxing into him, Alice slid her hand beneath Ollie’s shirt and skirted her fingers across his lower back, pressing him closer to her as she wiggled against him, trying though they were already in want of room to draw in closer still.

Lifting her eyes up to his face, Alice opened her mouth to try and protest. She didn’t care whether she got ill, so long as she comforted him first. Yet, she thought she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t take such an assertion well. At the same time, though, Alice didn’t want to get out from his embrace or from beneath the covers. Yet, he did bear a good point even if it wasn’t one that she didn’t necessarily agree with. She wanted to stay there but if it placated him and made him feel better she would endeavour to move off of her warm spot. She wiggled out from underneath the covers to show she was trying and sat up once she was on the cool pillows. She smiled at him and leaned over to brush her lips against his cheek, to the side of his mouth.

“I will eat some oranges,” she promised with a smile, stretching her arms over her head. “But really I just want you to get better. Mum brought you here. You’ve either been adopted or abducted – one or the other.” Alice reached out for his hand. “I’m sorry this happened,” she whispered, adding, “but everything is going to be okay. It really is. Mum is determined. And I … I’m not going to let anything happen to you, either, Ollie.”

She took a breath and shivered a little before sneaking back under the covers again with him. She smiled shyly at him and leaned into his chest, wrapping her arm about his waist. She wiggled in further, lifting her feet under the duvet, and closed her eyes, burrowing her face into the crook between his arm and his chest.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Alice offered softly, her breath ghosting across his skin. “If you’re peckish, that is. We always tend to eat about this time.” She lifted her hand and rubbed it up and down his arm. “You’re still warm, Olls. Is it feeling any better?” She looked up at him, a smile twitching at the sides of her lips as her admittance fell from betwixt them.

“I’ve missed you,” she breathed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Instant regret filled the ill man as Alice moved away, and Oliver found himself wishing he hadn't said anything. But it was for the better, really, that she stayed well even if it meant he didn't have the comfort there. He leaned into her kiss unconsciously, following her with his eyes. "Good girl," he teased gently, his smile about as weak as he felt. But it was a genuine one, and he hoped that counted for something.

"Somehow, I think it might have been the adopted thing," Oliver replied, wiggling his fingers in her grasp. If he had been graced with the energy to care about it, he would have felt silly for lying there while she watched out for him. But, he would have been able to admit that he had always been after someone willing to do just that.

His eyebrows rose as she scooted back towards him, the temperature difference between her skin and his making him tense slightly to keep from shivering. But a kind smile appeared in return for hers, and Oliver tucked her into his grasp, pressing his cheek into her hair. "Pretty sure your mum managed to get me to eat something earlier... but I should probably try, eh?"

Tilting his head, he met her gaze as she shifted, shrugging the shoulder she wasn't pressed up against. "I think so. Since the fever's gone down some, yeah. Everything is just kind of... fuzzy. Quieter than usual." Oliver had to bite back the claim that while everything else was entirely dull, she certainly wasn't. He might have been thinking it, but it was far too cliché, and he sort of assumed it was part of his being so out of it.

"I wish you hadn't left," Oliver mumbled, trying not to think back to how he had done the very same thing. In fact, he was holding back his desire to repeat his letter. He wasn't sure it would come out right. Besides, hadn't she seen it? Why waste the energy? His next words were released on a sigh, his gaze falling towards his middle, where Alice had draped her arm, despite the fact that they were covered with the blankets. "I just wanted you home."

His hand ran up Alice's arm, to her cheek, tilting her head forward so he could press a kiss against her forehead at her hairline. Oliver rested his chin atop her head to cover the smile that appeared when he realized something. "Well. I guess your prediction that we would visit your family came true."

Of course, she had also mentioned going sailing during that time. Oliver's smile faded, his lips thinning as Marie's words came to mind. He didn't have to tell her yet, he supposed, considering just hours before he hadn't been convinced to try and get better, but hadn't managed to write the truth in his note. But what was the point in keeping it now? His decision had made sense at the time, when he thought Alice wouldn't have wanted him. But now they seemed rather okay, the two of them, didn't they?

"Alice?" Oliver asked hesitantly, the question murmured into her hair. "I posted your bail. Your mum thought I should tell you."

Alice poked her tongue out at Ollie as the slight, patronising praise wafted over her. Her smile rose nonetheless and she turned her fingers over in Ollie’s grasp, tickling them across his palm, lacing and unlacing them together, just enjoying the ability to be able to do so again. She felt rested, too, even though she’d only had an hour. She didn’t really realise how well she slept when she was with him. Without him, it had been nigh intolerable and she’d spent most nights since leaving up with her father, sat at the kitchen island exhaustedly as he made her up mugs of cocoa. They’d talked and resolved a lot of their disagreements with one another and while he was still unwilling to warm to the idea of anyone being in her heart again, for her sake more than his own as he didn’t want to see her hurt again, he didn’t quite loathe the other man as much as before though he wasn’t going to let the Connolly man know that at any point soon.

“Definitely adopted,” she laughed jovially, wondering to herself what his own family would think of Marie taking their son into her family without a second thought. It was so typical of her. She had done it so many times, for so many people, without a second thought. For her, too. For her brothers and sister. Marie never left anyone behind. It seemed nonsensical to Alice that Ollie would be an exception to that rule. But he wasn’t. Marie hadn’t. She would always bring those who needed a family home to them and she would love them, patch them back together again and put them back into the world but she would hold their hand so long as they wanted her to. She’d be there. She’d mother even the most benign and innocuous being. If that individual needed her, she’d be there. She’d be there always – for all of them. Even for those who didn’t know they needed her yet.

“She’s forceful,” Alice conceded, snuggling further into him and sighing softly, contentedly. “But she’ll look after you.” Alice closed her eyes and draped her fingers over his lower back. “But good,” she murmured, lifting her head from beneath the covers to look at him with fond eyes. “I’m glad you got at least something inside you. I don’t think it helps not too. It won’t be anything heavy. Probably cheese and soup if anything.” Alice gave a little yawn and shuffled back into Ollie.

Glancing up at him, Alice smiled a little and nodded in agreement. She’d wanted to be home, too. She’d not enjoyed coming home in the fashion she’d done so. It was part of the reason why she’d holed up in one of the parlours in the first place. She laughed a little and nodded, her eyes blinking slowly at him, betraying her weariness and her eagerness to snooze the day past. She just wanted to be back with him and she was delighted to be within his arms once more. She didn’t know that she was going to be able to extricate herself from him regardless of how ill he was. This was where she wanted to be, locked up in his arms with his form surrounding her.

When his words washed over her, Alice looked up, her brow furrowing as she stared at him – as she properly looked at him. Her mouth opened but no words emerged. She just stared. She stared openly and deeply at him. There was nothing to be said. There was nothing that could be said. The thanks she wanted to communicate was well within her eyes. Her hand lifted up to his cheek and she leaned up, her eyes lowering down to his mouth. Her lips parted and she eased closer, wondering whether he’d allow her – whether he’d let her do what she wanted to do. A little bit closer. A hair’s breadth. A kiss away from the kiss itself—

“Bonjour!”

Alice shot away from Ollie as though she’d been scalded by boiling water. She sat up and glared openly at her brother who was stood, leaning against the doorframe with an absent-minded smirk on his face. Alice got to her feet, wiping at her mouth as though she could hide its intentions. Jean-Jacques grinned, cocking his head to the side half-mockingly as it seemed everything he’d already known had been confirmed. Alice glared him openly and he smiled cheekily at her as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Jean-Jacques then turned his gaze upon Ollie, a kinder look gracing his pointed features. He could and would tease his sister to no end. He wouldn’t tease the ill man until Ollie was well enough to deal with it.

“Are you feeling well enough to come and have something with us?” He asked, holding out his hand to Ollie. “Mum has gone overboard. I think she might cry if you don’t at least sit there. C’mon, I’ll give you a hand, brother.”

Helping the other man up, Jean-Jacques materialised a warm jumper for Ollie if he so needed it and then opened the doors up for Ollice to wander through in a sort of dazed fashion that amused Jean to no end. Alice followed him through the foyer, lingering to walk beside Ollie, her hand occasionally brushing over his, and Jean passed her another, good-humoured look before opening up the dining room doors which opened out into a large, airy room. The patio doors were open, a warm breeze fluttering the curtains to and fro, and sat around the table were various members of the Rousseau family. Bereft of the presence of her nephews, it appeared as though Jean and Sabine intended to stay the night, the latter being joined at the sizeable round table laid out beautifully for everyone with the silverware polished and the glasses sparkling as though it was an important dinner and not just a normal familial one.

“Alice!” Sabine exclaimed happily, holding out her hands for the blonde woman. Alice bounded over to her happily and sought to embrace her sister-in-law tightly. “How have you been, my little pigeon?” She asked fondly, adding in a whisper, “are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend, hm?”

Alice opened her mouth to protest and looked up to see Jean encouraging Ollie to sit with him, pushing out a chair for the other man. Alice cleared her throat and moved to sit down beside Ollie somewhat hesitantly, offering him a soft smile.

“This is my brother Jean,” she introduced quietly. “And my sister-in-law Sabine.” The woman in question, awash with the latter flushes of pregnancy, waved enthusiastically, her honey blonde hair bobbing around her head as her enthusiasm bubbled around her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ollie,” she enthused happily. “I’ll introduce you to my boys when they wake up if you like, hm?”

“Ours,” Jean pouted at her, slinging an arm across the back of her chair, pouring out some water for them with his other. “Our boys,” he turned to Ollie, nodding firmly. “I had a little something to do with it.”

“They’re charming,” Alice retorted, “so clearly not much.” Jean pouted at her and purposely slammed the jug down without giving her any water. She poked her tongue out at him in response and tapped her wand to the glass, filling hers anyway - without his help.

“Stop fighting,” Marie sang, entering the room with plates floating behind her.

“How could you tell?” Sabine asked with a laugh, laying her hand over her husband’s, fixing him with a fond look.

“I raised these bickering little things,” Marie pointed out fairly, curling her hair behind her ear. “They used to argue about the colour of the sky, would you believe. Alice would gladly protest that the clouds were green if it meant that she could annoy her brother. Wouldn’t you, baby?”

She set down the plates with a wave of her hand and immediately they were assaulted by colour and all kinds of dishes – sweet, savoury, hot, cold, spicy, or mild – whatever struck your fancy. Alice turned the lazy susan and immediately went for the hot potato and pasta salad which she dumped greedily onto her plate. Jean and Sabine spoke quietly over what she could eat and after a few moments began to dig in, lolloping all kinds of different foods onto the plate. Alice glanced round at Ollie and smiled a little, reaching out to touch at his arm.

“What do you want?” She murmured. “I can grab--”

“Jean,” Paul appeared then, shadowing the door that opened into the kitchen from the dining room. “Do you want some wine?” He asked, glancing then over at Alice who nodded at the offer. He glanced absently at Ollie and then strayed back into the kitchen to bring some wine back out.

Alice began to pull some bowls down off of the turntable to spoon some things onto Ollie’s plate, a small smile playing at her lips, happy to help. Her mother returned first, fussing over everyone, asking a few times whether everything was alright or not. A moment later and Paul returned and filled up the glasses, briefly pausing to cork the bottle once more before taking a seat down beside his wife across from the children.

“How are you feeling, Oliver?” Paul asked stiffly, prompting Alice to look up. She glanced at him and then her mother who was studiously looking down at her plate. So they’d argued about it. They had to have done. He wouldn’t have been so accommodating, downright caring, otherwise.

“I have made some more fever potion for you, love,” Marie chipped in before Alice could endeavour to start arguing with her father. Sabine offered another satisfied smile to her mother-in-law, wondering how she could foresee the conflict. “Now, I want you to eat as much as or as little as you like – I won’t be offended--”

“Liar,” Jean coughed into his water glass. Marie waved her hand and his plate disappeared. Ignoring his dismayed look, Marie turned back to Ollie and smiled contentedly at him.

“Then I want you and Allie to go and get some sleep,” she continued instructing, nodding with a smile, picking up a bowl of green beans.

“Mum …” Jean hedged. “Can I have my plate back now?”

Oliver had never had anyone look at him the way Alice did just then. Not once. He couldn't exactly place what it meant, but he knew it made him feel particularly conflicted. In a strange way, he felt almost squishy. Like his insides weren't quite where they should've been, and didn't have the consistency they were meant to. His eyebrows tugged together and down, slight anxiety marring his expression.

Was she getting closer? Oliver's eyes flicked down to her lips, his chest rising as he sucked in a breath, not sure if he could consciously allow her to go through with it. Even if he would welcome it any other moment of any other day. She shouldn't. He was sick. But he just-

Squinting at the doorway in surprise, Oliver frowned as someone walked in, making Alice jump away. Shame? How utterly brilliant. His gaze turned down and away from the two others in the room, pushing himself up at the question the man asked. "I said I would, yeah."

As they moved into the other room, Oliver's disappointment faded. He probably would have acted similarly if his mother had thought they were up to the things they had been up to. Particularly if they'd nearly been caught. It wasn't any statement about Alice, per se. He hoped so, anyway. Otherwise, he would have been completely unable to consider sitting through dinner with them.

Introductions were appreciated, though slightly awkward considering he had been there a good bit of the afternoon without their expecting him. When nobody seemed to object, however, Oliver decided it would be best to play it off like he had never been more pleased to meet strangers. At least they were kind, from what he could tell. If he ended up with Alice, and least-

Well. That was far too presumptuous. Their near-kiss could have been just Alice being grateful. Or... relieved? Oliver wasn't sure. How could he be? Their entire relationship was categorized by the fact that they had no idea what the other was thinking. Oliver sure couldn't figure out what was going on in Alice's head. So he didn't go so far as to assume she understood his motivation behind things.

If Oliver was lucky, Ariel had never suggested any reasoning for Oliver's pulling away every time he thought he might confess his intentions towards her.

Oliver blinked at Paul as he passed through the room, rather glad that the question wasn't directed at him. Not only did he dislike drinking on a regular basis, he was downright confused after having to get up and move about, so he would have had to politely refuse. When it came to Paul, he didn't want to say much of anything - and politely would have been a struggle. Not that he was ever the kind to intentionally offend, or even hold grudges really. But Paul made him uneasy, and Oliver couldn't quite explain why the man made him anxious.

Alice started gathering things for him, and Oliver could feel the muscles in his face trying to talk him into frowning. When it was just the two of them, it was fine. But it was really rather embarrassing, regardless of his illness. "Alice, I can-"

Oliver bit his tongue when Paul came back, surprise flashing across his features in the form of a micro-expression, hopefully one that no one caught. "Well," he began slowly, trying to find something to say that wouldn't come out as entirely sarcastic. "It seems unlikely that I'm dying, which... is more than I could have said this morning." Glancing down at the plate in front of him, Oliver tried not to fidget, clasping his hands in his lap.

Lifting his gaze when Marie spoke, he nodded in an attempt to show that he was grateful. It was completely bizarre; Oliver was rarely so quiet around people he knew he should impress. Similarly, he was rarely so docile around people who had irritated him in the past. But this was important. A little cough tried to escape at Marie's suggestion, and Oliver swallowed hard to cover it up. He wanted to say something about how Alice would probably like sleeping in her own bed after dealing with him, or that he really should give her the space that would keep her from getting sick provided the illness was contagious. But he didn't want to upset Alice or inadvertently offend anyone.

So, in the end, he waited until Jean and Marie had come to some conclusion about the plate situation before clenching his jaw briefly and finally speaking. "I don't think I should continue to intrude. So I should probably go back home in a while."

“Sorry,” Alice whispered hastily, putting down the bowl in her hands as shame lapped down from her forehead, disappearing in a trail of scarlet beneath the frilled collar of her night shirt. She licked her lips and furrowed her brow into her food as she conceded to herself that ill though he was he was not an invalid. He could get some food of his own accord. She’d only wanted to help, of course, but she didn’t want to mither him either so she hastily picked up her fork and prodded the prongs into the potatoes a few times before beginning to eat. Her father poured out the wine with a lazy flick of his wand and Jean-Jacques, Alice saw out of the corner of her eye, dangled it in his wife’s direction before taking a greedy gulp and returning to his meal. Sabine merely rolled her eyes and didn’t dignify the dig with a response. Alice had a funny feeling Jean would suffer for the slight later – and then he’d be contrite.

Looking up briefly, Alice glanced at her father who allowed a grim look to pass across his thin lips. He sat back, his sienna eyes passing across his children before landing upon his wife who looked at him pointedly, her green eyes sparking at him lividly. Paul-Henri cleared his throat and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his bronze, grey-streaked brows furrowing a little. He then picked up his own glass of wine, having poured his and his wife’s after their children’s. He took a long sip and waited, musing over it a little bit before setting down the glass on the tablecloth and returning his gaze back to Ollie whom he still coveted a sizeable amount of distaste for. Yet, if his wife was determined to continue and pursue with their first and youngest what she had done with their other children. She was playing match-maker and she always got her way in the end.

“It’s not an intrusion,” Paul replied stiffly yet managing to break out a warm tone for the man across the table. “You are here because Marie—,” Paul sucked in a breath, a line appearing in his brow as a gurgling sound of pain bit at the back of his throat. “We,” he clarified, widening his eyes a little as the hurt ebbed away. “We are worried about you. And, being as you are family, you have the dubious pleasure of being confined here until you’re well enough to apparate home without killing or exhausting yourself. Now, as it is … it seems that we’re not close to that being a possibility for you at the moment so you are to stay here and you can make yourself at home.”

Marie smiled pleasantly at her husband and nodded firmly, adding that Ollie was welcome to either go back into the pillow room or take a spare bedroom or wherever it was he wanted to sleep. Alice found herself marvelling at her parents but more particularly her father who glanced at her briefly, giving her a look that declared that he was trying despite his desire not to and she smiled a little before reaching for her glass. Then, dinner elapsed into chatter that eased out the nervousness. It turned away quite quickly from politics which had been so enthusiastically discussed. Marie took it upon herself to divert it all, sensing her daughter’s insecurity upon the matter, the flush of boredom as a result of unemployment and shame of being so sparking in her cheeks, and after bouncing between topics and complaining about the neighbours – despite the closest ones living a mile away, mind you – they turned to Sabine and Jean-Jacques’ baby, the third to their collection of little terrors.

“Names, names, names, come on,” Marie demanded, slapping her hand enthusiastically on the table, her hair growing frizzier by the minute as the alcohol gently seeped into her.

“Bob Herring Rousseau,” Jean slurred, pressing a sloppy kiss against Sabine’s cheek. She prodded at him, muttering that he was an idiot drunk, and he chuckled, lifting her fingers to his mouth to give her a more gentlemanly kiss. “I’m only kidding, beautiful.” He promised her, reaching out to curl a swathe of her hair behind her ear, his index finger and thumb coming down to fiddle with her earring. “We haven’t really thought of anything yet, have we?” Sabine shook her head fondly, reaching for his hand, looping their fingers together as she did so.

Alice shifted in her chair, looking down into her lap, averting her eyes from the couple, wondering to herself where the straight-forward love story had gone pear shaped for her. She took a hasty sip of her wine, wondering why it wasn’t kicking in and wishing to everything that it would. Marie continued to badger the couple, finally extracting a few names from them which prompted some satisfaction from the five-time grandparents. Alice was half glad that Marianne refused to commit to having children. She felt that if anyone had anymore she’d explode but if her sister added any to the brood that was growing fast and, crucially, growing up together, she’d either burst into tears or never speak to any of them again for all the shame she’d feel. Because she’d ruined it, hadn’t she? She’d not been enough. If even Marianne, the shrew that she was at times, could find herself a husband to love her then Alice had every cause to think that there must have been. She was all wrong.

And Ollie? Well, he’d soon see that if he didn’t already. He’d already said though, hadn’t he? It wasn’t him. Being with her wasn’t him. Being like that wasn’t him. She’d unhelpfully blotted out the context and signalled in on the words. Yet his actions didn’t make sense. Posting the bail. It didn’t fit. Because of course, the words didn’t tell the whole story. But committing to the most convenient version of the truth was easier than trying to find the real reality, wasn’t it? Of course it was.

“Excuse me,” Alice mumbled, pushing her chair back. Paul looked up, though the others continued on chatting. He frowned a little bit but flicked his wand in the direction of the door anyway so it opened before his daughter.

Taking the wine with her she stepped out into the warm hall before trailing back to her little portion of the house. She wrenched open the door and left it open behind her before reaching to set her glass down on one of the side tables. She then trudged onto the pillows and wriggled under a duvet scrunched over top. She buried her face into one of the pillows and crumpled herself up into a ball, trying to blot away the tears that she’d though she’d wasted upon the subject enough. Never, it seemed. There would never be enough tears for this one. So she scrubbed at her eyes with her little fists and sighed hollowly, sniffles rising out of what from outside of the duvet looked like an absurd, quivering stripy ball. She couldn’t help it, though. The tears came thick and fast, spilling wildly onto the pillowslip.

She wanted it. She wanted it like air. She wanted to be fat and glowing and lovely and miserable all at once because her feet were sore and her back ached. She wanted red-faced sons with toothy grins and little girls with pigtails and freckles over their cheeks. She wanted a little cottage somewhere where peace would reign unless the children were home in which case the geese and chickens and other animals she kept would be tormented to distraction. She’d wanted that with David. That was an option long ago forfeited now. Was she even allowed to dare to think about it with anyone else or was it easier to just put the idea away and save it for later, to take out and mourn occasionally on rainy days? No one else would want that. She was all alone.

Alice’s almost guilty shifting made Oliver feel all the more uncomfortable, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye until Paul spoke again. His head whipped up, surprised, and he straightened up his shoulders as the implication sank in. He was meant to be considered family? As much as he wanted to look over at Alice and ask her what she had told them, he didn’t want to draw the pair of them any more attention than was necessary. After all, Alice was clearly not at ease around him as she usually could have been. For once, though, he didn’t try to come up with a reply. Instead, he kept quiet as his ears reddened, and he just ended up giving a tight, closed-mouthed smile in reply.

Deciding it was best to just zone out a bit, Oliver let the family talk and tried not to look like he was interested. Perhaps if they believed if was too tired, he wouldn’t end up involved. Unfortunately, Oliver caught onto the same part of the dinner conversation that Alice did, and his face fell, a pained frown taking over his features. He wasn’t positive yet, but he had a feeling that his illness had something to do with the vaccine trial he had agreed to in Thalia’s place. They had, of course, been required to do an exam to give “proper statistics.” Frankly, he wasn’t sure the whole thing wasn’t a big fake. After all, no-one had done a follow up yet, to see how he was faring.

But during their examination, it had been brought up. The truth that he had been spared during the whole fiasco surrounding the Ministry’s marriage requirements, that is. When his “match” had bailed on him mid-meeting, Oliver had not gone through all of the formalities, and had not been told about the fact that he was essentially broken. Any desire he had ever felt when it came to having his own family, it was shot. Torn to pieces and left sitting in front of him, in a pile that was invisible to all but him. He knew full well that nobody would actually want him once they knew. So, really, perhaps all of those girls who had slighted him had just known. Had some feeling that he wouldn’t be what they needed or wanted. Oliver guessed that made sense. Sometimes people could just tell.

His comprehension of the rest of the conversation was extremely limited, as he didn’t hear another word until Alice spoke and left the table. Oliver’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight, then he swiveled around in his chair to look at her family again. His eyebrows tugged together, knowing that he felt obligated to follow her, but that her family might not technically approve of his decision to do so. In a move that they would perhaps find rude, Oliver decided he cared more about her than about what those seated around him thought.

“I should… I’m going to… Um, excuse me.” He finished lamely, pushing his chair back and standing slowly to ensure that he was steady on his feet. “Everything was great,” he added belatedly, making his way to the door. He might have been imagining it, but he thought he felt Paul watching him. He couldn’t decide if that was good or bad, though, if he was right.

Trying to remember where he had come from, Oliver decided to start with the only room he knew, hoping Alice would have taken off to hide there. It was highly comfortable, after all, so he didn’t see why she would have chosen somewhere else to burrow down if she was feeling that upset that she had to leave him with her parents on his own. While sick. Something was wrong, and it was more than just his unintentional rudeness when he said he could take care of himself. He wasn’t even sure that he meant it, now. He certainly regretted it, if nothing else.

Luckily, he was able to (stumbling a bit, admittedly) make it back to the part of the house that he decided to call “the pillow room.” At first glace, it appeared that she wasn’t there. But then he hesitated, trying to determine where anything else would be in the home, and Oliver heard her. Something in his chest clenched, and he knew that this was probably what Marie was telling him about before. Even though he was there with her, she didn’t feel right about something. Oliver couldn’t help but feel like he had only managed to make it worse.

The question of whether he was supposed to approach or not actually didn’t come to mind until he had already sat himself down by her head, where little blonde hairs escaped from the blanket on accident. “Alice… Allie, come here, yeah?” he requested, extending a hand to pass over the blanket gently. “I would just scoop you up myself, but as I’m ill and you’re upset, I’m here to cry on if you feel like moving over a bit.”

Once she had decided what to do with herself, Oliver searched around, finally finding that his wand had, indeed, traveled with him. Lifting it, he shut the door to, letting it close the last couple inches on its own, grateful that it did so quietly. “You know,” he offered after a few moments, “I’m actually really glad that you left the table. I was trying to find an excuse to do the same thing.”

It wasn’t strictly true, but Oliver thought it might count all the same. “See, the topic wasn’t one that I could appreciate or participate in. I only hope your leaving wasn’t because of anything I did. It’s like I said before: I need you to be well, Allie.” Sighing, he tacked on another thing that he had told her, in what he assumed was an equally stressful situation. "I know it's just me, but I'll take care of you, Allie. You have to know that. I would move mountains if I needed to. Sick or not. If it fixed whatever is the matter, I would. If you asked me to, I would."

A small head poked out from underneath the stripy duvet which it had retreated beneath. A soft sigh escaped the pert little lips and slowly, as the tears dried up with there being little left to mourn, she emerged from the warm little hidey hole. She abandoned herself readily into the loose embrace of the man before her. She wormed her arms around him and snuggled into his chest, breathing in the warm, reassuring smell of his skin and clothes. She sighed again, trying to bring him closer to her but only really succeeding in wiggling unnecessarily and not really achieving much of anything.

“It’s not just you,” she mumbled, lifting her head a little to look at him. “You’re wonderful,” she added, almost admonishingly, furrowing her brows at his self-deprecation. “You are everything good in the world. I believe that. So it’s not just you. It’s you. You fix it just by being here. You do.” She brought her hand up and curled it around his neck, feeling after his pulse as much as she was absorbing the warmth radiating from him that actually seemed to her to belong to him and not solely a product of his fever. She snuggled against him again and rubbed her lips together, realising that given her frivolity with her emotions she now had to say something.

She didn’t have a choice.

“So,” she sat up a little, sliding out of his lap. Alice reached and pulled the blankets around her and began to pick absently at one of the poppers, attempting to gather her words together properly – though she had no idea what to say. Yet, it had to be said. None of it would really make sense without it. He had a right to know, too, if he hadn’t already figured it out. Her tears were so trivial, she felt, but it was all mixed up inside her with no way out. It just had to burst. Yet, knowing how ill he was she couldn’t help but feel ridiculous.

“I was born in Sofia,” she uttered, the words slicing out into the air in a hurried whisper. “I was born in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. I’m not French. I’ve never been. I can barely speak it sometimes. You’ve seen, haven’t you? At the party, all those months ago. Sometimes when I’m not quite awake. I struggle as much with English sometimes. I had to learn both in order to get on because someone took the happiness away. I used to play in the snow and sing folk songs but someone took that away from me. I woke up in a hospital in Paris and I don’t know, to this day, why. I’d lost everything and I was just a little girl. I couldn’t speak a word of either language, I barely had a grasp of my mother one, but I had to learn both in order to survive.”

She struggled for a breath and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to ignore the way her hand shook.

“I’m not French. Yet, in order to make myself more attractive to the people who came looking for children to adopt I tried to be. I tried to be the best I could possibly be but I was illiterate. I spoke utter rubbish at best. I wanted to speak Bulgarian. I still want to do it. I can feel my tongue straining now to beat out the sounds but I can’t. I can’t. I learnt I couldn’t because the people who fostered me hated it and those who came didn’t want a foreigner for a child. And the houses were cold and ice used to form on the windows and I would forever be in hospital. I loved it there best because the nurses and my doctor were more family to me than any of the foster ones.”

“Paul found me. I was sitting there, nursing some nonsense chest infection. He was an advisor to the deputy minister at the time who was engaged, to Marie. Paul,” Alice paused and laughed a little, shaking her head. “Saw it fit to ask me of all people whether or not he should propose to Marie himself. I told him,” a small smile played at Alice’s lips. “I said that so long as he was nice, there was no reason why she’d reject him. Instead of proposing to her, he adopted me. I was eight years old and I could … I couldn’t even remember how my mother smelt. I couldn’t remember her name or her smile. They were all but dead to me, all of them. And I got a new family, a proper one.”

“But it was scary,” she went on. “Because they added the other children and I was this terrified little mite of a child that clung to my papa and couldn’t look at the others. Jean-Jacques is the only one who’s French. He used to badger me with it because I couldn’t speak as quick as him. Rémy was from Belgium. Marianne was from the Netherlands. She couldn’t speak anything at all. She was too terrified at first. The boys were brash. We were quiet. I thought … somehow that I was going to get lost amidst it all. That it was going to be the same and that I wasn’t going to matter because I was just another mouth to feed and I’d be easy to abandon because I didn’t mean anything, there was someone better at hand. Cleverer. Jean or Rémy … or Marianne … sweeter, kinder.”

“But we grew up, didn’t we? Went to Beauxbatons, learnt to live again. But I’m still not like them. I’m not a Rousseau. I don’t know what I am. I’m just stuck. And I’m so jealous of my brothers because they’ve got the ideal. They’ve got the loves of their lives and they have their children and they are happy and I … I thought I could have that but David found … the cleverer, sweeter, kinder of his world and I got left behind just like I always was and always thought I would be and so I’m terrified and jealous of my siblings and so utterly finished off by it all that I sound ridiculous and irrational and stupid.”

She rubbed her hand across her face frustratedly and sighed into her palm, turning her fingers in to scrub at her eyes.

“Make this one better,” she challenged in a mournfully petulant manner. “Because I wake up some days and I don’t know who I am or who I’m meant to be or even who I want to be. I owe everything to these people but sometimes I just look at them and wonder how I fit. And I don’t. I don’t fit. I’m like the awkward jigsaw piece that belongs in another box and not in this particular puzzle. I’ve never fit in anywhere. Not in my original home. Not in the swathe that I’ve been through. Not in this one. Not in yours. So, really, it’s no wonder I am not as unrelentingly happy as they are. Because I don’t know where I’m supposed to be in any of this or if anyone even wants me to be there at all. I just don’t.”

Oliver had to bite his tongue to keep from retaliating as Alice laid down a variety of compliments and statements intended to assure him. But they sounded so good and honest and he wanted to badly so believe her. How could he be everything to her, though, when he wasn’t whole? When he wasn’t ever – couldn’t ever – give her what she wanted? That didn’t make him everything. It meant that he should have been nothing to her, and Alice just didn’t know yet.

He couldn’t bear to tell her, though. It would destroy him just as much as it would destroy his potential chance with her. That is, if Oliver had ever had any.

She moved away, and the cold, chilly feeling returned to his skin. As Alice spoke, though, he understood why she had needed a bit of space. It was like when his mother started crying – if he hugged her, it would be far, far worse. The last thing he wanted was to make her worse. But as she spoke, his fingers flexed at the incredibly painful desire to reach out again. He ended up clasping his hands together in order to keep himself from doing so.

He suddenly had the bizarre desire to learn Bulgarian, just so Alice would have someone around who could speak it. But Merlin knew he wasn’t the best at picking up languages. Maybe he would try anyway, Oliver mused in the back of his mind. But would she actually appreciate it if he did? For all Oliver knew, it could just end up seeming like an insult, which was the opposite of what he intended. He made a mental note to look up a couple words and test them out on her. If she reacted poorly, he could always apologize and drop it.

Oliver could practically feel his heart break as she kept on about how she always felt she was nothing, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He knew it wasn’t right, he knew he was probably making a mistake, but Oliver couldn’t stop himself. Shifting, he moved towards her and drew her in, blankets and all, and lifted a hand to her hair. One arm wrapped around the front of her torso, and his lips found her temple, simply holding still rather than pressing kisses there. Although his hand was woven into her hair, keeping her close, Oliver didn’t want to force anything. If Alice pulled away, he would let go in a heartbeat. An instant. But for now, he was determined to be whatever comfort she might seek. Especially if she felt she couldn’t ask for it.

“Now, you listen to me, Allie," Oliver began gently, pulling back and setting his forehead against her hair, in place of his lips. "I know that it feels like the world isn’t working as you expected it to, and that you’re confused. You’re not sure of yourself, or if you really deserve what you have. But, unlike me, you actually do deserve it. You learned, you changed, you grew into the woman you are now. And I haven’t met a single person in my whole life who is like you. Who pushed themselves through a million challenges, and who deserves more than they realize or can even imagine."

He closed his eyes and sighed, his breath washing over her neck, and knew he would be wise to stop speaking. But he just couldn't. "Alice, you… you are brilliant, and you care about absolutely everything, and just because you’re a beautiful girl does not mean you can’t also be completely astounding at your career. Whether or not those assholes you work with can see it," Oliver muttered, trying to slow the words that had started flying out more and more rapidly.

“So I understand the fact that you don’t feel like you belong, yet. But I promise you that Ariel and I would never want you to leave for good. I was stupid enough to think that you just didn’t want to be there. I didn’t understand. But, Alice, if you don’t belong with me - or... with us - I don’t have a clue who does.”

As soon as she felt Ollie’s arms wind around her, Alice nigh collapsed against him, exhausted of all energy to despair further than she already had. She didn’t struggle. She leaned into his lips and brought her hands around his arms to keep him there. To make him stay. If he didn’t, she likewise wasn’t sure who would. She turned her head into his and took a handful of sobering breaths, trying her hardest to get herself back together again. But she couldn’t. All she could feel was this wheezing in her chest where her heart had been and now, splintered and finished off with all of the thoroughness that the world could see to, she wasn’t sure how to come back from it. Yet her Ollie was, her anchor amidst the thrashing waves, keeping her head above the water threatening to swallow her whole.

Lifting her legs up, Alice tucked herself into Ollie’s arms as though she was packaging herself away. She looked up at him hesitantly and the barest hint of a sad smile crept at her lips as she pulled at the duvet, dragging it around them both. She reached up and with her small fist rubbed at her eyes as they began to wince a little at the sides. She turned her face into his shoulder and sighed softly, reaching for his side with her other hand to grasp at him in the hope that perhaps she could stay like that if she clung on. Perhaps, in doing so, he wouldn’t get the opportunity to extract her and thereby change his mind on the matter – because the doubt was there. Despite his words the doubt ran deep and she had no idea how to deal with it. She wanted to believe him. Desperately she wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t.

“I’m not,” she mumbled, continuing to rub at her eyes. “And I … I got sacked you know. It’s why papa won’t talk to me. I didn’t go back when I was recalled. I didn’t go back after the Azkaban thing to sort it out so they got rid of me.” She sighed and rubbed her hand along his arm thoughtfully. “Not so good at it, it seems. It’s all I have. Had.”

“I want to stay with you,” she admitted softly, looking round at him. “It’s home, now. You’re home. I don’t want to have to change again. I want to stay.”

Alice wiggled out of Ollie’s arms and crawled over to make up some semblance of a bed bit to the pillow flaw. She piled up a few pillows and pulled over a couple of duvets. She flattened them out to make a mattress of sorts and then tugged some more round as real duvets. Holding out her hands for him, she coaxed him beneath the covers and snuggled into his embrace once more. Alice closed her eyes and reached down for Ollie’s hand. She laced his fingers loosely with her own and finally then did she settle after a fashion. Alice didn’t rush to sleep, though. She lifted her eyes to his and she tried to work out why the events of the last few weeks had been as they were. She didn’t have an answer for it, though.

“How are you feeling?” She asked gradually, reaching up to press the back of her hand to his forehead. She moved her hand after a moment and leaned up to press her lips to his forehead. Squeezing her eyes shut, Alice held fast there for a moment before slowly slipping her mouth away from his skin to lay her head back down. “I’m sorry I burdened you with this, Ollie. I just … I want someone to understand. It’s always been a crazy situation but I want some normalcy with it. If you can afford to let me in with all my baggage I’d … I’d be so grateful. Because I … I need you. I really, really need you.”