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Vincent watched as Suzanne disappeared into the Monastery, her face shadowed by the high walls, but it did nothing to hide the memory of her sorrow.
It had only been a glimpse, as she looked at him from across the courtyard, and the sun glinted on the tears running down her face. When she turned away, he was left breathless, unable to move as she fled into the halls.
Something was very wrong.
He scanned the Sisters for any sign as to why their Mother was so distressed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Training continued without anyone the wiser, and he could see no culprit, though he knew there must be one.
Someone had made her cry and he wanted to know who.
His fist clenched at his side as he looked at where she had disappeared, longing filling his heart along with a helpless fury. There was nothing he could do. It wasn’t his place to fight.
Dragging his eyes from the door, he noticed Camila watching him. She was standing beside the fountain, a few of the new Sisters gathered around her skirts as they pestered her with questions.
When she caught his gaze, she raised her eyebrow, nodding after Suzanne, but he shook his head.
He wanted to follow her. The thought of her suffering, alone and in silence, was intolerable. But he’d lost the right to care a long time ago and no matter the penance he served, he’d never earn it back again.
Camila knew that better than anyone else that remained in their Order. For months, she’d done her utmost to keep him where she could see him, even going so far as to tail him on the few occasions he left the Monastery.
So why was she trying to push him after her now? When it would cause them nothing but heartache.
But he had never known Camila to give up easily, so he wasn’t surprised when she stalked across the courtyard, leaving her tagalongs in the dust.
“Camila,” he sighed, pre-emptively.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, and he blinked.
“I don’t-”
But she waved her hand, cutting off his spluttering. “Go and talk to her.”
He tried to inject something of his old authority into his tone as he said her name.
“Camila,” he started, but her glare simply grew sterner before she interrupted him.
“Yes?” The young woman crossed her arms and he couldn’t help the swell of frustration at her obstinance.
“I can't,” he sighed again, glancing at the far doors. “She doesn’t want to speak to me.”
“Argh!” she yelled suddenly, and he startled as she jabbed a finger into his chest, almost stepping back from her vehemence. “Estúpido culo!”
His eyes widened at her language, but she wasn’t finished.
“If you really think that then I don’t know why you bother!”
“Bother?” he asked automatically, frowning down at her.
She rolled her eyes, gesturing after her Mother.
“You watch her. Constantly,” she stressed, ignoring the colour he turned at her accusation as she continued. “It’s nauseating, actually, but nobody says anything because... well.”
“Well what?” he whispered, swallowing around a lump in his throat, and she looked at him properly for the first time.
He watched her forehead crease in concern, saw the instant she decided to help instead of hurt.
“You love her.” She shrugged, almost as though she could remove some of the tension of the moment by downplaying its significance.
It didn’t work. His heart hammered, unable to decide whether it would grant him the mercy of a swift death.
Camila glanced away and he appreciated the privacy, even if he saw the pity on her face before she turned. Undoubtedly, she thought him an idiot or worse for allowing his feelings to continue when he knew Suzanne would never return them.
And if Vincent ignored anything else she had said as she urged him to talk to Suzanne, or the fact he knew she didn’t have it in her to be cruel… then that was simply because he knew the harsh reality of hope and he wanted no part of it.
But Camila wasn’t done.
“The longer you avoid her, the worse it will be,” she said to the wall, before slowly meeting his incredulous gaze, challenging him to disagree with one neatly raised eyebrow.
With that last damning statement, she left, stalking back to her flock of recruits, and he was left to look longingly at the doorway, feeling the choice he faced weighing on his chest.
It would change everything.
But Camila was right.
Sometimes, what the heart wanted had to come first.
He needed to tell Suzanne.
---
“Suzanne!”
She heard his cry, but she kept walking, ignoring Vincent even as she heard his steps speed up, but she had already reached the safety of her bedroom.
Stepping inside, she slammed the door behind her, but when she never heard the wood crash into its frame, she knew he’d followed her.
A second later it closed with a quiet snick of the latch.
Another beat passed before her spoke.
“Suzanne-” he started, but she didn’t turn, pacing toward the window where she stared blankly out into the sun.
He shouldn’t be here.
This was not what they had agreed.
Months of dancing around the other, of making sure they were never in the same place, never close enough to feel the sting of his betrayal or the ache of her rejection. It was better this way. Safer, for all of them.
Forgiveness could blossom between the Sisters and their Father, but she had to remain separate, to keep the last barrier that might protect them should everything fall apart once more. She needed to be their strength, their last defence, even as she knew it was a fools hope.
In matters of the heart, Vincent had always been her guide.
This was her fault. She should have been able to control herself, to master her reaction to what had become an entirely ordinary sight.
But she couldn’t.
Seeing him in the courtyard, surrounded by their girls, completely at ease as he oversaw their training, had left her besieged by memories of a simpler time. She didn’t know why it had happened today or why his absence had suddenly felt so overwhelmingly unbearable. It was difficult to think past her pounding heart and the knowledge that something was deeply and terribly wrong.
She almost hadn’t noticed the tears running down her face until he’d turned and caught her gaze.
No amount of denial could have hidden the sorrow in his eyes, concern written plainly for anyone to see. And the longer she looked at him, the more she saw, his secrets unfurling right there in a language it seemed only she could read.
And she didn’t dare.
“Stop,” he demanded, seizing her wrist, and she didn’t know whether he was referring to her frantic pacing or the thoughts still circling her mind.
In either case it worked, because she span to face him, wrenching her arm from his grasp, but it wasn’t enough to remove the impression of his touch, now seared upon her skin.
“Stop it, Vincent,” she snapped, jaw clenched, and she knew she must look furious even as her emotions betrayed her and she kept crying.
Damn him. He wasn’t supposed to see her like this.
“No.”
She froze, staring at him in bewilderment.
“What?” she asked, before she saw his resolve and realised, abruptly, that this was the first time he had refused her since he returned to their side. The first time that he sounded less like a shell of the man she loved.
“I won't,” he murmured, and then he raised his hands, cradling her jaw and brushing away the tears with his thumbs.
For a blessed moment, she allowed herself to lean into his touch even as it burned, her eyes falling shut, before she remembered why she couldn’t accept this, not anymore.
She knocked him away, stepping back toward the wall, but it wasn’t far enough.
He needed to leave.
“You have no right-” she started, but then he was right there, hands wrapping around her waist and she couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything that meant she’d feel any more than she already did.
He leant forward, his eyes blazing but earnest, and she waited for what came next, watching him swallow, mesmerised by the bob of his throat and the resolve that showed in his face.
And then he kissed her, deeply, furiously.
She didn’t stop him.
It only lasted a second but when he pulled away, she could feel the sting of his beard against her skin, his taste lingering on her tongue.
“Vincent,” she whispered, but he didn’t let her finish before he was kissing her again, curling his arms around her middle, and she bent under his pull, settling her hands on his shoulders, feeling the strength in his grip as he gathered her close.
She didn’t realised they were moving until her back hit the wall beside the window, craning her head up to keep their lips connected, feeling near consumed as heat rushed toward everywhere they touched.
“I love you,” he murmured when he released her, and her heart stuttered, but he wasn’t finished, his eyes darkening as he stared at her.
“I may have no right,” he said and his tone grew to match the force of his gaze, “but don’t you dare believe that means I don’t care.”
She didn’t have a chance to respond before his mouth seized hers in another bruising kiss, pulling her hips into his, but it didn’t matter. Anything she wanted to say was conveyed in her moan as she fisted her hands in his hair, holding him against her.
“Vincent,” she gasped when he broke away to breathe, and at the sound of her voice, some of his fervour eased.
Her heart sank as she watched his passion replaced with guilt, his grip around her waist loosening as he moved away and her hands fell from his hair.
“I shouldn’t-” he swallowed, paling with dread, “forgive me-” but he stopped, knowing he had no right to ask.
He stepped back and she shivered in his wake, knowing that if he left now it would be forever. There was no coming back, not now they'd crossed this line, and whatever her fears for the future, she knew she couldn’t lose him. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been ready to say goodbye.
Helplessly, she shook her head, fighting to find the words that would stop him leaving.
“Do you really think,” she whispered, “that I don’t love you?”
He paused on the verge of flight, still close enough to touch, and she stroked the backs of her fingers down his cheek, watching his eyes slip shut, a tear falling to the floor.
“That I haven’t loved you, for just as long as you have me?”
She stepped away from the wall, brushing her lips against his jaw even as he stayed frozen.
“That I don’t want you?”
He looked at her then, and she watched the realisation dawn across his face, a slow but irresistible brightening of his gaze.
“Oh,” he murmured, and followed willingly when she grabbed his hands, dragging them to her waist and walking backward until he crowded her against the wall.
For a moment, he simply stared at her, disbelief rapidly transforming into awe.
Shaking her head again, Suzanne pressed a finger to his lips, stopping his questions before she drew his chin down until she could kiss him, conveying her certainty in the slide of her tongue along his, and the heat between them grew.
Stroking up his arms, she curled around his shoulders, sighing when he broke their kiss and dropped his head to the crook of her neck, only to bite the soft skin beneath her jaw.
“You know,” she started, then whimpered when he nipped at her pulse, soothing the sting with his tongue. “There's a perfectly good bed right there.”
She could see it just behind him in fact, though her eyes slipped closed as he rubbed a hand down her leg, fingers curling behind her knee and pulling it to his hip.
“Too far,” he moaned, and his other hand crept up her spine, working the laces of her habit apart and yanking at the clasps when they resisted. “I’m not letting you go.”
Oh, fuck.
His hand slid from her knee to her thigh, tugging her closer and, realising what he wanted, she gripped his shoulders tighter.
When she jumped, he caught her, abandoning his attempts to undress her in favour of grabbing her hips, groaning when she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Suzanne,” he sighed, finding his way back to her mouth, and she fought the urge to move, simply sliding her hands into his hair and holding him to her, losing herself in his fierce kiss.
But Vincent was of a one track mind, and he soon returned to opening her dress. Soon, she felt it tear apart, the stone cold and rough, scratching her skin when he braced her weight against the wall and stripped the fabric from her body.
It fell to her waist, leaving her half-bare in the chill room, but she warmed when he fixed his lips to her chest, dragging his teeth along her collarbone.
She curled her arms around his head, her breath hitching as he palmed roughly at her clothes, searching for the end of her habit.
When he found it, he yanked it free from between them, bunching it around her waist and sliding his hands beneath the cloth, stroking sure fingers up her thighs and curling them around the edges of her underwear.
“Vincent,” she warned, muffled as she pressed her face into his hair.
He huffed a laugh against her breast, hiking her higher in his arms, the pressure teasing a cry from her throat as he supported her between his hips and the stone.
She retaliated by pulling at his shirt, forcing his head up as she tugged his collar free with a snap. The buttons came apart easily, and soon she was able to slide her hands inside, only to meet his vest.
“You're wearing too many clothes,” she complained, and he chuckled as she shoved his shirt down.
To take it off, he had to abandon his hold of her thighs, but he kept her in place with his hips and she tried to ignore the ache his touch sparked in her blood, focusing on raking her nails up his ribs and lifting his vest over his head.
His hands fell back to her legs, but her own settled on his biceps, feeling the knotted flesh beneath her palms, still an angry red where Divinium had burst through his skin.
He froze as she ran gentle fingers along the scars, slowly raising his head until he met her eyes.
“Suzanne,” he whispered brokenly. “You shouldn’t-” His voice broke and he faltered, watching as she continued tracing the evidence of his mistakes, and as the seconds passed and she didn’t shy away, relief began to fill his gaze.
Shame was replaced with love, as though her touch were a benediction upon his very soul.
It had been so many months since she’d seen him with an ounce of this spirit, not since he returned to them a broken man and she feared that was all he would ever be again. But here was the Vincent who’d spent a decade by her side, protecting their girls at any cost, the Vincent she’d long ago fallen in love with.
A tear slipped down her cheek and he raised a hand to her head, gently unclasping her veil and sliding it off, dragging his fingers through the simple plait until it fell apart and her hair cascaded around her shoulders.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, watching the warmth in his eyes as he smiled.
She wanted to feel all of him as he pinned her to the wall and took her, wrapped tightly in his arms. She wanted to know he was hers, completely and utterly, in this moment and in every other.
They moved at the same time, Vincent clutching her thighs which left her free to slip his belt out of its loop, unzipping his trousers with a satisfying drag, and then he shifted until he could kick them free without surrendering his hold of her, or even removing his tongue from where it laved at her breast.
“Vincent,” she moaned as she freed him, and he covered her mouth with his own, panting as he fisted her thighs and jerked her toward him, and she felt all of him at last, pressed against her so intimately.
“Tell me to stop,” he begged, breath warm on her cheek, then shuddered when she reached between them and took him in hand, stroking his length before guiding him between her legs.
He slipped inside her with a soft cry, forehead falling to her shoulder. Neither of them breathed as they adjusted to the sensation of being joined, a sob building in her chest as the moment washed over her.
Eventually, he started to roll his hips, tugging her closer and groaning as she matched his rhythm, and Suzanne lost herself in the feeling of him surrounding her.
She tightened her legs around his waist, urging him on as she ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms and back again, touching as much of him as she could, feeling his muscles tense and tremble as he moved within her.
Behind her, the wall provided an anchor to his thrusts, keeping her pinned between his heat and the freezing stone against her spine.
She gasped when he snuck his hand between them, clenching around him as he touched her, teasing her closer toward her peak.
Dropping her mouth to his shoulder, she bit down hard as she tumbled over the edge, feeling him tense as he followed her, his cries muffled in the side of her head.
Gradually, he slowed, relaxing his fierce grip on her legs, but she knew there would be bruises in the shape of his hands, a reminder for weeks to come of the passion of this moment.
“Suzanne,” he panted, staring at her, eyes wide with his devotion. Sweat dripped from his temple, and she smoothed his hair back from his face, sighing with content as he turned toward her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm.
Eventually, they managed to separate long enough to make it to the bed, slumping on top of the covers in an exhausted jumble of limbs, only to immediately curl back around each other.
She took his glasses off, folding the arms and stretching to place them on the nightstand behind him. He gathered her hair, wrapping it in a simple twist, knowing how much it annoyed her to leave it loose.
Evening would fall soon, and both had responsibilities to see to before then, but there was time for this moment. Time to hold each other and know that nothing was ever truly lost.