She does not laugh but she does smile, privately, behind her hand. Ah. Well, she'd had her suspicions anyway. She leans in the door frame then instead of moving closer, letting him have his face turned away a moment out of respect. "No, you're fine, it's my fault. Besides, she's very sweet."
(She is still smiling, faintly, and she's dropped her hand. Approval of Severus' choices aside, she leaves it at that lest he actively explode from embarrassment.)
"How are you feeling today?" Is safer, though she does mean physically, not whether her intrusion is alarming.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck is kind of a great internal monologue. Severus is in no way embarrassed about Claire, and he wasn't hiding it from Lily, but what a way for that to get out. He still hasn't turned back around, concerned he looks like a tomato.
"I feel a bit like airlocking myself," he says, white-knuckle casual.
A cold accusatory feeling slithers up within him, suggesting wouldn't he like to speak that way to Lily anyway? But he recoils away from it mentally as if burned. No matter what anyone thought-- no matter what he can feel for her, if he was given room-- it's not like that. It's not some cheap unrequited romance.
"I'm afraid that isn't allowed," Lily says, still letting him have his moment as needed—that is certainly a way for it to get out, really, and she doesn't begrudge him the reaction he's having.
Part of her feels like she should be teasing him a bit in the good-natured way she's so capable of but the rest of her thinks leave that for later when things aren't so—
She doesn't know what things are right now, other than a mass of emotions that she's kept shoved down somewhere in her stomach for years. She's happy for him, though, in this aspect: she likes Claire, she likes Severus, and why not? They should be happy together.
He's so private that it's difficult, even if he doesn't mind people knowing. Severus has never imagined being in a situation ('situation', like having a girlfriend is a situation), even at home.
"Did you need something?" he asks finally, turning his head again - complexion his regular sallow shade. Where someone else might sound hostile, Severus curbs his tone gentle. It's Lily, after all, and she must be here for a reason. Repaired as they are, he's not sure they're quite at random social call level.
As though suddenly remembering why she originally arrived, Lily straightens up, nods just a little. She doesn't look uncomfortable but she does look like she has a purpose, hand lifting to push a strand a hair out of her face that wasn't even really in the way to begin with.
"I wanted to talk with you," she says then, soft. "About a few things."
Severus hears that and thinks Oh, because even if he can't predict exactly what she wants to discuss, he can feel the invisible weight on the request. The part of him that's an expert on getting out of dealing with difficult emotions tells him that he could turn her down, say he's behind in work due to the crisis, and he knows she'd probably respect it. But if he's honest with himself-- which he occasionally is-- he knows he can't deny Lily.
He puts down the glass object he was inspecting absently.
"All right." Instead of standing out here in the open, he turns around and nods towards his office. "Tea?"
Of course Lily would respect it. But she would come back some other time, when there was no excuse of a crisis, and all it would be doing is prolonging the inevitable. She appreciates that he's humoring her at least, and nods to his inquiry.
"Please," she says, in lieu of a thank you like she might usually, skirting that issue entirely.
She'll trail after him to the office once he starts, unwilling to beat him to his own space. She feels like her own thoughts are choking her, but she shoves them down for the time being.
One gesture sets the electric kettle liberated from a kitchen going while Severus gets them mugs and sorts out tea. His own mixture, old fashioned but very fresh, owing to the oxygen gardens. Ginger-apple is a little sharp, but he's got honey in a tin, too. (Space honey. It's lavender.)
"I feel like I'm about to be in trouble," he says quietly, pouring the hot water. Appropriately.
Lily likes sharp tea anyway, though she probably will soften it with some Space Honey. She's still and quiet a moment, shakes her head and manages another smile though this one is a little fainter.
"You're not in trouble," she begins, and that might be promising. Maybe. "You've... You've been very honest and forthright with me since I arrived and it's something I appreciate. Not being treated like I'm about to break into a thousand pieces."
Even in the times where she might've. She didn't. Once the tea is sorted and steeped she cups a mug in her hands, leeching the warmth through her fingers.
"But there was something wrong when we last spoke, something you weren't telling me."
It's a while before Severus says anything. He sits down, and he doesn't seem to be very bothered - but there's a slight, tell-tale frown on his face, brows marginally knitted together. There isn't anything he's not telling her. He sensed her tension in the medbay the last time they spoke face to face, of course, but surely she can't expect him to be free of reservations about her conflict of interest where the Marauders are concerned.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he begins slowly, picking his words carefully. "I don't think there's anything I can say. The only alternative to me staying quiet seems to be arguing."
"I don't want to argue," Lily says, first off. She sits too, finally, takes a drink of tea while she tries to figure out how to word what she wants to express.
Easier said than done. (Hah.)
"I don't know what the problem is," softer, slowly, "I can tell something is off but I not what, and it's bothering me. It feels like I'm missing something, and it's driving me mad trying to figure out what it is."
There is genuine confusion plain on her face, at any rate.
He tries to rein in his incredulity, but it peeks through. Why is she doing this to him? Does she want him to rewrite history, apologize, pretend it all never happened? Something sticks in his ribs thinking about it. Of course it would be better if it all went away, but it can't, and he's not capable of pretending to that degree, not even for her.
"You want to understand," he echoes, "why I find it difficult to accept your anger over Sirius Black assaulting me?" We're not in third year anymore, his expression says. He can't believe her sincerity about it. Not anymore. She might have accepted him back here but he knows - and she knows - who won her loyalty.
Something is very wrong and it's creeping up her spine, ice-cold clawing its way up her vertebrae. She pushes it aside violently, tries to focus instead.
"Of course I'm bloody angry about it, there's no way I wouldn't be," she's passionate again, because there's no world in which she wouldn't be angry about them mistreating him: even when they weren't speaking, she still cared. Still, she isn't angry: upset, yes, but not angry.
"I'm not about to say 'ah, right, you nearly killed him, run along,' I can't do that." but his expression isn't lost to her. It sticks with her and dries her mouth.
Severus doesn't move. He stares at her, dark eyes searching her green ones, the grips of potential magic not quite unhooking. He doesn't sense that she's lying or faking it and that doesn't make any sense but-- she's powerful and without deliberation in Legilimency maybe-- Merlin's sake, he's not going to do that.
His hand around his cup tenses, slowly. Nails press into synthetic ceramic uselessly. There is an air about him like a cornered animal.
That's all Lily thinks for a moment, a single no echoing over and over between her ears but she stares back at him unblinkingly, with nothing to hide save her growing sense of dread and alarm.
She sets her mug down before she spills it because she can't tell if her hands are going to start shaking, doesn't move otherwise.
He's not an idiot. He's a bloody genius, and he's a spy, and he puts it together as he watches her. That thing stuck in his chest twists and he feels something in his heart break. Severus has to look away, exhaling in a pained-sounding laugh as he does. Devoid of humor. Hurt.
It takes him a few tries to get anything out. He forces himself to pick up his mug and take a drink, not hesitating over the near-scalding water. He sets it back down carefully.
"I'm used to it." Severus enunciates his words with brittle precision to keep himself from cracking with unhelpful emotion. He's still very quiet. "My teachers... were always so impressed that I'd gotten so good at dueling multiple opponents. But none of them wanted to acknowledge why."
Lily stares down at her hands as he speaks. She inhales and it sounds ragged, exhales and it sounds worse. She's smart. She doesn't need it spelled out any further—she obviously knew about what happened before, but...
She doesn't know what to think, much less to say. But while Severus has done many things, lie to her has never been one of them and he has no reason to start now. She doesn't question what he says. Rather than stillness now she becomes a flurry of agitated motion, standing and pacing in a small circuit, her hands wringing together.
Her husband is dead. He also lied to her. She feels like maybe she is crumbling this time.
"He promised me," she says, nearly chokes on it, "swore," it's difficult to tell if she's angry or mourning or both. "He looked me in the eye—" She stops suddenly, stares at him with wide eyes just in case he's looking at her again.
"I never knew."
Edited (oh my god i'm sorry i'm tired i noticed another typo GOING TO BED NOW GOODBYE) 2014-11-05 12:36 (UTC)
Like a shadow of her, the more emotional Lily gets, the more it drains away from Severus. He sits across from her, still and blank.
Oh. He promised her. Well then. That's understandable, isn't it. James Potter, paragon of truth and justice, promised something, thus making it utterly inconceivable that he might ever go against it. The poster child for the debate of 'designated dark magic vs intent making good magic dark' promised he would stop doing something that he and his best mate were obsessed with, and Lily, brilliant witch, prefect, head girl, believed him.
Severus doesn't say anything. He stays there at his desk with his gaze cast to one side of her, silent. His options here are telling her it's fine - it's not fine - or going on about the things her husband has done, which she should have known he'd do, because James Potter is James Potter and Lily isn't a bleeding idiot. But maybe she had nothing else; maybe Severus was so awful that going to Potter and duping herself into believing that lie was easier than dealing with Severus's painful truth.
He thinks it was better before this conversation, probably.
When she finally sits again it's with the air of someone who's spent all of their energy in one fell swoop. She doesn't crumple so much as deflate, elbows on her knees and face in her hands.
She doesn't say anything for a long time. There's very little she can say.
The whole point had been of course that James had changed, that he had become something different, and she'd believed him. Believed him because it was what she needed, in the wake of Severus being unable to change then, in the remains of ripping out a piece of herself to split from him. She feels dull and stupid in the wake of it, and sharply conscious of everything it means.
I would never she begins to think but doesn't express because what good would it do now, after everything.
"I was so stupid," she mutters finally, more to herself than anything: stupid for thinking he'd change, stupid for the mistakes that led to their deaths, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Blind, maybe.
She laughs quietly, bitter and mirthless, without lifting her head. She doesn't know what else to say.
"You didn't have a multitude of choices. I didn't help."
Blunt. Still quiet, but blunt. Severus understands reality even if he hates it; people by nature are hypocritical and capable of contrary emotional multitasking and Severus is no different. He's been hurt terribly by the things Lily has done and not done, but he understands why it's all happened the way it has, and even if he's hurt he doesn't blame her or think she wasn't entitled to make the choices she did. His feelings aren't her responsibility.
None of them had many choices, in the scheme of things.
Lily sits up a little more, finally lifts her face from her hands. She doesn't look calm because who would after something like this, but a little more like she isn't about to lose it entirely. Understanding doesn't make things better.
She breathes in and out slowly, uses both hands to push her mussed hair out of her face. Closes her eyes, tips her head back before she settles again. "It doesn't fix things but at least I know now."
There's no excuse for a lot of things people did on both sides. Nothing will ever be idyllic again like when they were children. "I meant what I said before. About being happy to have this time here even when things go wrong."
With you she doesn't say. It's not an abrupt change of tone like it might seem: all sentiment aside, all the care she has for him (in spades) aside, he's the only one to tell her this truth.
"I know better than to expect things to be perfect, but I want us to be a part of one another's lives."
Severus looks at her and believes her, and that's clear in the way he stares. Words fail him; who would know what to say, here. Hell if he has any idea. He loves Lily like nothing else. She's the only person he's ever felt truly accepted by, and he didn't realize it until it was too late. Of course he'll accept whatever he can get from her, even if it's breadcrumbs.
Something bothers him, though. It starts as a tiny bubble of a thought, not even fully formed, but it won't leave him alone.
"Why did..." no, that's not right. Severus tilts his head, trying to sort out his phrasing. "Under what circumstances would he even need to make that kind of promise?"
What in the fuck was she trading on, for something like that to come up.
"I—" Lily falters briefly then, looking away to try and gather her thoughts. She isn't ashamed of the ultimatum she'd given James, but she isn't sure how to word it so that it doesn't sound worse.
"I made him."
Plainly, and she follows it up with: "I made him promise to leave you alone before I would entertain the idea of spending any time with him."
So she'd bartered with herself, essentially, after they had stopped having contact. A more hands-off approach maybe, than before.
For a little while it seems like Severus hasn't heard Lily. He carries on staring at her as though she hadn't said anything, like maybe her answer is so ludicrous or painful that he's incapable of even hearing it, much less processing it. As it does sink in - her words, the way she looks away, her voice, the implication on her whole life and her baby - Severus's eyes change, black going darker, tension flinching over his eyes and brow like frost snapping into place.
It's small. But it's there.
And now it's his turn to stand up. Severus doesn't pace but once, twice, waiting with one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth, turned away from Lily. Like his honest reaction might hurt her by accident, that even if James is the target she might be stuck in the crossfire or emotional blast zone simply because Severus is here, feeling, breathing.
She hasn't cried not because James being six months dead has softened the blow. The idea that learning everything was based off of that initial lie that he'd charmed her with could be softened by half a year is absurd.
She hasn't cried because some part of her doesn't want to cry in front of anyone at all.
She also does not flinch or shy away from Severus' reaction, the sharpness of him. She isn't afraid of him: she never was. But now he's turned away and she dips her head again, hand covering her mouth to stifle the stutter of her breath. She doesn't let out a sob, but maybe it's worse that she's quiet when the dam breaks.
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She does not laugh but she does smile, privately, behind her hand. Ah. Well, she'd had her suspicions anyway. She leans in the door frame then instead of moving closer, letting him have his face turned away a moment out of respect. "No, you're fine, it's my fault. Besides, she's very sweet."
(She is still smiling, faintly, and she's dropped her hand. Approval of Severus' choices aside, she leaves it at that lest he actively explode from embarrassment.)
"How are you feeling today?" Is safer, though she does mean physically, not whether her intrusion is alarming.
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"I feel a bit like airlocking myself," he says, white-knuckle casual.
A cold accusatory feeling slithers up within him, suggesting wouldn't he like to speak that way to Lily anyway? But he recoils away from it mentally as if burned. No matter what anyone thought-- no matter what he can feel for her, if he was given room-- it's not like that. It's not some cheap unrequited romance.
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Part of her feels like she should be teasing him a bit in the good-natured way she's so capable of but the rest of her thinks leave that for later when things aren't so—
She doesn't know what things are right now, other than a mass of emotions that she's kept shoved down somewhere in her stomach for years. She's happy for him, though, in this aspect: she likes Claire, she likes Severus, and why not? They should be happy together.
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"Did you need something?" he asks finally, turning his head again - complexion his regular sallow shade. Where someone else might sound hostile, Severus curbs his tone gentle. It's Lily, after all, and she must be here for a reason. Repaired as they are, he's not sure they're quite at random social call level.
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"I wanted to talk with you," she says then, soft. "About a few things."
So not quite a random social call, no.
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He puts down the glass object he was inspecting absently.
"All right." Instead of standing out here in the open, he turns around and nods towards his office. "Tea?"
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"Please," she says, in lieu of a thank you like she might usually, skirting that issue entirely.
She'll trail after him to the office once he starts, unwilling to beat him to his own space. She feels like her own thoughts are choking her, but she shoves them down for the time being.
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"I feel like I'm about to be in trouble," he says quietly, pouring the hot water. Appropriately.
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"You're not in trouble," she begins, and that might be promising. Maybe. "You've... You've been very honest and forthright with me since I arrived and it's something I appreciate. Not being treated like I'm about to break into a thousand pieces."
Even in the times where she might've. She didn't. Once the tea is sorted and steeped she cups a mug in her hands, leeching the warmth through her fingers.
"But there was something wrong when we last spoke, something you weren't telling me."
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"I don't know what you want me to say," he begins slowly, picking his words carefully. "I don't think there's anything I can say. The only alternative to me staying quiet seems to be arguing."
And he doesn't want that.
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Easier said than done. (Hah.)
"I don't know what the problem is," softer, slowly, "I can tell something is off but I not what, and it's bothering me. It feels like I'm missing something, and it's driving me mad trying to figure out what it is."
There is genuine confusion plain on her face, at any rate.
"I just want to understand."
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He tries to rein in his incredulity, but it peeks through. Why is she doing this to him? Does she want him to rewrite history, apologize, pretend it all never happened? Something sticks in his ribs thinking about it. Of course it would be better if it all went away, but it can't, and he's not capable of pretending to that degree, not even for her.
"You want to understand," he echoes, "why I find it difficult to accept your anger over Sirius Black assaulting me?" We're not in third year anymore, his expression says. He can't believe her sincerity about it. Not anymore. She might have accepted him back here but he knows - and she knows - who won her loyalty.
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Something is very wrong and it's creeping up her spine, ice-cold clawing its way up her vertebrae. She pushes it aside violently, tries to focus instead.
"Of course I'm bloody angry about it, there's no way I wouldn't be," she's passionate again, because there's no world in which she wouldn't be angry about them mistreating him: even when they weren't speaking, she still cared. Still, she isn't angry: upset, yes, but not angry.
"I'm not about to say 'ah, right, you nearly killed him, run along,' I can't do that." but his expression isn't lost to her. It sticks with her and dries her mouth.
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His hand around his cup tenses, slowly. Nails press into synthetic ceramic uselessly. There is an air about him like a cornered animal.
Finally, barely above a whisper,
"Is this a joke?"
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That's all Lily thinks for a moment, a single no echoing over and over between her ears but she stares back at him unblinkingly, with nothing to hide save her growing sense of dread and alarm.
She sets her mug down before she spills it because she can't tell if her hands are going to start shaking, doesn't move otherwise.
"I would never."
And it's true.
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It takes him a few tries to get anything out. He forces himself to pick up his mug and take a drink, not hesitating over the near-scalding water. He sets it back down carefully.
"I'm used to it." Severus enunciates his words with brittle precision to keep himself from cracking with unhelpful emotion. He's still very quiet. "My teachers... were always so impressed that I'd gotten so good at dueling multiple opponents. But none of them wanted to acknowledge why."
Slytherin student. Who cares.
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She doesn't know what to think, much less to say. But while Severus has done many things, lie to her has never been one of them and he has no reason to start now. She doesn't question what he says. Rather than stillness now she becomes a flurry of agitated motion, standing and pacing in a small circuit, her hands wringing together.
Her husband is dead. He also lied to her. She feels like maybe she is crumbling this time.
"He promised me," she says, nearly chokes on it, "swore," it's difficult to tell if she's angry or mourning or both. "He looked me in the eye—" She stops suddenly, stares at him with wide eyes just in case he's looking at her again.
"I never knew."
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Oh. He promised her. Well then. That's understandable, isn't it. James Potter, paragon of truth and justice, promised something, thus making it utterly inconceivable that he might ever go against it. The poster child for the debate of 'designated dark magic vs intent making good magic dark' promised he would stop doing something that he and his best mate were obsessed with, and Lily, brilliant witch, prefect, head girl, believed him.
Severus doesn't say anything. He stays there at his desk with his gaze cast to one side of her, silent. His options here are telling her it's fine - it's not fine - or going on about the things her husband has done, which she should have known he'd do, because James Potter is James Potter and Lily isn't a bleeding idiot. But maybe she had nothing else; maybe Severus was so awful that going to Potter and duping herself into believing that lie was easier than dealing with Severus's painful truth.
He thinks it was better before this conversation, probably.
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When she finally sits again it's with the air of someone who's spent all of their energy in one fell swoop. She doesn't crumple so much as deflate, elbows on her knees and face in her hands.
She doesn't say anything for a long time. There's very little she can say.
The whole point had been of course that James had changed, that he had become something different, and she'd believed him. Believed him because it was what she needed, in the wake of Severus being unable to change then, in the remains of ripping out a piece of herself to split from him. She feels dull and stupid in the wake of it, and sharply conscious of everything it means.
I would never she begins to think but doesn't express because what good would it do now, after everything.
"I was so stupid," she mutters finally, more to herself than anything: stupid for thinking he'd change, stupid for the mistakes that led to their deaths, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Blind, maybe.
She laughs quietly, bitter and mirthless, without lifting her head. She doesn't know what else to say.
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Blunt. Still quiet, but blunt. Severus understands reality even if he hates it; people by nature are hypocritical and capable of contrary emotional multitasking and Severus is no different. He's been hurt terribly by the things Lily has done and not done, but he understands why it's all happened the way it has, and even if he's hurt he doesn't blame her or think she wasn't entitled to make the choices she did. His feelings aren't her responsibility.
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Lily sits up a little more, finally lifts her face from her hands. She doesn't look calm because who would after something like this, but a little more like she isn't about to lose it entirely. Understanding doesn't make things better.
She breathes in and out slowly, uses both hands to push her mussed hair out of her face. Closes her eyes, tips her head back before she settles again. "It doesn't fix things but at least I know now."
There's no excuse for a lot of things people did on both sides. Nothing will ever be idyllic again like when they were children. "I meant what I said before. About being happy to have this time here even when things go wrong."
With you she doesn't say. It's not an abrupt change of tone like it might seem: all sentiment aside, all the care she has for him (in spades) aside, he's the only one to tell her this truth.
"I know better than to expect things to be perfect, but I want us to be a part of one another's lives."
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Something bothers him, though. It starts as a tiny bubble of a thought, not even fully formed, but it won't leave him alone.
"Why did..." no, that's not right. Severus tilts his head, trying to sort out his phrasing. "Under what circumstances would he even need to make that kind of promise?"
What in the fuck was she trading on, for something like that to come up.
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"I made him."
Plainly, and she follows it up with: "I made him promise to leave you alone before I would entertain the idea of spending any time with him."
So she'd bartered with herself, essentially, after they had stopped having contact. A more hands-off approach maybe, than before.
And James lied to her about it.
Cool.
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It's small. But it's there.
And now it's his turn to stand up. Severus doesn't pace but once, twice, waiting with one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth, turned away from Lily. Like his honest reaction might hurt her by accident, that even if James is the target she might be stuck in the crossfire or emotional blast zone simply because Severus is here, feeling, breathing.
He is so angry.
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She hasn't cried not because James being six months dead has softened the blow. The idea that learning everything was based off of that initial lie that he'd charmed her with could be softened by half a year is absurd.
She hasn't cried because some part of her doesn't want to cry in front of anyone at all.
She also does not flinch or shy away from Severus' reaction, the sharpness of him. She isn't afraid of him: she never was. But now he's turned away and she dips her head again, hand covering her mouth to stifle the stutter of her breath. She doesn't let out a sob, but maybe it's worse that she's quiet when the dam breaks.
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