OTA

[codenameathos]

Oliver had waited until he had another day off to pour over the contents of the memory stick Victoria had given him. He had read every word of that file. Every mission she'd been on. Every death she was officially responsible for. Most of them aligned with British interests, but that wasn't the issue.

The issue was that this was Anne. His sweet, beautiful Anne, who had insisted that she had only been fighting off her brother. She was capable of these things, had probably always been capable of these things.

There was nothing on her recruitment, and he had no way of knowing when she had started for them. The file as it was started a little while after her 'death', but what did that mean?

He had waited until he had another day off, because after he was done reading, Oliver went out to the pub, a solitary figure huddling over ever-coming glasses of scotch at the counter. He only moved on when the bartender cut him off. A few pubs later, he was stumbling through the streets of London, until he found himself outside her house.

The address had been in her file, the house of late Lord Winter. He rang the bell and banged on her door, yelling for her to open - without ever using a name, what name was he supposed to use? - until he gave up hope and sagged against the wall beside her door, barely holding himself up in his drunkenness.

OOC: find him in the pub, on the streets, outside her door, as you prefer! From tipsy to next to blind drunk!

Comments

[alcuin]

It was at some point during the 'stumbling through the streets of London' period that Oliver stumbled into Alcuin - literally.

Alcuin had been shopping earlier and had with him, among other things, a few glass bottles full of bath salts and scented massage oil. When the intoxicated man bumped into him, he lurched and dropped the bag. The sound of breaking glass was loud, accompanied by a mixed of strong scents wafting up from the street.

"Oh no." Alcuin started to crouch down to see to the mess, but then was more immediately concerned with the man who'd bumped into him. "Are - are you all right?"

There was, actually, something vaguely familiar about him niggling at the edges of his memory. But perhaps he just had one of those faces.

[codenameathos]

Oliver frowned at the sound of glass breaking, and stopped walking to sway slightly on the spot, frowning at the young man. He'd just bumped into him and caused that, hadn't he. "I'll pay for that," he offered, words slightly mangled by his inebriation.

[alcuin]

Once the man stopped, and looked at him, recognition registered more soundly. Alcuin didn't know the man's name, but he remembered him. Years ago, Anafiel had sent him to a party to "have a listen" and while he was there, he'd realized that there was someone else doing the same thing. He'd told Anafiel that he'd made another spy, described him, and... been told essentially, oh that guy, don't worry about him. And Alcuin had dropped it, because he did whatever Anafiel told him.

Clear recognition showed on Alcuin's face for a second as he looked at the man (whose name he did not actually know), but then he knelt to start picking up the broken pieces of glass that had spilled from the bag. "It's - okay," he said.

[codenameathos]

Oliver, for his own part, was still frowning at the mess on the ground. "No, it's -" not, nothing is okay, nothing will ever be okay again, "my fault," he finished. Probably. He was drunk, it likely was. And what did it matter? "Here," he patted his pockets for his wallet, pulled it out. "How much was it?"

[alcuin]

Alcuin meanwhile was thinking that this was the perfect sort of con, an accidental bumping into on the street, even pretending to be drunk. This man was a spy - was there some possibility that this wasn't an accident?

Alcuin put a hand on the man's wrist above where he held out his wallet, and looked him in the eyes. Determining if he really was drunk, or if he was lying. "If it was an accident I do not need your money, but thank you."

[codenameathos]

Oliver let a beat go by, then relented. "All right." He had offered, and he did not have the energy - or motivation - to insist. "I'm sorry," he said anyway, trying to appear less drunk than he was as he put away his wallet.

[alcuin]

"It's all right," Alcuin said again as he finished picking up the glass. The plastic bag now swished with liquid, he should just toss the whole thing.

He straightened up and looked at the man again. "Are you sure you're all right? I'm Alcuin Delaunay." And watched him to see if the name fostered a reaction. He was probably just being paranoid.

[codenameathos]

Oliver frowned; that last name, particularly, rang a bell. "Oliver," he answered, not bothering with a surname; he would have given a fake. He nearly blurted out, I know you, but held himself back; he was much too drunk to have that conversation intelligently. "And I didn't shatter on the ground." His nonchalant sarcasm was never far, even when he was drunk. Yes, he was all right.

As all right as one could be in these circumstances.

[alcuin]

Alcuin thought that he saw a glimmer of recognition then, but it also convinced him that the man hadn't bumped into him on purpose.

"No, but you seem as if you may need some help getting where you're going," he said gently.

[codenameathos]

"I've already had all the help I might need getting here," Oliver assured him, a drawl to his words that wasn't normally present in his usual perfect pronunciation. "Ghosts are real," he told him, quite serious, "and I've got to go and confront one."

[alcuin]

Given everything that Alcuin knew, he had no idea whether that was literal or figurative.

He hesitated.

"I... suppose I can only wish you luck then," he finally said.

[codenameathos]

"I think Fortune has nothing but scorn for me," Oliver answered, swaying a little again. "But thank you," he added, belated manners. He gestured at the bag of broken glass. "You should throw that away. It smells horrid."

[alcuin]

"Ah... yes," Alcuin sighed. He wasn't really sure what else to say.

[codenameathos]

Belatedly, Oliver remembered to apologise once more. "Sorry again," he added, then turned to go.

He had somewhere to be. A date to make.

[codenamemilady]

Milady was on her way to the residence when Oliver arrived, drunk and insistent. But she did take her security seriously, the system sending a notification to her phone as he banged on the door hard enough to shake it. Her stomach dropped and mouth went dry when accessing the system remotely showed her once husband at her door, pissed, and with no indication he would leave soon.

She had the cab drop her off one street over. No sense causing more of a scene than necessary, and if things went badly, there'd be one fewer witness. The short walk gave Milady a chance to compose herself and tuck a slim dagger under her sleeve. Just in case.

"You're drunk," she said, voice frigid and bordering on disgust. "And making a scene."

[codenameathos]

"You..." But there were no words to say now that she was here. She'd come in from behind him, when he hadn't expected her; why hadn't she killed him? Oliver swallowed against the strong surge of emotions, all of them conflicted. "It is you. But I..."

It was all he had just then, and he leaned heavily against her door, watching her and wanting to touch her and wanting her not to exist, how could she still be.

[codenamemilady]

"But you...," Milady prompted, one eyebrow raised as she waited for him to finish his thought, or explain his presence here. How had he found her? Why was he here, and who or what else would be coming for her now?

[codenameathos]

"You should be dead," Oliver replied, watching her as if betrayed by how alive she was, when the real betrayals had happened before her return to life. Hers of him, and his of her. Forget-me-nots everywhere, the red of her blood staining them, and his hand went to the locket he wore under his shirt, the locket that never left him.

[codenamemilady]

"You would know, husband." He was the one who killed her, after all. Killed his beloved Anne, opening the way for Milady.

She tensed at his movement. A blade? There were ones meant to be worn hidden on a chain; she owned a couple. But he paused. Could it be... Milady didn't want to let herself think what it might be, if not a weapon.

"Why are you here?"

[codenameathos]

"Why are you," Oliver replied, looking as if he might want to push off from the wall, but didn't manage. Could he step closer to her? Should he? Hair fell in disarray into haunted eyes. "I had to see you. I had to know." He still didn't. He would need to touch her, but he couldn't take those last steps. The last time he had touched her when drunk...

[codenamemilady]

The look in his eyes, the pain she could see there, steadied Milady. Oliver had found her. He was here. But she still had an advantage.

"I live here," she answered calmly. "As you must know, unless you've taken to pounding on random doors in your inebriation? What would people say?"

[codenameathos]

Anger surged through Oliver, and with that, he took a few steps closer to her, crowding her, his gaze dark. "Do not mock me."

[codenamemilady]

When he moved, Milady stepped back, keeping the distance between them. Her eyes widened, and even she couldn't say how much was true and how much manipulation.

[codenameathos]

Oliver did not stop coming until he could touch her, backing her up against the wall of her home, a hand on her upper arm. She was real, like that time at the ball. He could touch her, and he looked down at his hand on her arm without any words for the moment, drunk mind reeling from the whiplash of emotions.

[codenamemilady]

She should draw her knife. it was right there. Why didn't she draw her knife? The wall was unyielding at her back, and Milady barely breathed. The last time Oliver had had her in this position...

[codenameathos]

Slowly, he looked up into her eyes, as if afraid of what he might see there. "How did you survive?" he asked, a tremble in his voice.

[codenamemilady]

Not all knives cut with steel. Some of the sharpest were made of words. "I survived, because you were too much a coward to stay and see you finished what you started. Or to try and save the wife you claimed to love."

[codenameathos]

"Can you love someone you never knew?" Oliver asked, although his heart said yes with every stubborn, anguished beat. She had claimed to love him, too, and he had never known her. Not until she had killed Thomas. Not until she had drawn that blade on him, the blade he had offered her. "You were dead." His hand came up to the choker around her throat, needing to see.

[codenamemilady]

"You did know me," her voice like the kiss of a knife as it first pierced flesh.

Milady's hand followed his, but she didn't stop him. She tucked her fingers under the simple ribbon choker and jerked hard enough to break the clasp as she bared her throat to him. "I was dying. And you left me there. With my blood on your hands, you left."

[codenameathos]

"I thought I'd killed you," Oliver muttered, all of his focus on the scar on her neck, fingertips brushing it as if to assure himself of the reality of it.

[codenamemilady]

His fingers brushed over her throat, the scar he'd made, and Milady grabbed for his wrist and jerked away from the touch. "Admiring your handiwork?"

[codenameathos]

Oliver looked up into her eyes, his never more haunted. "Never."

[codenamemilady]

"It's a uniquely personal forget-me-not." Milady wasn't sure why she said it, except that trying to wound Oliver eclipsed other feelings she didn't know what to do with when he looked at her like that.

"Every time I look in the mirror. Every choker. Every scarf. Every lover who wants to see what lies beneath. The rarer ones who get to. Every one a reminder of you."

[codenameathos]

His other hand twitched at the forget-me-not comment, an interrupted gesture to the pendant he wore. He looked at her for a few seconds in silence, once she was done speaking, and pushed away from her, almost stumbling. "I don't know why I'm here."

[codenamemilady]

"Don't you?" He'd come to her. He couldn't expect her to say why. Although Milady believed she knew.

Now he was aware she lived, could he ever stay away?

[codenameathos]

He didn't, and now he needed away. Was the Tube still running? He wasn't sure what time it was, but he would check. Or he might catch a bus and ride it all night; the thought oddly appealed. Watching London pass him by.

[codenamemilady]

Milady said nothing more, watched in silence until Oliver had gone from view. Only then did she go inside, falling back against the door as it shut. Thankful there was no one to see the way she shook.