honest_johns | Millitimed to several days ago

Susan knows just how much cleaning a tack room needs, say true. She leans against the doorway, watching him for a time, before saying quietly,

"Long days and pleasant nights, Alain."

Alain glances at her and smiles. "And may you have twice the number."

She smiles back at him, bright and shining.

"How do'ee fare?"

But it's more than a casual inquiry, mayhap.

"Been worse."

He sets the broom against the wall, and leans against the grain bin.

"And you?"

"Oh, I'm well enough, say true," she says, and then glances around the room.

"Ye've been working quite a lot at this."

He shrugs.

"It needed it."

"Aye, and it's needed every so often--"

Susan is looking not at him, but at the bridles and halters arranged with ruthless precision-- more precision than is quite necessary, as though someone might have been taking extra time and focus on the tiniest details, for some reason.

"-- I kennit, ye know." Her glance moves to him, now, and she says softly, "Ye do know, Alain, don't ye?"

He follows her glance to the bridles, and his face softens into ruefulness.

"Aye, so I do."

"What is it that troubles thee so?" Susan's tone is gentle still; she hesitates for a moment, then adds, "I'd not wish to trouble thee further, or to press thee-- but I'm worried for ye now, Alain, say true."

Quickly, reassuring, "Nay -- no, it's all right, Susan."

"I only -- a few things all at once, and I wanted my hands busy today." Or for the last several days. "No need to fret for me."

"If thee say so," she replies, searching his face carefully-- and then Susan smiles at him.

"I've something of the same habit when I'm thinking over things, at times."

He returns the smile.

And then glances around the room, and says a little wryly, "I think I'm done here for now, any road. I'd call it clean."

She can't help it, although she tries to keep a straight face-- Susan giggles, and then nods at him.

"Aye, I'd not disagree with that."

He snorts, amused, and something in his posture relaxes a little, as he sets the broom in its place, and moves towards the door.

Susan waits for him to pass by, then follows after, outside into the bright sunlight of a summer's day. With a glance at Alain, she goes to lean on the fence by the near paddock, watching the horses.

She's quiet, simply waiting, but the silence is companionable.

He leans against the fence, too, and watches Melina nip and prance playfully at Solon.

After a while, quietly, "I'd cry your pardon, Susan." He's still looking at the horses.

"For what?" She turns her head to look at him, honestly confused.

"There's no need for thee to do so that I can think of, Alain."

"For the not-man living weeks in the stables, under my nose?"

He looks at her sidelong.

"I should have seen it long since, and I didn't."

Statement of fact.

"Oh." Susan turns fully to face him, now.

"Don't-- don't think so, Alain. With as many people as we have in and out of the stables, and how carefully he were hidden in the hayloft? I don't blame ye for it, say true."

"We were trained to observe such, Susan." It's calm. Unrelenting, in its matter-of-factness.

"Aye, there are reasons I didn't -- I thought things were Clarice's work, or Gavroche, or one of the others that come and go. No excuse." Cort wouldn't have called it such.

"You could have been hurt, or anyone in the bar, if

(River hadn't noticed)

things hadn't come to a head. If he'd had a mind to." It's a gentle explanation. "I forgot my father's face, and I cry your pardon."

She's shaking her head rapidly, even as tears spring to her eyes -- but it takes a moment before she can find words in the face of his calm implacability. And he's right about at least one thing, she knows--

(you could have been hurt - if he'd had a mind to)

--and so mayhap also the rest as well. She's no gunslinger, she can't be certain.

"Thee didn't-- thee didn't forget him, Alain." On this she won't be moved. "Thee didn't forget his face. But I'll give thee my pardon, if thee'd have it so."

Calmly, "I would."

And then his face relaxes into a faint almost-smile of acknowledgement and faint apology, as he bows his head, and looks back out to the horses. "Thankee-sai."

"Thee are welcome." Softly, and she's not a little uncomfortable now in the face of this, say true.

And so she turns to watch the horses again as well, keeping an eye on Ghost as he races along the far side of the pasture.

He feels better for saying it, though it was still a major mistake and one Cort would have knocked him silly for, and he knows it.

He leans against the fence, and watches the horses, content enough with the silence.

And the silence between them stretches for a time, although Susan's less happy with it now than she might otherwise be. She keeps looking sideways at Alain as he watches the horses, debating with herself-- but he seems content, which soothes her, some.

Finally, she ventures,

"Is there-- ye'd said before there were a few things that ye'd been thinking over, mayhap?"

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