The River Seine
© Persephone
degas.ballerina@gmail.com
Spoilers: Up to Blood and Gold
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Characters: Bianca & Armand
Summary: Bianca meets with Armand in Paris.
A bridge over the river Seine seemed ideal for such a meeting. They could have chosen somewhere more familiar: the Bois, Louvre, Musee d'Orsay, or even where they had come upon each other before - an unmemorable street with haunting fog and cold.
Bianca chose this bridge instead. She had always associated Amadeo with water. It was changeable, passionate, and the strongest of the elements. It was how she remembered him: laughing, with flashing eyes and insistent fingers. For Amadeo, Venice was an appropriate city, and it was where he had his greatest happiness.
She had looked for him in Paris in the winter of 1850, but had searched the areas near the river first, avoiding the downtrodden parts of the city. She had trailed the water's narrow windings, painfully reminded of Venice and unable to picture Amadeo traveling the diseased alleyways. It was a boy she sought then.
But she would not make that mistake now.
It was not yet nine. Bianca's white-gloved hand lay quietly on the stone bridge. The water rippled as a boat was docked nearby, and she found herself watching the lines as they snaked through the dark water. The moon's reflection shimmered as they passed, fractured, and then became whole again.
She sensed Amadeo's presence before she saw him. It was not a gradual awareness; she simply understood that he was now standing on the bridge.
Turning, Bianca first saw the light catch in his eyes. She lifted her hand and smiled. "Amadeo."
It was not his name, but Armand came forward and took her fingers. His face was flushed beneath the lamplight, his hair loose and free, and for a moment Bianca forgot that so many years lay between them. She wanted to take him into her arms and hold his head against her shoulder. She wanted to comfort him and kiss his auburn hair.
It was respect that kept her from it. The face was the same, the flawless angel face, but his eyes were subdued, darkened, and had seen things that even she could not imagine.
Bianca tightened her grip on Armand's hand, which was pliant and warm. He must have killed.
His voice was too gentle to startle her. "I never thought that I'd hear you speak of killing."
It was an ironic statement. Bianca realized this and smiled, then laughed. Armand seemed confused, though did not lack understanding, but his hand slipped from hers.
"Walk with me, Amadeo," Bianca asked. She was still smiling.
He fell in step beside her. They walked silently, their shadows stretched over the old-fashioned cobblestone. The streets were abandoned at this hour, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water and the occasional car honk, but she was not distracted. Bianca learned to shut out unwanted sounds years ago, and she was too focused on Armand to pay them any attention.
"Do you mind that I call you Amadeo? I know that Marius..."
Armand's eyes met hers, and Bianca let her voice trail. "I do not mind."
Bianca tried not to think of the boy whose eyes would have brightened with excitement at the mention of Marius. She did not quite mourn for him, but Armand's unaffected serenity made it unnerving to consider.
She had planned this reunion in her mind and wanted to tell him as much as possible, before she forgot her intent. There was so much to say.
Bianca spoke again, confidently. "I saw you here once before."
"I remember."
Startled, Bianca quickly studied what she could see in Armand's expression, but it was remarkably difficult to discern any emotion. "I didn't think that you recognized me."
"I did, after you had gone. I called after you. I searched for you." Bianca saw uncertainty pass through Armand's eyes, but it faded quickly.
"Amadeo... Armand." She tried this new name. It did not suit him. Rather, it did not suit who she remembered. "I missed you. I tried to...I mean that when you were taken, I wanted to..."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"I didn't mean it badly." Armand stopped walking. His face was impassive, but there was a distant sadness in it, a melancholy that she'd never seen before. "I'm glad that you are well, Bianca. I had hoped that it was you that I saw. I wanted it to be."
Bianca nodded carefully, her hand lifting. She paused just before touching him. "I am here now. Won't you..."
She did not have to finish. Armand stepped forward, his arms lifting to take her into them. Bianca felt them enfold her and they were gentle and warm, not cold and hard and what she knew of vampire embraces. She curled her fingers into the material of Armand's coat. The black wool felt uncomfortable, but she did not loosen her grip. One of Armand's hands pressed against the back of her head, and she turned her forehead down to his shoulder. It seemed now that she was the one being comforted, which was not what she'd envisioned, nor was it any of the different scenarios she'd considered while waiting on the bridge. Wasn't he the lost child? Wasn't he the one who had been alone all of these years?
"And who has been with you?" Armand asked now, so softly, and Bianca had no answer.
The End