milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Autor leaves a delectable, fist-sized peach with the bar for the Emcee, writing a note: Vielen Dank für die Beratung. -A.

Later he curls up on the couch, adding length to a navy blue knitting project shorter than his forearm in one dimension but longer than he is tall in the other. Due to Margolotta's instruction, the boy's stitches are loose and even, for the most part. His hands are gentle as he absently moves the needles; he no longer stabs himself in the left index finger with every other purl. Nor does he get that odd, occasional dent in his rows.

But the project draped across his legs doesn't get near as much attention as the book propped up on his knees. The boy is consumed by the well-loved text, Fairy Tale: The Life of Herr Drosselemyer.

It might be difficult to interrupt him.

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"You don't have any magic, do you Miss Ava?" the boy asks, blinking and guileless.

"Uh ... no." Her frown deepens. "Though it'd be handy if I did."

Autor hesitates. "A-Are you sure?" he asks quietly, blinking again.

Then he drops all pretense, folding his arms. "Because I saw you systematically dismantling a tree with it. Also? Dr. Lecter mentioned it to me as well," the boy says, adjusting his glasses. "Why did you lie about it?"

Ava's eyes widen.

"Nobody," she says, serious, "was supposed to see that."

She shakes her head, one hand coming up to rub her temple. (Who exactly was that witness of Gene Hunt's, anyway?)

"Did he-- talk to you, about me?"

"You never look up," Autor says, as casually as she's serious. "I wasn't kidding about the flying carpet."

The boy cocks his head. "Dr. Lecter told me that you're a, 'very intelligent and independent young woman,' with some sort of magic. He also said I have no grounds in telling you what to do, which is correct."

Ava's hand lingers by her temple, and her shoulders have tensed.

Maybe failure to look up is what got her into trouble here, but she doesn't look up now.

"Fine," she says, low. "Neither of you was supposed to know."

"I am sorry," he says stiffly, his hands at his sides "For what it's worth, I still have no idea what you were doing."

Ava sighs.

"Will you understand if I don't tell you? Because ..."

She hesitates.

The boy pauses for a moment, watching her.

"Yes," Autor says, waving a hand. "We all have secrets that we keep for some reason or other. Frankly, I shouldn't have stopped when I spotted you."

"Well," rueful, "I didn't look up."

Autor shrugs. "Most people don't expect someone on a flying carpet," he says, burying his fingers in the yarn of his knitting project. "I'm sorry the forest isn't exactly a safe place for you to practice magic, either from boys on carpets or Dr. Lecter."

Ava glances to him; she seems to want to work up a smile, but can't quite manage it.

"Well ... at least you're telling me about it. I don't think Dr. Lecter would have."

Autor agrees--Dr. Lecter probably wouldn't have, or would have in a way that threw her off her stride... Which Autor totally did. Whoops.

"You're welcome," he says, hoping none of his light guilt shows up on his face. "Are you going to be all right? You... You seem rather upset."

And he is terrible at dealing with women who are rather upset.

"Oh-- no, I'm fine."

Now she does smile, though it's pretty watery.

"I'll be fine. And actually, I should get going ... I didn't mean to be in your hair for so long."

Autor's pretty sure she's lying about being fine, too. He hates that, women always do that, and he's never sure how to get around it. He can't just confront her and say, "no, you're not fine," because that would just upset her further, and, oh, she wants to leave anyway.

He inclines his head, graciously letting her go. "Do take care of yourself, Miss Ava."

Ava rises, careful with her tray.

"I'll do my best," she sighs. "You too, okay?"

That said, she moves off towards the stairs.

The boy nods. He watches her exit, and returns to his knitting, pretending nothing is amiss.

Edited 2014-12-06 08:50 (UTC)

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