milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

One ka-mai in the bar with coffee and a thoughtful look on his face. Have at.

[Summary: Cuthbert talks about Cort's visit to the bar with Roland, who seems a bit disappointed that Bert didn't get hit, with Lilly, who finds the idea of apprentice gunslingers having to prove their manhood by beating Cort up and taking his stick amusing, I can't imagine why, and with Susan, with whom he is angstily nostalgic about Gilead.]

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"I'm well, say true." A beat, and her smile is bright. "Ye've not changed, yer teacher says."

Cuthbert looks startled for a moment, then laughs.

"Ah, gods...you met him, did you?"

"I saw ye talking with a stranger, but ye seemed -- ye seemed to know him well, do'ee ken?"

She looks up at him. "So I thought mayhap-- I went to see if I could find Roland, or Alain-- I thought they might want to know, if it were someone from-- from before."

"I found Roland." She shrugs. "And he introduced me."

"I don't know yet if Alain saw him. If he didn't last night, I hope he gets to. It was...surprisingly good, seeing him."

He glances at Susan, smiling slightly. "What'd you think of him?"

"He were--" she pauses, thinking. "Gruff, mayhap, but polite."

"And he didn't, I think-- sai Cort said he'd seen ye, but he didn't mention Alain." And Susan's eyes widen, a little, as she looks up at 'Bert. "And he's-- he left, through the front door, back to -- it must have been Gilead, I think."

She bites her lip, looking up at him, and adds softly, "Mayhap he'll return?"

Cuthbert's eyebrows go up. "He left?"

And then, something else in what Susan just said struck him. "You--the door opened on Gilead? You saw it?"

"He did, 'Bert. Say sorry," she tells him, very softly. "Mayhap he'll-- he might come back?"

And at his second question, she bites her lip again and then simply nods.

"Maybe. Ted comes and goes. We've never had anyone who could do that from--"

He breaks off, looking down, silent for a moment. Then,

"You--you probably couldn't see very much, could you? Just--what was right through the door?"

She reaches out to take his hand, twining her fingers together with his, and says softly,

"Nay-- I didn't see much at all, 'Bert." She pauses, thinking. "It were evening, and felt like -- summer, mayhap."

"And there were a breeze, and grass and the smell of honeysuckle-- but I couldn't see too far."

Cuthbert's eyes are closed.

A summer evening in Gilead.

He grips Susan's hand tightly, swallowing hard.

Oh, and she knows. She knows it very well indeed-- for the glimpse of the familiar sight beyond the door when her father had stepped through had pierced her, although it had been buried under the joy and grief of his presence and departure.

Wordlessly, Susan turns to Cuthbert and embraces him, slipping her free arm around his waist and hugging him tightly, silently comforting him as best she can.

He wraps one arm around her shoulders and presses his face into her hair, and just breathes in for a moment.

Finally, he straightens up and draws back a bit, still holding on to her hand.

He glances around, and then gently tugs her toward the couch she'd come over from.

A bit hoarsely, "There's never been anyone here who was from Gilead before the fall."

Except Gabrielle, who was dead.

She sits down beside Cuthbert, holding his hand and looking up at him.

Susan nods. "It's-- it'd not be easy, mayhap, for all that it were good to see him, thee said."

"Aye."

He raises one hand to brush her hair back, but absently. He's not really looking at her--his eyes don't seem to be focused on anything in the bar.

"We--it was gone even before we died. There's been nothing but our memories of it for so long..."

"The world moved on," she agrees, softly. "But thee have thy memory of it still."

She never saw Gilead, other than twice, through that door, and only knows a little of it-- stories and tales, some from Roland before she died, and a very few glimpses here, from Cuthbert and Alain.

Susan stays very still, watching him with concern.

"Aye. But now..."

Now, there's been something else, besides just memory.

And if Cort were to come in again, Cuthbert could stand in front of the door as it left and watch it open and close on a Gilead still living and breathing--

Could see it, and nothing more than that.

He closes his eyes again, and leans toward Susan with a sigh, resting his head against hers.

"Just...it's all been stirred up, seeing him here. Things I haven't thought about in...I don't even know how long."

She slips her free arm back around him and moves closer, then murmurs,

"Aye, and I can see that, 'Bert. And I kennit, I do."

(daughter of Patrick)

"Ye must have -- if he were yer teacher, yers and Roland's and Alain's-- ye must have known him very well indeed, I wot."

Cuthbert smiles faintly.

"As well as anyone did, I suppose. He...he wasn't a man to share much of himself with others. Not really."

"He didn't talk much, say true," she replies.

"Aye." Bert's smile widens a bit, and when he speaks again, the childish petulance in his voice is clearly a teasing one. "He always liked Roland and Alain better, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Well, mayhap he just felt more comfortable with them, if he were always so quiet," she teases back. "Thee are -- not given to silence, 'Bert, say true."

He lifts his head enough to wrinkle his nose at her. "And it's a good thing, too."

She smiles innocently at him.

"Oh, some might think it so, say true."

He smiles back, but it's wistful still, and for all that he's not naturally given to silence, he doesn't seem very talkative now.

She sighs, and sits quietly for a little while, looking down at their linked hands, thinking.

(it's all been stirred up)

Softly, "I didn't mean to-- to trouble thee, 'Bert."