Work Text:
It’s only when he cracks the egg into the mixing bowl that he finds himself stopping, unable to do anything but stare for a moment at the glistening twin yolks that now rest atop the sugar and butter. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He’s an experienced enough baker. It’s inevitable that such things happen.
Still, they glisten like the golden summer air and Gilbert cannot find it in himself to tear his eyes away. How strange that they should appear today of all days, on such an anniversary. They’re good luck, he knows. Good fortune is on the horizon for him, though how far out remains to be seen. Perhaps luck will show itself in ten years. Perhaps it will be another ninety. His gut is sure it’s to be another ninety.
But luck in ninety years is luck nevertheless.
As for the matter of his current predicament, he continues to stare, entranced, fork hovering just over their deep yellow cores, unable to break them apart at last. How could he break them apart now, but how could they dare to show up like this while he was in a rush?
“Raven?”
He starts, turning to see Lady Sharon Rainsworth in the doorway of the kitchen. It’s still strange to see her older now, no longer captured like an ant in the amber of eternal youth. But older now she is, a blossomed young woman, well on her way to the depths of adulthood.
“Lady Rainsworth,” he says. “I’m just trying to get this final cake in the oven. But I…”
“Let me help,” she says with a wan smile, and takes the bowl from him, mixing the yolks into the batter without so much as blinking an eye. Gilbert can only stare as they disappear, slumping in reluctant acceptance.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, and turns his attention elsewhere, stacking his finished sandwiches onto one of the silver platters of the Vessalius kitchens.
“Of course,” Lady Rainsworth says matter-of-factly, either oblivious to his sudden shift in mood or choosing to ignore it. If he had to guess, it would be the latter. “I can’t have you working the kitchens all by yourself, now can I?”
“You already brought your fair share of tea,” Gilbert points out, somewhat sullenly, but continues stacking his sandwiches regardless.
“I did,” Lady Rainsworth acknowledges. “But weren’t you supposed to have some meat prepared, too?”
Gilbert scowls, stacking sandwiches now with a renewed vigor, taking care to keep them in a perfect, circular pattern. “There’s meat pies cooling under the cloth over there,” he says, waving his hand in the direction of the window. “I didn’t forget.”
Lady Rainsworth nods, tapping her fork on the rim of the bowl now. “You seem a little troubled Gilbert. Is it only the occasion, or is there something else on your mind?”
Twin yolks hover over his vision again, and he blinks them away to stare down at his hand on the countertop. It’s the same hand he’s always had, the same hand he had ten years ago. The same hand he will likely have for the next hundred years. “The occasion,” he allows himself to say. “Just the occasion.”
He jolts as Lady Rainsworth puts a gentle hand on his back. She’s a little taller now, too, not quite his eye level, but no longer the youth that had barely reached his shoulder. There’s sympathy in her eyes, and an understanding that he’s not sure he particularly cares for.
“Another year down,” she says, her hand patting his back in a gentle one-two. “Patience was never your strong suit, but each year passes faster than the last, no?”
“It does,” he acquiesces, and the tension drains from him all at once, his shoulders slumping into her touch.
She hums, giving his back another pat, one-two, before returning to the mixing bowl. “Why don’t you go see if Reim and Lady Vessalius need any assistance setting up the garden? I’ll finish up here.”
He nods, both grateful for the opportunity to escape her hawklike scrutiny and loath to leave the company of another human being, but leave he does, wandering from the kitchens and towards the front gardens in an unhurried pace. Yes, the years do seem to pass faster the more he collects under his belt. Already, the events of ten years ago seem like a lifetime away. Already, they, his dear friends, seem like a lifetime away.
Swallowing, he comes to a halt just outside the front entrance, watching as Reim does his level best to set the table while Ada does her level best to help according to Reim’s standards.
As if sensing an onlooker, she pauses in her work to look back up at the house, her gaze landing on Gilbert immediately. He supposes he must cut quite the figure, still dressed as he is in his long coat and her gifted hat, a dark shadow against the bright stone of the Vessalius family home. He’s hard to miss. A question blossoms in her eyes as always, silent, tentatively hopeful, but all he can do is shake his head. No, like always, there will be no Vincent at this tea party. Just as he is certain there will be no Vincent at every party to come.
And like always, the hope in Ada’s eyes fades, but still she smiles, still she beckons him over with two waves of her hand. One, two.
Looking away, he descends the stairs now, one at a time instead of his usual two, and enters the garden. Reim looks up now, glasses askew, and gives a wave. “Ah, Raven, just in time. I sent Sharon to see how you were doing in the kitchens.”
“She took over the baking process,” he replies, halfway between a grouse and an explanation.
“From you? She must have improved her baking skills since last year!” Ada says with a laugh, which manages to crack a smile from both Gilbert and Reim.
“She has been trying now and again,” Reim says noncommittally, placing down a particularly delicate teacup on the table. “But Raven, I wanted to let you know that a messenger arrived with a package just now, addressed to you.”
“To me?” Gilbert frowns, eyes immediately landing on the small, rectangular parcel resting on one of the chairs. It sits, non-assuming, wrapped together with a blue and black ribbon.
“Yes, to you. There’s no return address, though,” Reim affirms.
“I have my suspicions as to who it's from,,” Gilbert murmurs, running a finger along the end of the ribbon, and with a tug, he pulls it free from the package. Discarding it on the table, he then begins the delicate task of unwrapping the parcel.
The ribbons come undone in a slither of gleaming blue, coming to rest in a delicate pile on the green of the lawn. It’s a rather hefty box to be dropped off so haphazardly, but he supposes if the sender is who he suspects it is, he wouldn’t much care to stay to chat anyway.
Beneath the wrappings, the box, too, appears rather unassuming, but upon opening it he finds a brand new camera, complete with [materials] and a small envelope carefully fastened around it. Carefully, he tugs the envelope free, and opens to find a carefully scripted letter.
Can’t make it this time, so take this instead. For them. So they remember those who pass before us.
–Leo
The words feel like ropes, tying his gaze to their page as he reads them over and over again, ingesting their meaning, their hope, their loss. The Vessalius estate has a camera, of course, carefully tucked away in some corner of the household. No one can bring themselves to bring it out of its carefully crafted storage though. No one wants to change what its last subjects were. No one wants to rob a dead man of his intention.
But this… this is a new camera. For new beginnings. For new dreams. For new hopes. For bringing the past forward, rather than freezing it in its moment.
He doesn’t realize he’s crumpled the paper from the tightening of his grip until there is a gentle touch to his hand, and he looks up to see Ada’s brilliant green gaze, the soft warmth of the forest floor, easing into his own, and his grip loosens.
“From Leo,” he says, vaguely gesturing at the box. “So we can… so I can show them. Later.”
Ada’s expression impossibly softens, eyes welling now with tears, and she nods. “That sounds… That’s a lovely present. I’d love for… for them to see us. To see us every year,” she says, voice on the verge of breaking. Where Gilbert is still frozen, Reim at least has the grace to gently pat at her back.
“Think of it as… hmm. As a… looking glass. If you stare into the lens long enough, perhaps we’ll see them staring back at us, hmm?” he ventures all too kindly.
Swallowing back his own emotions, Gilbert nods, though the truth hovers uncomfortably above them all. It will only be he that will see the other side of that lens. Only he that will carry the memories of the past from the present to the future. It is no burden to him, but he can see the weight on Ada’s shoulders, the tense lines tugging at Reim’s smile.
“What a thoughtful gift,” comes Lady Rainsworth’s voice from behind them all. They all turn one by one to look on as she approaches, with careful steps and a dainty lift of her skirts across the lawn. Her smile is just as thin as Reim’s, but it’s kind, understanding, accepting.
“Why don’t we get it set up and take a picture right now?” she says quietly. “All of us together. Before we make a mess of ourselves later.”
“A smart idea,” Reim concurs, and Ada voices her own agreement in a softer tone. Gilbert can only nod distantly, feeling far, far away, in a time that does not quite exist yet, though if he peeks far enough into the snow of the abyss, he might just glimpse…
There’s a tug to his sleeve, and when he looks down it’s Lady Rainsworth. Her smile is still there, though it’s sadder now, more raw, and he has to look away just past her to keep his own eyes from welling up again. “Stay with us here, Raven,” she whispers as Reim and Ada begin the mystery of setting up the camera. “What will they say to you when they see such a look on your face, hmm? You’ll become more of a ghost than any of us. They’ll want to see you in the pictures, too.”
It feels like a hammer nailing him to the earth, and he trembles with the sudden force of her words as they lovingly ground him to their tea party. “You’re right,” he breathes out. “Of course. Of course, you’re right.” He laughs a little, at the absurdity of it all, of the camera, of the tea party, of his melancholy that seems to cling to his blood. While it is his duty to bear the grief of his friends, it is just as much his duty to pass on their joy.
“I know I’m right,” she says, a bit too smugly. “Now come on. We have a picture to take.”
“And a party to have!” calls Ada.
“And a camera to set up, first and foremost,” mutters Reim.
A smile begins to tug at the side of Gilbert’s mouth, and he turns his attention to the assortment of cakes and pies that rest still in the window of the kitchen, cooling in the spring air. “And,” he says, at last allowing the smile to take form, “a meal to share.”