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"I missed you."
Fiona shifted; her head pulling up from where it was stuck staring - a pile of food lay in front of her, sitting in her lap; it all blended together into one unseamly mess, she forced her gaze away from it. She hadn't the faintest idea he'd been in the room; she stares at the corner, she tries her best to look him in the eyes; placate him, humor the thought. "did you?" she questioned; brows pinching together — she couldn't have imagined the thought, him missing anyone; them missing her, they didn't even look; they didn't check. They believed, blindly. He did, he did as he always did; skeptical until it graces his vision, until its his own idea. "yes, I did." He whispered; voice carrying over lacking his typical over-confidence, his typical ego; eccentric behavior she'd grown fond of and grown to resent when it dismissed others. It always did. Fiona dared open her mouth; lips parting before they shut again, and she looked away; "none of you looked, why is that?" she questioned; questioned once more, she toyed with her food for a moment; pulling it apart, her head tilted - slight to the side from where she lay.
"they- we were told you fell off a cliff," he said, and Millard always did as he was told. didn't he? always so good, so kind, so pliant. She sneered at the thought of any truth behind those words; looking back toward him, disapproval etched into her features, buried deep above anger; the anger she always felt, anger that was un-ladylike, that she couldn't control, but she did. She had to. "Fiona, it was daft, I know that-" he continued; she heard his breathing hitch - working himself up, her eyes dulled; she looked back toward the food, slowly she ate.
"I don't believe you do know," she whispered - for once, she felt vindicated; vindicated in her belief that the world would keep turning with or without her, vindicated in her beliefs once more. Her anger rose; tears burning at the back of her eyes she pulled apart the food with her fingers, shaking hands. She couldn't let herself cry; not now, and not in front of him. "you say you know, but you don't. You know so little that it shocks me," she whispered; voice hoarse - eyes squeezing shut behind her hair, fallen over her face; she would've been looking down. The lump in her throat feeling more like nausea than anger at that point, but it was always the latter; hot beneath her skin, burning through her veins, a chill up her spine. "you can be skeptical of so much, but when it comes to me, you believe them?" The words sat between the two for a moment; Fiona could practically hear him pulling at his own fingers, tugging them; awaiting her to be finished to argue his case, no doubt.
The thought irritated her further; she had so much to say, she always did, but she never could - here in this room, she could; she did, she tried. She tried to wrestle with the fact of the matter; her family didn't care to look for her, didn't care that she was dead, no doubt, even if it were true.
"I'm sorry." her words died bitter on her tongue; she had not an inkling of idea what to combat that with, what to make of it; if it was true or false — Millard Nullings did not apologize, not frequently; he always told her that when he felt the need, he would, and followed it up with 'but I don't.' She'd learned to let it go, Millard wasn't the vulnerable type; that was alright then, neither was she. But now he was, and here she was.
She didn't know what to make of the idea that he felt she deserved an apology from him of all people; she felt patronized, just a small bit, if not irritated by the interruption to her outburst, she felt warmth; she felt the scincerity to the two words, and it made her nose scrunch. She had no doubts what she was owed; the minimum of an apology, but she hadn't expected it from him of all. "I am sorry, Fiona, it was daft, it was stupid," he continued; her eyes opening once more, staring at where his voice emerged; still stood looming in that corner, she had not a clue why. She wouldn't bite him. She wasn't threatening.
She pushed her food away; distanced it from her body.
"I know," she sighed; quiet, discontent - shifting upward; onto her elbows, then up - her legs dangled off the bed, far too high up for her likening — that was a simple nitpick, she could admit that. "buachaill amaideach," her voice quiet; she didn't look toward him, her back faced him. She felt nothing but anger.
She smiled; she allowed herself that, just slightly, lips pursing as her brows etched together. "Put your glasses on then, I want to see you." head turning back to look at that corner; where she saw glasses rise; small motions lifting onto a surface, perched atop his nose that of which she could only imagine.
She'd long since given up on attempting to clothe him; force him into a state of perception, she'd never know why but she could admit; she didn't care anymore, she didn't care why, he wouldn't change it. It was an unsettling feeling; knowing he could always be there, that would never change; neither would his inability to stay quiet for too long. That brought her more comfort.
Her eyes refocused; there she saw him — two rectangles, three lines; floating against the wall, shifting as he tilted his head down; embarrassment, shame, something else. She couldn't help but snicker; a hum escaping her throat, a vague attempt to cover the sound prior. Millard's head shot up nonetheless; "ah, yes, laugh it up, Fiona." his inability to stay quiet for too long; inability to stay vulnerable for too long. She let out another laugh; head furrowing down, looking away from him, she covered her mouth. "I am a court-jester to your likeness, is that it?" He questioned her; walking toward her, sitting next to her - an air of humor between them; the anger remained, it would for quite some time, that wouldn't change, but she would let herself have this moment of sincerity. She felt the bed dip, and she opened her eyes; looking next to herself, seeing the glasses still floating against the toned walls.
"only some bit."
"agh."
His glasses turned away; a petty sort of disapproval, her lips curled up - eyes wrinkling slightly, hands tugging at the sheets themselves; curling into them. "Buachaill amaideach," she whispered; looking toward the window, feeling his eyes linger on her face, before looking with her; just for a moment she could remove herself from the cramped feel of the room, for a moment she allowed herself a look into the courtyard.
"I missed you." She'll believe it just for the moment.