370 Foot in Mouth

Gabe met Victoria's eyes as they stopped walking. As they'd talked, he'd taken a roundabout route home, winding through one of the wide garden squares. 

He expected pity in her gaze, but there was none. Her eyes were clear, and frank. 

"What do you want from me, Victoria?" He asked suddenly. The question came out ruder than it was meant, but she wasn't shocked by it. 

"I want to share your burden, as much as you will let me, and as much as I am able." She replied without hesitation. 

"Why?" He blurted. 

That did catch her off guard, and it took several moments for her to answer. 

"Because I care." Victoria finally said. 

"Right." He blew out a breath. 

"You disapprove." She stated a fact, rather than asking a question. 

"Yes." 

"Why?" A line formed between her eyebrows that didn't belong. She was normally so carefree. 

"You are very open with your affection." Gabriel frowned, voicing a concern that had been growing in the back of his mind. "You freely associate with several men who are not blood related to you. It was one thing when we were all children, but…" 

"But we are not children anymore," She finished, a slight ache in her voice. 

"No. we're not. Roland is your adopted brother, and much older, and married, with children, but…" He couldn't finish. 

"But you and Amelia's sons… you think my caring about any of you is inappropriate." The muscle behind Victoria's jaw tensed. 

"Yes... to a degree. It will discourage suitors," Gabriel explained. "You should consider that, since you're finishing school and are of age for it." 

"I have considered it." She said tightly. "But are you not the one walking me home through a garden instead of along the crowded streets?" 

He paled slightly. "I didn't mean—" 

"And don't we already live together?" She went on.

"I'm your father's apprentice, I don't sleep in the–" 

"And have we not often pretended to be brother and sister?" Her questions were like a barrage. 

"You wanted to, I didn't–" 

"Am I not supposed to care about anyone I'm not 'blood related' to, as you put it? I have no blood relations, Gabriel. I'm an orphan. If you remove all but blood, I'm utterly alone in this world. All the worlds! You want me to be alone?" 

She paused here, clearly worked up, with moisture in her eyes. 

"It's exactly because I don't want you to be alone that I'm bringing up the subject." Gabriel wanted to take her hand in comfort, but didn't dare touch her after bringing up the subject of caring too much about men she wasn't related to. 

"Well done," She shook her head. "I feel very un-alone now. I'm sorry for caring. In the future I'll make sure not to care about anyone unless they want me to." 

"That's not what I–" He started, but she had spun and walked away. He jogged to catch up. "That's not what I meant. You're upset, and I understand." 

"Do you? Do you understand? You who always had a father and a sister? Never knew life without love in it?" He'd never seen her like this. Her face was hard. Angry. Bitter, even. He was struck by it, deeply.

"I'm sorry." 

Victoria's face crumpled, and she turned to leave. He didn't run after her this time. It seemed he'd done more than enough damage for the day. 

He was trying to look out for her best interests. She'd admitted she wasn't sure what to do with her future. Love, and a fitting marriage would be an avenue she should keep open to herself.

It would be impossible for her to do so if she always hung around him, or other unrelated single men. All who saw her would assume she was already taken and not even attempt to approach her. 

Why couldn't she see that it was better for her? That he wanted what was best for her to have a full life? He'd obviously phrased it terribly, because she didn't usually react so strongly to things he said. 

With a sigh, he headed home. He could ask Dr. Sherman for advice. The man surely knew how to handle his own daughter. 

A well of guilt rose up in him for making Victoria so upset. Her eyes… she'd done well in taking care of his feelings for these years. The hurt in them just now was nothing short of startling. 

He'd had no idea there was such bitterness underneath her cheerful disposition. A further layer of guilt that he'd never bothered to ask or try and find out crowded over the first, weighing him down. 

His motives had been pure, but he felt that he'd done quite an awful thing, unintentionally reminding Victoria of a time when she'd felt utterly alone and unloved. He hadn't even meant to bring up the subject, except she talked about caring. 

She shouldn't care about him. She should save all her caring for the right person. Maybe opening up to her was the wrong decision. She was trustworthy, that was true, but the more he let her in, the more entrenched she would become. 

Shouldn't she stay on the periphery so that she could make a clean emotional break when she fell in love? 

Bearing his burden wasn't her job. She should find a good man and work alongside him, bear his burdens. 

The idea bothered him slightly. Maybe because she already knew so much about him. It felt awkward. That must be it. 

With a sigh, he entered his home. Victoria's home, he mentally corrected with a sigh. 

Mrs. Sherman was in the kitchen, as evidenced by the sounds of supper being made. Dr. Sherman was likely out visiting patients. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mrs. Sherman asked kindly. Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, but another voice beat him to it. 

"I don't know, Mama. Do I care too much?" Victoria's voice was a little choked, making Gabriel feel even worse than he already did. 

"Who in the world told you such a thing?" The matronly woman exclaimed. 

"Gabriel." The sound of his name had never caused the man such shame, even when Finn had scolded him as a little boy. 

"Ah. I see," Came the enigmatic reply of the matron. 

"What do you see?" Victoria asked. "Why doesn't he want me to care?" 

Gabriel realized suddenly that he shouldn't be eavesdropping on such a conversation. They obviously hadn't heard him come in the front door. He backed up a few steps and opened and closed it again, with a touch of theatricality. 

"I'm back!" He called. "Did Victoria already make it? She went on ahead of me." 

"Yes, Gabriel, she made it. We'll have dinner ready soon," Mrs. Sherman's voice rang from the kitchen. 

"I'll go check on the animals I've got out back, and then wash up." He wanted to allow them a few minutes to resolve their conversation without his presence. Hopefully Mrs. Sherman could fix the damage he'd done. 

He liked animals for this very reason. They didn't need the right words from him. Patients often did. Dr. Sherman was wonderful at what he called 'bedside manner,' but Gabriel, while talented at medicine, lacked that particular skill. 

Animals didn't require it of him. Their owners could be sent to wait while he worked, and he could talk to them frankly and kindly afterwards. People also got less upset–usually–about their animals than about people. 

As a farmer's son he knew how an injured horse could be a threat to food supply and livelihood for a family. That, he could empathize with. Frankly, sincerely. 

Talking to a mother who was fretting over her sick child was another matter entirely, and one he had made a mess of on occasion. The same way he'd just messed things up with Victoria. 

He shouldn't even be worrying about that. He'd spoken to Gwen today! He hadn't realized until he heard her voice just how much it meant to him. 

She'd kept him safe, and warm, and bright after his time in the Darkness. Her world was never entirely dark, and there was nothing there to harm him. For several days he'd gotten to live amongst the Fae, feeling whole and healing from the trauma of what he'd been through. 

Of course, he'd missed his father and sister and friends, and was happy to return to them, but he did long to go back whenever the nights were particularly dark, or his candle blew out in a draft. 

An old little bit of bitterness melted away. He hadn't even tried to talk to Gwen in years, figuring that such things were childish now that the Fae had been gone for so long.

"Gwen, if you can hear me… I missed you. I thought you'd forgotten about me. I hope you're doing well, and that these years have been kind. Our world has been peaceful… but I'm afraid that is about to change. Hearing from you was wonderful, but is it a sign that your presence is needed here again?"