Masterpiece theatre

The noise was everything; it was a good thing, a thrilling thing the atmosphere filling him with an energy that was alive, buzzing through his limbs. It was as if he were a battery, in need of being charged, and the noise was is electricity.

He thrived on it.

Lived on it.

Sitting as he was, alone in the corner table, casually sipping on a drink, watching the crowd over said glass. He'd eye each person for a moment before giving a subtle yet decisive head shake, and then moved onto the next.

The only thing able to distract him from this game yet was the loud shatter of a glass, his gaze moving over to the sound and smirking at the mess that it created

It was, indeed, her favorite game.

Watching the two men but heads over her was amusing, even if it stirred a slight unease in her stomach that she was trying to ignore. Her gaze went from the tall blond built like a football player to the scrawny red head with glasses. They had both been staring after her for some time, so she had decided it was a good idea to slip something out of one's pocket and put it into the others, just to see what would happen.

She hadn't expected this kind of explosion.

The drink she had been drinking - she was on her fourth Amaretto de Amore, and wasn't physically feeling the effects of it yet - had clattered to the floor as the two had advanced, shattering at her feet. Luckily for her she had decided to wear boots, this time, unlike her habit to go barefoot. She was currently frowning at the remains of the glass, even as the two continued their shouting match over who's fault it had been.

All this over a sheet of paper with some random digits on it. Honestly, it wasn't like it was her real number.

"I wasn't finished with that." She murmured, almost to herself as the two took up sides. She could feel the eyes of the rest of the place on her, causing her to tilt her chin up slightly, even as she glanced from one to the other. "I-"

Once they started fighting, throwing punches and cursing at each other, she seemed to drift into the background. Both men seemed to have forgotten about her, even as she watched. She remained motionless even as the fight got dangerously close to her, barely flinching as one of them flailed outward, punching her square in the jaw, sending her backward and onto the broken glass. She cried out, holding up her arms to gaze at the glass, even though she could barely feel it.

"Oh." She looked at herself and frowned, her blood seeping through the cuts. She was hurt. She was...

She barely felt it.

The man fighting was nothing new to the bar or to the young man at the table. In fact it had just fed to the noise that he loved so much, that kept him going. His eyes glanced at them with disinterest - to young idiots who didn't know how to charm a girl enough thus fell to fighting - before glancing at the glass, and following the pair of legs in front of it up to a very familiar face. His eyes lingered for a moment before a smirk grew on his face.

Bonnie would cause this kind of trouble. Though he would wish she'd pay a little more attention to where she was standing. Flailing limbs that belong to block heads weren't exactly going to pay attention to who they -

His chair was knocked over and long forgotten as he was across the room. Pulling the two away from each other, holding one in each hand with more with an ease that he should have had. Glancing between the two, unsure which one had actually owned the fist that had knocked her over he decided that both could take the punishment for it. Shoving the one he held into the glass - sure there was space from where Bonnie was - and then kicked him for good measure, before he swung a fist at the others jaw, dropping her on the floor and forgetting both of them.

Sighing he picked Bonnie up off the floor, careful not to scrap his own arm against the glass, and carried her into the back storage room without anyone's notice.

The noise from the main pub was muted there, in the empty room. Setting her on one of the large crates, he ran a hand through his hair, and looked the woman over. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Mon Amour?"

"C-" she faltered, blinking up at the man holding her, before she leaned into him. "Rouley." She mumbled, snuggling into him, heedless of the small shards of glass still embedded in her arms. Her jaw hurt, and was bruising over, not that she could tell, or cared much. She pouted up at him, eyes wide. "I fell."

Settling on the crate, she didn't let go of him, keeping him within arms reach by tangling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "I dunno." She mused, swinging her feet. "But i-" she faltered, blinking again. "I hurt." She pouted, puzzling over this new information.

"I hurt, Rouley."

He ignored her slip up. The half syllable where she started to call him someone else. He noticed it, of course he did, but he merely filed that fact away for later; he never did get the name for that so called competition anyway. He let out a sigh as she pulled him close, balling her hands in his shirt, and looked over the mess that she made.

"Bonnie, how drunk are you?" his voice was soft but there was a firmness in there as he softly cupped the side of her face that wasn't bruising. "Can you focus on me, Amour, I need to know: how much have you had to drink?"

She was drunk, even an idiot could tell that. Too drunk to even think about touching a pain potion, he was only trying to assess what else he might be risking giving her in her current state. He didn't want to make things worse.

"Don't you worry, Roully's going to make the hurt go away," he kept his gaze on her as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a very tiny packet, which he promptly returned to normal size with his wand, "But you have to stay still for me, okay? Just sit and be your perfect little self."

Pulling out the bruise paste, he dipped his fingers in and gentle began to spread it across the deep shadow that was growing on her jaw. He caressed the spot once he was sure it had set in, watching the colour fade.

"There. One better, now lets see that arm shall we?"

She gazed up at him, something painfully sober behind the light haze of alcohol in the blue grey of her eyes. "I'm not drunk." She argued, though a half giggle tried to free itself from her mouth. "Not enough. Not yet." She grinned at him, as if this was some grand accomplishment. "I still know who I am." This wasn't strictly true, it had been a long time since Bonnie had been able to tell the difference between herself and the many personas needed to be a conman. She knew her name, though, and that had ties of its own.

The order to sit still nearly sent her into a sqirming spree, due to the knee jerk reaction to not listen to anything anyone said. Luckily for him, his eyes distracted her, causing her to lean forward to examine them. "I like your eyes." She told him, nodding. "I like them. They're pretty." Nodding some more, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes against his caress.

"I'm not supposed to like you. This much. It'll hurt. Later." She opened her eyes slowly, holding out her arm. "Will you make that hurt go away too, Rouley?"

"And I know who you are too, Amour," he looked over the woman closely, taking injured arms with gentle hands, looking it over slowly with his gaze, assessing for how much glass was still in there. "And this isn't it."

He gave a slight smile, amused and a little touched by her comment, he glanced back up at her own, his assessment of her arm done. He wished there was another way to get the glass out of the wounds, but this was actually the best option he had.

"This is going to hurt for a moment; I promise it will only be a second, and then I'll be able to make it all better." he kissed her forehead softly, smoothing out her hair. Pulling back, he readied his wand and held his gaze with hers. "Just look at my pretty eyes and I promise it will be over before you know it."

A muttered accio and the glass was in a harmless pile on the ground. A pile he quickly removed by aid of another spell. Grinning back at her, he began to clean the wound. As he let her words sink in, his mood sobered a fair bit. She still thought he'd hurt her... maybe he would. Roul barely understood himself any more when she was around.

There was one thing he did know.

"I'll always do everything I can to remove your pain. I can promise you that."

"How do you know?" She seemed genuinely puzzled, debating if he knew what he was talking about at all. "I don't know who I am. Not really. I know my name. You know my name. Its not the same thing." She shook her head. "Silly Rouley. No one knows Bonnie. Not even Bonnie."

She gazed up at him, taking his permission to look in his eyes and staying there, drowning in his gaze. She gave a soft whimper as the shards came free, but other than that seemed uneffected.

"No!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't do that! I see- you-" she shook her head. "It wouldn't be- not your fault. No! I-" she faltered, swaying. "My fault." Her chin dropped, and she was suddenly staring at the floor. She repeated it, softly, her voice the saddest it had ever been. "My fault."

"Rouley." She said again, sounding distressed. "I don't want to go home."

Roul, already finished cleaning the wounds, and the blood off the arm, closed the thin cuts with a quick episkey before he pulled the woman back in his arms, holding her close. "Oh its more than a name, Mon Amour. Its what's in here," he tapped the place on his chest just above his heart, and then mirrored the action over her own, "And in there."

He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, gazing at it softly. after a moments hesitation he leaned forward, pushing his lips against hers softly, before deepening the kiss.

"I don't care who's fault it is; if you're in pain, I'm making it my job to fix it," he nuzzled his nose against hers, "I'm a healer, I'm your healer. Its what I do."

Holding her close, he apparated leaving the pub behind, and the darken walls of his simple and sparse living room appeared around them. Within seconds of arriving the fireplace sprung to life on its own and Roul promptly settled himself on the large leather couch, placing Bonnie on his lap.

"Is this better?"

She placed a hesitant hand over his heart, feeling the beat against her fingers. She blinked owlishly before a grin took over, her fingers curling into his shirt. "Here." She repeated. "I'll always be here."

She blinked up at him, leaning into his kiss and melting against him. Her eyes fluttered open, and she nodded. "Mon." She agreed. "mine."

It was a change that took her a few moments to recognize. She wondered how they had suddenly appeared in Roul's house, hadn't they been in the bar before? Thinking about it hurt her head, so she was content to just lean into him, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"You're here." She murmured, as much an answer as the 'yes' reflected in the two simple words.

It was an easy genuine smile that crossed his features as he tightened his hold around the woman, making sure that she was more securely against him, before he relaxed into the sofa. Soft music began to play from the walls, something old fashioned, Muggle, he believed they called it Jazz. Roul had never cared for the details, he'd just always enjoyed it.

He kissed her forehead softly, but was perfectly content - surprisingly - not to try for anything more.

"Of course, Mon Amour," he said softly, running a hand through her hair, rocking them slightly to the swaying beat, "And I always will be; until you send me away."

-Around Three AM-

Bonnie shifted slightly, her hand tightening on the fabric above Roul's chest as she curled into him more, a whimper sliding through her lips without her permission. Her dreams plagued her with images better left forgotten, memories she wished she'd never experianced.

"Rouley..." she whined, her voice frightened, even as she curled further into him. Her eyes were flashing back and forth behind her eyelids, and it was obvious she was still deep into her dream..

The alcohol usually helped with that.

The fog of sleep lifted swiftly as her grip tightened, her whimpering settling onto his ears in a way that shattered the serene dreams he had been enjoying. Instinct on its own had already cause his arms to tighten around her. The rest however took a moment for his brain to comprehend what to do.

Slowly, he began to rub her back softly, a almost humming sound coming out of his lips. He felt awkward doing it, comforting - when the intent was to genuinely comfort - was an odd phenomenon for himself, but he was hoping that, that awkwardness was not slipping through.

"I'm here," he finally said, "Its not going to get you, Mon Amour. I'm here, and I won't let it." He supposed he could have said it was just a dream, or any of those other logics, but something drove him towards those words instead. Perhaps it was just a show of his lack of expertise in this area, but he certainly couldn't take the words back now, so instead he decided to just run with it. Repeating the refrain over and over until hopefully she calmed.

His voice soothed her slightly, his words relaxing her into an almost pleasant sleep. She tightened her hold on him, a soft whimper sliding through her lips as her dream took an unexpected turn.

Her eyes flew open, and she was away from him, standing next to the arm of the couch and not quite sure how she got there. Her eyes were still frantic, though hazy from sleep, and there was a pause before her blue grey gaze landed on Roul.

Something flew from her lips, and then she was in motion again, locking herself in his bathroom and pressing her back against the door. Pressing her hand against her mouth, she loosed a choked sob, sliding down the wood of the door and curling into a ball.

She could not handle being Bonnie, so she became Lydia instead.

Standing at the mirror now, she ran her fingers through strawberry blond hair, staring into emerald eyesand wishing she was taller. All she had to do now was apparate, and she could be gone. She would never have to face her weakness again, not now, not ever. She could just-

His presence. She could feel it coming closer, he was tracking her. He would know if she left. With a long look at the door, she walked toward it, knees shaking and biting her lip. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, her other palm pressing against the wood, wishing it could feel Roul's heartbeat.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower, mon amour, okay?" She called, and it was hee own voice she spoke in, not Lydia's. Her hand dropped off the doorknob, lock still in place, but for whatever reason, her hand stayed against the wood, even as she turned away.

It took some effort to pull it away.

Turning on the shower to its hottest, she closed her eyes as the steam filled the room, letting her tears become it, letting her lungs fill with the heavy hot air.

She stopped in front of the mirror for the final time, her finger tracing elegant letters onto the glass, before she took a step back. She gazed at the simple words before turning from them, and apparating away.

The crack of apparation was louder than the shower.

The mirror seemed to be crying, the displaced water that had been displaced by her fingers making it look like the words themselves ran, not just their writer. The last word was wobbly, uneven, as if she had hesitated before writing it, as if she had thought twice about putting...

Goodbye, mon amour.

He awoke again a few moments after her, the change in temperature and weight against him, perhaps, indicating her absence. Then again, maybe it was just time for him to awake.

Though he doubted it; there was that growing part of him - the part he use to think didn't exist - that was screaming it was her, the change of her presence, the lack of her addictive scent floating to him that caused him to awake. Blinking slightly in confusion, he looked around the small room. She wasn't there, but something told him she was still in the house - he just had to...

Pushing himself up, Roul stretched out slowly, before pacing the small apartment, glancing into rooms before reaching the end of the hall and the closed bathroom door. Placing one hand flat on the polished wood, Roul tried the door, finding his way deterred much as he had expected.

"Bon-"

Her words sounded... odd, to his own ears, and although the running water appeared to confirm what she said Roul couldn't quite bring himself to move, his hand stayed flat against the wood right up until the crack of apparition he had already been expecting sounded through the door.

Unlocking the door, he pushed his way into the steaming room, the heat clinging to his skin, making his outsides warm even as his insides remained cold. She was gone, he had known that she would be - she always seemed to be. They were alike in that way. To run was their first impulses - whether she was running from just him, or something far deeper he would never know, because she never told him. The fact that he wanted to be told both surprised and confused him. But the desire was there.

He had expected her to leave - but he hadn't expected...

He reached up a finger, running it through the clear sliver of the mirror, tracing the words that her fingers had just run through with care - almost as if her could touch her through that shared space, the space they both had touched.

Goodbye, mon amour

The could deepened as a rage caused him to wipe out the offending message completely. She had said goodbye - she never said goodbye; there was something completely... final about goodbye.

As soon as the message was gone, Roul wanted it back again, but there was nothing he could do to do that. The water of the shower was still running, but he didn't turn it off. Instead the man stepped in, feeling the scalding water against his skin, seeping through the clothes he hadn't bother to take off. Slowly he began to peal off each layer, until he was exposed, vulnerable.

As vulnerable on the outside, as he was worried he was getting on the inside. Was this what it would feel like? Was this losing? Was this losing her?

The water, turning his sensitive skin red kept a constant reminder of the world around him - constant reminder of who he was. Roul Bélanger wasn't one for watching things slip away from him - he wasn't one for giving up. He'd seen the words on the mirror, heard it through the door - and this time neither of them were intoxicated by anything.

Mon Amour.

They meant something, even if he had once said them without thinking about them. There was hope - and as long as there was hope, Roul could always win.