illusion

A Moment's Illusion

By Vampwrtr

Sentimentality. A thing most certainly not meant for immortals, nor even mortals of a given nature. He had been experiencing it for the past few days, but couldn't get a grasp on the reason behind it. Typically, the sudden surge of unfounded emotion caused him to pull away from everything and everyone, staying more aloof than even his normal stoic persona made him appear.

Janette continued to watch him stare at his book. He wasn't really reading it, of this she was confident. He reminded her of an extra in a movie, who had been instructed to "pretend" to read from an empty prop. She shook her head at him. What was this overwhelming need of his to cloak himself behind a carefully cultivated personality? A personality which didn't really reflect what she knew to be in his heart. Perhaps hers was not to understand, but rather to chip away....

With a slightly evil smile on her face, she sauntered over to the chair in which he was sitting.

"What are you reading, LaCroix?"

She knew that the sudden sound of her voice interrupting his thoughts, almost made him jump, though he covered it quite well. Her smile widened as he looked up at her, his eyes blank.

"What?"

"The book, what is it?"

He looked slightly startled, and then annoyed. He tried to nonchalantly glance at the spine to see the title, which almost caused her to laugh aloud at him.

"Taming of the Shrew," came the curt reply.

He looked back down at the book, clearly dismissing the 'irritant' which had disturbed his non-reading. Janette sighed, and almost left him to his moody thoughts, but then decided mixing would be so much more interesting. She took the book out of his hands, and closed it with a thud, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table. He glared at her.

She smiled sweetly, "I think, LaCroix, that you should be cast as the shrew, today."

"Oh, really?"

"Oui. You're moody, distant, ill-tempered and without any sense of concern for those whose hearts you may trample with your foul disposition." She paused, glaring at him, "Honestly, LaCroix, if I did not know better, I

would think you were hiding behind all of that to protect some concealed inner truth."

He stood up and snarled, "But you do know better, Janette."

She watched him storm out of the room and march down the hallway, like an insolent five year old. This was followed by the resounding slam of his bedroom door. Yes, she did know better, the cold-hearted bastard. She shook her head and sat down on the couch, picking up the book from the table.

For a long time, Janette just sat there, lightly fingering the leather bound book she held in her hands. The man could be such hard work; and was he really worth it? Her eyes narrowed as she considered it; no, he was

not. She came to a silent decision, stood up, set the book down and walked with a great, angry purpose through the hallway.

Janette stopped in front of his door, but some of her steam having dissipated, she hesitated for a moment. It was a moment too long. The door opened swiftly, and he almost toppled her over trying to leave the room. He stopped however, so close to her, that there was no more than an inch between them.

He leaned into her body and scowled, "What is it?"

She considered backing down, but then was suddenly ignited with a fury she did not know she still possessed. She pushed him back into his room, her eyes slightly glowing, her voice filled with ire.

"I have had enough of your moods. The world does not revolve around you, no matter how confused you may be on that issue. You need to grow up. Every time you catch yourself experiencing anything remotely resembling an emotion, you shut down and push everyone away from you. You are wearing me out, LaCroix."

He simply stared at her, her words hitting far too close to the truth for his own comfort. Janette's eyes reverted back to blue, and she paused for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of comprehension. Deciding that

he would say nothing, she spoke again to him, only now her voice was much softer in timbre.

"I know I cannot change you, mon cher. Even if I could, I probably would not, because along with the elements of you that drive me mad, I would lose that which I adore." She smiled very slightly at him, "I just wish that

once in awhile, you would at least allow me to see what you are feeling; to let me know that you still feel. But then, I don't suppose that you displayed your feelings even when you were mortal, so it stands to reason that I ask too much of you now."

He continued to stare at her, no inkling that there was anything at all behind the cold blue eyes, much less, feelings. She shook her head and smiled in defeat. Without another word, she turned and started out of the

room. When she hit the doorway, the sound of his gentle voice halted her; it was so soft, she almost didn't hear it.

"I assure you, sometimes I feel things quite deeply."

She stood still, and for a long moment, she did not turn around, slightly fearful of what she might find when she did. Finally, she turned to face him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slightly sagging. The blue eyes that only minutes before had been so austere and devoid of tenderness, were now clouded with a regard so thick, it almost hurt her to look into them.

In the seconds that ticked by, she experienced a new level of understanding for the enigma before her. It was not only his heart that he protected with his shroud of indifference, but also the hearts of those around him. So deep and encompassing was the passion she glimpsed, that she could well imagine it suffocating any who dared to venture too close. He would always keep everyone at a safe distance. Safe for them, and especially safe for him.

Janette felt a twinge of sadness for him. He would never allow anyone to really love him; and she wondered if he was capable of ever truly loving another. She knew he would continue to simply exist behind his wall of

detachment, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Holding his eyes with hers, Janette walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. She reached her arms around his back, and pulled him tightly against her. For a long moment, she just held him; she could feel his

aching heart call to her, in a great need of comfort. But then, it was gone. He gently pushed away from her, as he stood up. His eyes were no longer clouds of affection, but indifferent icebergs of blue. The familiar

sight sent chills down her spine.

"If you'll excuse me," the steely voice said, "I have a show to get on the air."

Before she could answer, he was gone. Janette sat on the edge of his bed for a minute or two, thinking. Perhaps she had never actually seen the emotion in his eyes, nor felt his soul cry out to her. It may well have just been projections of what she wished to feel from him; what she had hoped existed inside a heart encased by stone.

She stood and walked toward the door, pausing to look back into the room once again. Maybe none of these things had actually appeared in his eyes. It may well have been a moment's illusion, gone in an instant, living only in the memories of love.

FIN