Fifolet had spent the entire night and most of the next morning sitting in his room, thinking. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and absently keeping his fingers busy by tracing the pattern on his dark green comforter beside him His long, dark hair was a sharp contrast to the white pillowcase under his head, but Fifolet rarely noticed things like that. He was too busy thinking about more important things.
"What de hell was dat vibe all 'bout, anyways?" Fifolet asked the ceiling, sounding frustrated and curious at the same time. The previous evening, while the Guild members were watching the movies, Fifolet had picked up some rather curious vibes from Claude. He'd been the only one who'd ntoiced that Claude seemed to be distracted during the movies and spent more time listening to the comments being said by everyone else around him than he did watching the movies. And those facts were curious ones as far as Fifolet was concerned. What was up with that quiet thief anyway?
Fifolet got the impression Claude was hiding some pretty good secrets beneath his quiet exterior, and he found himself wondering what they were. He'd never really paid much attention to any of the thieves before, and Claude was no exception, but for some reason now Fifolet was paying attention.
Fifolet had a few hidden secrets of his own, secrets that most of the Guild members had no knowledge of. So far, he had only told Bella Donna and Gris-Gris, and he wasn't entirely anxious to tell any of the others. He had told Bella Donna after she used her telepathy against him and found out most of the truth that way, giving him no choice but to elaborate. That was Bel for you. But she hadn't gotten the truth out of him before Gris-Gris did. Gris was Fifolet's best friend, and Fifolet had confided in the big man late one night when they were alone at the Boudreau mansion, long before the unification of the two Guilds. Gris' reaction was a supportive one, and so was Bel's, but that support didn't make talking about it any easier.
Unlike Claude, Fifolet had long-ago come to terms with the way he was and accepted it. He questioned it when he was younger, and even had long discussions with Gris-Gris about it while he tried to figure out what was normal and why he didn't seem to fit with what was considered normal for the rest of the world. He had come to the realization that there were probably a lot of people like him in the world, they just didn't know it. That made dealing with it a little easier.
He flipped over onto his stomach and turned his head, staring at the numbers on his digital clock. The time seemed to be going by so slowly, but yet Fifolet wasn't anxious for it to go any faster. He was still thinking. He'd caught Claude staring at Kurt Russell during Tango and Cash and wondered what it meant. He realized his questions were going to drive him crazy until he actually talked to the thief about it all, but that idea scared him. He hated that it scared him, but he couldn't help it. Talking to Claude about this would mean telling Claude his own secret. And he wasn't sure he was ready for that yet. As the questions kept plaguing his thoughts, Fifolet sighed. He didn't have a choice.
Claude was surprised to hear the knock on his bedroom door that afternoon. There weren't many members of the Guild at home just then; most were out doing other things. Not even Tante Mattie was at home. Claude, who was sitting in a chair by the window, reading a Stephen King novel he borrowed from Theoren, wondered just who was coming to visit him and why.
"C'min." He said, putting his book down and looking at the door. He got the shock of his life when the door opened to reveal Fifolet on the other side.
Claude's heart skipped two beats and jumped into his throat when he saw the assassin there. He nearly broke out in a cold sweat he was suddenly so nervous, even though he didn't have a real reason to be. He sensed that Fifolet was nervous too, and that knowledge stumpted him. Why would the other man be nervous? And why was he there?
Fifolet saw the book in Claude's hands and paused on his way into the room. "Oh...I'm botherin' ya...sorry..." He turned to go, silently cursing himself for even thinking he wouldn't be disturbing the thief.
"No wait it's okay!" Claude blurted out in a rush. "Gettin' a kink in my neck anyway. I could use de break. I said c'min an' I mean it. Have a seat." He motioned to the other chair, situated at his desk, with a smile. "Oh great...jus' what I needed to do...sound desperate an' forceful...sheesh...!"
Nodding silently, Fifolet sat down on the chair and looked at Claude, suddenly unsure of what to say. He looked at the book again. "I've read dat one. It's good." He said by way of an icebreaker.
"Oui, I like it so far. You read a lot of his books?" Claude asked. He had a feeling Fifolet hadn't arrived to discuss Stephen King, but he'd go with it for a minute if it would make his heart stop pounding in his chest. He needed to relax, and he couldn't.
"Yeah.Own most of 'em. You can borrow some sometime if you want." Fifolet replied.
"Oh, hey t'anks. Theoren doesn' have very many, an' dis is de last one of dose dat I've read." Claude was grateful and surprised. But he was still curious. "Hey Feef?"
"Yeah?" Fifolet swallowed. "Here it comes..."
Claude looked away, not keen on making eye-contact with his companion. "Somehow I don' t'ink you came here to talk 'bout books...so why did you come?"
Fifolet took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He absently fiddled with a lock of hair, letting Claude see just how uncertain he really was. "I wanted to talk to you 'bout somethin'..." He began. "You seemed distracted las' night."
"Yeah...I was..." Claude admitted. "You noticed? I didn' t'ink anyone did..."
"I noticed." Fifolet confirmed.
"I jus' had a lot on my mind..." Claude tried to cover up the truth with a half-truth. How on earth could he be expected to discuss everything that was going on in his head and heart with the main object of his affections? The very idea was insane and Claude didn't want to do it.
Fifolet raised an eyebrow. "A lot on your mind. Yeah okay."
"Well I do!" Claude exclaimed and then realized his mistake. "I did..." He stammered.
The other eyebrow joined it's partner half way up Fifolet's forehead. "Right..." He thought and grinned to himself. "I b'lieve you, Claude. Seriously. You had a lot on your mind. An' you still do. Wan' talk 'bout it?"
"No." Claude's reply was short.
Fifolet decided to try another tack. "You missed out on quite de discussion last night after de movies t'ough. Questa an' Genard were arguin' over who was better lookin', Nicole Kidman or Liv Tyler, while Singer an' Zoe were debatin' b'tween Ben Affleck an' Kurt Russell." He rolled his eyes. "It was more entertainin' dan de movies. Who would you choose?"
Claude looked up sharply. "Who would you?"
"I asked you first." Fifolet grinned. "Gotcha...but how, exactly...?"
"I dunno..." Claude muttered.
"Well, Nicole Kidman an' Liv Tyler got nothin' on Salma Hayek as far as I'm concerned." Fifolet explained. "An' Sylvester Stallone's better den Ben Affleck an' Kurt Russell put together."
"No he's not!" Claude objected before he could stop himself. His heart sank as he realized what he'd just done, but he tried to focus on Fifolet instead of himself. "But...none of de other guys had opinions like dat..."
"You ain' gettin' off dis hook dat easily, mon ami..." Fifolet thought triumphantly, praying his face didn't betray his fear of admitting what he was about to. "Dat's true." He said. "But I ain' really like dem."
"Meanin'...what...exactly?" Claude pressed.
"Meanin' I'm jus' as likely to drool over Sly Stallone as I am over Salma Hayek." Fifolet quipped. "Welcome to de little t'ing I like to call Fifolet's Confusin' Life."
Claude's eyes widened. "You're..."
"Oh for cripe's sake Claude. I'm bi, okay. Now, you wan' tell me why you jus' 'bout passed out when you saw Kurt Russell wit' no shirt on in dat movie las' night or do I have to get nasty an' try to beat it out of you?" Fifolet said.
Claude was astonished at what he'd just learned. "I don' b'lieve dis! Dere jus' might be a chance after all...mon Dieu...dis is amazin'..." He thought. To Fifolet he laughed, "Now I gotta figure out which one of us has it worse...I'm kinda wishin' I was you right now...mus' make pretendin' easier...b'cause I have yet to figure out an easy way to hide de fact dat I'm gay..."
"Easier? Trust me, it don'." Fifolet scoffed. "In one sense, I s'pose it does, but it's real hard not to openly agree wit' Bel when she says she t'inks Sylvester Stallone is hot. Which he is..."
"I can agree wit' dat. But I personally like Kurt Russell better. Sorry." Claude said.
"Oh hey, dere's nothin' wrong wit' Kurt, I jus' like Sly better, dat's all." Fifolet admitted. "But I t'ink Zoe needs her eyes checked if she actually t'inks Ben Affleck is as hot as she says he is."
Claude rolled his eyes. "She...? Oh good lord, I guess so! So...uh...who knows 'bout you...?"
"I assume Tante Mattie does, but she's never said anythin'. Bel dragged it outta me telepathically, an' I tol' Gris myself a long time ago. He's de one I talk to de mos' 'bout it. He doesn' really understand, of course, but havin' someone to confide in isn't a bad t'ing. How 'bout you?"
"Tante Mattie, Mercy an' Remy. I wouldn' have told Rem, but I owed him quite a weighty apology an' had to tell him to get him to understand why I was apologizin' to him." Claude said. "Are you afraid to tell de others...? B'cause I am. Scared shitless. I don' want dem to hate me..."
"Me neither." Fifolet said quietly. He suddenly found himself looking at Claude in a new way. He would never dream of approaching any of the women in the Guild...they were off-limits for more reasons than Fifolet could remember. But he didn't mind. He could never look at them as potential lovers anyway. He'd never been able to look at any of the guys in that way either, for pretty much the same reasons Claude couldn't. But now...
Claude was different. Claude wasn't exactly like him, but there were similarities that neither one of them had known before. Fifolet smiled to himself in wonder. There was finally someone he could look at in that way, even if nothing ever came of it, and it wouldn't be a bad thing. It wouldn't be wrong. "It might even be nice..."
Claude looked at Fifolet. "What're you t'inkin' 'bout?"
Fifolet glanced at him. "Honestly? You."
"Oh...uhm..."
"Is dat okay?" Fifolet asked.
"Yeah, of course it is. I jus' wasn' expectin' it, dat's all..."
Fifolet smiled and absently ran a hand through his hair. Claude followed the movement and wished he was the one who was doing that. What did that long, thick hair feel like? Fifolet's dark eyes danced as he caught the look Claude was giving him.
"It's jus' hair, Claude." He laughed. "But dat look begs de followin' question. You're attracted to me, aren' you?"
Claude blushed to the roots of his own brown hair and pulled his eyes away from Fifolet. "Yeah..." He whispered. "I didn' wan' let anyone know...'specially you...even now...didn' know how anybody'd react...I mean..."
"I'm an assassin, you're a thief. I know." Fifolet finished. "I'm t'inkin' de same way. Maybe we should jus' keep dis b'tween us for awhile..."
"Maybe. Talk to Tante Mattie too...?"
"Perhaps." Fifolet got up and crossed the room. He stood directly in front of where Claude was sitting and looked down at the thief, a strange look in his eyes. "We shall see what happens." At that moment, the only thing Fifolet wanted to do was kiss the other man. He longed to feel that kind of embrace. Just a simple kiss. It had been so long...but he kept control of himself and made no advance on his friend.
Instead, he walked out of the room before he did something he might later regret.
After Fifolet left, Claude sat in his chair, his book long-forgotten, staring at the door. He could not believe the conversation he and the assassin had just had. It was unbelievable. His dreams were so close to coming true it scared him, but he vowed to himself he wouldn't let his fear win. Whatever happened, happened. He wasn't going to have any expectations, if he could manage it. He didn't want to pressure Fifolet in any way, even though he got the impression from the other man that he wouldn't have minded a little pressure at all.
The biggest thing to Claude at that moment was the fact that he wasn't alone. Earlier he'd felt like the only person on the planet, or at least in the Guild, who was different. Remy didn't count. But now, he'd learned he wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one. And that made him feel like the richest man in the world. It was going to be awkward and uncertain, but it didn't matter to Claude.
"Please, dear God...whatever happens...make it worth it..." He whispered as he opened the book and tried to focus on the story. He wasn't very successful, however, with his mind drifting back to Fifolet at every opportunity. He sighed and put the book away, wondering what it was that Fifolet had looked like he so desperately wanted to do.
Safely back in his own room with the door closed, Fifolet flopped down on his bed, heart pounding in his chest. He felt strange, like there were a fleet of butterflies doing the macarena in his stomach. He decided it was due to what had just transpired between him and Claude, and also due to the uncertainty of the situation. Had he made the right decision not to kiss Claude even though he wanted to? He thought he had. But that didn't stop him from wanting to run back down the hall to Claude's room and get it over with.
He chuckled at the thought of what that sight would look like. Him racing into Claude's room, probably full-tilt, hair flying behind him. Unable to breath from running so fast. And for what? A kiss. How crazy would he look to the other man? Insane. So that wasn't an option. At least he still had enough common sense to know when not to make a fool of himself.
He rolled over and closed his eyes, having decided to take a nap. "What would it be like...?" He thought as he drifted off.