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trellwords · 2 years

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fic scrap, douxie & claire, 1500 words. future fic.

And Claire means to be a good guest, she does—fully intends to wait at least until after Douxie’s fetched them the tea to start heaping her problems out on the table—but the buzzing restlessness that’s been clogging her chest for the past two weeks suddenly surpasses her limit. “I think I’m not in love with Jim anymore,” she blurts out. Saying it feels strange, like she’s suddenly made it real—like casting a spell, or perhaps more like breaking one. She stares helplessly at Douxie, unable to take it back.

In which Claire works up to breaking up with Jim.

Claire arrives at the terrace house Douxie currently occupies in Wales via shadow portal, stepping from the arid heat of her Santa Barbara apartment into cold damp with only the briefest break in between. She’s gotten very good at diving through the black to where she wants to go; these days if she wants to see Douxie all she has to do is focus her thoughts on wherever he’s told her he’s staying, and insist that the shadow realm take her.

She saves lots of money on plane fare.

It’s just before seven in the evening in California, which means it’s nearly three in the morning in Wales, but she still glances around to make sure no one’s seen her arrive. Fortunately, the street is empty: one side is bracketed by the River Conwy, and the other is packed with window-welled houses in such clashing styles that they look like they’ve been glued together slapdash, their windows dark. Only Douxie’s are still aglow; he works night shifts at a nearby club, and can therefore be counted on to be up all night. Claire sends up a prayer that she’s not interrupting something important on his day off, and lets herself in through the gate.

When she knocks at the door Douxie answers quickly, looking only mildly surprised to see her. “Claire!” His smile is genuine. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Claire winces. “How bad would it be if I said I just need someone to talk to?” She’d rehearsed her reasoning on the way over, but now that she’s here it’s evaporated totally from her head. She feels wrung-out and nervous, just as she has for the past week since she had her epiphany, and that’s why she’s here—but that doesn’t exactly help with not sounding crazy.

“Enough to cross the Atlantic?” Douxie says. And then, before she can cascade into apologies and backing out, “I’m just joshing you, really. I’m not busy, and Archie will be happy to see you.” He steps aside, nodding inward. “Get in here.”

Claire allows herself to be ushered inside.

In the foyer she toes off her shoes, and follows Douxie into the living room. The space is comically cozy, totally unlike what she imagines Douxie’s home would be like if he did his own interior decoration. The home belongs to an octogenarian enchantress presently away on travel in central Europe, and Douxie is house-sitting in exchange for having somewhere to live rent-free. There’s a preponderance of doilies on all the tables and shelves, and Claire finds Archie curled up atop an exceedingly homey quilt folded up on the couch. “Oh, hello,” the cat greets her.

“Hey, Archie.” Claire picks her away across the room, finding a place to sit down beside him. The couch is so soft that sitting on it is rather like being swallowed; she folds up accordingly, pulling her knees against her chest, and reaches over to stroke Archie’s fur.

Across the room Douxie says, “I’ll just get us tea, shall I? And then you can tell me what’s up,” heading for the doorway into the kitchen.

And she means to be a good guest, she does—fully intends to wait at least until after Douxie’s fetched them the tea to start heaping her problems out on the table—but the buzzing restlessness that’s been clogging her chest for the past two weeks suddenly surpasses her limit.

“I think I’m not in love with Jim anymore,” she blurts out.

Saying it feels strange, like she’s suddenly made it real—like casting a spell, or perhaps more like breaking one. She stares helplessly at Douxie, unable to take it back.

He throws her a startled look. Then he says, very levelly, “I think we’re going to need something stronger than tea,” and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Claire sitting wordlessly on the couch.

Archie purrs beneath her hand.

Douxie returns a moment later holding two beers, and Claire unfurls from the couch, gratefully accepting the one he holds out to her. She definitely wants alcohol for this conversation. Douxie sits down across from her in the armchair, wrestling the cap off his beer with his sweatshirt; Claire uses magic, twisting her bottle open with a thoughtless flick of her fingers.

Once they’ve both had a few gulps, Douxie says, “So. You wanted to talk about it?”

Claire shoots him a guilty look. “Yes. Please? Sorry, I know this isn’t … I’m not looking for advice, really, I just …”

“Need to tell somebody,” Douxie finishes for her, with a half-smile. “Really, Claire, it’s all right. Hit me with it.”

“Thanks,” she says, meaning it. She settles with her feet on the floor, dangling the beer bottle between her knees. “Jim and I have been together for ages, you know? Since we were sixteen. If it weren’t for—well, you know—we probably would’ve gotten married straight out of high school, typical small-town romance.” She blows out a frustrated sigh. “But of course Jim turned himself into a troll, and we didn’t, and now our lives are … well, they couldn’t be any more different, during the day, could they? And he wants me more involved in the magical side, but I’ve—you know, I’ve got clients riding my ass all day, and I’m hustling for an end-of-term bonus to help pay off my loans, and besides that I’m trying to land a job at a congressional office. Of course I care about magic, and trollkind, but—I’ll have time for that later. Right?” She gestures jerkily with her left hand, encompassing Douxie’s own eternal youth. “I only have one chance to live my life as somebody who exists on paper, and can do things like run for the Senate. That matters to me.” She pauses for breath.

Douxie says slowly, “I can’t say I understand, exactly. The moment I knew magic existed I never wanted to do anything else. But,” he raises an eyebrow at her, “you didn’t say ‘we’re having relationship problems.’ You said, ‘I think I’m not in love with Jim anymore.’ ”

Trust Douxie to cut to the heart of the matter. “Yeah. That’s it, really.” Claire sets her beer down on the table, running both hands roughly up through her hair. The gesture totally wrecks what remains of her hairdo, already flagging after a ten-hour day at the office. “It’s not anything he did, or anything I did, or even that we’re incompatible. We’re best friends. I hope we’re always going to be. I just—don’t feel the same anymore.”

To her surprise, Douxie says, “I understand that,” taking a swig of his beer.

“Really?” Claire looks at him, trying to imagine him with a romantic partner. She can’t quite do it. “I’ve never seen you with anybody.”

He grins slightly. “I’m sort of—only interested ’til I get to know the guy? I’ll fall head over heels for some bloke, write him a whole bunch of love songs, but the moment I find out what he’s actually like I just turn off.” He shrugs. “Just built that way, I guess.”

“Huh.” Claire digests this. Living the way Douxie does—traveling for years at a time, always flitting from one magical crisis point to the next—she supposes lacking a desire for close connection might not be such a bad thing. “Does it bother you?”

Douxie’s reply is cheerful. “No way. I like to have a good time. This way nobody’s heart gets broken, and everyone goes away happy.” He leans back in the armchair, crossing his skinny legs and propping his beer bottle against his knee. “Anyway,” he goes on, not unsympathetically, “from the sound of things, your romantic conundrum is bothering you a lot more.”

“Ugh,” Claire says, with feeling. She presses a hand to her face. “God, Douxie, what am I gonna do? I should tell him, but—oh, I don’t know. It’s like—like I’m planning to abandon a partner with a chronic illness, or something!”

Douxie chokes on his beer. After a couple minutes of coughing he manages, rather hoarsely, “Hang on. First of all, last time I checked, Jim loved being half-troll. Second, I think we both know he’d protest at his present state being compared to a disease …”

“Oh, I know that! That’s not how I meant it at all.” Claire buries her face in her hands, then straightens, taking another sip of her beer. “I just—I’m scared I’d be isolating him. Cutting his last tie with humanity. Jim … he’s been afraid of losing his human side for a long time.You know.” She’s certain she’s not the only one who’s gone to Douxie with her problems over the years, even if Jim isn’t as close with him as she is.

Douxie winces. “I—have some idea,” he admits. His expression turns serious. “But that isn’t your responsibility, Claire. Whatever decision you make, it shouldn’t be based on that.”

“But you know how things are back home. Toby’s busy with his directing, Eli’s off-planet, Steve’s always off somewhere filming … and Jim’s mother loves him, but she’s got her own life. She’s an attending, for god’s sake.” Claire lets out a frustrated breath. “Lately, I’m all he has.”

[...]

#from october 2021 #hisirdoux casperan #douxie casperan #claire nuñez #wizards: tales of arcadia #tales of arcadia #toa #toa wizards #trollhunters #douxie & claire

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