Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even though it still was winter, the snowdrops and hellebores shared space with beautiful irises and hyacinths that were starting to bloom, sky too crisp blue for a february day. Papa tough hands took her small ones and brought her to her parents bedroom.

"This is your brother Verso, look at him. Isn't he cute?" Maman said, looking back her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, she always had atributed it to the fatigue of birthing a child.

When Clea peeked inside the crib, she saw a newborn with big curious blue eyes staring at her. It was one of the last happy memories she had as family together.

She couldn't remember when she realized that the actual perfect family turned was actually the pressured to be one. The constant demands of her parents regarding painting, the unavailability of Papa, the harshness of Maman, the screaming matches heard along the halls. 

Her brother was around four or five when he started coming to her bed instead when he had nightmares, it was around the same time she decided that she would do anything to protect him, even when he annoyed her to her limit.

As the years passed she became good at playing the game of being perfect, at pretending. She hated it, and by the time she graduated school and started sneakily saving money, she was just waiting Verso be old enough to not be alone at that wretched manor.

It was Verso's sixteenth birthday, they worked together on another piece for their parents gallery, he shared his daydreams of living in the countryside and opening a small restaurant, she paid for his training with her own escape savings. He promised he would pay her back someway. She never said how the the way he beamed at her in a way she had never seen before was enough payment for a lifetime.

Maelle burst through their lives with just as much violence as the storm that raged in the night she was born. Clea pressed against the nursery glass staring at the red haired baby. The tiny thing was swaddled in a marigold and honeysuckle patterned cloth, screaming her lungs out as if she had been born fighting. She had to protect her, would run through fields of nettle, let them burn her raw, just too see her grow like both of them couldn't. One look at Verso across the hall, eyes in awe and understanding, and Clea could see that he thought the same.

As Maelle grew, Clea was the one to work in the shadows to make sure she was safe, nurturing the roots to make sure they grew strong. While her brother was the one openly questioning about their parent's neglect, the one cutting the weeds, baring his teeth at the rot, making sure no one tarnished her petals. The screaming increased, this time aimed at him.

What made Clea determined to make him free happened on Maelle's 2nd birthday. The three siblings had a nice day at the park, it was filled with pictures and laughter, until they came home and shouting started.

A tabloid magazine caught him sneaking out of someone's house. Blurry pictures of him holding a shadowy figure. Ungrateful. Disobedient. Shameful. Mingling with low class filth. Clea saw how Aline's slap at the table was an attempt to not aim at him. She saw how Renoir's fists clenched at the mention of his son's name. It was enough she decided.

Three days later, Clea and Verso stood by Monoco's apartment door. Verso hugged her like he never had before, she told him to be happy, that their sister was safe and left. Left him in a city miles away from the Capitol and with the promise that her brother's best friend would let him couch surf until he needed it. It was the last time she saw him. 

Aline and Renoir now watched her like hawks too worried about the tabloids who were too curious about her and the 'disowned Dessendre' as the magazine covers liked to print.

She called of course but they both deemed too risky, she got caught thrice in the first month, she didn't even dare to dream of meeting. The calls were too risky, they decided to cut contact was a year in, at least until she and Maelle were out of their parents claws. It was hard, heartbreaking. Verso sobbed on the phone, she suppressed her emotions just enough to finish the call, knot on her throat. She cried until she fell asleep that night.

As a sort of compromise, Clea dedicated herself to Maelle. She read bedtime stories, treated scrapped knees, cuddled with her when she was sick even if meant Clea would get sick herself. All the things her parents hadn't done for her and Verso. Maelle grew up to be a bright child.

It is a chilly night , she was just back from a meeting, she goes to Maelle's room too check on her. Clea runs her hand through the red strands while humming a lullaby.

She must have fallen asleep because she awakens still in her sister bedroom, now full of smoke. She barely manages to pull them both out of the burning place when she sees the firetruck lights. Everything blacks out.

Chapter Text

Verso is relaxed against Monoco and Esquie in his small couch, they are lazily watching some boxing fight on the TV. Noco is sleeping soundly at the improvised crib Verso keeps at his apartment for nights like these. He was on a well deserved day off and it was the start of a great night, until his phone vibrated on the coffee table, screen illuminating the dim living room. Monoco notices first, it's Clea's name on the screen. Verso freezes, it's been six years since that awful call.

"Answer it you idiot." Monoco mutters, his jokingly tone not fully there. He's also worried.

Verso grabs his phone anxiously and stumbles to the kitchen, none of them need a cranky toddler to add to whatever this is going to be, he feels Esquie's careful gaze on his back.

"Yes?" He answers the phone, breathing shallowly.

"This is from the Saint Genevieve’s Burn Hospital at the Capitol, do I speak with Verso Dessendre?"

"Fuck."

"Y-Yes, you do. What happened?"

"Your sister Clea Dessendre listed you as her emergency contact. We regret to inform you that she's currently hospitalized in critical condition."

Something falls, cracks, breaks in tiny pieces. At first he thought it was his heart. He didn't even notice he was fiddling with the pendant Clea gave him all those years ago, a saffron flower. Purple petals made of glass are scattered on the ground. 

Things happen like a tornado around him. Esquie is now by his side. "We will fix, we can glue it." He whispers to not be heard by the stranger on the other side of the phone. He doesn't know how he ended up in the living room again, the boxing game interrupted by a BREAKING NEWS: WORLD RENOWNED PAINTER COUPLE DEAD. DESSENDRE'S MANOR ABLAZE. He hated the place. The manufactured perfection. The pressure. The screams. But still was were he grew up. Where Clea comforted him after nightmares. Where Maelle took her first steps. Everything gone. Bile crawled up his throat. It tastes like paint thinner. The edge of his vision bleeds. With a press of a button Monoco shuts the TV. The screen goes black. Verso stares at a stranger's reflection with his face.

"Sir?" The cellphone case is slippery on his hands.

"Oh God, I'm still on the phone"

"There should be a child, Maelle, is she okay?" He doesn't even notice how his shoulders are locked high, aprehensive.

"All I'm allowed to say is that the child is currently on observation. No major injuries." Verso exhales, didn't even noticed that he had stopped breathing for a second or two.

"I-Thank you. I'll be there as soon as possible." 

"My condolences Mr. Dessendre." The stranger hangs up. "I forgot how much I hated that name".

Before Verso even has time to think he's trapped in a hug from his best friends. He sobs and hugs them back. Verso allows himself to stay there until he feels human again. When the three of them are away from each other it's Esquie who moves them into action.

"I'll be driving you to the Capitol. Don't try to argue about it." Esquie wore a determined face. "No way we'll let you go alone to there."

"From Lumière to Capitol is a long journey, my friend." Monoco says, warm hands still on his shoulders.
----

When they got to Genevieve’s Verso insisted that he need to do it alone. He regretted the moment he put his feet inside Clea's room. A glass vase by the window with clusters of periwinkle flowers that curved downwards, as if tired. It stank of antiseptic and a pungently sweet flower smell. It was nothing like the perfume of chamomile that used to follow Clea everywhere she went. 

She didn't look like herself, her long and well-cared hair was now cut short, lifeless, the tubes keeping her alive sprawled like roots. The hospital gown that made her look tiny, fragile, nothing like the self-assured woman she grown to be. He sat next to her, throat tight and eyes watering, he decides to start from the beginning.

"Well...Hi Clea. This isn't how I imagined to meet you again." He forces a laugh, it comes out wet. "Let me tell a bit about what happened after the last time we talked huh?"

He can only hear the machines beeping, he thinks silence would be better.

"So, I started this job a few years ago on a bistro in Lumière. I actually wanted to bring you there, you know as repayment. It's not a three-Michelin-star place at the Capitol but I think you would like it."

"I've made a lot of friends there. Lune's exceedingly smart and a bit stubborn, but she's also very caring. Sciel's lovely and understanding, don't let her fool you though, she will destroy you in a cards game" He very carefully grazes the back of her hand back and forth. "Gustave's kind, protective and  he's so tech savvy he adjusts his own prosthetic! He's also thoughtful, he made sure I didn't feel excluded when meeting his best friend Sophie. His sister Emma is scary in a cool away, she reminds me of you. Having a fun night with them makes me feel more at home than any of the dinners we had with Aline and Renoir. I just wish you and Maelle were there too."

His rambling doesn't cover the unnatural beeping of the machines, the smell makes him nauseous, it smells like rot. Later he would discover it was caused by the shriveling hyacinths by the window, forgotten by a well meaning nurse a few days ago. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It's all he  thinks. 
____
Logically he knows Maelle isn't a baby anymore, it still shocks him to see a fully grown child sleeping in the dimly lit hospital bedroom.

He stands awkwardly a few steps away from the bed, as one would approach a cabinet full a crystal wine glasses and fine porcelain plates. Maelle shifts in bed as if she can feel his discomfort, she grumbles, barely awake.

"Verso?"

"I-You remember me?"

"Clea always talks about you, hard not to." An almost playful tone to it. It comes naturally, as if he never left. "Where is she?"

"Fuck, they wouldn't leave a stranged brother tell a child that her sister is dying would they?" At least he hopes not.

"She in a another room, just sleeping." Maelle eyes are still heavy with sleep, she is fighting it just enough to know Clea whereabouts. 

"Less than a day at the Dessendre's and back at lying again huh? To a child, you little sister. Be proud of yourself Verso. Great job."

"Why don't you catch a bit more sleep huh? I could stay here if you want it."

He stays there untill Maelle falls asleep again, it doesn't take much. Even if it did, documentation can wait, he knows it's one of the last days of peaceful sleep she'll get in a long time.

Chapter Text

Verso is thankful François, Clea's old friend, planned his parents' funeral. He barely can stand being there at all.

There are a lot of high-society people there, the kind that only knew them superficially. They all offer him condolences but also side-glance Maelle with judgy eyes, as if they doubt he could raise her.

The priest speaks. Verso's eyes are fixed on the ground but he feels like he's wafting away. A tiny hand touches his. Maelle. The floating halts.

When Verso looks at her he can't quite decide if she also got good at pretending feeling fine or if she feels as detached from her parents as him. He forces a small smile and rubs one of her shoulders, awkwardly trying to provide some comfort.

At the exit Maelle is hiding behind his coat while Esquie guides them to car. Camera flashes everywhere, he hates those. The worst kind of interviewer rudely blocks the way. Suddenly all he can taste is paint thinner. Each flash a blank canvas. Each one a different failure for his parents. The last one, a failure for Maelle. For not being there.
He's pretty sure Monoco cursed them off or something because they get to the car and he doesn't answer a single question.
----
It takes an agonizing week to the doctors to instruct Verso to say his final goodbyes. Clea fought fiercely but her body was too ailed to recover.

He and Maelle are on the hospital lobby, in a private corner. His eyes are watering, voice trembling, shoulders tense. He crouches to her level.

"Remember when I told you Clea was sick?"

"Yes, the doctors told me I was too young to visit her." She pouts, Verso can't tell if she's sad or scared.

"They told me you should visit her together and say goodbye. She..." He looks up and sighs, eyes closed. "She isn't going to survive."

"She's dying?" She whispers, as if saying it louder would kill Clea this instant. He cringes.

"Yes...yes, she is." 

When they enter Clea's room the air feels oppressive. It smells caustic. She's no longer covered in a mess of tubes that looked like parasitic roots on a tree. It's almost looks like she's sleeping, it's uncanny.

"The three siblings reunited at last, how ironic it has to be like this."

"Marigolds"

"What?"

Maelle points at the windowsill. "Clea likes to take me on park walks and we always named flowers together."

"Oh, she loved flowers, she gave me a very pretty necklace with a purple one, maybe you could tell me what flower it's." He tries not to imagine the shattered pendant on his kitchen floor.

They have a small amount of permitted visit time with her. They spend it in silence, sat next to her bed, none of them comfortable enough to say what they want say to her.

"You want me to give you a few minutes alone with her?" Maelle nods. "Just don't touch anything." She nods again.

He kisses Clea's forehead, hugs her and whispers low enough hoping her, and only her, can hear. "I'll protect her with all my life, sorry I couldn't stay with you". 

He stands up, knot in his throat, eyes shining with tears. "Goodbye, Clea." And walks out of the room before he cries.

He sits on the floor, hands on his head.

"Fuck, I wish I had a cigarette."

Maelle comes back a few minutes later eyes red, wrinkled clothes and messy hair.

"Hey, you want a h-" Verso's surprised by how she dropped all her weight on him before he could ask.

"IT ISN'T FAIR!" He doesn't chastise her for screaming, just closes his arms around her.

"It isn't kiddo, i know it isn't." Silent tears roll down his face.
----

Clea's funeral is much more intimate than his parents'. Him, Maelle, Monoco, Esquie, Noco, François, plus three of Clea's closer coworkers that François personally invited. Nine people, Verso doesn't know how to feel about that.

He never knew so much plants like now. Chrysanthemums, cypresses, hemlocks... Who knew there were so many ways to say 'I'm sorry someone is gone'. She deserved all of them. 

"Clea would kill me if she knew it took her dying for me to learn all of this."  He snorts. It's bittersweet, thinking of her. Maelle sniffles by his side. 

The last guest to be greeted before the funeral comes. A woman a bit older than him, she carries a bouquet. Orange blossoms, an old friend from his culinary career, marigolds and camellias, he learned that both were a funeral flowers, and ones he didn't know, shapped like a cup with pretty white petals and a dark center. Her eyes are tired and red.

"I'm sorry about yours and Maelle's loss. Clea...talked a lot about you two, she was so proud of both." Verso can see she's holding her emotions in, for Maelle's sake. Probably. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Louise."

"Thank you Louise." He forces a smile. 

Louise notices Maelle is staring at the flowers, she gives a small smile and crouches to the child's level. "Clea liked these huh?" She takes two marigolds out of the bouquet and offers one. "Why don't we leave these at her coffin to keep her company?" Maelle shyly takes one. When Louise gets back at her feet she offers the second one to Verso without a word.

He gives a small speech, his voice breaking half of the time. He tells them how she was a great sister. He tells about the nights as a child crawling on her bed after a nightmare. He tells about how she snuck him uncountable for his trainings, friendships and romances. "Clea was the one who did everything for me, and in the end I wish she did more things for her."

When they bury her he catches his little sister mumbling something. He asks her about it.
  
"The flowers." She points at one of arrangements he chose "Marigolds, asphodels, willows. I want to remember so I can draw it later."

It feels like someone put his heart in a pot of boiling oil.
----
He's sitting by her grave, the funeral just ended. His friends decided to give them a moment alone. Monoco is looking after Maelle and his son, Verso hopes his sister and the toddler will take a liking to each other. The cold wind seeps through his jacket and he shudders. 

"Is winter starting again?"

He looks at the sky, at the red trees. His bouquet and Louise's rest next to the headstone. He wants a cigarette. He wants lay down on the ground, just like he did on her bed just like he did when he was child. He wants his older sister. He wants to die with her.

Before he can process any of his thoughts, someone barely touches his shoulder. He jumps.

"Shit!"

"Oh I'm sorry Verso. I should've been more careful." It's Louise. "I had something to give to you but I didn't want to do in front of the tiny one. Clea left this at my house at the day of the fire." She shows an leather notebook.

"Oh you were her close friend then." Clea didn't show that book to everyone, he never knew what was in inside of it.

"Yes...we were close. I think you should keep it." 

"I dont deserve it."

"She trusted you with it Louise, I wasn't even allowed touch it when I lived there."

"Do you know why she went to my house that day?" He can't manage to answer her. "She went there because she wanted to keep it safe from your parents' prying eyes. She never told me how bad things were, but I could tell she was juggling knives aimed at her throat. She was writing a letter to you."

She presses the notebook on his hands, caresses the petals of the bouquet she brought earlier at her grave and leaves.
----
He's back at the hotel. Maelle is sleeping and he's itching, craving a cigarette.

"Fuck it, I'm buying a new pack." He goes in direction of the door, but he doesn't want to leave Maelle and have her wake up alone. "Bad time to quit huh?" He remembers Clea hated the smell of cigarettes, he looks at the notebook. 

When he takes the leather diary something falls from it, a loose paper neatly folded. He carefully opens it.

Dear Verso,
 
I don't know if you be reading this. I hope you do. How are you? Last I heard you were still washing dishes somewhere in Lumière. I want to know that me and Maelle are fine, but I've made a decision. I can't keep doing this, the pleasantries, the smiles, being the sweet girl that Alice and Renoir want me to be.

I make enough money to rent a place to me and Maelle to live comfortably. It will take a few months, but I guessed that I would give you a heads you before the comotion. I have a wonderful friend to support me, you would love her Verso, she's always making me laugh with her dumb jokes and is the kindest person I've ever met. She feels like the warm sun of the spring after a cold winter.

I just want you to know that I'm so proud of you and our sister, you two gave me the power to keep going when I didn't have in me.

Love, Clea.

He randomly opens one of the notebook's pages, filled with pressed flowers, named and catalogued with meaning.

Anemone - Forsaken Love. He sees the pretty white flowers from Louise bouquet.

Asphodel - My regrets follow you to the grave

Begonia - To repay a favor. That one give a pang on his heart. He jumps a few pages.

Camellia - Longing for you

Chamomile - Energy in adversity

Crocus - Cheerfulness, Youthful glee. He sees an saffron flower. Verso gives an small teary laugh. He caresses the drawing and opens a random one again.

Heather - Protection

Hellebore - We shall overcome scandal and slander

Honeysuckle - Affection

Hyacinth - Please forgive me. This one hits too close to home, the smell of the pressed flower is not as bad as the one on the hospital, but it still stinks.

Iris - Faith

Marigold - Grief

Nettle - Cruelty

Orange Blossom - Eternal Love

Snowdrop - Hope

Willow - Mourning

Zinnia - Everlasting friendship

He closes it. He can't bear to look at all of them. Cautiously puts it on the small desk as if something so small could cause an explosion and locks himself in the bathroom. All he repressed is coming at once. He chokes a sob. He gasps. He's drowning. He's tired. He doesn't know. He can't make a sound. He can't scream. Paint thinner and shouting. Cake and laughter. He's a child again, hidden in his sister bedroom hearing their parents fight. Tiny feet and red hair giggling trough the halls. Canvas and canvas of discarded paintings and dreams.

His phone lights up the bathroom with a message notification. His head stops screaming at him, he feels numb, doesn't eve manage to unlock the phone.

Gustave
Hey
Im sorry we couldnt be there for you today
Count on us for anything ok?