The door opened and Ford's stomach dropped. There was no one who might have been standing on the other side of the door that would be good, but just about anyone would have been better than Jemima. But of course it was her — who else was in prime position to notice a disturbance in his bedroom, to potentially have overheard everything? She had certainly overheard something, because the look on her face was enough to have him feeling sick, but Merlin only knew how much.
"J —" he started, intending to say Jemima, but not able to manage anything more of her name than a strangled half-syllable. His marriage was over. It was impossible to deny what she'd seen, what she had probably heard; she was going to know. There was only one other person in his life who had discovered this about him, rather than having been told (and having been told because they were the same way). Noble was his brother, his oldest and closest friend, and their relationship had never recovered after Noble had seen Ford's letters to Macnair. The best they'd managed was that they didn't talk about it, and sometimes Ford managed to pretend it wasn't the subtext of every conversation they had — this fundamental crack, something Noble never could and never would understand about him. But they were broken and they were never going to be fixed, and now his relationship with his wife was going to break just the same way. Worse, probably — she didn't have a lifetime of memories to combat whatever she would think about him after this.
Tycho stepped away, with more confidence than Ford would have expected. Ford felt as though perhaps he were swaying on his feet, or perhaps the world was; Tycho, still drunk, had apparently found his balance. He'd found his mental footing faster than Ford had, too, because here he was coming up with an almost-plausible excuse for what he'd just said. It wasn't going to work — Ford had seen the look on Jemima's face, he knew it wasn't going to work — but he loved Tycho for trying. He could have waltzed over and told Jemima everything; it was nothing to him if she fled back to her parent's house tonight. There was something tragically romantic about Tycho making an effort to save a marriage he had been diametrically opposed to from the start.
"... Right," Ford agreed, at least two beats too late. Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to sell Tycho's lie. He hadn't been able to keep the panic off his face when she opened the door and he couldn't wipe it clean now — there was no chance at all of her believing him.
"J —" he started, intending to say Jemima, but not able to manage anything more of her name than a strangled half-syllable. His marriage was over. It was impossible to deny what she'd seen, what she had probably heard; she was going to know. There was only one other person in his life who had discovered this about him, rather than having been told (and having been told because they were the same way). Noble was his brother, his oldest and closest friend, and their relationship had never recovered after Noble had seen Ford's letters to Macnair. The best they'd managed was that they didn't talk about it, and sometimes Ford managed to pretend it wasn't the subtext of every conversation they had — this fundamental crack, something Noble never could and never would understand about him. But they were broken and they were never going to be fixed, and now his relationship with his wife was going to break just the same way. Worse, probably — she didn't have a lifetime of memories to combat whatever she would think about him after this.
Tycho stepped away, with more confidence than Ford would have expected. Ford felt as though perhaps he were swaying on his feet, or perhaps the world was; Tycho, still drunk, had apparently found his balance. He'd found his mental footing faster than Ford had, too, because here he was coming up with an almost-plausible excuse for what he'd just said. It wasn't going to work — Ford had seen the look on Jemima's face, he knew it wasn't going to work — but he loved Tycho for trying. He could have waltzed over and told Jemima everything; it was nothing to him if she fled back to her parent's house tonight. There was something tragically romantic about Tycho making an effort to save a marriage he had been diametrically opposed to from the start.
"... Right," Ford agreed, at least two beats too late. Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to sell Tycho's lie. He hadn't been able to keep the panic off his face when she opened the door and he couldn't wipe it clean now — there was no chance at all of her believing him.
Set by Lady!