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Darach has served her for many years; ever silent, ever gentle, ever right there. To bring her food and drink, yes, even to tuck her into bed—and bring her there in the first place if by happenstance she fell asleep somewhere at complete random once more; something that seems to happen more and more the older she grows—to ready her clothes and all around listen to her impatient whims, but also, most critically: to hold her hand in his, gloves soft and sweet.
“Lady Caitlin,” he says, right now, his voice low, kneeling in front of her bed. He is cradling her hand—icy and faraway and so foreign and numb as it feels, all of her body so far away, always, when things are like this—in both of his, warm above as below. He is looking at her with his beautiful violet eyes so intently, and he is, as so often, the only thing left anchoring her to this world; to this reality; to, indeed, right now, the floor of her Elite Four room and her rather large bed. “Lady Caitlin. Won’t you return to me?”
Between the two of them, it is not him who gives the orders, naturally; never has been. She’d been more bossy when she’d been younger—a sort of teenage petulance she feels much embarrassed about these days; but Darach does not tease her, he never has, but sometimes he smiles fondly at the edge of her vision and she knows (Caitlin always knows these things) what he’s thinking about—and when he’d been younger, too, because now, these days, it feels like they’re much more on even footing. He is her butler and she is his lady—his Lady Caitlin, in that rumbly, soft, nearly melodic tone of his that has helped her through many of her fits nearly seamlessly; perhaps the only man in the world equipped to handle her, but she has decided that years ago, now it is on him to catch up—of course (and sometimes, she forgets to eat and he will nudge her to, and sometimes, amidst fits of falling asleep sprinkled across the day like stars, she will forget to sleep at night, and he will nudge her to, or simply go on the balcony with her so the cool night air keeps her tethered, and sometimes, she’ll shut herself in her room and won’t leave for days and then he will nudge her to, and he will show her the prettiest gardens or the biggest malls or the oldest, spookiest castles; Unova almost new to explore for both of them, though the novelty has, of course, been wearing off), but right now, in moments like these, there’s nearly a command in his soft, gentle tone.
Caitlin thinks, in the end—her brain, even in those moments, perhaps clinging on to some leftover teenage petulance, even when she’s been a grown up lady for quite some time now (My lady Caitlin, he’d said, once, before she left, while brushing through all the thick length of her hair, and he’s the fastest who has ever done it, the most gentle with the tangles, you aren’t going to send me away yet, are you? I get to have you for a little while longer? and she’d stared into the mirror at his reflection with the downcast, purple eyes, and the slight smile on his face and thought to herself You know very well I could do nothing without you)—that it is this precisely that brings her back down, that tugs her mind and her spirit back to her body and her body back down to him.
Perhaps the only man in the world equipped to handle her, yes, but she has decided that years ago. Now it is on him to catch up. Will he ever, though? Will he ever dare? Or rather: will he ever give up their game?
This is a test, too, after all. She’s always been a demanding master, and she will be a demanding master of the heart, too.
Right now, in this very moment—it is wont to flutter around so much, that mind of hers—she does sink back down. Her heavy sleeping gowns scrunch together and pool when she slumps back into the bed, eyes wide and almost unseeing, but it is the warmth of his hand, most of all, that takes her back.
Her next breath sounds gasping, sibilant in the silence of the room. The hum of her powers is gone for now. Darach smiles.
“There you are,” he says, fonder than she’s ever heard a man sound in her whole entirely life. And she’s seen many men, at the Battle Castle, and now at her job as an Elite Four member, so, so many men, and many men who’d asked for her hand, too. He’s the only one equipped to handle her, he’s done it for so long; since her parents died and before that, too. They grew up together, after all, didn’t they? “I’ll make you some tea, yes?”
She’d come to Unova alone to hone her powers. She’s an adult now, and she’s become quite independent, and her fits have given way to trances and sleep most of the time, and still, Darach is…
Not a constant. But his stays do grow longer every time; she doesn’t ask, but he is… independent, too.
Sleepy, body exhausted from her brain fluttering around—seeing places and vision in bird’s view, but she’s forgotten most of them already—her head slumps forward, and he cradles her against his shoulder. Turns his head to press a kiss into her hair. She’s tempted to tell him this is not very professional, but seeing as she’s tempted, too, to tilt her head back and kiss him on his mouth, seeing as shes tempted, too, to tug at his perfectly ironed suit and compel him to come to the big, soft, warm bed instead, to slip out of both their clothes to keep them from wrinkling—though hers do wrinkle all the time; she cannot help it, she falls asleep so much, and still, magically, they return ironed to crisp perfection—or any such cheeky thing, delivered with a straight face, it is perhaps not her place. Hmph!
“Tea sounds nice,” she says, instead. He smells good. There is such passion in this man, in his eyes, such fiery confidence folded right next to the restraint. He has always been good at control. Perhaps it is that why she’s so willing to leave herself in his hands, despite everything, despite her insistence to grow.
It is not so bad, perhaps, to have a partner. But for that, it is on him to catch up! To finally open his mouth! To stop with those twinkling looks and the lingering touches and the deep, gentle care she has found it so hard to live without! Well, to continue those, but to speak first!
“Lady Caitlin,” he says, “your temper.”
Ah. She finds she has started clawing her hands into his arm. She flexes them like butterfly wings and huffs.
“I don’t believe my temper has ever been a problem to you, now, has it?”
She finds, too, that she can feel him smile, right there. “It hasn’t,” he replies, truthfully, she knows that much. Knows, too, that it had very much been a problem for a great many people over the years. Knows, too, that precisely that is why she has come here.
And she’s gotten so much better, has she not? At battling, yes, but at growing up, too?
“Darach,” she says, leaning back, holding loosely onto the lapels of his blazer, “I am waiting for you to catch up, you see.”
He tilts his head, purple eyes surprised for a fraction of a second, then narrowing with a smile. “Have I not?” he says. “You left me behind, my lady. Now I am right here.”
Caitlin finds that she is quite tired. Of this game, yes, but also in general. She leans in and brushes her mouth over the edge of his, just the corner, a little too close but not right on. He will have to take the final step himself! Two can play this game, after all, and she’s been playing it for so long, too. Perhaps they have always been playing it.
“Tea,” she says, then. Darach extricates himself from her, steps away from her bed and bows, the picture of the perfect butler, always, always, always. He’s beautiful, like this.
“As you wish, Lady Caitlin.”