Reprisal

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

     HERE LIES OUR PRIDE:

     CYRUS ALISTAIR GAUL

     HERE LIES OUR STRENGTH:

     CICERO BARNABAS GAUL

     HERE LIES OUR PATIENCE:

     CONSUS GALEN GAUL

     HERE LIES OUR GENTLENESS:

     MAGNUS CECIL GAUL

Tawny glances over the etched marble, marking the resting places of her brothers, echoed with what their father had always said of his children:

"Cyrus is my pride , Cicero is my strength , Consus is my patience , Magnus is my gentleness , and Tawny is my joy ."

When Tullia was born, he'd piped, "Oh, my light ."

Brown eyes now shift to the stone beside her brothers.

     HERE LIES OUR LIGHT:

     TULLIA CALLIOPE GAUL CRANE

Crane.

Her mind shifts to the last time she had seen Dyess.

He can see she hasn't slept, dark bags under her eyes that are puffy and red from crying. Her hair matted as if she didn't bother trying to fix it before rolling out of bed and coming here.

Little does he know she hasn't even gone to bed, too distraught to will herself off the couch.

"Get it out of your system," Coriolanus had told her. "By the time he's executed you need to have your hands washed of him."

So she allowed herself to go ahead and feel everything she could.

Wallow in the sorrow of the death of their future together entirely with no hope for a possible reconciliation.

He looks far worse off than she does.

His cobalt blue eyes are bloodshot, face raw and red with his own tearful grief.

Taking a step forward, they're both reminded of their surroundings at the sound of his shackles echoing in the cell.

For a moment, they keep five feet between one another, but after taunting silence that mocks her for what a horrid wife she's been, she can't keep away, stepping to him quickly, wrapping her arms around him.

Dr. Gaul watches from two-way glass, grimacing at the sight, lip nearly curling at the sound of Dyess' tears.

"I didn't do it, T." He says, pulling from her, the words nearly catching in his throat before he coughs, cheeks wet with tears, the back of his hand rattling with it's chain when he reaches up to wipe it away only for Tawny to do so for him. . .her fingertips linger against his cheek.

"Murder the President, or sabotage my work?" She asks him, confirming to him that she knows.

His face scrunches once more, shame clearly cloaking his features, eyes abruptly looking to the floor as his shoulders shake with his sobs.

She focuses on her anger as best she can to keep from joining him in his sorrows – remembering the years she's put into her career, the hours, the resources, money, mental and physical space her cases have all taken up in her lab, in her mind. . .all for him to discard that hard work with a year of screwing her over to belittle her – to dim her so he appeared brighter.