The Parts We Play

Why Can't The Past Just Die?

Krel was, once again, on Cara's couch, watching her scribble a particularly poor diagram on her whiteboard.

"How do you want to play Raoul off of Christine?" Cara asked him, turning and rousing Krel from a short bout of zoning out.

Krel blinked. "Pardon?"

"Like, well- how does Raoul react to Christine? How does he regard her and look at her? What's the difference between his verbal and physical interactions with her and anyone else?" Cara prompted.

Somehow, Krel instinctively knew how he wanted Raoul to treat Christine- with an overriding tenderness and carefulness, as though he was afraid she would break if he hurt her even a little. He told Cara as much, almost surprised at how easily he managed to explain, and she perked up with interest.

"My first thought was warmth," she confessed. "Instinctive familiarity, even."

"What, like us?" Krel half-joked.

"Exactly," Cara said, entirely seriously. "If you think about it, their situation isn't dissimilar to ours- we were separated childhood friends. And even if that's as far as the situation goes, it's enough to already know how they'd feel about reuniting. If we can push just a little bit of our real reconnection into the way Raoul and Christine try to rekindle their friendship, I think it'll make the performance seem that much more natural."

Krel raised his eyebrows, more impressed than he expected to be. "I should have thought of that."

"Now, Raoul was never under any illusions Christine was dead, which means he wouldn't be parsing old grief upon seeing her again," Cara said, "but you know exactly how excited he would be, and you can bring that to the performance. As for me- with Raoul having stepped into his inheritance as Vicomte de Chagny... well, I know the relief of being recognized when you thought you wouldn't be- the joy of being right about who you thought the old friend you recognized was. And the pride of seeing that said old friend has come so far in life." She glanced away from the board to offer Krel a warm smile at that, and a reciprocal warmth surged in his core.

He covered it by teasing, "Aw, you're proud of me?"

Cara shot him a flat look. "My Liege, your ego is well and thoroughly stoked enough without any compliments from me."

Normally, Krel might have been quite offended, but he found himself laughing- something about her phrasing, or her tone, he supposed.

"But yes," Cara said, becoming serious and even tender, allowing him to just about miss the confirmation through his amusement. "I am proud of you."

Krel quieted, finding himself holding his breath, waiting for her to go on. She sat down next to him on the couch before doing so.

"I'm proud the person you are- the kind, and gentle, and honest, and slightly awkward person I loved as a child- wasn't snuffed out by all those years of endless courtiering," she said quietly, looking at her hands as she pulled her words together. "I'm proud of how your knowledge and intelligence have grown- and I'm proud that sometimes you even set it aside for the sake of wisdom." She looked up at him. "And I'm- I'm still sort of shocked that after all this time and everything you've seen and become, I'm worthy enough in your eyes to come back to you."

There was a tentativeness in her eyes, as though she weren't just shocked to be wanted- as though parts of her still didn't believe it. Large parts.

Krel didn't like it. He carefully put his hands on her shoulders and upper arms, and pulled her close enough to rest his forehead against hers. "You fought so hard- for so long -to escape this place," he breathed. "I probably don't even know the half of it. And it was all for the sake of duty and obligation- for my sake. Yet, somehow, you still managed to come to love this place, even though it must have felt as though it was taking parts of who you were, and who you were supposed to become, and what you were supposed to do, away from you. The goodness, and the humility, and the patience that must have taken..."