moritat | Victorian weenie au

Because it won't last, she determines to enjoy his harmlessness while he's as snuggly as a favorite teddy.

(Harm to her self-control counts as a danger, just not bodily.)

Paloma brushes her knuckles against the hair at his nape, chin tucking to make a study of him. "We are to wait. I protect you for now."

It helps too that he has slept so little in the weeks gone by, his body can't continue to run on fumes.

And in losing blood, he has also lost traces of the potion. While they wait, after some time, he begins to change. It's not instantaneous, but it is also not a slow transition. Within thirty seconds, he's grown a little taller, aged a few years, and if she could see it, the real give away would be the eye colour. But still he sleeps.

His growth is simple enough to disregard. It only feels like he's adjusting their positioning, which, well, that's reasonable!

She doesn't continue to watch his sleeping face after drinking-- ha-- her fill. When his 'adjustment' stops, she trails more paths absentmindedly over his back ...

The sigh that comes is that if a softer voice, not so deep or gruff. But surely that's easily passed off as well. His eyes blink open slowly, calm and content at first, before he realises his own awareness and the feeling of his body. It is not the same as when he slept, he is himself again, and he can't be seen here. His heart skips a beat, and eyes darting about the carriage, he scrambles to grab his hat to hide his face as he dashes for the door, into the street.

To his magnificent misfortune, Paloma catches a glimpse of his face the instant she feels tension pass between them. With their bodies coiled around and intertwined like so, there's no way for her not to feel the difference.

"Harry," is the only surprised observation she's given enough time to make before the wayward doctor hightails it out of the cab.

What in the name of God's going on?

Nope what is she talking about, he isn't Harry!!!

Of course, he has to be sure to write the driver a note for his services before taking cover. But it's a hurried thing that might not be entirely identifiable, between that rush and his shaking hand.

Better run, since he can't explain!!

But what's this? Paloma leans a little ways out of the door, head and half of her torso hanging in the wind with the look of a bewildered puppy. "... Doctor Jekyll?"

I CAN'T EXPLAAAAAAIN

In that moment he is half child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, half prey caught in the grasp of a predator. He inhales sharp, clenching his jaw together. What will he do.

The answer is, try to keep his eyes obscured and lower his voice, to about Hyde's pitch. As best he can. "I apologise, Mrs. Vasquez, I suddenly remembered something."

"Harry."

Don't be stupid, man, she can tell he's grown taller, can hear the difference in voice. Saw his damned face.

"Come back inside. Please."

"Edward," he tries to insist, stammering it, "I know that we hold some resemblance, but really now!" This isn't supposed to happen. How can he change around someone, only mere days into his new, second life.

Now he's hurt her feelings.

Again.

She retreats only partially into the cab, to hide half her face even as she refuses a full retreat. "You insult me."

No, no. That's all the worse, to see that he's hurt her, and to hear it. Anger would be one thing, but that it is pure cruelty on his part...

But no one can know. If only he had the potion on him, Hyde wouldn't hesitate to kill the driver and Paloma to keep his identity safe. But for that thought to cross his mind at all horrifies and disgusts him. Everything this evening has happened because of his own longing for her, it would be terrible enough to have such a thought about anyone, but especially her in this moment.

He goes back to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, wide open, staring into the carriage. His legs are jelly, he can't step in.

Certainly, there is anger mired in her confusion. Is this a betrayal? Can she call it that? Perhaps, because even if she's no right to lie with him again, they exchanged a kind of trust. A kind of freedom in that trust.

She avoids his eyes for lack of any concrete idea of what her feelings are doing.

"It was you. All this time, what happened, it was you."

"No--" he searches for the words to explain himself, but finds only that desperate plea. "No, that is not - it was not me."

He can feel his mouth drying out, throat tightening. What can he do. Finally he steps back inside, closing the door behind him. But is sure to sit on the bench opposite, bands folded in his lap, held tight together.

She doesn't believe a single word.

His distance stings as much as the dishonesty. The hat, veil, and gloves remain on the floor between their feet in testimony to what occurred with herself and Hyde. Paloma looks nowhere else.

Once he's sat: "What changes, that you sit so far?"

"Shame," he says it plainly at first, but, no, that isn't quite it - "I have." He still wants to kiss her, he still wants her, that might be the worst part of all.

"I am not myself." More than anything, though, he doesn't want to talk about this or look at that evidence on the floor.

Paloma opens her mouth and realizes she cannot ride the high horse here. Not with what almost happened. Not after what did happen. She tastes blood.

"And I am a sinner. As you saw tonight." Shaking hands smooth over her rumpled skirt. Something he helped with. "I wish you had not lied about where you are."

"I told no lie - not until a moment ago." Which was...also not entirely a lie, technically? As for whether she is a sinner, if so he already saw it before when they slept together. Certainly worse than a kiss, no matter how...intense.

Naturally, he won't remember her teeth in him. Best not.

She sags backward and gazes at the cab's ceiling without seeing any of it. Why is this starting to feel like it has meaning? It was supposed to be empty. But here he is, the man she'd nearabout convinced herself didn't matter. "You are Mr. Hyde, and Mr. Hyde also is you. You-- he-- said you had gone to the docks. Other places."

"No, no, I am not Hyde, Hyde is not me." He is very firm on this matter. Hyde is someone else entirely. Largely he knows this to be a lie, that they are two sides of the same man, but it's what he wants to believe, especially now that he's been caught. Hyde is not a part of his own soul, he is a product of the drug, that is what he exists in. "I can take no responsibility for anything he has said or done, that is entirely upon his own shoulders.'

She cannot think of a reply to that, but Paloma takes the dislodged pins from her hair in stiff, jerky movements. There aren't many. Setting them aside, she leans down to snatch her gloves up and put them each back on.

The hat, too. She situates it back in place and lets the veil fall to hide her hurts. Her message in putting more barriers up is clear.

"How can you claim no responsibility?" At least it's a whisper.

He bites his lip, trying to think of something to say. It's clear he's hurt her, the way she straightens herself out and hides from him.

"I know it is difficult to comprehend, however, Mr. Hyde is not some character I play, he is another man other than myself!" It's desperate, hushed tones, frantic to get everything out.

Their poor driver. Sitting out there cluelessly, wondering what in the Hell is wrong with his riders.

She'd forgotten to re-pin her hair. Curses. Well, whatever. It's hidden away in the convenience of full mourning. Paloma's grateful for the comfort of the veil and brim of her hat obstructing her face from view. "You grew small, then big again when," when I held you, "Help me. Help me comprehend, doctor."

"Precisely!" Yes, they look different, that should prove his point! Even if Hyde really just looks like a younger version of Jekyll. "He is...I do not know what he is, only that it was all a terrible accident!"

A terrible accident that he's encouraged. That he keeps revisiting willingly.

Her bones creak from the force of her hands' grip around themselves. Under the gloves her knuckles have gone white. Paloma closes her eyes and tries to quell the Beast's rising tide of fury. Push and pull.

"If that is all you can say, I ask no more." Don't trust, don't trust, don't fall in with someone in such a frightful state of affairs. He could afford to follow that advice, too. "Then he lied in regards to where you were."

She harbors doubts yet about his degree of responsibility.

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