I have no fear, nor no one should

[andhiswife]

Well, this ought to be interesting.

Biffy has been in the back of her mind since her arrival. More specifically, the acute awareness of just how patient, helpful, and kind he'd been with her when she'd first arrived, even in the face of her decidedly unpleasant disposition, has been a frequent companion. Not that she's been wallowing in self-recrimination or anything so dramatic as that. She thinks she handled herself about as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.

But then, she'd had to handle herself. Biffy was under no such obligation. He'd put up with her, anyway.

So, she's been thinking of making some sort of gesture, part thanks and part apology. The upcoming holiday seems as good an excuse as any to actually move forward with it. Her oven is less a mystery these days, and she's managed to churn out a respectable selection of biscuits and pastries. There's no such thing as 'out of season' here, and it feels wildly incongruous to have apple turnovers and cherry tarts side by side, but so much the better, she thinks. It is a treat to be able to put all of her most notable seasonal creations in one basket.

No chocolate, though. She's done some reading on the subject and discovered it's highly poisonous to dogs, and, well. Best not to risk it.

They'd arranged for her to come round his farmhouse by way of a somewhat awkward phone call (he'd been nothing but courteous; she was the one intensely flustered by the whole process of talking to a disembodied voice coming out of a little might-as-well-be-magical box). She'd made no mention of the sweets, wanting them to be a surprise.

It's a rather long walk, but since it's all through the countryside, she hardly minds. Besides, she's used to traveling on foot. She's worked up a bit of a flush by the time she reaches Biffy's farmhouse, but it's probably just as well. Better to pin it on exertion than a sort of pervasive, underlying sheepishness. 'Sheepish' is probably the last thing she ought to be, considering who she's visiting.

And with a basket of sweets on her arm, no less. At least she's not wearing any red.

She double-checks the contents of her basket to make sure nothing's been squashed or crumbled in transit, but she packed it well, and everything looks as beautiful as it did coming out of the oven. A little steam even rises into the chill winter air. Satisfied, she covers them back up, straightens her back, and knocks.

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[andhiswife]

She returns the squeeze, grateful for the gesture now that it's so blessedly uncomplicated. His verbal reassurance is a little less convincing, if only because it's broken up by giggles. She still feels a bit foolish - not so much because she honestly thinks she should have guessed the truth before he told her, but because it has become so abundantly clear how different things are here. Biffy's openness about his preferences - and his clear, initial bewilderment over the misunderstanding - speak to a world in which such things are both common enough and obvious enough that most people don't need it spelled out for them.

"No, of course not," she says to the second bit. Granted, she's learned firsthand that one can be handsome, well-mannered, considerate, and charming, and still leave 'honorable' somewhere along the wayside. But she believes him. It doesn't seem like the sort of thing he'd go out of his way to emphasize if it wasn't true, given that he's already reassured her that her virtue is perfectly safe, regardless.

She pulls her hand back and recovers her fork. Her cheeks are still flushed, but at least she's regained control over herself. "It is a very nice gift," she says, making a pointed gesture with her fork. "If my husband were here, he'd be more than a little bit indignant." His absence still hurts, a persistent ache beneath her breast, but she can't help a wry smile at the thought of what his reaction to that shawl might be.

[modern_alpha]

Biffy thought he could guess a little at the play of emotions on Mrs. Baker's face. It was not dissimilar to the mix of wry amusement and poorly-hidden longing that had often crossed Alexia's face when she allowed herself to think of Lord Maccon. She was not a gentle woman, was Lady Maccon, and so showing tenderness did not come easily to her but if one knew where to look...well.

He imagined it was a little bit the same with Greta.

"If he does he appear, I will be happy to assure him of my lack of intention," he promised, his own smile turning a little wistful. "I still have quite a few photos on my phone of Dorian and myself. I...haven't been able to make myself delete them, though perhaps I ought."

[andhiswife]

It's a gallant offer - and a rather hilarious mental image. Her poor husband would barely have time to stop huffing over what an inappropriately rich gift the shawl was, and then Biffy would toss out his personal preferences and really flummox him. She can see it so clearly.

But she probably shouldn't be entertaining daydreams of what it would be like if her family joined her here. It's a recipe for disappointment and sorrow if they don't - and guilt if they do, as if she might have wished them into Darrow. Part of her (a rather treacherous part) thinks it might not be so bad, that it would all be easier if they were together, no matter which world they were together in. But even if they both showed up tomorrow, that would just kick off a round of fretting over who might get sent back first. Darrow would hold the power to separate them - again. Better for her to just go home; that's much more straightforward.

Her smile fades into more of a sympathetic wince. "It would be hard, I suppose." The camera on her phone is such an astonishing novelty that her own gallery is currently full of random pictures of her own apartment. Most of them would, she suspects, be considered rubbish by anyone who values the artistry of photographs, but she's still stuck on the mere existence of them. It's incredible that she can call up a crystal clear image of her own kitchen counter, even if it is off-center.

She can imagine how much more valuable they would feel if they were of anything - or anyone - important.

"I never... well, we didn't have cameras, and even a little portrait would have been expensive. I don't have any likenesses." She twists her wedding ring thoughtfully, one of the few tangible reminders of her husband that she has. "I'm not sure if having one would make me feel better, or..." she trails off into a shrug. It might just as easily be worse, with even a perfect likeness being a poor substitute for the real thing.

[modern_alpha]

"We photographed very well, he and I," Biffy said, clearly allowing vanity to rush forward and overtake sadness. He put on the appropriately silly and flirtatious look to complete the picture.

Nodding, he thought back to the cameras of his own time. Photography had made leaps and bounds by his own time. A Mr. Maddox had just made photography easier than ever in the 1870's but Biffy realized now that it was still an art barely out of the cradle compared to photography as it was now. "In my time, we had to use glass plates for every shot and we had to stand in front of the camera for what felt like a frightfully long time."

He smiled, recalling a photograph he'd seen in a book where a mother sat perfectly still, crisply captured, while the baby in her arms was little more than a blur.

Seeing the sadness in her face, Biffy reached out to take Greta's hand again. "There are many artists in this city. I know of one, Grantaire, who is more than a fair hand at painting and drawing. If you'd like."

[andhiswife]

Greta snorts inelegantly at the little pose he strikes. She can only imagine that Biffy would have characteristically good taste when it came to photography, as well. Of course they came out lovely. She almost asks if she can see one - if for no other reason than so she could recognize this former fiancé and avoid making a fool of herself twice - but she doesn't want to dredge up any sorrow-tainted memories. Besides, she already knows the fellow's name, which is probably enough.

His next offer is a kind one, and she immediately regrets the wince it provokes. It's just that she's finally emerging from the lonely gloom that's hung over her since her arrival. Thoughts of her family don't immediately send her into crying jags or bouts of desperate activity. Maybe it shouldn't be such a relief to be getting past it, but it is, and she can't imagine that sitting down with an artist and trying to describe her husband's face in painstaking detail would help on that front.

God, what if she couldn't even get it right? What if she's already forgetting little details that her eye would notice but her tongue couldn't define? If the best case scenario would see her with a picture that may or may not just make her feel terrible, anyway, the worst case scenario would have her feeling like a monster for failing to even get a picture worth keeping.

And she can't bear considering the same for her son. She's been away from him now for about as long as she'd had him in the first place. That first week or so, she'd hardly been able to take her eyes off him; he was so beautiful, so perfect, and she'd been determined to memorize every detail. But they grow so fast; he'd changed even over the little time she'd had him. How much of what she remembers is really him, and how much of it is the vague, chimerical idea of a baby that she'd spent years wishing for?

She gives Biffy's hand a grateful squeeze, but shakes her head. "Thank you, but no. I think... I think it would just make things harder."

And that's about all she trusts herself to say without ruining this lovely meal they're ostensibly having. She sits up straight, then takes a steadying sip of tea as she regains her bearings.

[modern_alpha]

Ah. Biffy understood then that it was a bit of a misstep. Sometimes reminders were just more painful than healing. He knew, himself, how it could be. Weren't they just discussing his own mementos? He smiled apologetically and sat back.

"I understand how that might feel," he said. Then, very deliberately, he found a new subject. Greta had brought him a wonderful gift and they would not properly appreciate it while they steeped in sad memories like overbrewed tea. If they did that for too long, they were likely to become tannic and Biffy so hated the thought of having an unpleasant aftertaste.

"These days, I'm a bit ashamed to say that the majority of the photos I take are of the cat. I may be becoming one of those Cat Parents," he admitted, exaggerating the last two words with equal parts despair and humor. It wasn't even a fib; he and Pawvus had become oddly staunch companions in the last few months.

"But perhaps I ought to take a photograph of these wonderful pastries before we devour them."

[andhiswife]

The subject change is tidily done, and she's grateful for it. She can't help grinning at the thought of Biffy trying to get the cat to cooperate for a photo session. He seems so exacting, and Pawvus, sweet as he might be, strikes her as a bit of a duffer.

"That's still more impressive than my photo collection," she admits. "I think about half of them were by accident, and the rest are just of," she flaps a hand illustratively, "anything. It's so strange, being able to capture a perfect little piece of what you're seeing and then keep it."

Her eyes widen when he suggests taking a picture of her baking, and she lets out an involuntary little squawk of embarrassment. "Oh, that--it's just food," she protests, equal parts flattered and perplexed. It's not as if she went out of her way to make any of the pastries pretty or anything. They look well enough for what they are, but not anything to write home about - or immortalize on camera.

[modern_alpha]

"So?" he said, smiling. "Half the paintings in famous museums are of plates of food." Perhaps it was an exaggeration as Biffy was not so well-traveled as he'd have liked but the last time he'd been in the National Gallery, he'd noticed more than a few still life paintings of food. Social media, too, was rife with images of delectable meals, or at least his Suddengram feed was.

Taking out his phone now, Biffy shrugged. "Why not take a photo of something enjoyed?" Despite Greta's protestations that what she'd made wasn't anything special, Biffy strongly disagreed and he made sure to turn the volume up so that she could hear the snap of the camera sound effect.

"I'm not much an artist anymore, but I think it makes for a wonderful picture." He turned the camera around so that she could see the photo he'd taken of his plate with the teacup next to it.

[andhiswife]

Greta shakes her head slowly, though she can't help but smile. She can't speak for painters, never having actually met one before, but if she had to guess, she'd say they pick food as a subject because it holds still and doesn't get bored or complain, not because it's inherently worthy of being gawked at decades later.

Granted, a nice, symmetrical loaf will sell quicker than a wonky one. She's always taken some measure of pride in her work, and she's been at it long enough that she doesn't often pull a hideous wreck out of the oven. But back home, food's primary value was in the nourishment it provided, not how it looked. Even a hideous wreck would eventually sell to someone hungry enough, provided it was just ugly and not inedible.

Well, two can play at this game. And it's about time she had a photo that actually means something to her (something besides 'goodness, photos are a thing,' anyway). Greta pulls out her own phone to take a picture of Biffy taking a picture. The sound is turned off, in her case. She hadn't wanted the device to interrupt their visit; the idea that she ought to be reachable when she's not even at home is still foreign to her. When Biffy turns his phone towards her, she returns the gesture with a pleased little smile.

"It did turn out nicely," she has to admit. It's a compliment to his photography skills more than her own baking. "And now I have a picture that isn't just of my counter-top or something." She tucks the phone back into her bag, feeling rather pleased with herself.

[modern_alpha]

Biffy turned just in time to see her phone get put away and he gave her a broad smile. "Warn me next time," he said, tapping one of his cheekbones. "If you use the flash, my eyes reflect and ruin the photo." It wasn't always true, depending on the brightness and the angle, but they did seem to blaze back when photographed with a modern camera. He doubted that shot would be a problem, since he'd been looking elsewhere, but it might give her a fright one day.

"I ought to return the favor," he said, holding up his phone. "Then I can attach it to your number." Before she could stop him, Biffy quickly snapped a candid photo of Greta as she was in the moment, smiling and looking just a bit mischievous and pleased with herself.

The resulting photograph was suffused with the warmth of her expression and Biffy showed her again, quite pleased with himself.