Anger

Posted on Wed Jun 12th, 2024 @ 10:45 by William McAvoy & Claire Cavendish

Chapter: Winter's Crest Festival
Location: Claire's Office
Timeline: Friday 11th December
2014 words - 4 OF Standard Post Measure

William had stewed for hours over the conversation with Jessica. It had wrapped around him like a heavy cloak, tightening with every passing minute until he felt as if it were suffocating him. Each word Jessica had said echoed in his mind, amplifying his sense of betrayal and confusion. What had he done to offend Claire so deeply that she would suggest he needed therapy to sort out his feelings? The thought gnawed at him, making him more agitated with every step he took.

Determined to get answers, he stomped up to the castle, his resolve hardening with each stride as he made his way through to the Headmasters rooms. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. With a swift knock, he announced his presence.

Even during the afternoon, the head teacher's office location was chosen to not let in an overabundance of sunlight. In the twilight of her office Claire was going over the last bits of administration to close put the calendar year. "Do come in." She called towards the sharp knock on her doors.

William stepped into the room faltering just on the doorway before coming in fully and closing the door a lot harder than he normally would. "I need to know," he began, his voice low and tense, "why you think I need therapy. What have I done to make you believe that?"

It took a moment for Claire to put together what exactly William was on about. "Please. Have a seat, would you like a drink? Some tea perhaps?" An attempt to diffuse and for her to come up with an acceptable explanation as to why the two new resident councillors had been told to take an interest in him.

The man looked at Claire she had gestured for him to sit, but he remained standing, his posture rigid as he leant against the chair. "Maybe," he conceded after a long pause. “Yes. Tea would do.” Tea had always fixed things between them before.

Claire put on the kettle, which took some time to boil. Giving her extra time to think about the right approach to this whole ordeal. "Tell me, what exactly did miss Zhao say to you?"

William felt the urge to just armour up and go off to sulk somewhere. “It was not Liana.” He grunted. “It was Jessica.” He added for context. “She asked me if I had considered scheduling some therapy sessions to talk about my feelings?” He said repeating the words that had been said to him.

Taking the tray of hot drinks to the seats she put the cups and the boiling water in front of the man and slowly started to prepare her own cup. Tea first, of course, then a dollop of cream. She sat back in the chesterfield and looked intently at the man across from her. "Without any judgement or value attached, I do believe that you've been through something that nobody can relate to. You have left everything you've ever known behind and skipped over 400 years of increasingly rapid developments in human history. You've missed wars that quite possibly cost more lives than the amount of people living in the United Kingdom when you were awake. Even the United Kingdom didn't exist until almost one hundred years after you were placed in stasis." She leaned in towards the man and put a hand on his knee. "The world you were a part of fought their wars with swords and arrows. The world you woke up in have stockpiled hundreds of bombs that could all individually wipe out all life as we know it in the blink of an eye. I need to speak with both Liana and Jessica just recounting everything you must've gone through." She sat back a bit and regarded the man, "why does the notion of discussing this with someone vex you so?"

William’s mind raced as he tried to dissect every nuance of their conversation. Had he said something that revealed a vulnerability he hadn’t intended to show? Or had Jessica seen something in him that he had been blind to? The uncertainty was unbearable and it made the anger inside of him worse. "Because I am not vulnerable." He said simply.

"You may be able to turn your skin into steel, but your soul still weeps for what it has lost." Claire wasn't sure if this was the best approach with him. She tried to invoke 'the bard' in her speech, getting nowhere close of course. "All of us weep for something. Lost family, lost hope, lost time. There's no shame in that. Admitting that doesn't make you weak, it makes you stronger." She carefully sipped her tea, taking a moment to gauge if her words were getting anywhere.

"No, it does not. These might be your time's rules but they are not mine." He had come to her for solace, perhaps even validation that it had been a misunderstanding, but instead, she had proposed that he needed therapy sessions. Therapy! The word itself felt like a slap, implying a flaw in his character or an inability to manage his emotions.

"That's just it, isn't it. We're not in your time anymore." Claire stared at the man across from her. There were moments in ones life that were all about acceptance and soft touches. Then there were moments like this, where the potential for personal growth was more important than the potential for upsetting a friend.

“Does not mean my rules changed.” He said feeling a crack in his defences at her truths. They had never been at all loads like that. He had always considered Claire his first true friend who did not see him as the Laird or the one meant to protect them, someone who understood him without needing to spell things out. But now, that bond felt fragile, as if a single word could shatter it completely. “I handle things my own way."

"I don't doubt that," Claire replied to that assertion, the man had shown remarkable resilience to the extremely alien circumstances he had found himself in, and in his own way he had adapted remarkably. "For what it's worth, I never told anyone that you were in need of therapy. Though, that doesn't mean I don't believe that it would benefit you greatly. Just like it's benefitted me and many of your friends and colleagues within these walls."

Her words hit him like a physical blow. He had been so consumed with his own feelings, his own perspective, that he hadn't considered that therapy might have benefited others. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

A gentle smile formed on Claire's lips, "That's alright too." She finished the tea in her cup and set the cup back on the saucer. "You can always come talk, to me, to Leana, to Jessica. Not that we know, but sometimes it's enough to realise you're not the only one that doesn't know."

He looked down at her hand, then back up to her face. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Alright," he said quietly. "But I am fine. I am adapting... I have gone into town."

Claire actually smiled at that. "I bet it's nothing like you remembered." She then realised that New Cresthill was new because the old Cresthill was pretty much abandoned in the 1700s after being sacked, probably by the English or something. None of what was there now had been there when William had still been Laird. "What did you think?"

"It is thriving." He finally decided. "That is all that I could want to see. But I ... I saw someone in town..." He tried to think of how to phrase what he was thinking. It was strange that maybe Jessica had picked up on the feelings he had been feeling since going into town and had he had shaped it into anger. "...that looked like my wife." He admitted quietly.

Claire's eyes widened at that, that was an odd coincidence. Of course his wife's descendants probably propagated around there, and it was also likely that his recollection of his wife's exact appearance left something to be desired. "That must've rattled you. I can't even begin to imagine what that must've felt like to you."

He nodded, his gaze distant as he recalled the moment. "It was... unsettling," he said slowly. "For a second, it felt like the past and the present were colliding. I know it couldn't have been her, but the resemblance was so strong. It brought back a flood of memories that I had forgotten."

"That must've been bittersweet." Claire could imagine that it was difficult to live in a situation realising he could never go back to his friends and family. His wife was something he had on a small portrait that aged quite poorly in the damp undercroft of the castle that he had been put in stasis in. Being reminded of them surely caused mental distress, but being reminded of them also would've brought with it pleasant memories.

"It was and then it made me think of my children which led me to think that maybe that woman was a descendant despite everything that life over the past centuries." He added. He had not considered that before but now it was all that he could think about.

"Could be." Claire had also thought as much but didn't want to speculate on that. "Could also be a massive coincidence." And she still wasn't discounting the fact that eye witness reports were dangerously inaccurate. "If you want we can have the students do a genealogy study, find out where your descendants ended up." It was probably something the students would be more than happy to undertake, for extra credit and the experience.

“No.” The man quickly said. “The students think I am odd enough as it is. They do not need to know the truth.” It had taken him months to start calling the students of the school anything more than children but they believed him for the most part to be a fool which he was not at all interested in changing when it gave him solitary.

"A private investigator then?" Claire wanted to give the man something akin to hope. Perhaps it would help him to know that his legacy lived on in others throughout the country. That his sacrifice had not been in vein. "We don't even need to tell them that we're doing it on your behalf. The castle was your estate back in the day, I can simply say we found something of a family heirloom in a secret storage compartment we'd want to return to an ancestor." It wasn't even that far from the truth.

The man shook his head. He was desperate to know but he did not want to burden the woman he had seen or anyone else with the knowledge of himself. “I will think on it, Claire.” He decided that it might be better to just consider the option. “Thank you for allowing me to burden you with my troubles today.” He pushed up from the comfortable chair to stand, his tea untouched.

"It's never a burden, William." Claire got up with him and stepped right next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to show her support and hopefully provide some comfort. "You're never a burden."

The man winced at the kind voice and tenderness she was trying to give him when he had come there in anger. “Please allow me to leave Lady Cavendish with some honour intact.” He whispered patting her hand stepping back.

"You may take your leave, Laird McAvoy." Claire gave a small curtsy, a practice she abhored and despised every moment she was forced to do it, but something she gladly did as a sign of honour towards the man she had found in the basement almost three years ago.