This is your fault. (Jamie) - CJ's Den

She sat on the couch, feet up on the cushions, knees held to her chest.  She watched the front door without blinking.  She texted the address with the request for him to meet her there.

He was late, but then, he was busy. But he did show up, knocking politely at the door.

"It's open!"

She stood now. Stood to face him down.

He walked inside, and just stood and stared at her, his face a blank.

"Wha' is this about?"

She took a few steps towards him.

"This is me keeping my issues with you private. Where they belong. You got a good man killed."

His brow rose.

"If ye mean th' boy tha' Logan Embraced an' killed, I distinctly remember not being the uppity wee bitch who broke the Masquerade an' forced my hand. So no, this is your fault."

Her head bowed.

"I know my blame in this. I do."

Her head rose again, eyes flashing.

"But you gave him to a man who would never care about the things a person goes through when they die. A man who wouldn't have time to put up with it, and would take the easy way out. So take your share of the blame, you Scottish ass."

He stared at her.

"Logan is a damn sight more responsible than ye would ever be. Look at wha' ye already did t' th' boy. You're lucky I didn't call a Blood Hunt on ye for wha' ye did. If Logan decided tha' he should die, it was likely better for him, since ye would just let him live an' threaten every single one of us. I don't have any blame in this, neither does Logan. There's none t' blame bu' you an' Bella. Ye both condemned th' man t' die, an' ye call me here, away from duties that actually matter t' bitch an' whine tha' some wee mortal got killed because a vampire was stupid."

He snorted and turned away from her, heading back for the door.

"I don't have time t' listen t' ye tryin' t' make yourself feel better by blamin' me for your own fuck-ups, Henrietta. Go whine t' th' Sheriff or th' Seneschal; they might have more time for your complaints. I've a city to run."

What should have made her mad? What should have caused her to rage at him, only broke her. She crumpled to the floor.

"Please. Don't leave me. I can't survive to have everyone leave me. Not again."

He turned to look at her.

"Then maybe ye shouldn't alienate everyone around ye, Henrietta."

She gave a shuddering sob.

"I know. I know I shouldn't. But I don't...I don't know how to stop. I just start to feel and..."

She gave another sob.

"And last time I lost everything, I slept. And I dreamed. And I just don't want to fall into that again. So I have to keep moving, I can't go back, and I'm sorry I chose the wrong direction to start running in. I'm so sorry."

He shrugged.

"Learn some control then."

Everyone was leaving her. No one truly loved her. Never had. She should have known better.

"How can you be so cold?"

He turned to look at her.

"I'm cold because feeling pity for you wouldn't do you any good. It would allow you to continue to be weak and pathetic. I know you are not."

In perfect French.

She took a deep unneeded breath and looked up at him.

"Give me a day to mourn. I will be back to work the day after tomorrow, and you will never hear of this again."

He nodded.

"You have twenty-four hours to mourn and get it out of your system."

She nodded.

"Merci."

And she would wait until he was out of the room before she started to mourn again.

He left, closing the door behind him.


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