sapoteur: (Default)
Victoire did not often profess her love because it tended to be a mercurial thing. It came and went, but people expected it to be constant if she admitted it. She didn't like to disappoint people like that.

She still felt it though. There were more permanent loves, like those she held for her father or Marceau, men who cared for her and didn't ask anything in return. Or brief moments of immense fondness, lasting maybe seconds at a time. Like that she held for Scout when she arrived in the kitchen every morning to find the coffee was already made. Or if Medic decided she didn't look to be in the absolute best of conditions and insisted on fussing until he was satisfied she was well enough to work, even if she found this equally annoying as she did endearing.

She had never quite grown out of the girlish crushes she had developed for certain professors in school, but those at least were mercifully platonic in nature and therefore not embarrassing. On the contrary, she found she tended to work harder and produce better results (be it algebra, or sapping sentries, or sneaking up on and stabbing people) if she had someone to impress. She knows very well that the former RED Engineer (whose name she knew but would never think of him by it) never built machines for her, but it was pleasant to think that he put them in such difficult places because he felt she was up to the challenge. The Sniper was more rewarding in that he actually responded with... not pride, necessarily, but he seemed to approve of her taking his advice and consequently getting the best of him from time to time. She craves that kind of attention out of these one-sided affairs.

In a similar but much less innocent vein, there are then the times that, despite her wariness of him, she can accept that had he the inclination, Rouge would have not the slightest problem in sweeping her off her feet. And that if he did, he could do whatever he wanted with her from there. For all her feminine wiles and Spy tricks, her manipulations can't hope to compare to his and that is both terrifying and horribly enticing. Luckily, these moments usually happen when he is cooking, and so she is in no real danger because he is too otherwise occupied to pick up on this absurd weakness.

And, of course, there are her lovers proper. She never loves them all the time either, but statistically, she tends to love them more often than not. Until the relationship runs its course anyway. Even now, if she thinks on them, she will feel quick moments of remembered love. For Clyde and Pierre and Claude and Jacques and and and... And even Olivier. Sometimes.

But right now, walking in some snowy city in Canada in her fluffy fur coat alongside to Sid, who is enthusiastically pointing out things in windows that she might want to try on, she loves him. For the moment, when he has gone through such trouble to bring her here so he can buy her things and treat her like a princess instead of a mercenary who spends her working hours alternating between flirting with him, deriding his work ethic, and stabbing him in the back. Because he loves her too, or at least has well enough convinced himself that he does.

Date: 2011-12-20 06:55 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile] uncloakndagger.livejournal.com
Oh, nozhing. Merely musing over masterpieces zhat could 'ave been.

Date: 2012-01-01 06:16 pm (UTC)From: [identity profile] uncloakndagger.livejournal.com
Surely you aren't surprised zhat I would keep tabs on you?

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