Chapter Text
There is a man on the street, staring up at Gustave’s apartment.
He’s dressed well — a sharp suit cracked with gold, wavy dark hair combed back and shot through with white. His cold blue eyes are rimmed red as if he’s been crying for a while. He feels… important somehow, like a missing piece to a puzzle Gustave has yet to uncover.
It’s been less than 3 hours since Gustave awoke on the pier in Lumiere, the taste of blood still on his lips. By all rights, he should be dead twice over. The white haired man at Stone Wave Cliffs had skewered him without even breaking a sweat. Yet… there he was, flat on his back on the streets of Lumiere with arms full of Maelle. Her hair had lost all color in his absence; yet none of its softness where he dug his fingers into it to keep her close.
“It worked.” She’d said, smiling uncontrollably.
Gustave studies her face for a moment. For a moment, he can almost see what looks to be paint, clumped and drying around her eyes; but it vanishes before he can get a proper look. “You look… different. White’s a good look on you.”
Maelle had laughed and swore she’d explain everything after he got some rest. Neither had wanted to let go in that moment, but exhaustion had won over; Sciel and Lune had the honor of walking him back to his apartment, both looking rattled but grateful for his presence.
So here he is, wrapped in a patchwork housecoat and slippers, sipping tea and watching the stranger watch him. Putain, if that man didn’t look familiar somehow… but when he tries to think about it, his head aches like it’s been crushed. That never stopped him before, and it wouldn’t stop him now as he fights through the haze of his memories to place the figure.
A loud peel of thunder shook the windows of his apartment. The figure on the pavement looked up wearily at the sky as if fully prepared to be soaked in his pursuit to watch the apartment. Even if Gustave couldn’t place who exactly this man is, he knows in his gut that he is important. And important people in Gustave’s life shouldn’t have to stand in the rain.
Before he can overthink the decision, Gustave hurries to the front door, throwing it open against the growing winds. “You there!” The figure looks sharply down from his living room window in surprise. “Sky’s about to open up. I’d hate for you to ruin your suit.”
“You don’t know me,” The man says, almost as if trying to convince himself.
“No. But you seem important somehow.” Gustave shrugs. “And if you’re here to kill me, know I am armed and trained as a member of Expedition 33. I don’t go down without a fight.”
The stranger smiles, small and slightly bitter. “Not here to kill you. I’d hate to ruin Alicia’s work.”
Alicia? “…right.” Gustave tugs the robe tighter around his shoulders. “Are you coming in or not?”
The first few drops of rain seem to spur the man on, slipping past Gustave into the hall. It strikes him then that this stranger has the same scars that Maelle has — grey and mottled like clumps of paint left out too long. The white streaks in his hair are the same as well.
“Do you know Maelle?” Gustave asks.
The stranger pauses on his way up the stairs. “Are you not going to ask for my name?”
Ah. Right. Gustave adjusts his posture uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware by the difference in their outfits. “Apologies, Monsieur. My name is Gustave, and you are…?”
“Verso.” The stranger says, taking Gustave’s hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Gustave freezes. “Verso Dessendre? Of Expedition Zero?”
“The same.” Verso smiles again, this time from genuine amusement.
Good for him. Gustave feels as if the air had been sucked out of the room entirely. “How are you here? what are you— why?”
He stammers out a dozen questions before Verso lifts Gustave’s metal hand to his lips, effectively silencing him in an instant. “Same reason as you, I imagine. You’re important.”
“You must be over ninety; and your chroma, it’s old, older than Lumiere…”
Gustave is a smart man. He takes pride in it. Especially when the pieces fall into place without him having to lift a finger. And the last man with chroma this old drove his sword through Gustave’s chest.
Red sparks begin to coarse through his arm. “You have the same sort of strange chroma as the man on the beach who massacred the team. If I were a betting man, I’d guess that was Renoir Dessendre, is it not? Your father?” Gustave asks, but he knows he’s right. His memory has been poor since his return (early days, he was promised) and others were lost entirely, but the image of an Expedition Zero arm band at a campsite suddenly flashed through his vision. His pistol is in his off hand immediately, jammed into Verso’s ribs. “You were the one following us. Did you lead Renoir to us? What did you do to the others? What happened to her hair?”
Verso doesn’t even have the decency to look alarmed by the gun over his heart. The hand still holding the prosthetic tenses as the electricity crawls up Gustave’s fingertips.
Gustave pushes the gun harder into his chest. “I apologize if I come off as a little tense — as far as I’m concerned, I was dead three hours ago, and now the stranger who stalked my camp was standing outside my apartments. I’ll ask again: were you working with your father to hunt down Expedition 33?”
“I helped your friends track him down. Maelle got the killing blow.”
Gustave falters. “You know the others?”
Verso nods. “I’ll prove it — Lune saved you from your aborted suicide attempt on the beach. Sciel was a farmer before she was a teacher. Maelle’s nightmares get better when you put on a record. She likes Rêveries dans Lumière the best for sleep, in my experience.”
Gustave pauses, feeling weirdly touched. He’d been the one to sit with her through the worst of her nights, lying together in the grass to watch the stars while a record spins. He’d done that with her before the expedition too — same record, just glow-in-the-dark stars instead of the real ones.
If Verso knew the exact record that would work, then… “Yeah, it is… they do. Help her sleep. Or used to.” Gustave pulls the gun away from Verso’s chest and loosens his grip of the man’s hand. “I feel like I don’t know her anymore.”
That strikes a cord with Verso, whose eyes soften in something like pity. Gustave is rather fed up with pity. “I know. It’s been… it’s been a difficult few weeks. Has she told you anything about it yet?”
“Nothing. But the number on the monolith is gone… did Expediton 33 succeed? I can’t come up with any other explanation.” He pulls away from the stranger and goes to the window. From his living room window he can see what remains of the monolith — the specter of death faded to a blank slate. From the entryway window, however, he can only see the edge of Lumiere’s red rooftops through the growing deluge.
He can hear Verso’s approaching steps, hesitating just a step behind him. “They defeated the paintress. Though, they could’ve never dreamed of it without your invention. As for succeeding… it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Well, I suppose you ought to explain it to me, then,” Gustave says.
He moves to dismiss his gun, but Verso holds up a hand to stop him. “You might feel more at ease, having it out.”
Gustave’s grip on the gun tightens. “Right. Well, would you like to come up?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Verso replies.
Gustave moves slowly, keeping a close eye on his guest as he starts to climb the stairs. Does Maelle know about his guest? And why does he get the feeling it’s better she doesn’t know?
The door is still ajar as Gustave slips past into his apartment. He’s yet to settle in properly — Emma didn’t pack everything, but a great number of his books and workshop tools lay collecting dust in large brown boxes stacked near the door. He thinks this is the cleanest his apartment has ever looked; between raising a teenager and having his own workshop in the spare room, there is usually far more clutter.
Maelle still has a room here. Gustave wonders if she plans to use it. He hopes she does: no matter how much she has changed, she is still his little girl.
“You have a lovely home.” The door shuts with a click.
Gustave can’t help but smile. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. Emma keeps our parents’ old place — a proper house just outside the city center. When I started working with the university, I wanted a place where my odd hours and chaotic career wouldn’t bother her.”
“That’s very courteous of you.” Verso says. He leans down to examine one of the boxes, tugging open the corner to reveal some of Maelle’s old clothes. “Maelle lived here too, I presume?”
“During the week. We’d both stay with my sister on the weekends.” Gustave couldn’t help himself, pulling a small stuffed toy out of the box and examining it in the light. He thinks it’s supposed to be a Gestral. Having been on the continent, he can confidently say that the manufacturer missed the mark. “She’s so bright. I really hoped she would stay behind when I signed on, try and make a difference here before she joined an expedition — but she wouldn’t hear it. Said she wanted to spend as much time with me before…”
Verso doesn’t respond. Careful not to startle, he reaches out to touch the metal of Gustave’s arm; tracking what internal workings he can see with his finger as if trying to memorize the pathways beneath the casing. “She was inconsolable when you died. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to continue.”
“I figured, but…” Verso brushes over an exposed wire, sending a small jolt through Gustave’s shoulder. He wonders belatedly when the wire had been knocked out of place, and makes a mental note to fix it when the man leaves. “Tomorrow comes.”
Verso steps away then, turning to examine the few photographs and portraits Gustave keeps on display. The first, a proper commissioned painting of his parents — a pair adorned in sturdy working class finery. His mother’s fine mahogany curls are pulled back into a half ponytail, light eyes crinkling with her soft smile. His father stood beside her, hand on her shoulder with a neat suit. They hadn’t joined an Expedition — instead, they’d spent their last day with Gustave (who was twenty) and Emma (barely eighteen). It had been the most beautiful curse, watching them fade away. The next image was their new family — the two siblings with a nine year old Maelle. She’d been so nervous, having been bounced around innumerable foster homes. The photo had been Emma’s idea, something to solidify that she was as much a part of the family as them. The final picture is of Gustave and Maelle together in the lab, shot in situ by Emma. She wore a large pair of safety goggles over her eyes, making her look comedically like a mad scientist. Gustave’s own pair was pushed up on his forehead, caught mid laughter as the piece Maelle experimented with sparked unexpected. He had both arms back then.
Naturally, it’s the last image that catches Verso’s attention. Gustave sidles up beside him to examine it again, though he knows it’s every detail from memory. “I wanted to bring it along. To the continent, I mean. But I figured it’d mean more to Emma... after we were gone.”
“You really care for them,” Verso says. “You’re a wonderful brother.”
Gustave flushes with pride. “I try to be. What about you? Any siblings?”
“Two sisters. Clea and… Alicia.” He reaches up to the photo, fingers hovering light over the girl’s hair, light grey in the monochrome. “Maelle, as she was before you knew her.”
The color drains from Gustave’s face. Verso… Maelle’s biological brother? Her parents, then, were — no. Gustave shuts down that train of thought immediately. But Verso must be close to ninety, and she’s mortal; Gustave WATCHED her grow up, walked her through milestone after milestone and…
Where was Verso all this time?
That thought sores high above everything else, past the haziness of familiar relationships and the overwhelm that threatens to choke him. “You were never there.” Gustave says. His tone is quiet, but Verso seems the clever sort who knows a threat when he hears one. “She was alone, and grieving, and you were never there.”
Verso steps back from the photograph. “I couldn’t be. I didn’t realize she was here until she five, and by then it was too risky for me to do more than glimpse her progress.”
“Risky?” Gustave snarls through gritted teeth. “For her? Or for you?”
“For us both. What would’ve happened if Renoir had noticed my absences? Do you really think he meant to leave Maelle alive at Stone Wave Cliffs? Merde, Gustave, you were just an obstacle on his path to kill her! If you two hadn’t wasted time—” Verso cuts himself off with a whispered curse.
He revealed too much, something whispers from deep in Gustave’s intuition. A kinder man would’ve left it alone. However, the engineer isn’t feeling particularly kindly right now. “What happened at Stone Wave Cliffs, after I—“
Blood, so much blood, draining into his lungs from his damaged heart, filling up his throat and choking him as he stood against the stranger for the last time. He was no anatomist or doctor, but medical knowledge is moot when each weakening heartbeat forces the tide of red higher and higher up his trachea. He has minutes left. Even if he does survive this encounter he may die from the sheer exertion alone. There would be no way for Lune to get to him in time; not with the Lampmaster still threatening the pair already below on Esquie.
Maelle is screaming somewhere behind him, begging incomprehensible prayers, but Gustave cannot run. He can only stand, blade drawn, arm broken off from the sheer power in his final overcharge. This was the end, as it was always going to be. He shifts his weight, forcing himself forward for his last stand.
In his mind’s eye, a hazy figure stands alone beside an open window in some far off version of Lumiere, light catching silver strands in his hair like spider silk as the man holds out his hand to Gustave.
There’s a flash of pain and light, and then—
Gustave turns hard away from Verso, seizing the nearest trash can and retching.
To his shock, the stranger looks panicked — he’s at Gustave’s side in an instant, hovering somewhere between alarm and worry. “What happened, are you—“
The engineer bats a hand away from his shoulder, standing as dignified as he can manage after the episode. “Don’t— just. What happened at Stone Wave Cliffs after my memory cuts out?”
“I stepped in front of her. I had… leverage, on my father. Leverage I was all too happy to use in my favor. I sent Maelle to safety and stayed to force him to stand down,” Verso says. “I… also brought your effects back to Maelle — your journal, your armband, and your old prosthesis.”
“Where are they now?”
“Maelle has your armband. She should still have the journal, too. We laid your arm to rest on the continent under a tree hidden from the Paintress.”
Damn. Did they have to leave his arm so fucking far away? Maelle’s memory is good, but there’s still a number of issues with his reimagined hand, bits where the chroma couldn’t quite nail the gear shape or tangled the wires. Fixable, but tedious when he knows his old hand is still around somewhere.
Not the time. “So you saved her?”
Verso nods. He hasn’t met Gustave’s eyes since he doubled over.
He saved Maelle. That’s enough for now; it has to be. It’s not like this situation could get worse. “Thank you. For protecting her. When I couldn’t anymore.”
“Don’t—“ Verso interjects. His pale eyes are set with resolve as he looks up at last. “There’s one more thing. I needed Maelle focused, I needed her to trust me above everything, and I thought I needed her to cut ties with her past to do that. I made a call I’m not proud of. One I regret, and that I will never make up for entirely.”
Ice seeps into Gustave’s veins, crawling up his spine until it wraps around his heart. He knows the answer. Verso showed his hand too early, being careless in his anger. He just needed the man to say it out loud. “What. Did you do.”
“I stood back and allowed my father to kill you without my intervention.”
*Bang.*
The shot rings out across the flat, rattling windows like a crack of thunder. Gustave didn’t realize he’d pulled the gun at all. Lodged in the drywall centimeters beside Verso’s head, a singe bullet-hole is lodged and smoking slightly from the heat of the energy bolt.
Verso seems unfazed. In fact, he almost looks disappointed. “Gustave, I–“
The engineer is done listening. Rage and grief run together into power, lighting up his arm like a Tesla coil and leaping to kiss the barrel of his pistol. “Out. Or I’ll forget to miss.” His voice is quiet, but Verso hears him just fine.
The stranger, his murderer by proxy, hesitates in the doorway as he turns to leave. “Don’t pull your shots next time. It’d be better for us both if you didn’t.”
The door slams, and Gustave dismisses his pistol with more force than needed. Exhaustion crashes over him hard. Too much exertion in the aftermath of a world-shattering concept such as resurrection. He collapses into an arm chair by the window. The rain had eased some, now just a fine mist as opposed to the downpour it had been. He’d often wondered how the dome allowed weather through, but drove off the nevrons. His examination of the mechanisms and the code behind the project had led to little progress. The style was old, despite how sturdy it remained.
The Dessendres built it, his mind reminds him, and Gustave shudders. Of course he'd have to rely on Verso's word for the explaination of the technalogical wonder that protects Lumiere. Could that bastard be trusted to tell the truth? Or was Gustave's own bitter experiences clouding his opinion of a man who made a (fatal) misjudgement?
There is no number on the monolith.
I get to grow old.
The thought calms Gustave in a way little else has managed to do in nearly five years. They had /time/. He has time to sort out his emotions later. He can afford to rest for a minute.
~~~~~~~~~~
He wakes some time later to the sound of keys in the lock, and springs to his feet.
“Gustave? Are you here?” Maelle calls out. Her face is drawn, but there’s a large grin plastered on her face.
Gustave steps into the hall, and she lights up in pure untainted joy. He opens his arms, allowing her to tuck herself under his chin and cling to him like a lifeline. “Hey,” he whispers into her hair. It’s still as soft as he remembers. For now, that’s enough.
Maelle’s hands tug at the soft fabric of his robe. “I missed you so much.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I told you to run,” she says. When she looks up, her eyes are filled with fresh tears. “Why didn’t you just run?”
Gustave sighs. “I couldn’t leave you. You’re my family. I love you, and if dying meant that you were safe, then…”
“It didn’t make any difference.” Maelle looks past him to the empty monolith. “I killed that Painted Renoir myself, and– and the Axons, and we got Maman out of the canvas, but Papa, he—“
“Hey, hey, slow down,” The engineer interjects. His head swims painfully as he attempts to put the pieces together. “I’m here for you, but I think I’m a few steps behind.”
“Right.” She nods, wiping at her face in a way that makes her seem much older than her 16 years would suggest. Gustave can’t blame her – She’s been through hell.
Maelle tugs them both onto the old moth-eaten sofa, flicking a hand towards the wall on which the portraits hang. Suddenly, there’s a fireplace in his flat, and each image rests neatly on a fine marble mantlepiece. It is not the weirdest thing that has happened to Gustave today. Still, he can’t help but stare blankly at it as though it were a particularly strange bit of metal. “…I have a fireplace now.”
Maelle smiles through the end of her tears. “You do. Emma always complains how cold it gets in here. Don’t worry, it’s up to code.” Without any fanfare, she snags a throw pillow and rests her head on Gustave’s lap. “Where do you want me to start?”
He thinks for a moment. All the secrets of the Continent, the mystery of the Paintress, Verso… there’s a hundred questions he wants answers for; but there’s only one he needs immediately. “Are you okay? Are you injured?”
“Of course you’d start by worrying about me.”
“It’s my job. It was my job when you were little, and was when you joined the Expedition. It’s no different now, even if you can– uh. Summon fireplaces. And resurrect the dead.”
She bats fondly at his leg. “Yes, you worrywart, I’m fine. Tired, but who isn’t?”
“Right.” Gustave knows he needs to ask. He KNOWS. He doesn’t want to, but he must. “You found… your family? Your parents, and. Your brother.”
She seems to be in the same boat; fidgeting with her hands as though trying to scrub away some invisible smudge. “Renoir is my Papa. The real Renoir, I mean. Do you remember the Curator?”
Gustave’s hand freezes its path where it traces circles on her shoulder blade. “The faceless being from the Manor?”
“Yeah. Him.”
The engineer is puzzled. He’d met Renoir — the one at the beach, the one who had killed him before… hadn’t he? But if the Curator is the “Real” Renoir... “Who killed me, then? I thought that was Renoir?”
Maelle frowns slightly. “How did you know that was him?”
He briefly considers lying to her. What would she do if she knew Verso was here? Does it matter? No, of course it matters. After all the grief she’s gone through, Gustave won’t lie to her now. “I had a visitor earlier. Someone called Verso Dessendre. I knew the last name from Expedition Zero’s leader Renoir Dessendre, and his chroma matched the sort of otherness as the man from the beach. It wasn’t a large jump to make."
“Verso was here?” The girl tenses in an instant. “What did he say?”
It’s Gustave’s turn to frown. “Not much, but more than he wished he had by the end of our conversation. He wasn’t expecting me to know as much about Expedition Zero as I do, nor have enough experience with chroma to guess its age on the fly. I know that he’s somewhere in his nineties, that his father is Renoir Dessendre, that he has two sisters called Alicia and Clea, that Alicia is you, that he was the one following us, that he traveled with you all long enough for him to know more than surface level information, and.” He takes a fortifying breath. Sleep and time have done much to quench his anger at the man, but what little fire that remains burns hot. “He all but sacrificed me in order to manipulate you better.”
Maelle sits up, searching Gustave’s face. “He told you that? Directly, no weird half-truths or shifty storytelling?”
He nods toward the bullet hole in the drywall. “I nearly shot him for it.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “He didn’t even flinch. Putain, he told me I shouldn’t miss next time.”
“Idiot. Of course he would,” she mutters darkly. She waves a hand towards the wall, patching it with no effort. “If it makes you feel better, his arrogance came back to bite him when he realized I had the power to undo the damage and a reason to do so. Guess he underestimated us both.”
Gustave is immediately overcome with pride. To his surprise, it does in fact make him feel better. Maelle would not be controlled, not now or ever. His favorite unpredictable variable. “I’m so proud of you.” He ruffles her hair. “You’ve always been the most determined person I know.”
The tension bleeds away as she tries to dodge his hand. “Says you, Mr. I-outsmarted-a-professional-liar. Papa crafted an Axon after him called He Who Guards The Truth With Lies, and you read him like a novel from a short conversation. Verso would’ve gotten away with it far less if you were there.”
“I know my history. And my Chroma.” Gustave stops his assault on her hair. “…but, I’m still missing something big here, aren’t I? You called Renoir your “real father”, and something about a Canvas?”
The words land heavy with Maelle; he can see it in the way she almost braces herself for having to answer.
“Let me tell you a story.”