*
IT WAS TWO NIGHTS LATER before Vincent managed to get Karen to himself. Owen was out on an errand she'd sent him on before she'd called Vincent. He'd mentally sent to her in the midst of her anger that he'd wanted a moment to speak with her alone, and she'd made a small noise of affirmation. Now that she was calling him over, he was grateful she respected him enough to hear him out.
They were in the kitchen together, because after answering the door the kettle had whistled and she'd gone to fetch it. Vincent followed after her and then pondered the intelligence of his idea to follow an angry woman into a room full of sharp objects. It was a small joke he'd made to himself, for he knew that she'd never attack him in such a way (and knew that such an attack would be futile, in any event), but he couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to throw a butcher's knife at his head.
She poured herself a tea before putting the kettle back on its stand, and then stared at him expectantly. He hadn't realised he was supposed to have started talking, so he started now, under her stern gaze.
"I didn't plan on it."
This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because she gestured grandly with her arms and knocked her teacup into the sink where it shattered.
"What the fuck, Vincent?!"
He was caught between being shocked at her language and checking that she hadn't burned or cut herself when she'd knocked the cup down. She looked at the mess in the sink, and lifted her hand to inspect it. Vincent looked at it too, glad that she hadn't hurt herself and feeling surreal that a woman facing fifty would swear. Of course it was a stupid thing to think, because he swore, and he was much older than her. It was the first time he'd ever heard her utter a profanity, however.
She continued on in a much more sedate fashion, leaning her hip against the bench and folding her arms together.
"You plan everything," she said. "I didn't even know you liked boys," she added accusingly. He decided to ignore that comment and responded to the first one.
"You know I've only ever wanted a companion, a friend. Not necessarily a lover."
"Did I?"
"That's not fair."
"Neither is your taking advantage of a boy who uses you as a-"
"He's not a boy, anymore. You said so yourself," he interrupted, not wanting Karen to say anything that she would regret and he couldn't forget. "He's capable of making his own decisions."
"Only when armed with the truth."
He was angry at her now, she was being unreasonable and he could feel resentment burning inside of him at her. To repeat Owen's complaint; why this? Why was this such a big deal? They were going to be together forever, surely she could've foreseen that this might've been a possibility? But of course she didn't, because as she'd stated, she hadn't even known he liked boys.
"Are you going to tell him the truth?" he argued quietly, mirroring her pose without realising as he leant against the counter facing her and folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to tell him that we set him up?"
She glanced around herself guiltily, as though worried Owen might walk in at any moment. Of course Vincent would hear him coming. They were well and truly alone in the house, and their voices weren't raised.
"That's unnecessary."
"But that's what you're accusing me of. You're not considering the fact that maybe I love him. I love him so much that I couldn't deny him."
"You make it sound like..." she looked confused, then, thinking back to what Owen had told her the other night.
"You know I want nothing but the best for him. You know that I wouldn't make a rash decision. You know me," he said, and dropped his pose in order to prod himself in the chest with his fingers. "Do you really believe I would go through all that I have, just for sex?"
She looked like he'd slapped her, as her eyes teared up.
"Oh, Karen," he said, feeling like a bastard because he knew she was smart enough to understand this meant Owen would leave her sooner rather than later. He stepped forward and embraced her, and for a long moment she stood as she was, awkwardly in his hold, until her arms shifted and moved around him as well. There hadn't been the same passion, the same anger in her eyes tonight as there had on the night Owen explained the nature of their changed relationship to her. She had obviously calmed down and reasoned some of the way herself, but Vincent had obviously needed to defend himself, before she could accept it. She said something that was too muffled for him to make out, even with his superior hearing. He pulled back and she repeated herself.
"He's going to want to live with you."
"Yes. He's already asked."
Her eyes were red rimmed from fallen tears, but she hadn't sobbed. Her nose was also red, and she plucked and swiped at his jumper where she'd wet it with tears and snot. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything, so he thought to repeat himself with the most meaningful part of their conversation.
"I love him, Karen. More than I imagined I could. I would do anything for him."
She nodded, but couldn't meet his eyes, so he hugged her again and was relieved.
