Extra Ordinary (Riddle Era)

Chapter 35

Tom managed not to press Steele for nearly the entire rest of the term. Not that he didn't study, or even probe, because he did. He collected every detail he could, sparse though they were. He learned that she thought cocoa was a late night solution to all problems, but that tea was for any and all times, problems and no problems, but was best enjoyed when the world was already lovely. Unless the tea was chamomile. And then, apparently, it was for sleeping and for calming down. Otherwise, she said, 'tension turned the tea bitter' and then she'd laughed like it was a joke no one else had gotten.

He learned that when given the opportunities, on weekends or after classes if she'd had the chance to stop by her dormitory, she wore cardigans. Always cardigans. She seemed to have an eclectic and nearly endless collection of them, at least half of which had either fraying hems or holes in the sleeves that rendered them worn at best and somewhere between useless and simply ratty at worst. When asked, however, Steele insisted that damage just proved they'd been lived in. And then she smiled and said sweaters were like people that way and hadn't bothered explaining what the hell that meant at all.

He learned, slowly and carefully and with much sneaking around, that when no one was watching, she stopped smiling so much. When no one was watching, she just looked tired. And not the kind that came from too little sleep. When no one was watching, she watched, with eyes that looked soft and ancient and almost, just barely, the tiniest little bit of sad.

He learned that when she thought she was being lied to, that sadness flickered forward, tinged with something like disappointment that seemed born less of a belief in her entitlement to the truth and more in a hope that the other person would do better. Be better. Like she thought telling the truth - or at least, not lying - was some great measure of worth. It made him wonder who had lied to her before. Or perhaps, who had told her the truth.

But he didn't press. He didn't ask directly. He rarely even asked at all. For two more long, arduous, careful months.

He would have lasted longer too, he was sure of it. His self control was strong. His will near iron-clad. The problem was that Steele seemed to have a way of disintegrating it. And Tom would maintain to his dying breath that his slip was not his fault. Because Steele had practically asked for it. Because she had asked first. And then she'd kept asking.

The first question wasn't such a terrible one, really. It was a Friday night, late in term, the last before their exams started in earnest and Steele had spent nearly every hour since class had ended studying. Tom had spent it reading and looking vaguely bored while memorizing every fact from the book he could. Not that half of them would be useful for exam purposes. He already knew the material and his studying had been accomplished well after the rest of the castle had gone to sleep. If he'd had to start exams tomorrow he'd have passed them with flying colors. Since they weren't until Monday, he intended to ace them.

So he'd been reading while Steele kept her nose in a textbook until the hour had gotten late enough that they'd departed the room only half an hour or so before curfew. And then Steele had started asking questions.

The first was, "Why do you always pretend you're not trying?"

Tom blinked, surprised as ever by sheer bluntness of her queries, though he knew he shouldn't be by now. And certainly, his step didn't falter. It didn't so much as hiccough. "I don't know what you mean?" he replied smoothly. Which was a stupid reply, really, considering who this was.

Indeed, Steele just smiled, the one that meant she didn't believe him, and said, "Oh come on, Tom," like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he was lying. And it wasn't. He knew it wasn't. Every other goddamned person in the castle, in his entire life, believed him when he lied. But not Steele.