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Stephen knew it was…unadvisable to enter the room where the husband whose wife he stole sat.
Then again, it wasn’t as if he shied away from risk — mostly the opposite, actually. His temper had been steadily growing more and more volatile over the past years, especially after…well. After . He was prone to react when slighted and had been keeping a tight leash on his hot blood only for Frieda. His own fate did not matter, but when it came to his daughter, well that was a different story, wasn’t it?
He could be unwaveringly polite and silent and defeated. He had to.
Except, of course, when it came to Rachael.
And Lewis, apparently.
He entered the room.
Lewis’ head snapped up from where he’d been sitting slumped in one of Stephen’s designer chairs. He looked as if despite the nest of blankets on the sofa, he hadn’t slept at all. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. He still wore yesterday’s formal attire, now rumpled almost beyond recognition.
Stephen had braced himself for anger and hate. He had been ready for Lewis to yell at him, to hit him, perhaps.
Instead, he was met with deafening silence.
Stephen knew that what they did would hurt Lewis, of course. He just hadn’t known it would hurt him quite so deeply. Their marriage was full of arguments and Rachael hadn’t even hesitated, the second time they kissed. Surely that meant any hurt caused was that of damaged pride, due to a right stolen rather than a loved one’s betrayal?
Apparently, he had miscalculated.
Stephen grit his teeth against the shape pang of guilt. He could not regret Rachael, never that, but perhaps he did owe him an apology nonetheless.
“Look, I - I am sorry.”
Despite his tiredness and pain, Lewis’ eyes were as sharp as ever. His lips curved into a quick, humourless smile.
“No, you’re not.” His tone was flat, without an ounce of anger and with only a slight, almost unnoticeable tremor betraying his pain.
Right. Stephen glanced away. He wanted, selfishly and unreasonably, to ease some of this hurt he had caused.
Lewis signed deeply and closed his eyes.
“Just go, Lubert.” It was a peculiar feeling, to hear his name pronounced in such a defeated tone, without the customary title of Sir. The blend of disrespect and almost startling intimacy was what caused him to hesitate long enough for Rachael to come in.
Unlike Stephen, she didn’t hesitate. Upon seeing her, Lewis stood and went to the window, his back turned on them. Stephen watched as he wiped at his eyes, sniffling quietly. There was something else caught in the tense air between Lewis and Rachael, something more.
Stephen needed to leave. This, whatever this was, was not his to hear.
He didn’t move.
Finally, Lewis turned around. Briefly, his eyes went to Stephen in the doorway, before focusing on Rachael in front of him, as if she was the only soul left in the universe.
“How did it happen?” His voice was hushed, yet still measured. “Was he in pain?”
Stephen could see the way Rachael’s chin trembled, how she tried to answer but couldn’t, at first.
“He was caught in the blast. It was instant,” she said, and those words, laden with grief, tugged at something in Stephen. This, he could somehow understand. He too had lost someone he loved beyond all else in the war. A wife. A child. They had all lost too much.
Lewis nodded slowly. He was crying a bit, silent tears.
“Yeah.” He made his way across the room, towards Rachael. “You know, I never wanted to leave you. I had to.”
Was that what their fights had been about? Stephen could still feel Rachael trembling in his arms, breaking under the weight of all that unshared pain and guilt.
Lewis, now, had the same look in his eyes.
“You know, I see his face, every time I look at you.” Lewis sat down. “When you laugh, I — I hear his voice. When I — every time I touch you, I —“ He broke off, closing his eyes. Rachael made an aborted gesture as if wanting to comforting him but not sure if she was still allowed to. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Stephen felt a slowly unfurling panic, mixing with the cold dread that brought the mere idea of losing a child. He couldn’t - couldn’t even contemplate…Frieda was alright, despite what had happened yesterday. She was fine.
And Rachael still loved Lewis, that much was clear.
Stephen could not even fault her for wanting to chose him.
“— I smell him on your skin,” said Lewis. Rachael leaned in a hugged him with desperate strength, the two of them clinging together.
“You’re the best part of me, Rachael. You will always be.”
That was clearly meant to be a goodbye. A soft, gentle one, without anger or recrimination. Yet. Rachael didn’t move, and Stephen could feel his panic mounting.
She won’t leave Lewis. Not now, not ever.
“Rachael.” Her name left him in a desperate rush, a plea and a cry at once. She released Lewis and turned to look at him, a mixture of regret and firm resolve on her face. “No. No, no, no.” He was babbling, but unable to stop himself. Rachael was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it at all.
He reached towards her face, let his fingertips brush her cheek.
“I need you.”
Rachael shook her head in a tiny, barely there movement. “I’m sorry, I—“ she looked back at Lewis, still silently crying on her shoulder. Stephen breathed out harshly. Of course she’d chose him. He should just leave, get in the car and disappear.
“Wait."
Lewis sniffled harshly and wiped, rather uselessly, at his tear-stained cheeks. Despite it all, he looked straight at Stephen; perhaps for the first time since he realised what had happened.
Stephen found himself unable to meet his gaze. Instead, he addressed Rachael. “You won’t leave him.”
Rachael shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I don’t — I do care about you,” she said softly, and Stephen had to look away from her as well. He knew that. He also knew it wasn’t enough.
Nothing could have prepared him for Lewis’ next words.
“You could stay as well.” The strangest thing was that he didn’t even hesitate. His eyes were still filled with tears and their betrayal still fresh and raw, and yet, his voice did not waver in the slightest, as if those words had been on the tip of his tongue since the beginning.
Lewis was a kind, generous man, with the strongest sense of morality out of everyone Stephen had met. That explained why he let Stephen and Frieda stay in the beginning, why he was fair enough not to condemn them to the camps. He had always treated Stephen with respect, and never insulted his dignity like so many others had. His graciousness when learning about their affair was already much more than what Stephen deserved.
His kindness, however, definitely did not explain why he was offering to let them stay now.
Stephen let out a slightly hysterical noise, much more aggressive than he intended. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t understand,” said Rachael at the same time.
“I meant — I want you to be happy, Rach. Whatever it takes. And if you need him to be happy as well —“ Lewis broke off, looking increasingly uncomfortable as both Rachael and Stephen slowly started to grasp his meaning.
Stephen laughed. It was a hollow, malicious sound. “What, so she stays one night in my bed and one night in yours? So we — so we share her like — like —“ The look in Lewis’ eyes stopped him from voicing that last thought out loud.
“Don’t you dare.” The threat was spoken softly, almost gently, yet Stephen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand with a vague sense of cold dread. He shut up.
“What do you mean, though?” To Stephen’s surprise, Rachael did not sound revolted or scandalised, but contemplative. She was still sitting half in Lewis’ lap, but had turned so that she could see both of them.
Lewis shrugged his shoulders, looking tired and confused and a bit lost. “I don’t know, really. I just though, perhaps you don’t have to chose.” He squeezed her hand, and she smiled at him. Lewis looked at Stephen then. Slowly, carefully, he reached out. His fingers just barely brushed Stephen’s forearm, trailing down in a sort of caress. Stephen’s breath caught in his throat. What —?
Lewis reached his hand, placing his palm over it. Rachael, with the sort of careful approach one might adopt with a skittish horse, leaned over and let her hand rest next to theirs, just barely touching them.
“And perhaps, you don’t have to leave just yet. You could stay. For now, at least,” said Lewis.
Stephen looked at Rachael, broken and full of sharp grief ad shaper will. He looked at Lewis, kind and gracious and oh so tired of fighting.
He looked at their hands together, and though, maybe.