#both of them setting personal security; practicality and common sense by the wayside in the process

[notmoreflippingelves]

Shi Long Lang insisting all of his agents identify themselves as "1" during team countoffs, and Manfred von Karma setting his bank PIN to #1 have the same and yet opposite energies.

[lady-therion]

Everything I Meant to Say: Part 3 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian sends the wrong message at the wrong time.

(Modern AU.)

A/N:  Sorry for the delay, folks! But here it is: the reunion...

***

   Cassian had pictured their reunion a hundred different ways over the years.  

   Some were hopeful. They would bump into each other on the subway and lock eyes across a crowded train cart. Recognition would dawn on both their faces, igniting that familiar spark. Maybe they would fall in love again—or at least, become friends again; the years of heartbreak and baggage thrown to the wayside. Cue a 1980s love ballad.  

   More often—and more realistically—he imagined them crossing paths at a bar they both liked. He would catch her chatting with some fifth avenue stockbroker who would be feeling up her ass like she was merchandise. Cassian would staunch the urge to break a cue stick across the stockbroker’s face by making some shitty comment to Nesta, all cocky smiles and arrogance.

   Then she would throw her drink in his face, glass included. Fade to black.

   But in none of those admittedly pathetic and vivid scenarios did he ever imagine this.

   “Would you like to place an order while you wait?”

   Cassian glanced at his impeccably dressed server and stiffened.

   When Nesta suggested meeting at this particular cafe in midtown, he had no idea what to expect. But as soon as he stepped over the red-carpeted threshold, he wished he had.  

  This was definitely not a Starbucks.

  The host had taken off his shabby leather jacket and guided him to an private back room with plush seating and gilded furniture. The silverware alone could have paid his rent for the entire year. The menu—one page, single-sided—didn’t even include prices. Everything was crisp, polished, and set apart with exact and even measurements.

  Cassian was afraid to touch anything. He’d never felt so out of place in his entire life.  

  As if sensing his hesitation, his server leaned in to whisper. “There’s no need to worry about the bill, sir. Miss Archeron is a patron we hold in very high regard. She said you can order anything you like. ”

  Anything he’d like? He couldn’t even read half of the listed entrees.

  But the server only gave him a patient smile and said, “If you don’t object, I can bring over a coffee and bourbon. It’s no trouble.”

  Cassian almost asked him to hold the coffee and get the bourbon straight, but it was barely past noon and he didn’t think Nesta would appreciate him getting plastered before she arrived. So instead he nodded and the server marched away like it was his personal mission to cater to his every whim.

  Christ, what had he gotten himself into?

   The thought gnawed at Cassian as he checked his phone.

   Five minutes after. Ten minutes after. Fifteen minutes after...

   Nesta was late. She was never late. At least not in the time that he’d known her.

  Worry, dread, and irritation churned inside him like the world’s worst mental health cocktail.

  Had something happened? Should he call her? Would that seem too eager? Had she picked this place to throw him off balance?

  This six-star cafe wasn’t exactly neutral territory—this was her territory. One of the many tangible pieces of evidence of how amazing her life was now that he wasn’t in it.

  Cassian sighed, willing himself to calm down.

   He once had a sergeant that told him that the key to winning any battle was knowing everything about the field. Maybe the reason why he was so nervous was because there were too many variables at play, too many unknowns. He and Nesta were practically strangers now. Would they have anything left in common?

   Did they really have anything in common to begin with?  

  Maybe this was a mistake.

  He checked his phone again, which now read twenty minutes after.

  But this time, Nesta left a message.

  ‘Be there soon. Sorry - work and traffic.’

  Cassian didn’t know if that made him feel more anxious or relieved. Somehow, Nesta could always inspire both. Maybe things hadn't changed so much, after all...

  He was a third of the way done with his coffee and bourbon by the time he heard a familiar stride approach the table. It was the heels. Nesta always loved wearing those gorgeous fuck-me heels. They were her one guilty pleasure…and his too. Thankfully, he was able to shake off the unbidden thought like a flea before Nesta rounded the corner.

   And this time, it was just like the movies.

   Time stopped as they held each other’s gaze. She looked the same...and yet different. He always imagined her looking exactly like she did in one of those glossy, airbrushed spreads. All done up and unattainable.

  But no, she was still his Nesta.

  Or just Nesta.

  Her hair looked a little shorter. She was wearing it half up in that messy way he liked. It reminded him of the lazy mornings they spent together at his apartment. She was always so fussy about her hair; could spend hours blowing it out or braiding it in his bathroom. So whenever she didn’t do it, it was an unspoken signal that she would rather stay in bed all day—preferably with him.

  There were other things that didn’t change. The elegant planes of her face. The fullness of her lips.  The collarbones peeking up from the neck of her white blouse. Lord, those collarbones used to drive him crazy. But not as much as that dimple in the corner of her mouth that never seemed to disappear, even when she didn’t smile. And the little dusting of kissable freckles across her nose...

  How could he have ever thought those magazines did her justice?

  There was one detail, however, that was different. One that he noted immediately: her eyes.

  That steely blue gaze was always as sharp as a razor, ready to cut anyone down like stalks of wheat. They burned right through him whether she was angry or not. They were like chipped pieces of ice on a regular day—a broadsword on another.

  But strangely enough, the cold fire in them seemed...dimmer, somehow. Softer. Wary. Cautious. Cassian didn’t know what to make of it.

  He wasn’t even sure if he remembered how to breathe.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  He stood up from his chair, remembering his manners. What should he do now? Shake her hand?

  But then Nesta reached for him herself, wrapping her slender arms around his middle.

  He could have sworn something inside him broke. Because suddenly, they weren’t in a private room in some ritzy ass cafe. Now, they were back in his living room, when Nesta wrapped her arms around him just like this, as they swayed back and forth to no music save for each other’s heartbeat.

  I missed you...

 Cassian choked off the instinct to blurt those words aloud, afraid of shattering the moment.

  Instead, he returned her embrace, trying very hard not to tuck her against him. Because he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t want to let go.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled against the collar of his shirt.

   He tensed. “For what?”

  “For being late,” she said, pulling back.

  Oh. Right.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

   They sat down across from each other as the server came by with another coffee and bourbon for Nesta and a refill for Cassian. Nesta greeted and thanked him in a language he didn’t recognize, then recited her order without looking at the menu.  

  “I ordered us some pastries,” she said, when the server flocked away. “You’ll like them.”

  There was no bossiness in her tone. None of the spoiled haughtiness he’d come to associate her with. Just...confidence. Just the ease of being happy where she was and the gratefulness that she was sharing this experience with him. Cassian didn’t know what to make of this either.

  “You look good,” she told him.

  Did he? Because he felt like utter crap. He had spent the last several days preparing himself for a confrontation he was sure would erupt. Because despite his hope and expectations, Nesta had always been unpredictable. But that was the old Nesta. This new Nesta however, made him feel guilty as fuck for making assumptions.

  “You look good too,” he said.

  Fucking poetry.

  The conversation went a little bit more smoothly after the pleasantries. For Cassian, it felt like trying to learn about a different person entirely. As if he were on a first date. They stuck to safe subjects—like the weather and family. Or rather, their mutual family. The details of which were fairly well known to both of them. Still, it was fun to compare notes.

  Feyre was still finishing up art school.  Rhys was still finishing up business law and was planning to intern with his father over the summer—his father was still a prick, by the way. Elain was still working at the clinic downtown, but was thinking about opening up her own practice. Amren just got a job as a curator at the uptown history museum. And Azriel was still doing some security consulting work for Rhys’ father.

  “Security consulting?” asked Nesta.  

  “Just a fancy word for corporate espionage.”

  Cassian would know—he occasionally freelanced on some of the assignments that needed more brute force than finesse.

  “And how’s Mor?”

  “Mor?” Cassian echoed.

  Mor had always been a sensitive subject between them—which was understandable. He did sleep with her at some point before he and Nesta got together, and it was always a point of contention between them.

  “Mor’s good. She has a girlfriend now. I think they’re pretty serious.”

  Nesta smiled. A genuine one. The kind that always stopped his heart. “That’s good. I’m happy for her.”  

  “And what about you?” he asked. “How are you doing?”

  Nesta’s smile froze.  “Better,” she said. “I’m doing better.”

  He frowned. “Is everything okay?”

  It was very difficult to imagine things not being okay. She seemed to have everything she wanted: a high-profile career, more money than she could ever spend, the ability to travel all over the world. From what he heard, she was already a very popular icon in Europe and was starting to gain some recognition in the States—if that commercial was anything to go by.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. “It’s just...work can get overwhelming sometimes.”

  “How so? Isn’t it basically just playing dress up?”

  Nesta’s face faltered and he immediately wished he could take back what he said. Just reel in those idiotic words like a goddamn fishing line.

  Why the hell did he have to go and say something like that?

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean...I don’t want to belittle what you do...”

  “No, it’s all right,” she said. Though by her even tone, he could tell that it wasn’t and wished more than anything that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “I get that question a lot, actually. Mostly from journalists who are trying to be provocative. But I can see where they’re coming from.” She circled a perfectly manicured nail around the rim of her coffee cup. “You’re not wrong. Fashion is a little like playing dress up. But it’s not about the clothes that I’m selling. It’s about the fantasy.”

  “Fantasy?”

  “You’d be surprised at how many people are willing to pay for a well done fantasy,” she said. “When I’m behind the camera, I can be whoever they need me to be. The girl next door. The other woman. The faery queen. Whatever role people need to project themselves on. To escape from reality just for a little while.”

  She paused, clearly waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t know what to say.

  Who was he to know or judge what she did?

  “I’m still sorry,” he said, finally. “For my comment earlier. I didn’t mean to sound like an ass.”

  “I know you didn’t mean it,” she told him.

  Cassian swallowed. He was used to verbal sparring matches. He had no idea what to do with this.

   He never imagined being so awkward around her. Angry yes, awkward as fuck—no.

  “Cassian,” she said, pulling him into the present. “You probably already know this, but I didn’t ask you to come here just for coffee.”

  He braced himself. This was it. This was the part where she told him she was dating someone else. Maybe they were serious enough to be engaged. Maybe they were serious enough to already be married—though he didn’t see a ring on her finger. But Nesta was never one for tradition. In any case, he wasn’t prepared for how those thoughts made him feel like was spiraling into a black hole.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “I wanted to apologize...for shutting you out of my life.”

  Something twisted inside him. Hard and piercing. As though a shard of the residual anger he had been holding onto had been plucked from his heart.

  “Nesta...I…”

  “It wasn’t fair of me to do that,” she pressed on. “After your last message....I realized that I was being an idiot. We have the same friends. The same family. You’re still my family, despite everything that happened.”

  “Nesta,” he said, willing his voice to remain steady. “It...it wasn’t just you. I didn’t…”

  There were so many things he wanted to say, had rehearsed them in mind countless times over.

   So why couldn’t he say them now?

  “It wasn’t just you. I did some shitty things too. And it wasn’t like I was…”

  He stopped, unable to go on.  

  She reached over the table to grab his hand, twining her fingers around his. The warmth and feel of it was so familiar, so right, that he thought he was going to die.

  “Can we...can we call a truce? Start over? As friends?” Silver lined her eyes and Cassian felt like he was drowning and gasping for air all at once. He didn’t want her to cry. Ever. “I was so angry,” she said. “For such a long time, I was so angry. At you, at my family, at the world. I just...I don’t want to be angry anymore. Please.”

   Cassian swallowed. He didn’t want to be angry anymore either.

   “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s start over.”

   She smiled—another real smile—and his heart broke a little more.

   “Good. I was thinking...are you doing anything tomorrow?”

   He shook his head. “I tend to be pretty free these days.”

   “Would you like to come by the studio? I’m doing a shoot. I was going to ask Elain and Feyre to come, but neither of them can make it.”

   Should he? If he did, it would open a new door to another set of unknowns—another set of mysteries and questions that terrified him more than anything else.

  But...he would at least be moving forward.

  They would be moving forward.

  “Sure,” he said. “I can be there.”

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3