Chapter Text
The dying sun carves long shadows along the walls and floor of Angelo’s office, and still the air is filled with the scratching of his pen. He doesn’t know why he’s stayed working so late. The only thing he’s sure of is that there’s nothing waiting for him at home, and nobody waiting either, but there’s no reason for that to bother him so much when it never has before. He finds himself getting distracted — another thing that never happens to him — by the pattern of the windowpane repeated on the floorboards. His life used to be such: a distinct separation of light and dark. When people asked for him he came and he always knew what to say even if he was disliked for it, having the twin supports of regulation and precedent behind him.
But this? No, there isn’t any precedent for this thing inside of him, or if there is he doesn’t want to see it, and there’s nothing codified about him. It’s not just the desire; though he neither wants nor understands the longing, at least he can recognize what it is. He’s seen fornicators enough in his time, men who curled their hair and smiled for no reason, calling it love. He’s even identified what about Isabella has pricked him on to obsession (for he cannot call it fondness). And yet, he does not understand what could make a man turn Truth herself into a strumpet. He asked who would believe her and they both knew that whatever happened between them, the version of events that survived to leave this room would be his, robed in falsehoods. A very proper judge he makes, no doubt! But…
But he still said it, and as soon as he said it he stopped caring how she felt about how he touched her. If everything could be erased anyway he could do anything he wanted, for who would stop him or even know about it? Until suddenly he didn’t want it at all. Suddenly he cared very much how Isabelle felt, sobbing on the floor, but when he reached for her shoulder she flinched away and he couldn’t even touch her anymore. He flinches now from the man he’s discovered hiding in his bones. He’s been staring at the lines of shadow for so long that their angles have shifted, so he drags his attention back to his papers, where he has to squint to read his own cramped writing. Somehow the late afternoon has become early twilight and when he next raises his eyes to the blue light there is an angel within it.
He didn’t know it until right this instant, but half of him was hoping she wouldn’t come. He meant it when he said it would only be her own choice whether she allowed her brother to suffer for the sake of her chastity, but now that she’s standing before him, hands clasped so tight around her rosary that her knuckles have gone white, the choice is his once more. He doesn’t have to raze the sanctuary, but oh, how he desires to pitch his evils there, and he can almost believe she would make him holy.
“Lord Angelo,” she says, “I will…” She seems to be chewing on her tongue along with her words. He wants to rise and trace her jaw until she unclenches it, but he wants even more for her to come to him. He stays where he is, returning his quill to its stand without taking his eyes off of her. If he blinks she will vanish, he knows it. “I will do all that is necessary to save my poor brother, and you shall have your—” Isabella purses her lips and grits out, “Saucy sweetness, yes? One sin traded for two, is that not so? One mortal life redeemed with one immortal soul is surely an equitable trade!” She’s right. His soul was already lost before she returned this morning to know his pleasure. “So, you shall have it.”
“Sweet Isabel!” At last she has yielded, however reluctantly, and at last he rises to embrace her. His hands fumble to remove the chain of state, which must be gone from him before they begin, but then she raises one hand of her own.
“Soft and low, my lord.” He cares not that she spits the word, because she still says it. “But let me speak a little.”
He doesn’t have to listen to her, he could just take what he wants, but every time he meets with her he is left wanting to hear her speak again, so he will give her what she wants too. “So.”
“This is not the time or place for it. Certainly the eyes of Heaven can pierce through any darkness and there will be proper judgment for both of us regardless, but to the eyes of man, that deed of darkness will look much worse here than anywhere else.” She sweeps her gaze to the bookshelves filled with charters and transcripts of court cases, and he winces to think how close he came to defiling not only the Lord and His vessel, but the very place where he enforces the laws he plans to break. It’s a kind of mercy to have halted him, and he hates how grateful he is to her when no amount of gratitude will turn him from his course. “Choose somewhere secret and quiet, teach me the way, then wait there in the heavy middle of the night.”
“My… my garden house.” His mouth is very dry, but just looking at her is a drink of clear water. “Within a walled vineyard, past two locked doors. Is that sufficient?” How can he be asking for her approval in any part of this? How dare he want her approval so desperately? “No one will see us there,” he offers with a faint smile that won’t stay on his lips.
“That will do. My stay will be but brief. The servant who waits upon me is given to believe I will come to you about my brother — that is, given to believe I only mean to speak of him.”
And then she’s gone before she can be dismissed, leaving behind only a hole in the gathering dusk. He never got a chance to turn on the light for her.