The Advice

                                    

                                          
Baz POV
                          
I'm standing at Fiona's door. I really don't want to have this conversation, but I don't see any better choices.
                          
"Fiona, a word."
                          
I look over at Fiona, an unreadable expression crossing her face. I slip into the room, closing the door behind me. Even for a smaller house, the Oxford home is able to afford everyone private accommodations. Convenient when you need to wash all the dirt off your clothes from a meltdown in the forest. When you need to sob uncontrollably into a pillow after your boyfriend tries to break up with you but you run away like a fucking coward. Or when you need advice regarding your hopeless vampire relationship with your Normal boyfriend. 
                          
"I should have dropped you in the Thames when I had the chance."
                          
"Fiona,"
                          
"Really, Basilton, what is this? Traipsing off to America? Vegas hotel rooms on your father's credit card?" 
                          
She's scowling and shaking her head. 
                          
"You're lucky the Next Blood was there. You're lucky there was a reason to write all this off as a strike against what is currently the largest looming threat to the World of Mages."
                          
"Lucky? You think I'm lucky that I saw the love of my life shot out of the air?" 
                          
Shivers, the bad kind, go down my spine thinking of Simon's body lying there. Helpless. Lifeless. Slipping away.
                          
"Really, Baz? The love of your life? Do you not see the way he treats you?"
                          
She's crossed a line. I feel all the heat and fresh blood rush to my face.
                          
"I hope this is all worth it to you. I know he's very handsome, Baz. But the lies, deceiving your family, just for a pretty face, just for... "
                          
Fiona trails off then and rolls her eyes, like she can't bring herself to verbalize some half-baked expression about her nephew's sex life. My face has fallen and Fiona notices. She raises an eyebrow, and a hint of concern emerges.
                          
"What is it, Baz? What are you not telling me?"
                          
I can't hold her gaze. "We haven't Fiona."
                          
Her eyebrow somehow manages to creep higher. "Haven't what, Basilton?"
                          
"You know what I'm saying. We haven't."
                          
I pause and pull at my hair in frustration. Like Simon does with those bloody golden curls.
                          
"It's like he doesn't want me to touch him. We'll narrowly escape from a life or death situation, and he'll kiss me like the world is ending, but later, later when I try to reach for him..." My voice breaks. 
                          
Fiona looks very serious now. She was serious before, but that was politics. That was exasperation at having to stick her neck out, to defend Bunce and my's blatant disregard for the rules of our world as youthful indiscretions in the service of defending our way of life against the Next Blood. This is something else. This is about her sister and protecting her sister's only son.
                          
Fiona now speaks with an intensity as if I really am one of her task force agents to whom she is telling operation orders. 
                          
"Basilton, you need to end things with him. You should move on and find someone who deserves you. I know you care for him, but this is not good for you." 
                          
She pauses, carefully considering her next words, a restlessness entering her tone. 
                          
"But I know you won't listen. I didn't listen to Tasha about Nico. No one ever listens about who they are supposed to love."
                          
The weight of what she is saying is sinking in. I am not in love with a woman. Or someone from a family my parents approve of. Or even a normal Normal. I love Simon. The entire world can tell me not to for any reason they want, but I love Simon.
                          
"Baz, please hear this one thing. Your being unhappy forever is not an option. You have to do something."
                          
I shake my head despairingly.
                          
"I don't know what else to do. The awful thing is, he's right. It's hurts so much to be with him. He won't talk to me. He won't look at me. He doesn't even want me look at him." 
                          
I'm trying not to cry in front of Fiona and failing. 
                          
"But I can't leave him. I won't. I can't push him. I would do anything, but he won't tell me what he wants."
                          
Fiona's face has relaxed, or rather released into a tired expression. "Baz," she says, her voice almost bored, "have you told him what you want?"