AU Lucetific - Grune vs. Maurits

[seikilos]

Title: A Bad Person
Fandoms: luceti, Tales of Legendia, Final Fantasy IV: The After Years, Tales of Phantasia, Tiger & Bunny, original works
Genre: Gen/Humour
Rating & Warnings: PG (referenced character death)
Words: 3690
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above media.
Summary: When Grune learns of Maurits' remorseless role in Fenimore's death, two things become clear to her: Maurits is a bad person and he can no longer stay in House 34.
Author's Notes: This one came about due to a misunderstanding. I had thought that Maurits had briefly been in Luceti in its very early days and thus found myself wondering how that would play out with the current cast of characters, plus Shirley. By the time I found out I was wrong, this fic was already underway.

It's not necessary to have seen Fenimore's death scene, but it might help. Also, this is well over a year old, so, well, yeah.

". . . you can pretend that nothing's happened!"

Grune paused, the wide-open front door forgotten behind her. Oh, my. That sounded like Shirley. Was something the matter?

She couldn't hear the reply, but it sounded as though Shirley and the other person were in Maurits' room. She should go make sure everything was all right.

"But Fenimore died because of you!" Shirley yelled suddenly, and just like that, Grune's feet stopped working. The tin of scones from Ginia wavered in her hands.

"It was the Gadorian Orerines who killed her," she heard Maurits say with perfect calm. As though it weren't at all sad that Fenimore had died. "Don't you remember?"

In contrast, Shirley sounded even more upset than before. "She wouldn't have died if you hadn't stopped Walter from saving her!"

"Her death was what spurred you into becoming the Merines, was it not? I'm certain Fenimore would have gladly given her life so that you—"

The tin slipped from Grune's grasp. The clang it made shot through the house, and immediately, Maurits and Shirley were at the door of Maurits' room.

"Grune!" Shirley's eyes were wide. "What are you doing here?"

Maurits' always controlled expression, for only a moment . . . slipped. The glare he sent her before he regained his tranquility was colder than the bottom of the sea. "What did you hear, Grune? Did you understand it?"

The look she levelled at him in return was serious and unwavering. She had thought Maurits was a kind man. But he wasn't. He wasn't a nice person at all. No—he was a bad person.

"You killed Fenimore," she said clearly. "And you're not sorry."

"My dear, you have misunderstood." His control once again in place, Maurits smiled and took a few steps forward. He reached out a hand with the intent to place it on her shoulder.

She stepped back.

Maurits'eyes widened, just a bit. He let his hand drop and went on. "A Gadorian knight was responsible for Fenimore's death. I was not the one to deal the fatal blow, but he, consumed by hatred." His tone attempted to soothe, invited her to understand. To be reasonable.

She stared at him. "You killed Fenimore," she repeated.

"G-Grune." Shirley brushed by Maurits. "Let's go talk in my room, okay?"

She let Shirley take her hand, but she didn't look away from Maurits for a single moment. "All right."

The last she saw of Maurits' face, before she allowed Shirley to tug her away, was a very brief look of uncertainty. Then he returned to his room and closed the door.

Shirley pulled her along until they reached the room she shared with Fenimore. When Grune stepped inside, Shirley shut the door behind her, then turned around.

"Please don't tell anyone what you heard," she begged, her voice hushed. "Especially not Fenimore."

"Why not?" Grune asked. If Maurits had hurt her, shouldn't someone tell her about it?

"Maurits is the leader of the Ferines on the Legacy. Fenimore respects him so much. It—it would hurt her a lot to find out what he did."

Grune looked at Shirley, at the way her fingers were gripping one another, the way her lips were pressed tight together.

"Please, Grune," she added, leaning forward, when Grune didn't respond.

It would hurt Fenimore if she didn't find out, too—but if Grune told her, then Shirley would be sad. She couldn't let that happen, either.

". . . All right," she agreed, and Shirley let out a breath.

"Thank you, Grune."

She still look agitated, and so Grune pulled her into a hug. As she did, however, something was unusually clear in her mind:

Maurits couldn't stay here anymore. He had hurt Fenimore and he wasn't sorry. He might hurt Fenimore again.

He had to leave.

*

"Morning, Norma." Fenimore wandered into the kitchen, Sophie's hand in hers. It almost felt natural now. "What's for breakfast?"

"Bacon and eggs, coming up!" Norma announced, as perky as always. "And some of that yummy cereal with the marshmallows for Sophie."

Fenimore glanced down; the little girl was wearing an unusually large smile. "Not too many marshmallows, okay?"

Norma flapped the spatula at her. "Yeah, I know, I know. Don't worry about it."

"Good morning."

Fenimore turned at the pleasant sound of Maurits' voice and smiled awkwardly. Even now, after a couple of weeks of living with the leader of her people, she still felt as though she ought to be bowing or showing some sign of respect. "Good morning, sir."

"Morning," Norma added, as always sounding oddly less enthusiastic about greeting him. Well, Fenimore supposed it was harder to be familiar with someone of Maurits' status.

"I don't suppose either of you girls have seen my hairbrush, have you?" Maurits asked. "It appears to have gone missing."

Now that he mentioned it, Maurits' normally well-tended hair was actually sticking up somewhat. It was an odd sight, and Fenimore had to bite down a smile. You really learned a lot about a person when you lived with them, didn't you?

"Sorry, Gramps, I haven't seen it," Norma answered. "One egg or two?"

"One, please." He looked at Fenimore.

She shook her head. "Sorry. We haven't seen it either. Right, Sophie?"

The little girl imitated her action but otherwise remained silent. She sure was copying her a lot these days, wasn't she? Huh.

"Then it seems I must keep looking." Maurits went to retrieve a glass of juice from the electric icebox, and that was that.

*

Fenimore didn't think any longer on Maurits' missing hairbrush, and by the time she was getting Sophie ready to go outside and play, she'd forgotten all about it. However, as she was fitting Sophie's mittens on her outstretched hands, Maurits stepped out of his bedroom, his brows drawn together. His hair didn't look a whole lot better than at breakfast, which only added to his air of being out of sorts.

"Still can't find it, huh?" she said sympathetically.

"No. And now it seems a large quantity of my clothes has gone missing as well."

". . . What?" A missing brush, she could understand, but. . . . "Are you sure they aren't just in the laundry?"

"Mitt."

She distractedly glanced down at where Sophie had her arm stuck out and was waiting patiently.

"Sorry, Sophie." She finished dressing the little girl and stood up.

"I am certain. Among them were the clothes I had been intending to wear today, instead of these." He indicated his robes with an uncharacteristically sharp gesture.

Before Fenimore could respond, the door opened behind her. She automatically shepherded Sophie to the side to make room for Grune. As she did, she attempted to think of a diplomatic answer. People Maurits' age started getting forgetful, didn't they? As much as she hated to think of it happening to her village leader . . . it was a fact of life, wasn't it?

"Grune, where are you going?" Maurits asked, and Fenimore was just in time to see her disappear into—Maurits' room? And since when did she ignore people when they were talking to her?

She felt an insistent tap on her leg and had just enough time to murmur, "In a minute, Sophie," before the door to his room opened again and Grune emerged with a large armful of Maurits' clothes. As Fenimore boggled, Grune—okay, she didn't march, but she moved with a lot more purpose than Fenimore had ever seen before across the main living area. Only when she look ready to go outside (with . . . Maurits' clothes) did Fenimore give herself a shake and step in front of the door.

"Grune, you can't take his clothes outside—they'll get all wet." This was so weird. "What are you doing with them, anyway?"

She really hadn't been expecting to get a coherent response, and so she was surprised yet again when Grune answered firmly (since when did she do anything firmly?), "Maurits can't stay here anymore."

"What?" That was even less sense than she was used to getting out of Grune. "Of course he can—this is his house."

Grune shook her head. "He's a bad person."

. . . And Fenimore was back to boggling. Grune, saying someone was a bad person? Saying Maurits was a bad person? And . . . and kicking him out of the house? Was there an experiment going on she hadn't heard about?

"Here. Allow me." Maurits stepped forward to retrieve his clothes—but Grune stepped back and gave him the closest thing to a glare Fenimore had seen on her face in all the time she'd known her. Not that it was much of one—more like a stern look than anything else—but it was the most bizarre thing Fenimore had witnessed in weeks. In Luceti.

She shook off her bewilderment as again Maurits attempted to retrieve his clothes and again Grune moved away. Understanding could wait. She needed to handle the situation in front of her. "Here, Grune, I'll look after them."

"All right." Abruptly back to her usual tranquil self, Grune deposited the clothes in her arms.

Before she could leave, however, Fenimore quickly asked, "Could you go next door and see if you can borrow, um, a couple of eggs? I think we're running short."

There were actually two full cartons in the fridge, but there was no way Grune was going to pick up on that.

"All right."

Grune headed out the door, still acting as if everything was normal and she hadn't just been acting radically out of character for no good reason.

The moment she was gone, Fenimore held out Maurits' clothes; he accepted them.

". . . She's never done anything like this before," she apologized as her cheeks warmed on Grune's behalf. Grune never got embarrassed about anything—it was up to Fenimore to do it for her. "I'm very sorry."

Maurits gave her a reassuring smile. "It's quite all right. There's certainly no need for you to apologize, or Grune, either. I'm sure she'll only was—distracted."

Fenimore . . . was less sure of that. If it weren't completely impossible, she'd actually go so far as to think Grune was—angry with Maurits. But she wasn't about to say as much to him. It would only be amazingly awkward.

"Probably, knowing her," was the response she settled on. She tried not to fidget. This wasn't really lying to one of the most important people in Ferines society, right?

Maurits smiled. "Now, can I ask you a favour?"

"Uh, sure. What is it?"

"Grune seemed to be headed outside. I have a hunch the remainder of my missing belongings may be there. Would you be willing to help me look?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute to finish up with Sophie and we'll both look. It'll be fun, right, Sophie?"

The little girl looked up at her seriously, then held up. . . . "Sock."

Maurits bent down and gravely accepted the dropped clothing. "Thank you, Sophie. That's an excellent start."

*

It didn't take all that long to find the rest of Maurits' missing belongings and, for the most part, they were perfectly fine, if a bit wet. There were still one or two missing pieces that Grune had probably put in particularly weird places, but she figured they'd turn up eventually.

Once that was done, she and Sophie did their daily check on Grune's snowdrops and crocuses (they were getting pretty big even though there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground), then she kept an eye out while Sophie toddled around the yard. After that, they walked over to Aerith's house so she could drop Sophie off for a couple of hours.

It wasn't that Sophie was a handful or anything—more like the opposite—but there was just so much involved in looking after a three year old. At least Shirley was back now to help look after her. . . . Still, though. It was nice to have a little peace.

Unfortunately for her, it turned out a little peace was all she was getting. She'd just sat down with her beads and had opened up her journal for company when she heard Grune's voice:

". . . help me take away Maurits' belongings? He can't stay here anymore—"

Oh no—she was still at that?

"—because he's a bad per—"

Maurits' voice cut in. "Grune, I believe you're misinformed about the situation. Allow me to—"

"Let go, Maurits!" Grune interrupted, sounding firmer than Fenimore had ever heard her. (It really was a day for firsts, wasn't it?)

She quickly rose and headed for the door of her room. She'd better go take care of this before it got out of—

Giant furious blond man in their living room.

"Holy glorious Nerifes!"

Dhaos didn't pay her a moment's attention, but flew across the room, headed right for the kitchen. Fenimore, after swallowing down her heart, scurried after him. Being much smaller than him, she . . . wasn't in time to intercept.

"Release Grune at once," she heard him demand in a voice that had her cringing—and she wasn't even the one he was angry with.

"Dhaos, he won't give me back my journal."

"Ah, Dhaos, there's no need to be alarmed—"

Finally, she sidled into the kitchen. . . .

"—I was merely attempting to prevent a misunderstanding."

"He's a bad person," Grune insisted stubbornly, ignoring Maurits.

"Um," Fenimore said.

Dhaos glared and held out his hand for Grune's journal. "So I can see."

"Um," Fenimore said more loudly.

Grune was looking at her now—that was a start, at least.

"Hello, Fenimore. Maurits won't give me back my journal," she informed her.

"Uh, Maurits, could you . . . ?" she asked him and he immediately returned it to Grune.

"Grune, Maurits isn't a bad person," she continued. "You probably just got a little mixed up."

She did her best to appear as calm and rational as possible, which was kind of hard, because Dhaos was now glaring at her. Who would have thought a quiet guy like him could get so angry?

Grune shook her head, again with that strange decisiveness. "I didn't get mixed up. Maurits is a bad person. He hurt you, Fenimore."

What in the name—

There was a soft thump from the other room. Someone shrieked.

Wait— "Shirley?"

Fenimore darted towards the kitchen door, then let out a shriek of her own. Now Cecil was in their living room, heading for the kitchen with a dark expression and—holy Nerifes, a sword in his hand.

"Everything is fine!" she said to him in an only slightly hysterical voice. She rushed back into the kitchen, grabbed the journal from Grune's hands, opened it, and repeated, "Everything is fine! Grune is fine! She doesn't need to be rescued!"

Please stop invading our house!

Cecil poked his head through the doorway. "Are you certain?"

"Oh, hello, Cecil," Grune greeted him calmly, as though he hadn't just turned up at their house ready to attack Maurits with a sword.

Cecil gave her a brief smile and—oh thank you, Nerifes—sheathed his sword. "Hello, Grune. I'm glad to see you're unharmed."

"As am I." The look that Dhaos gave Maurits said very clearly that there would be severe consequences if he were to find Grune in any other state.

"Well!" Fenimore said too brightly. "That's all looked after. Would the two of you mind spreading the word that Grune is fine, Maurits isn't a bad person—"

"But Fenimore, he is a—"

"—and that nobody needs any rescuing?" she kept going, doing her best to drown Grune out. Without waiting for their agreement, she added, "Thanks a lot."

"W-Would you like to come over to supper later this week?" Shirley offered, at last daring to step into the room. "As a . . . as a thank you for watching out for Grune for us."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Cecil assured her, entirely back to his usual friendly self.

Dhaos said nothing. That was normal, too. He still seemed pretty on edge, though; he hadn't taken his eyes off Maurits, not even to—okay, he actually hadn't answered Shirley's question. Right.

He was the first to leave, with clear reluctance. His attempt at a final piece of intimidation was spoiled, however, when Grune gave him a big hug, turned an adoring look up at him, and said, "Goodbye, Dhaos! I hope you can come visit again soon!"

"Mmph, Grune," was his response, and for the first time since this disaster had started, Fenimore found herself smiling.

Cecil departed not long after, having agreed to come to supper on Friday with his wife in exchange for hosting all of House 34 at a later date. Fenimore privately wished him luck at getting Walter to join in (and where was he, anyway?), but kept quiet.

That looked after, she went to find Grune. She had retreated with her journal to her room and seemed to be in the process of reassuring someone that she was in no need of help. Fenimore knocked on her doorframe, then entered.

"Listen . . . we need to talk."

Fenimore fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve as she waited for Grune to say her goodbyes and close the journal.

"Yes, Fenimore?" Grune asked once she was ready, and she turned a placid gaze on her.

". . . I . . . really do think you must've gotten mixed up or—or something," Fenimore told her. Her fingers kept worrying at her sleeve. "Maurits isn't a bad person—he's my village leader, trust me," she said quickly as Grune took in a breath. "And he hasn't hurt me. He's been good to me, Grune. He's a good leader. He—" Her lips pressed together, and, more quietly, she finished, "He's kept us together."

Grune stood up from her desk and, unexpectedly, hugged her. Fenimore stiffened.

"I'm not mixed up," she heard that calm, steady voice say into her ear. "Maurits is a bad person and he hurt you."

Fenimore pulled back, more roughly then she would have otherwise. "Well, what did he do, then?"

Grune's strange insistence was starting to really make her wonder—no, that was ridiculous. It was Maurits.

. . . But it was also Grune.

The other woman gave her a . . . sad look? "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" What was going on?

"I promised I wouldn't tell," was the unhesitating response.

Once again, she tensed. "Who did you promise?" There were only three people she could think of who would know anything about what Grune was implying. . . .

Grune shook her head. "I can't tell you," she repeated.

She could try tricking the name out of Grune, but she'd really rather not. She'd feel far less guilty going directly to each one of the three in turn—and she'd get a lot more accomplished.

"It's all right, Grune," she told her. "You go back to talking to your friend, all right?"

"All right," Grune agreed and returned to her desk. "Should I tell Pao-Lin you say hi?"

"Yeah . . . sure, I guess. Talk to you later."

"Goodbye!"

She left to the sound of Grune's cheerful voice, which fell strangely on her ears. It seemed . . . it just didn't seem right.

What was being kept from her? What did Grune think Maurits had done?

*

Grune spent quite a while in her room that afternoon, and into the evening as well. She still didn't have very many pictures of Shirley on her walls yet—it was something she needed to fix. She also hadn't sorted through her most recent photographs.

. . . And yesterday, she had forgotten to finish taking down all her pictures of Maurits. That was important, too.

It took quite some time to accomplish her goals—she kept getting distracted by tending to her flowers, talking to her friends on the journals, and simply daydreaming. Supper, too, was an interruption, and a lonely one at that: for some reason, she and Norma were the only ones to eat in the house that day.

She had just remembered to turn on the lamp (it had gotten almost too dark to see her page . . . when had that happened?) when someone tentatively—tiredly? —knocked at her door.

"Come in!" she called.

There was a pause. Then, slowly, the door opened and Fenimore walked in.

Grune set aside her pink crayon and studied Fenimore, her head tilted to one side. Her friend was holding herself stiffly and she looked a little smaller than usual, as though she were closed in on herself.

"Grune?" Her voice was low in pitch, heavy.

"Yes, Fenimore?" Was something the matter?

"The next time someone asks you to keep a secret from me? Don't." She rubbed at her eye. "Unless it's a birthday present or something."

"I won't."

She liked making that promise better. The one she had made to Shirley was uncomfortable, but for the sake of her friend, she was going to go on keeping it. After all, you weren't supposed to break your promises.

". . . Thanks, Grune." Fenimore turned away before she went on. "Maurits is moving out in the morning. I thought you'd want to know."

"I'm glad. He's—"

"—a bad person, I know." Fenimore's breath caught and her shoulders hunched. "I—I think you're right about that. I. . . ." She let out a breath. "I guess you are."

Grune rose from her seat and walked in front of Fenimore. Her friend kept her head bowed and was wiping at her eyes. Gently, Grune wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. Fenimore seemed very tense and she didn't hug her back, but she didn't leave, either.

"I love you, Fenimore," she told her.

Fenimore gave a brief, watery laugh. "Grune, you love everyone."

"Yes . . . but I love you very much. You're a very special friend."

It took a long time, but eventually, Fenimore rested her head on Grune's shoulder.

"Thanks. . . . I love you, too."