Work Text:
The floor creaked as Michaela steps barefoot out into the hall. She had woken up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep, a common occurrence of late. The shadows of the dark halls only illuminated by Michaela's chamberstick still seemed to hold echoes of John. His laugh, his voice, his silent and calm expression. It was hard to truly believe he was gone. He could just be in his study, scribbling away at some random parliament document. However, this was not the case. He was dead, and he wasn't coming back.
To distract herself from these thoughts, Michaela made her way to the drawing room of Kilmartin House. She was expecting a cold, empty room—not... whatever this was. Blankets strewn on the sofa, a novel tossed haphazardly on the side table, the hearth roaring and... Francesca? Curled up on a chair, staring blankly into the flames.
"Fran..?" Michaela voiced quietly, slowly walking up to her. "Francesca, are you alright..?"
Francesca did not respond other than a meek, "Good morning..."
Michaela set down her chamberstick and moved to stand beside the widow. "It is still the night," she placed a gentle hand on her arm. "What are you doing out here, why are you not in bed?"
Francesca still gave no response. She looked hollow, empty, a shell of herself. Michaela knew she was struggling and that she briefly drifted off from time to time, but she hadn't seen this.
She kneeled beside the chair, keeping her hand on Francesca. "Fran..? Can you hear me?" She gently cupped Fran's cheek with her palm, guiding her gaze to her. However, she seemed to be looking through Michaela, or looking at nothing specific, with glossy eyes. It started to scare the shorter woman, she had never seen Fran like this.
"...Where are you?" She asked quietly, trying to find Francesca in this husk of a person.
Francesca just gently turned her gaze back to the hearth. "Nowhere..." It almost tore Michaela apart to see her like this. This was not the kind, thoughtful, darling Francesca that she knew. She had left the room—left with John—leaving this cold, empty, grief stricken widow behind.
"Can you join me here..?" No response. "...Can I join you there?" Francesca's grip on the armrest tightened and Michaela covered it with her own. "At least to keep you company?" She just needed to talk, say anything that came to mind, anything that might tether Francesca to reality.
Michaela sighed. What to talk about? "I saw the novel you were reading. Emma, was it called? Isn't that the one your sister, Eloise I believe, recommended to you? You must tell me what you think of it once you've finished." Michaela looked back up at Fran. Still nothing. This would be harder than she thought.
"I hear the queen has had another exotic animal imported on the royal grounds. Tigers. Seems rather dangerous to me. I've visited the occasional animal sanctuary amongst my travels and tigers, well let's just say they're not exactly house cats," Michaela chuckled slightly. No sound came from Francesca, but her expression had turned from one of disturbance and emptiness, to a quiet calmness, if only just. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
"I must take you on my travels someday. That is if you'll let me. There are much more interesting places than the English isles, I assure you. Something tells me you would adore France, and not just because its relation to your name," Michaela's heart leaped when Francesca cracked an impossibly small smile.
"...Let's get you in bed, alright? No more sofa," Michaela stood up, coaxing her friend to do so as well before picking up her still lit chamberstick. "It is well past our bedtimes." They walked down the hall, Francesca tucked into Michaela's arm, as they made their way to Michaela's room. Francesca put up no protest. Partly because she wasn't quite aware of what was happening around her, and partly because she trusted Michaela.
The room was dark, apart the singular candle light. The warm glow licked at the walls like ocean waves at the shore. It was calm and comforting, much unlike the oppressive atmosphere of the drawing room. Michaela's presence also shouldn't go unnoticed for its calming effect.
"Just lay down and rest," Michaela said as she guided Francesca to the bed before climbing in on the other side. She couldn't help but turn to look at Francesca. She laid on her back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, hands folded over her ribs but fidgeting with her fingers. At least she's moving and doesn't look like a corpse like she did when Michaela found her. She looks nervous again, slightly disturbed. If only Michaela could look into her mind and calm whatever storm was raging in there.
"Francesca..." Michaela timidly started. "At least rest your eyes.. please. There are only a few hours left until daybreak. It is for your own good..." Francesca's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I know you can hear me... Francesca please, I'm worried about you," Michaela sat up, starting to get a bit annoyed. "Francesca, you cannot just stay silent, pretending you don't exist-"
"Oh, would you please stop it!" Francesca cut off, bringing her hands to cover her face. Michaela's heart leaped. She responded... but she was upset. "I know I can't keep doing this, I know there are things to be taken care of, I know I'm falling behind!"
"...Fran, that's not what I mean-"
She sat up abruptly. "Tell me how is one supposed to act once it feels like your world has stopped spinning?!" Her voice started to shake and tears pooled in her eyes. "And there are so many things to do, matters to settle, as if John didn't even matter!" She put her hands to the back of her neck and curled into herself, rocking back and forth. "They expect me to not even grieve, to just.. go on as if nothing ever happened!" Her breathing grew quick and short, bordering on hyperventilation. "No one taught me what to do. I don't know what to do, I don't know, I.. don't.. know-"
Michaela quickly took Francesca's cheeks into her hands, "Fran! Hey, look at me, look at me..."
"I- I don't know, I don't-"
"It's okay..." Michaela calmed her with a soft voice. "You don't have to know everything. Things are going to be okay." She pulled her into a tight hug. If Francesca hadn't already broke, she definitely did now, sobbing into Michaela's arms, holding onto her with an iron tight grip.
Michaela eased them to lay down, still keeping Fran in her grip, gently running her fingers through her hair. "You will be okay. Everything will be okay." Michaela had been told by a few of the other Bridgertons that Francesca had a habit of not addressing her large and/or uncomfortable emotions until they exploded out of her. Tonight was proof of that.
***
Michaela awoke to an empty bed, the sheets fixed on the opposite side of her. There was no trace of Francesca except for a small note left on the side table reading "Thank You" in neat handwriting. She must've woken up early, or didn't fall asleep at all and simply snuck out at some point.
Michaela sighed and rubbed her face as she found herself smiling at the note. What was wrong with her, Francesca did not need... whatever this feeling was. She needed comfort, reassurance, and community. Leave it to Michaela to complicate things. Always bringing in unwanted and unnecessary factors into an already stressful situation.
A maid knocked on the door, alerting Michaela out of her thoughts, at least for a short period.
"...The passenger ships, the ones that are leaving soon..." Michaela asked in the middle of getting dressed. "Where might they be headed?"
The maid seemed startled. "I... I should not know... Would you like me to gather the information for you?"
Michaela nodded, "Yes, thank you." She needed to get out, leave before she could complicate things further. Fran had other people to lean on, she could survive if Michaela wasn't there. She would be better off if Michaela wasn't there, at least that's what she told herself.
Francesca would be better off without her.