Pairing: Phileas/Jules
Rating: PG
Category: Angst, POV
Summary: Phileas reflects with new eyes on events leading up to a momentous change in his life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, much less these fine characters. I refuse to make any money off them in any event, so please don't sue me.
Notes: Yes, it's slash, though of the very non-graphic sort. Blame it on recent list discussion, and the fact that I watched the pilot episode again last night. And on the way Phileas looks at Jules.
Spoilers: Only for the pilot.



Difficult Paths
by Nicole D'Annais
Copyright 2001



When we were children, Rebecca and I would often race through the wooded acres near the house. Each of us would choose a different path, and the first one to reach their final destination was the winner.

Rebecca invariably won. Not because she was faster, but because I seemed to have a knack for choosing the most difficult path available. I could study the forest, map out a path ahead of time, even intentionally foil a path she might take, but nothing mattered. Something always got in my way. It was as if Mother Nature herself were against me.

Or perhaps she was simply preparing me for my future.

I have never made my life easy. My line of work saw to that for many years, but even once I'd left that behind, there were always obstacles. Especially in my personal life.

Much as I was drawn to difficult paths in those childhood races, as I grew older, I was drawn to difficult relationships. Show me the impossible or unattainable, and you'd shown me my goal. It was only after a succession of spectacularly failed attempts at relationships that I looked around and decided Rebecca was the problem. She was my ideal woman--intelligent, strong, witty, independent, and, of course, completely unattainable. She could be an equal partner for me.

If only she weren't my cousin.

And that, as they say, was that. No more pressure to mate for life; I would simply grow old having adventures with her, and take whatever pleasures I desired from other women who were as uninterested as I in any sort of long-term commitment.

Then I stepped into the room of Jules Verne, and everything changed.

I was unusually rough with him, but then I'd never expected to have doubts about his guilt thirty seconds after I broke into his room. He was terrified, protesting his innocence loudly and with tears. Training and experience had taught me all too well how tears could be faked. The terror seemed real, but then Verne had no way of knowing if he would live to see the dawn. Even a criminal generally feels terror at that thought.

My instincts, however, were not so quick to judge. There was something about Verne, an innocence I suppose, that affected me almost immediately. I'd never been more relieved to find out someone was on our side.

Or felt more betrayed when I thought I'd been mistaken.

It wasn't just my pride, despite what Rebecca thought, though that was part of it. I relied on my instincts, and they'd gotten me through many close scrapes over the years. Not once had they let me down, at least not with people. (Those damnable paths are another story entirely.) I couldn't imagine my instincts had been so wrong about someone.

Nor could I imagine a duplicitous traitor could have affected me so strongly.

Not that I had analyzed it that deeply at the time. No, that particular revelation didn't come until later. When I climbed down into the mole and found Verne alive, if a bit shaken, I was certain the somersault my heart performed was simple relief. I managed to convince myself of that many times over in the following months--Verne certainly does have a knack for getting into trouble.

I wouldn't have needed Rebecca's prodding to keep Verne around, but it helped to have it. It lent a respectability to the decision, and to his presence in general. It also allowed me to go around with my head in the sand for some time, careening from one adventure to the next without a thought as to why my life suddenly seemed so complete.

And then Verne had to go and get himself 'drafted' into the League of Darkness. Suddenly, he was gone, and, I was convinced, in great danger. When my instincts proved to be correct, I felt not the slightest bit of pride. I only felt a gut-wrenching worry until we were all safely aboard the Aurora again. Even with the League of Darkness still out there intent upon wreaking havoc on the American Civil War, I was happy again. We were all on board.

Verne was on board.

I believe at least my subconscious was aware of what was going on in my addled brain at that point. Consciously, I began to wonder if I shouldn't attempt to find someone to settle down with. Fall in love, get married, have children, grow a garden, and do whatever else normal people do every day. Clearly it couldn't be Rebecca, but perhaps I would find someone who wasn't off limits. Someone who was a little more idealistic, but still strong--maybe a little like Verne, who sometimes drove me mad with his idealism, and yet made it seem like an attractive trait at the same time.

Shortly thereafter, we met Saratoga Brown. Strong and genteel, wholly uncomplicated (if you disregard the ownership of slaves who would be free when the North won anyway), and very available. Not to mention interested in me.

I suppose I shall always wonder how things might have turned out if she had lived. Would we have fallen far enough to get married? If we had, would our feelings have lasted? Might I have been spared the knowledge I now possess and been able to walk an easier path for once in my life?

Not bloody likely.

With each minute that passes, I become more certain that this was unavoidable, inevitable, preordained, and many other fatalistic words. My mind is still trying to accept what happened, though my body accepted it readily enough--eagerly, if the truth be told. As I sit here in the dark, listening to the soft, even breathing of the remarkable young man lying next to me, I wonder how I missed all the signs. Am I that blind? Or did I just not want to see? Was it that I didn't want to be faced with the knowledge brought forth in a package now bathed in nothing more than moonlight and skin and draped across much of my bed? I suppose that to be the case, because now I find myself with only two thoughts clear in my mind.

I'm in love with Jules Verne.

Dear God, what do I do now?

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End

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