( and gustave grants this to her, to hold maelle until it's enough. she's always been so strong, so coolheaded about anything pertaining death, and even at the time it had struck her the most, she had not shed a tear. not because there is anything inherently wrong with her, but because she got used to it—losing people.

he is devastated to think that, knowing her, this reaction comes from that singular moment that he, too, remembers so vividly; makes his heart clench uncomfortably.

yet it certainly is like maelle to gather herself, to put on a brave face. gustave, for his part, doesn't mind it: letting her have her autonomy. her small smile encourages him that it'll be alright. he does allow himself one selfish act, which is to thumb away the remnant of tears where she's been unable to brush away herself.

he smiles, that usual quiet, playful smile of his. )

Really? And here I thought I did half a decent job.

( letting his hand linger against her cheek, he pulls it back, but does keep a hold of her hand. )

Don't tell me they gave you one of these automobiles? I hope you didn't tell anyone I'm your guardian. I don't know that I'll be able to take in all that debt.

( of her having a car of her own, but also of all the potential "destruction" she's left in her wake, being what he implies.

—it's easy, normal banter, because even if they are used to so much death, one of the reasons they are is because they can move around it in conversation, never quite letting their hearts settle on the horrors. whatever — happened, gustave is sure it will come up soon enough. )