A/N: Going through my usual January file clean-up and I came across this. I think I had posted it to Tumblr, but it really belongs as a second chapter here. Lucien's POV, set during 2.10.

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"Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No, there's a lot you don't know."

But there's a lot I do.

I know that it has not always been easy for you, living in a house that is not yours, taking care of people who are not your family. I know that you enjoy the movies and music, and that you spend hours sewing clothes that you will never wear. That you are clever, very clever, and far more loyal than I deserve. I know that Robert was a fool and you were wasted as the manservant.

I know that you love your children much more than you like them, and I know how that feels.

I know that you sometimes cry yourself to sleep. But I don't know how to comfort you, or even if you want me to.

I know that you love to grow things. That I can always find you in the sunroom or the garden and that you cringe when I go near your plants.

I know that I can come to you whenever I need not just information, but clarity. You seem to know everything about everyone in Ballarat, but I know it is not simply gossip. You have lived your entire life here, and you have paid attention. And I know that you pay attention to me, sometimes much more closely than I would like.

I know that you think me distracted and inattentive and more than occasionally unappreciative, and I probably am, but I see all that you do around here. I see how you smirk or roll your eyes when I blow up the television or leave my autopsy tools in the sink or experiment using the roast you planned for dinner to try and solve a case. I saw you dancing in the sitting room when you thought no one was looking. I saw the way Richard looked at you that night, heard the way you laughed with him, and I wonder if I am not the only one who wakes up each morning feeling empty. But I don't know how to ask you.

I know that I want you to put on that green dress, that I want to take you to dinner and the theatre and hold you close while we dance and learn if your hair is as soft as it looks, but I will not give truth to the lies that are whispered about us. Because it matters to you.

I know that when you smile at me, really smile, that I forget how to breathe.

I don't know if there is a God, but I hope you pray for me. I don't know why you stay, but I hope you never leave.

And I don't know how to stop myself from falling in love with you.