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[To respond, at this point, would only invite more turmoil.
He'll surely let Myr know that there is danger, as well as what Mello has threatened even if he chooses not to be quite as specific about it. It's one more problem spun into a tangled web that only gets more treacherous. Normally, L would be in his element, and has been, even when other former successors were involved... but that was years ago, while some pieces of him still remained unfaded and unshredded.
Best to come up with a plan, devoted to keeping them apart at all costs.]
He'll surely let Myr know that there is danger, as well as what Mello has threatened even if he chooses not to be quite as specific about it. It's one more problem spun into a tangled web that only gets more treacherous. Normally, L would be in his element, and has been, even when other former successors were involved... but that was years ago, while some pieces of him still remained unfaded and unshredded.
Best to come up with a plan, devoted to keeping them apart at all costs.]
[There it is: They've reached the bounds of this discussion, here and now. There are a multitude of reasons not to push it, not least among them L's battered state, yet there's a part of Myr still that aches to do it--that tendency in him to hunt a thought to its conclusion, push an argument to its end. That same tendency that brought them together, that means he's the one here for the morning-afters, to pick his Bonded up however L needed-- Oh, there are doubtless more pleasant ways Myr could be spending his morning, but it would not occur to wish for them now.]
You are welcome, [the faun says, a grave formality to his voice; one that does not hide the unstinting warmth in him, even so.] We're Bonded, after all; and I'm glad to.
[He would be glad to do worse and harder, if it could keep L from another such night.
He holds his arm out for L, inclining his head to the question.]
We should. And, I suspect, ask about healers on our way out. [All his understanding of things like brothels was book-knowledge, but surely the serials had gotten it right that the proprietors of such places would have healers with a sense of discretion among their contacts.]
You are welcome, [the faun says, a grave formality to his voice; one that does not hide the unstinting warmth in him, even so.] We're Bonded, after all; and I'm glad to.
[He would be glad to do worse and harder, if it could keep L from another such night.
He holds his arm out for L, inclining his head to the question.]
We should. And, I suspect, ask about healers on our way out. [All his understanding of things like brothels was book-knowledge, but surely the serials had gotten it right that the proprietors of such places would have healers with a sense of discretion among their contacts.]
[L's grip is anemic, his stance unsteady. It's difficult not to simply collapse into the stable presence that Myr represents, and even more difficult to think of what might be a taxing journey on foot. Hopefully, the healer is close; hopefully the road is smooth and the promise of feeling better will prove adequate anesthetic to soothe each sore step.
Downstairs, they're able to get a recommendation with little more than a shrug from the madam. Idiots hurt themselves all the time, after all, doing things that aren't meant to be dangerous, and she seems almost bored as she hands over the jotted-down address.
It's several blocks away. L reads it out to Myr, a flatness in his tone indicating that he's unhappy with the distance.]
The sooner we go... the sooner we'll get there, and then I'm sure we'll actually be able to enjoy breakfast...
Downstairs, they're able to get a recommendation with little more than a shrug from the madam. Idiots hurt themselves all the time, after all, doing things that aren't meant to be dangerous, and she seems almost bored as she hands over the jotted-down address.
It's several blocks away. L reads it out to Myr, a flatness in his tone indicating that he's unhappy with the distance.]
The sooner we go... the sooner we'll get there, and then I'm sure we'll actually be able to enjoy breakfast...
[Steps on the stairs, and steps to find the madam, and more trudging, weary steps yet beyond that to find the healer, and then beyond to home--
Something in Myr snaps under the weight of L's suffering, under the insults his Bonded's endured through the last night and this awful morning, under that grim unhappiness with the distance yet before them. He listens to the address, setting a seal on it in his memory, then makes his decision.]
Here, [he says, handing over their breakfast.] Hold this. And-- [He slings his staff by its carry-strap across his back, arranging it with a few impatient, practiced flicks of his hands.] --forgive me, amatus.
[Because he isn't about to ask permission, though there is a warning that ripples through their Bond before he stoops to gather L bodily into his arms. Bird-boned as the detective is, it won't be any trouble at all to carry him like this--even for several blocks.]
You'll need to be my eyes for this, [he adds, almost as an afterthought. He hadn't come here himself, isn't familiar enough with the streets to walk without any kind of guidance.
But they'd manage. They are Bonded, after all.]
Something in Myr snaps under the weight of L's suffering, under the insults his Bonded's endured through the last night and this awful morning, under that grim unhappiness with the distance yet before them. He listens to the address, setting a seal on it in his memory, then makes his decision.]
Here, [he says, handing over their breakfast.] Hold this. And-- [He slings his staff by its carry-strap across his back, arranging it with a few impatient, practiced flicks of his hands.] --forgive me, amatus.
[Because he isn't about to ask permission, though there is a warning that ripples through their Bond before he stoops to gather L bodily into his arms. Bird-boned as the detective is, it won't be any trouble at all to carry him like this--even for several blocks.]
You'll need to be my eyes for this, [he adds, almost as an afterthought. He hadn't come here himself, isn't familiar enough with the streets to walk without any kind of guidance.
But they'd manage. They are Bonded, after all.]
[L fingers close around the meals that Myr pushes toward him, then tighten as the faun apologizes in advance. He realizes what for a few seconds before Myr lifts him with startling ease, and it's disquieting due to the reminder of a monster's inherent strength, and perhaps, also, the sobering reality that his habits have pared a slight build into something actually frail.]
No, ah...! Myr, it's actually...
[It's OK, I can walk, I want to be in control... except that he's not, and Myr's steadiness is a stark contrast to his own wavering, shuffling steps. Though he'd seized initially like a crushed spider when his Bonded had scooped him up, he goes softer and slacker in Myr's arms, accepting of the arrangement. Bruised pride is scarcely his sorest site.]
...of course. We need to take a right in roughly twenty meters, and the way is clear.
[Relatively, anyway. They're a spectacle enough that others are giving them a somewhat wide berth.]
No, ah...! Myr, it's actually...
[It's OK, I can walk, I want to be in control... except that he's not, and Myr's steadiness is a stark contrast to his own wavering, shuffling steps. Though he'd seized initially like a crushed spider when his Bonded had scooped him up, he goes softer and slacker in Myr's arms, accepting of the arrangement. Bruised pride is scarcely his sorest site.]
...of course. We need to take a right in roughly twenty meters, and the way is clear.
[Relatively, anyway. They're a spectacle enough that others are giving them a somewhat wide berth.]
Linden, [Myr starts in without preamble--as if they'd last spoken yesterday and not two weeks ago, in a dream,] are you free?
[His tone's carefully neutral, and wherever he is, he's far enough away to keep the Bond being too explicit on his current emotions. (After two weeks of nightmare-haunted bleakness, that might be a blessing.)
What does creep through hints at a certain loneliness, and concern. Ever and always with Myr, concern.]
[His tone's carefully neutral, and wherever he is, he's far enough away to keep the Bond being too explicit on his current emotions. (After two weeks of nightmare-haunted bleakness, that might be a blessing.)
What does creep through hints at a certain loneliness, and concern. Ever and always with Myr, concern.]
[L is in fact free, or something like it. Mondays typically find him well-rested enough, which is fortunate, since he works. And Myr would know that, along with his typical schedule and the shop's hours. Now that Runetchers is closed for the day, L's left to wander, loiter, look for a purpose that usually leads him to the library or the Coven for private study. No matter how sleep-deprived, hungry or lonely he is, he can always cram more into a brain that remains his most impressive asset.
He still regards the watch in his hands like it's a live grenade when he hears his Bonded's voice, perhaps even considers treating it as such and lobbing it away. In the end, he masters the impulse, swallowing and clearing his throat before answering in his own carefully modulated neutral tone. What he feels through the dulled veil of their Bond is too familiar not to reach back towards.]
Yes...
[Whatever "free" means; the word carries strange and sinister connotations for one who still feels he was only ever in his element in a padded room locked behind a key code, managed by a handler when he did need to leave.]
Is there a reason you're asking?
[Because there must be. Obligatory concern, or perhaps two weeks taken to decide that an annulment would spare both of them grief in the long run. L braces and prepares for the second outcome, realizing that it will leave him wholly Bondless if (when) it occurs. He'll figure out what to do from there, of course, manage in his way, even look on the bright side of it all. No one else needs to be tied to the anchor pulling him down, and it ties up so many loose ends. There's a twisting sting to it, but it can put a placid smile on his face even if Friday isn't nearly close enough. That can sweeten his tone, and Myr will believe him when he says that he understands and wishes his dear friend well.]
It's OK. I think I know. Did... you want to meet at the Coven?
[Best to do it before fear or regret, or even reality, set in. He can salvage some grace and leave Myr with that impression, at least.]
He still regards the watch in his hands like it's a live grenade when he hears his Bonded's voice, perhaps even considers treating it as such and lobbing it away. In the end, he masters the impulse, swallowing and clearing his throat before answering in his own carefully modulated neutral tone. What he feels through the dulled veil of their Bond is too familiar not to reach back towards.]
Yes...
[Whatever "free" means; the word carries strange and sinister connotations for one who still feels he was only ever in his element in a padded room locked behind a key code, managed by a handler when he did need to leave.]
Is there a reason you're asking?
[Because there must be. Obligatory concern, or perhaps two weeks taken to decide that an annulment would spare both of them grief in the long run. L braces and prepares for the second outcome, realizing that it will leave him wholly Bondless if (when) it occurs. He'll figure out what to do from there, of course, manage in his way, even look on the bright side of it all. No one else needs to be tied to the anchor pulling him down, and it ties up so many loose ends. There's a twisting sting to it, but it can put a placid smile on his face even if Friday isn't nearly close enough. That can sweeten his tone, and Myr will believe him when he says that he understands and wishes his dear friend well.]
It's OK. I think I know. Did... you want to meet at the Coven?
[Best to do it before fear or regret, or even reality, set in. He can salvage some grace and leave Myr with that impression, at least.]
Edited 2020-05-05 05:00 (UTC)
["Is there a reason you're asking?" L inquires, and oh, it is hard not to simply say "Because I miss you," in return.
Even if that is the Maker's own truth of the matter, it would not do to blurt it out and place the obligation for Myr's own heart-hunger on the Bonded he had sent away. Sent away for a good and needful reason--something he had to remind himself of, those times he'd surfaced frantic and gasping from nightmares to find his bed empty when he needed that the least--but nevertheless sent away. To pretend it could be reversed on the grounds of simple sentiment was to obliterate that reason, and the necessary lesson behind it, and make all the suffering they'd both done an empty grotesque exercise in masochism.
He can't say that. He can't simply say, "Because I'm worried for you," either, because to do that would invite discussion of what he'd been a silent witness to the previous Friday. It is not a discussion he thinks he could have in a level voice, with kind intent, and so instead:]
Because we need to talk.
[They are two weeks out of touch with each other, two weeks unsynchronized, and so it doesn't occur to him what L thinks he knows or why the Coven's offered for it. It sounds simply a choice of convenience--]
The Coven's--the Coven's fine, if you're there. [A pause, as he considers carefully; what he'd say is not for other ears, whether they're incidental or deliberate in overhearing.] If you can get us a private room, away from your eavesdropper.
Even if that is the Maker's own truth of the matter, it would not do to blurt it out and place the obligation for Myr's own heart-hunger on the Bonded he had sent away. Sent away for a good and needful reason--something he had to remind himself of, those times he'd surfaced frantic and gasping from nightmares to find his bed empty when he needed that the least--but nevertheless sent away. To pretend it could be reversed on the grounds of simple sentiment was to obliterate that reason, and the necessary lesson behind it, and make all the suffering they'd both done an empty grotesque exercise in masochism.
He can't say that. He can't simply say, "Because I'm worried for you," either, because to do that would invite discussion of what he'd been a silent witness to the previous Friday. It is not a discussion he thinks he could have in a level voice, with kind intent, and so instead:]
Because we need to talk.
[They are two weeks out of touch with each other, two weeks unsynchronized, and so it doesn't occur to him what L thinks he knows or why the Coven's offered for it. It sounds simply a choice of convenience--]
The Coven's--the Coven's fine, if you're there. [A pause, as he considers carefully; what he'd say is not for other ears, whether they're incidental or deliberate in overhearing.] If you can get us a private room, away from your eavesdropper.
[The answer, at least at first, is silence. Why not just meet at the Circle? It would be the more efficient option, and considering what L is delaying and repressing with no small amount of effort, it would be the kinder way. But... no, of course, Myr wants to talk first. He can believe that he's letting his Bonded (not a word L can use much longer, best to break the habit sooner rather than later) down gently. And after everything, can't L hold it together long enough to humor it? They can sit in privacy and peace, Myr can lay down his most compassionate argument for benevolent euthanasia, and they can shake on it before going together to the Circle.
Just a dance, for time's sake, that they will engage in together as a formality. L can follow the steps without stumbling, even if his vision blurs and his head spins through the dizzy motions that feel so inherently wrong.]
Of course; it rather goes without saying, doesn't it?
[His fingers snag on the tangled knots in his dark hair. He's unwell and ungroomed, and looks it, but as usual, Myr is guaranteed not to notice what he looks like.]
I'll leave a note at the desk that you can inquire after once you arrive. They'll know to look out for you, and direct you to the room.
[A good plan, concrete, something that's easy to follow through on for both of them. Distantly, it occurs to L that he should be grateful that Myr wants to give him this much, rather than simply ceasing to speak to him for longer and drawing out the process. Is it appropriate to offer thanks? He'll think on it as he goes through the first steps alone, sets it all up, waits with the bag containing his worldly possessions tucked beneath his chair.]
Just a dance, for time's sake, that they will engage in together as a formality. L can follow the steps without stumbling, even if his vision blurs and his head spins through the dizzy motions that feel so inherently wrong.]
Of course; it rather goes without saying, doesn't it?
[His fingers snag on the tangled knots in his dark hair. He's unwell and ungroomed, and looks it, but as usual, Myr is guaranteed not to notice what he looks like.]
I'll leave a note at the desk that you can inquire after once you arrive. They'll know to look out for you, and direct you to the room.
[A good plan, concrete, something that's easy to follow through on for both of them. Distantly, it occurs to L that he should be grateful that Myr wants to give him this much, rather than simply ceasing to speak to him for longer and drawing out the process. Is it appropriate to offer thanks? He'll think on it as he goes through the first steps alone, sets it all up, waits with the bag containing his worldly possessions tucked beneath his chair.]
[There'd been a part of Myr that expected L not to answer, or to answer but turn him away. He knows well enough the heart his Bonded so zealously guards to know the tactics used in its defense, the clever evasions or offenses given that let L avoid what he could not confront. An outside chance, true, but one Myr could not entirely discount--not until L affirms he'd find a room, and the Faun lets out the breath he'd been holding against disappointment.]
I'll be there shortly.
[And he is as he says, prompt but not unseemly in his haste, a model of composure as he stops in the doorway to thank his Coven guide for leading him to the room. He steps across the threshold then with a click of hooves and staff, letting the door fall shut behind him with a solid thump that promises an undisturbed, unobserved conversation. But where to begin that... Ah, that's the difficult part, isn't it?
For Myr's outward seeming of poise is only half-realized in the Bond, mingled with and overlaid on that loneliness that's only more sharp for proximity. With it is a kind of frustrated want, a platonic desire held in check by main force alone; and feathering out from those, wavering exhaustion and the shocky ragged edges of trauma's ongoing low-grade nightmare.
It has been two weeks since they last spoke, but Myr has spent at least one of those weeks abed and hiding from the world, and the other only half-connected to it. For that, and for reasons he hasn't learned the words to frame nor concepts to describe, it may as well have only been two days where the Faun's concerned. Resumption from that point seems only natural, if it's the halting shambling sort of natural of a broken leg.]
Maker grant we never have another dream like that one, [he says, suddenly and fervently as prayer, before picking his careful way to where L is sitting.] How are you?
[I should have asked far sooner, I know.]
I'll be there shortly.
[And he is as he says, prompt but not unseemly in his haste, a model of composure as he stops in the doorway to thank his Coven guide for leading him to the room. He steps across the threshold then with a click of hooves and staff, letting the door fall shut behind him with a solid thump that promises an undisturbed, unobserved conversation. But where to begin that... Ah, that's the difficult part, isn't it?
For Myr's outward seeming of poise is only half-realized in the Bond, mingled with and overlaid on that loneliness that's only more sharp for proximity. With it is a kind of frustrated want, a platonic desire held in check by main force alone; and feathering out from those, wavering exhaustion and the shocky ragged edges of trauma's ongoing low-grade nightmare.
It has been two weeks since they last spoke, but Myr has spent at least one of those weeks abed and hiding from the world, and the other only half-connected to it. For that, and for reasons he hasn't learned the words to frame nor concepts to describe, it may as well have only been two days where the Faun's concerned. Resumption from that point seems only natural, if it's the halting shambling sort of natural of a broken leg.]
Maker grant we never have another dream like that one, [he says, suddenly and fervently as prayer, before picking his careful way to where L is sitting.] How are you?
[I should have asked far sooner, I know.]
[The room is just large enough to accommodate a small group's study efforts, or else a lone witch with room to gesture and project while practicing spells. It's a quiet room in more ways than one, enchanted to dampen sound from the outside and to improve focus while inside. The walls seem to swallow the sound of L's soft breathing until he thinks he can hear his heartbeat, the blood in his veins, the ringing in one ear. It absorbs him wholly, to the point where his mind comes down a bit from the giddy panic and shuts off briefly for a few moments of respite. He could almost fall asleep like this and manage it sober... but Myr arrives, and brings with him a new wave of adrenaline. L sits up a bit straighter, consciously slowing his breathing so it might bring down his rushing pulse.
He just has to get through it, hold it together, ignore the way he wants to feel the comfort and presence of Myr's arms. In fact, he has to dismiss it as a possibility ever again. This exchange will be outwardly cordial, because above all, Myr must believe that his kindness can help this selfish, difficult, monstrous man one last time. Therefore, his prayer, private but just as fervent, is please don't reach for me and tempt me to reach back.]
Fine.
[A tranquil response, one meant to sound like it's true. Standing alone, it'll wear out quickly, so he's quick to add some news that Myr will almost certainly receive positively.]
It's been an adjustment of course, with Mello's disappearance, but... fine, overall.
[As though not much has changed, apart from the weather, and not much is going to change. Fine is what he is; fine is what he will be, at least as far as Myr needs to concern himself. That can be L's parting gift to his Bonded, at least: freedom from this millstone.
The last time he saw Myr wasn't quite the same as the last time he conversed with him. That moment of trauma and terror and such profound loss in the mage's memory is one L isn't sure how to broach, or if they will even come to it. Perhaps this interaction can sit on the surface for as long as it lasts, and spare them both from the teeth below.]
He just has to get through it, hold it together, ignore the way he wants to feel the comfort and presence of Myr's arms. In fact, he has to dismiss it as a possibility ever again. This exchange will be outwardly cordial, because above all, Myr must believe that his kindness can help this selfish, difficult, monstrous man one last time. Therefore, his prayer, private but just as fervent, is please don't reach for me and tempt me to reach back.]
Fine.
[A tranquil response, one meant to sound like it's true. Standing alone, it'll wear out quickly, so he's quick to add some news that Myr will almost certainly receive positively.]
It's been an adjustment of course, with Mello's disappearance, but... fine, overall.
[As though not much has changed, apart from the weather, and not much is going to change. Fine is what he is; fine is what he will be, at least as far as Myr needs to concern himself. That can be L's parting gift to his Bonded, at least: freedom from this millstone.
The last time he saw Myr wasn't quite the same as the last time he conversed with him. That moment of trauma and terror and such profound loss in the mage's memory is one L isn't sure how to broach, or if they will even come to it. Perhaps this interaction can sit on the surface for as long as it lasts, and spare them both from the teeth below.]
Edited 2020-05-05 19:53 (UTC)
"Fine," [Myr echoes, clearly dubious; they had not been fine last they spoke. (They had definitely not been fine last they'd seen each other, though his realization that L had seen the events of--that day--is dim and half-suppressed, dreamlike in a way a mage never really experienced dreams. He's the better part of the way to believing seeing others in that memory was all a product of stress and madness; had they really been there, they'd have abandoned him by now, shunned and scorned him. They couldn't have been there.
Sanity and any grasp he has on something resembling confidence in himself requires they not have been there.
But L does not give him long to reflect on that, nor long to try and read out the conflicting information flowing through their Bond, because--Maker scorn him for his uncharity, he does take the news of Mello's disappearance with an evident and undisguised relief.]
He's vanished?
[Maker be praised, he doesn't say; because that does explain the particular ferocity of the ache rooted in his own breast, and whether or not it simplified matters--in some ways--he does not wish that pain on L. But nor had he wished the crushing weight of Mello's malignant adulation on his Bonded, and knowing it's gone...]
I'm, [a breath, as he considers his words,] I am sorry. That we weren't able to do better by him.
[But I can't say I'm disappointed.
He's standing--not quite close enough to reach out and touch L, did he know the right direction to do it, but almost. There's the urge to sit himself at his Witch's feet, offer a hand to hold, and lose himself to this side conversation while drawing comfort from the touch; it is one he considers at longing length before setting it aside and leaning instead on his staff.]
I understand a little more, I think, of what you felt you owed him. After seeing what we did, in that dream.
[Which draws them neatly back around from any diversions to what he'd come to talk about, didn't it.]
Sanity and any grasp he has on something resembling confidence in himself requires they not have been there.
But L does not give him long to reflect on that, nor long to try and read out the conflicting information flowing through their Bond, because--Maker scorn him for his uncharity, he does take the news of Mello's disappearance with an evident and undisguised relief.]
He's vanished?
[Maker be praised, he doesn't say; because that does explain the particular ferocity of the ache rooted in his own breast, and whether or not it simplified matters--in some ways--he does not wish that pain on L. But nor had he wished the crushing weight of Mello's malignant adulation on his Bonded, and knowing it's gone...]
I'm, [a breath, as he considers his words,] I am sorry. That we weren't able to do better by him.
[But I can't say I'm disappointed.
He's standing--not quite close enough to reach out and touch L, did he know the right direction to do it, but almost. There's the urge to sit himself at his Witch's feet, offer a hand to hold, and lose himself to this side conversation while drawing comfort from the touch; it is one he considers at longing length before setting it aside and leaning instead on his staff.]
I understand a little more, I think, of what you felt you owed him. After seeing what we did, in that dream.
[Which draws them neatly back around from any diversions to what he'd come to talk about, didn't it.]
[L tenses at Myr's approach, putting extra precious millimeters between them even if no sense available to the faun could possibly discern as much. He feels the draw toward contact just as much as his Bonded does, the notion that it would fix so much to just cling a bit... but now isn't the time to be weak. That can come later... or maybe sooner, if Friday takes its sweet time getting here.
He nods, confirming with a low hum the way Mello left and implicitly what that means. Barring a return, which are not unheard of but relatively rare, it means no more worrying about his fierce possessive streak and the damage he's willing to wreak in its name.]
It is what it is. Wherever he is [dead, he will be dead by twenty] I hope he's found peace.
[Would that they could all be so lucky, in time. L feels that often these days, and there's a hollow drag in his chest when Myr brings up, explicitly, their last conversation and what had transpired in front of both of them. L's eyes tense slightly around the edges at the way the segue is executed; of course it would come up. How long will they stay here before the Circle just takes the pain away and replaces it with something more familiar?]
Is... that so. I'm glad you understand...
[Mello is brutal. L came first, taught him what he knew through example; simple enough reasoning.]
I'm glad for so much. And grateful.
[Everyone wants to let go of a burden in the end, and some things should probably not go unsaid.]
If... you want to say anything else about it, I'll listen. I'll try to understand.
[Or they could go to the Circle, and just end it. That, L would understand without having to try.]
He nods, confirming with a low hum the way Mello left and implicitly what that means. Barring a return, which are not unheard of but relatively rare, it means no more worrying about his fierce possessive streak and the damage he's willing to wreak in its name.]
It is what it is. Wherever he is [dead, he will be dead by twenty] I hope he's found peace.
[Would that they could all be so lucky, in time. L feels that often these days, and there's a hollow drag in his chest when Myr brings up, explicitly, their last conversation and what had transpired in front of both of them. L's eyes tense slightly around the edges at the way the segue is executed; of course it would come up. How long will they stay here before the Circle just takes the pain away and replaces it with something more familiar?]
Is... that so. I'm glad you understand...
[Mello is brutal. L came first, taught him what he knew through example; simple enough reasoning.]
I'm glad for so much. And grateful.
[Everyone wants to let go of a burden in the end, and some things should probably not go unsaid.]
If... you want to say anything else about it, I'll listen. I'll try to understand.
[Or they could go to the Circle, and just end it. That, L would understand without having to try.]
[Something's wrong here. Something's off.
Myr cannot see how L leans away from him but he can feel how there is something disjoint in their usual easy wordless communication, that undergirding of implication and inference that used to flow between them. Now there's something missing from it and it is obvious in how he cannot understand the turn this has taken. Was L's gratitude an offer meant to placate him? Did his Bonded think him angry, or ready to send him away for weeks again?
There has always been an element of friction in their Bond--in their friendship preceding it--because they took a creative delight in their differences, in pulling apart opposite sides of an issue. They disagreed, but constructively, and when it mattered most they could work as two parts of the same whole. There was a trust, an ease there that's suddenly not, and Myr feels its absence suddenly and acutely like the ground's dropped from under him.
Though it should not be so much of a surprise, because he'd done this himself, hadn't he? He'd put a space between them because he needed it (they both needed it) after reliving that memory. That he has not made the use of it he'd intended before finding it necessary to return to his Witch's side... That he may shatter what they've built here and now, where it's weakest, because of that lack of preparation...]
Linden, I--
[He starts, stops, searching for the words he needs with aching slowness. (Breathe, mage, breathe. Control yourself. Maker grant me wisdom, clarity.)]
We're not on the same page here, I think. [And it galls him a little to admit, because he feels he's failed his more-brilliant Bonded in not keeping up.]
What did you think I wanted to talk to you about?
Myr cannot see how L leans away from him but he can feel how there is something disjoint in their usual easy wordless communication, that undergirding of implication and inference that used to flow between them. Now there's something missing from it and it is obvious in how he cannot understand the turn this has taken. Was L's gratitude an offer meant to placate him? Did his Bonded think him angry, or ready to send him away for weeks again?
There has always been an element of friction in their Bond--in their friendship preceding it--because they took a creative delight in their differences, in pulling apart opposite sides of an issue. They disagreed, but constructively, and when it mattered most they could work as two parts of the same whole. There was a trust, an ease there that's suddenly not, and Myr feels its absence suddenly and acutely like the ground's dropped from under him.
Though it should not be so much of a surprise, because he'd done this himself, hadn't he? He'd put a space between them because he needed it (they both needed it) after reliving that memory. That he has not made the use of it he'd intended before finding it necessary to return to his Witch's side... That he may shatter what they've built here and now, where it's weakest, because of that lack of preparation...]
Linden, I--
[He starts, stops, searching for the words he needs with aching slowness. (Breathe, mage, breathe. Control yourself. Maker grant me wisdom, clarity.)]
We're not on the same page here, I think. [And it galls him a little to admit, because he feels he's failed his more-brilliant Bonded in not keeping up.]
What did you think I wanted to talk to you about?
[The one thing they feel in perfect tandem is the disconnect. Its absence used to be what made Myr stand out vividly, from the rest of the incomprehensible grey mass. Now, it's difficult to remember what's normal, in no small part because L has already begun to construct a new normal with new rules and new secrets. He might have no technical home, but that doesn't mean he still doesn't need a place to lie down when all the dust has settled.
He won't crack, not when he's been so careful and his resolve is so firm. For both their sakes.]
Myr.
[The faun will be conflicted, of course. Perhaps it's a testament to just how good L is at manipulating people, even when he's not actively trying to. All the better to cap the poison.]
I appreciate that you came to talk to me.
[But he's too clever for it to put him at ease, rock him into a false sense of security. He'd be insulted, if he didn't believe with such certainty that Myr's intentions were so pure.]
That being said... I'm prepared to go to the Circle with you at any time. I won't make it more difficult than it needs to be, and I'll be alright.
[He's not sure that he will be, but there's such a sense of weightlessness that accompanies it. Selfless, almost graceful, and soon, Myr will step into the light again and wonder why a brief eclipse interrupted it.]
He won't crack, not when he's been so careful and his resolve is so firm. For both their sakes.]
Myr.
[The faun will be conflicted, of course. Perhaps it's a testament to just how good L is at manipulating people, even when he's not actively trying to. All the better to cap the poison.]
I appreciate that you came to talk to me.
[But he's too clever for it to put him at ease, rock him into a false sense of security. He'd be insulted, if he didn't believe with such certainty that Myr's intentions were so pure.]
That being said... I'm prepared to go to the Circle with you at any time. I won't make it more difficult than it needs to be, and I'll be alright.
[He's not sure that he will be, but there's such a sense of weightlessness that accompanies it. Selfless, almost graceful, and soon, Myr will step into the light again and wonder why a brief eclipse interrupted it.]
[The Circle still has such a different connotation to Myr that it takes him a moment to catch on to what L's saying he's prepared to do. Then the fur on the Faun's neck and shoulders bristles, his tail half-flagging with alarm.]
Sweet Andraste singing, Linden! I'm not here to annul our Bond.
[If he didn't understand exactly how keenly his Bonded felt the call of the Void he'd be insulted by the implication he took his vows so lightly. As it is it still hurts, the way it had when Rich accused him of wanting to take his fists to the dragon next. (Perhaps, in this case, because he isn't so perfect he hadn't briefly entertained the disloyal idea--and promptly been disgusted at himself.)
He gives a sharp shake of his head to dislodge the thought and takes another cautious step toward his Witch. This puts them in touching distance, now; here he could just reach out and lay a hand on L and take the comfort from that he sorely wants. That they both (surely) sorely need.]
I vowed to walk this path with you to its end, [and so long as you would have me, a traitor voice reminds him, and maybe it's not that L truly expects Myr to want this as he's decided himself that their association's run its course and they were better quit of it.
Well, fuck that! a small and defiant part of Myr says; and the rest of him stills at the thought because wasn't that exactly the level of selfish, grasping possession Mello regarded his mentor with?
No. No, don't entertain that doubt. Myr had never asked for L to fit any mold to deserve his loyalty and affection. Not that way.
But he'd also never meant their Bond as a trap or suicide pact, either. And if L thought it so...]
That hasn't changed. Whatever else might between us, amatus, that hasn't changed. Nor do I, [breath,] love you any less.
Sweet Andraste singing, Linden! I'm not here to annul our Bond.
[If he didn't understand exactly how keenly his Bonded felt the call of the Void he'd be insulted by the implication he took his vows so lightly. As it is it still hurts, the way it had when Rich accused him of wanting to take his fists to the dragon next. (Perhaps, in this case, because he isn't so perfect he hadn't briefly entertained the disloyal idea--and promptly been disgusted at himself.)
He gives a sharp shake of his head to dislodge the thought and takes another cautious step toward his Witch. This puts them in touching distance, now; here he could just reach out and lay a hand on L and take the comfort from that he sorely wants. That they both (surely) sorely need.]
I vowed to walk this path with you to its end, [and so long as you would have me, a traitor voice reminds him, and maybe it's not that L truly expects Myr to want this as he's decided himself that their association's run its course and they were better quit of it.
Well, fuck that! a small and defiant part of Myr says; and the rest of him stills at the thought because wasn't that exactly the level of selfish, grasping possession Mello regarded his mentor with?
No. No, don't entertain that doubt. Myr had never asked for L to fit any mold to deserve his loyalty and affection. Not that way.
But he'd also never meant their Bond as a trap or suicide pact, either. And if L thought it so...]
That hasn't changed. Whatever else might between us, amatus, that hasn't changed. Nor do I, [breath,] love you any less.
[The cultivated focus of the quiet room makes every syllable stand out more, and all the tonal variations and nuances are more crisp and vivid. It should be easier to hear the truth under such conditions, so why is L reacting so extremely, standing in haste to put his chair between them when Myr takes a cautious step closer? Everything Myr can feel through their Bond is shrouded in dim panic, sliced through periodically with sharp spikes of the same weightlessness that is nevertheless not the same. This isn't the soles of his feet peeling away from the ground; this is the ground suddenly dropping away, resulting in a state of heart-stopping free fall.
It's jarring, how his perception of any situation could be so wrong. It makes him regard Myr with distrust bordering on fear, swiftly trampling that border as his state escalates, taking with it his heartbeat and his breath.]
You don't have to talk like this.
[And he especially doesn't have to make it sound like it could be real when L's compass for such matters is already spinning.]
You've given this an admirable effort. It's more than most people would have, and you did it for far longer...
[Moderating his tone is proving difficult, so his words hasten, rattling off his tongue to get them out.]
...it's not your failure, Myr.
[Sometimes, something beloved or cherished turns rabid. There's only one thing to be done in such cases, preferably before awareness is wholly lost to madness.]
Can't you let me love you back, this way?
It's jarring, how his perception of any situation could be so wrong. It makes him regard Myr with distrust bordering on fear, swiftly trampling that border as his state escalates, taking with it his heartbeat and his breath.]
You don't have to talk like this.
[And he especially doesn't have to make it sound like it could be real when L's compass for such matters is already spinning.]
You've given this an admirable effort. It's more than most people would have, and you did it for far longer...
[Moderating his tone is proving difficult, so his words hasten, rattling off his tongue to get them out.]
...it's not your failure, Myr.
[Sometimes, something beloved or cherished turns rabid. There's only one thing to be done in such cases, preferably before awareness is wholly lost to madness.]
Can't you let me love you back, this way?
Edited 2020-05-06 18:52 (UTC)
[Truth--however difficult, however painful--has ever been Myr's policy for their Bond. Even with himself, for all he is inclined to turning his inward gaze from whatever he should not feel, could not contemplate--because whether he would share it or no, L would ferret it out of him. Easier, then, and more honest (and more freeing) to say what it was he felt and thought from the start. Even if old habits still made him hedge it 'round with charity and gentleness, he has given L the truth--
But what is he to do when the truth is insufficient, when speaking it has driven his Bonded to panic and disbelief? He draws his head back, ears lowering, clearly and utterly stymied at L's insistence. Does he want this? Does he earnestly believe I want this? There is no feeling out the delicate threads of underlying motivation and reasoning when fear chokes their Bond to strangling. He can only lean on the patterns he has learned through half a year of sharing a heart with the detective; he can only remind himself that left unguided, all L's paths spiral in toward the Void.
It frightens him to be face-to-face with that once more; it is a fright that beats double-time with the pulse of L's own, demanding action: Confront it or run.
Myr takes a slow breath to quiet his racing pulse.]
And what, [softly, achingly controlled,] if that does not feel like love to me?
You are my Witch. My dear friend, my beloved. I need you and want you by my side. Leaving me isn't in my best interest and, [his tone rises, his ears flattening back in a stag's assertion,] throwing yourself away isn't penance.
[Silence follows, stretches on the space of three breaths as Myr masters himself.
When he speaks again it's so quiet as to demand attention:]
No life was ever redeemed by destroying it, L Lawliet.
But what is he to do when the truth is insufficient, when speaking it has driven his Bonded to panic and disbelief? He draws his head back, ears lowering, clearly and utterly stymied at L's insistence. Does he want this? Does he earnestly believe I want this? There is no feeling out the delicate threads of underlying motivation and reasoning when fear chokes their Bond to strangling. He can only lean on the patterns he has learned through half a year of sharing a heart with the detective; he can only remind himself that left unguided, all L's paths spiral in toward the Void.
It frightens him to be face-to-face with that once more; it is a fright that beats double-time with the pulse of L's own, demanding action: Confront it or run.
Myr takes a slow breath to quiet his racing pulse.]
And what, [softly, achingly controlled,] if that does not feel like love to me?
You are my Witch. My dear friend, my beloved. I need you and want you by my side. Leaving me isn't in my best interest and, [his tone rises, his ears flattening back in a stag's assertion,] throwing yourself away isn't penance.
[Silence follows, stretches on the space of three breaths as Myr masters himself.
When he speaks again it's so quiet as to demand attention:]
No life was ever redeemed by destroying it, L Lawliet.
[The truth is painful, and it's what L's dedicated his life to finding in all its dark desolation. Perhaps there's an inextricable association that makes it therefore impossible not to seek pain, and all but inevitable to brace for it even where it was never intended. Myr didn't come here intending to leave his Bonded, and that is absurd. Unbelievable. Actually insane, given what L knows and (perhaps more so) what his paranoia and guilt have led him to assume.
Later, he'll realize that such assumptions were unfair to Myr, whose honesty and faith remain in the end steadfast... but at the time, in the revulsion so far transcending mere disappointment felt through their Bond, there had been no other reasonable conclusion. It had taken root and gained traction in their two weeks apart. Accepting it as fact had been natural and even comforting to L, because at least the world made sense again, and now that it's been ripped away...
He should probably feel relief. Instead, it's more along the lines of confusion and anger, and combined with the fear, it's probably a miserable cocktail for his Bonded to have poured vicariously down his throat.
L freezes and stares at the use of his real name; if he doubted that Myr was sincere before, it's no longer the case, but his shoulders still curl inward, his arms pulling protectively against his core.]
Then I misunderstood... it seemed so clear at the time.
[It's disturbing, actually, how far off the mark he was if this really is true, and he's never far off the mark. At least, he shouldn't be. Either way, there are troubling implications.]
Why did it seem so clear?
[And, more importantly, what redemption is possible for the kind of man who can only see one grim and solitary ending? L may have changed and grown since what happened between them, but the past can't be changed, and Niles won't stop coming. When he arrives, the pain will only come back to Myr, continuing a cycle only a masochist would want to be a part of.]
Later, he'll realize that such assumptions were unfair to Myr, whose honesty and faith remain in the end steadfast... but at the time, in the revulsion so far transcending mere disappointment felt through their Bond, there had been no other reasonable conclusion. It had taken root and gained traction in their two weeks apart. Accepting it as fact had been natural and even comforting to L, because at least the world made sense again, and now that it's been ripped away...
He should probably feel relief. Instead, it's more along the lines of confusion and anger, and combined with the fear, it's probably a miserable cocktail for his Bonded to have poured vicariously down his throat.
L freezes and stares at the use of his real name; if he doubted that Myr was sincere before, it's no longer the case, but his shoulders still curl inward, his arms pulling protectively against his core.]
Then I misunderstood... it seemed so clear at the time.
[It's disturbing, actually, how far off the mark he was if this really is true, and he's never far off the mark. At least, he shouldn't be. Either way, there are troubling implications.]
Why did it seem so clear?
[And, more importantly, what redemption is possible for the kind of man who can only see one grim and solitary ending? L may have changed and grown since what happened between them, but the past can't be changed, and Niles won't stop coming. When he arrives, the pain will only come back to Myr, continuing a cycle only a masochist would want to be a part of.]
I can think of a reason or two.
[There is a razor edge of humor to Myr's tone, not meant to wound but made sharp by that threat of drowning in the emotions swamping their Bond. He is hardly in a fit state himself to weather the storm of L's dismay and upset, but there is no other recourse at the moment. That they've come to this perilous place is in no small part due to Myr's own neglect and withdrawal and it stands to him to fix it. But there are oh, so few tools left in his armamentarium and he is reduced to grasping at what he has; the bleak, black amusement of a man who'd seen half his friends winnowed before twenty is never far, all else failing.
Neither, though, is his innate need to draw his loved ones close when any of them are suffering; to fix and to tend whatever small things he is still competent for. He breathes out as much of his own distress as he can, puts his staff up, and holds out both hands to his Bonded.
(Having L flinch back from him mere moments ago hurt enough to make him wary, even if everything in him aches for an embrace.)]
Your Bonded walked away from you after witnessing the most shameful thing you've done in recent memory. You've likely not been eating or sleeping since then. Mello's gone and Niles isn't.
Shit accumulates. [A huff of a laugh punctuates the obscenity.] What was left to go wrong but I'd leave you? And that, at least, would've been final.
[There is a razor edge of humor to Myr's tone, not meant to wound but made sharp by that threat of drowning in the emotions swamping their Bond. He is hardly in a fit state himself to weather the storm of L's dismay and upset, but there is no other recourse at the moment. That they've come to this perilous place is in no small part due to Myr's own neglect and withdrawal and it stands to him to fix it. But there are oh, so few tools left in his armamentarium and he is reduced to grasping at what he has; the bleak, black amusement of a man who'd seen half his friends winnowed before twenty is never far, all else failing.
Neither, though, is his innate need to draw his loved ones close when any of them are suffering; to fix and to tend whatever small things he is still competent for. He breathes out as much of his own distress as he can, puts his staff up, and holds out both hands to his Bonded.
(Having L flinch back from him mere moments ago hurt enough to make him wary, even if everything in him aches for an embrace.)]
Your Bonded walked away from you after witnessing the most shameful thing you've done in recent memory. You've likely not been eating or sleeping since then. Mello's gone and Niles isn't.
Shit accumulates. [A huff of a laugh punctuates the obscenity.] What was left to go wrong but I'd leave you? And that, at least, would've been final.
[L is tense and hesitant for a few watchful beats as Myr raises his staff only to momentarily stow it. His hands are open, an offer, welcoming. L's impulses to add and subtract distance are perfectly balanced in a span of indecision just long enough for Myr to explain his thoughts. L's already overlarge eyes widen as it unfolds, because it is...
...absurdly simple, all of it. To the point where he actually feels foolish that he needed to ask. More so, because Myr (as far as L knows, at least), is not aware of how he spends his solitary Friday evenings, or the fact that two of three nights are spent awake in a coffee shop or the Coven library instead of in any kind of home. L has myriad very elaborate reasons for why he chooses to do things the way he does, and in the end, none of them are actually good or satisfying.]
All of that's true.
[He picks his way back around the table, slowly, navigating around the chair with a careful shuffle. Again, he and Myr are almost close enough to touch.]
There's solace in finality, because it means that nothing else in fact can go wrong.
[He's not speaking of the end of a chapter, but of a book.]
I know it'll happen soon.
[He may have given Niles a reckless verbal nudge, after leaving Myr's sickened side.]
There are days I'm certain I'd fight him with everything, and there are days I...
[Well.]
I don't know what's right. I'm just so tired, and if we were to annul our Bond, today, it... would bring me comfort to think that you won't have to feel any part of this.
[His head in the harbor, his limbs scattered in districts throughout Geardagas, his torso rotting in a shallow grave in the Wilde. His imagination has supplied a lot of very vivid scenarios that he's not likely to come back from with any amount of healing magic or Coven-sanctioned resurrection, and he had told Niles, himself, to be thorough about it.]
...absurdly simple, all of it. To the point where he actually feels foolish that he needed to ask. More so, because Myr (as far as L knows, at least), is not aware of how he spends his solitary Friday evenings, or the fact that two of three nights are spent awake in a coffee shop or the Coven library instead of in any kind of home. L has myriad very elaborate reasons for why he chooses to do things the way he does, and in the end, none of them are actually good or satisfying.]
All of that's true.
[He picks his way back around the table, slowly, navigating around the chair with a careful shuffle. Again, he and Myr are almost close enough to touch.]
There's solace in finality, because it means that nothing else in fact can go wrong.
[He's not speaking of the end of a chapter, but of a book.]
I know it'll happen soon.
[He may have given Niles a reckless verbal nudge, after leaving Myr's sickened side.]
There are days I'm certain I'd fight him with everything, and there are days I...
[Well.]
I don't know what's right. I'm just so tired, and if we were to annul our Bond, today, it... would bring me comfort to think that you won't have to feel any part of this.
[His head in the harbor, his limbs scattered in districts throughout Geardagas, his torso rotting in a shallow grave in the Wilde. His imagination has supplied a lot of very vivid scenarios that he's not likely to come back from with any amount of healing magic or Coven-sanctioned resurrection, and he had told Niles, himself, to be thorough about it.]
[Myr would not aspire to measure himself against his Bonded's powers of deduction where much of the world was concerned; L had been Made peerless in that realm. But where it came to matters of the heart and all the woes, large and little, that could weigh someone down--that was Myr's particular expertise. To say nothing of his advantage of distance, bound at the heart with L but out from under the most immediate and crushing of the detective's concerns.
It is not a distance necessarily well- or gladly chosen, but he will take what he can from it and make best use of what he's wrought here.
Hearing L draw near--near enough to feel body heat across the gap of air between them--Myr reaches cautiously forward, fingers outstretched and tentative. Even without sight he knows how far he must go to touch, how to stop just shy of doing that and let L complete the contact as he would. If that is not to be--and oh, it may not, from the ache that echoes between them--then at least he has left L the option. Even if everything in him cries out to grab his Bonded and drag them both away from the gibbet L sees looming inexorably in his future, he will leave the choice.]
I do not know, [he says, soft and low,] I could bear any better the thought of you going through this alone.
[Whether it be death, as L expects, or less-than--as Niles had promised--the very certainty of it in L's mind is shattering to bear. It tears down all Myr's hopes of eucatastrophe waiting at the end of this, all his illusions that he could protect his Bonded, if only he were quick and clever enough. If only he hadn't ruined himself for a knight-enchanter's work--
Except if he hadn't, he would not have been the man who took so instantly to someone who sounded like home the way it was before everything shattered. He would not have had empathy for the wounded heart that protected itself by lashing out vilely at others; he would not have known what it is to feel the Void dragging on his limbs at every step and long for any kind of finality to free him from it.
His own night would not have been black enough to see L's stars in it, and there is something woundingly sad in that thought.]
Even if we can't succeed in evading him forever, [because that's what this really is, isn't it? It's a war of attrition. Niles would not stop unless killed or pulled back through his mirror. And L hadn't the endurance for it, not burdened as he was by the weight of his own sins. Eventually, no matter how Myr warded him, he would make the mistake that got him caught.
Or he would lie down and wait, thinking himself deserving of that ending.] I wouldn't abandon you to this. Bonded or not, a part of me would die to lose you.
[Breath in, breath out.] I can endure that, to know you weren't alone. Anything less...
[Would be easy, measured against that yardstick.]
It is not a distance necessarily well- or gladly chosen, but he will take what he can from it and make best use of what he's wrought here.
Hearing L draw near--near enough to feel body heat across the gap of air between them--Myr reaches cautiously forward, fingers outstretched and tentative. Even without sight he knows how far he must go to touch, how to stop just shy of doing that and let L complete the contact as he would. If that is not to be--and oh, it may not, from the ache that echoes between them--then at least he has left L the option. Even if everything in him cries out to grab his Bonded and drag them both away from the gibbet L sees looming inexorably in his future, he will leave the choice.]
I do not know, [he says, soft and low,] I could bear any better the thought of you going through this alone.
[Whether it be death, as L expects, or less-than--as Niles had promised--the very certainty of it in L's mind is shattering to bear. It tears down all Myr's hopes of eucatastrophe waiting at the end of this, all his illusions that he could protect his Bonded, if only he were quick and clever enough. If only he hadn't ruined himself for a knight-enchanter's work--
Except if he hadn't, he would not have been the man who took so instantly to someone who sounded like home the way it was before everything shattered. He would not have had empathy for the wounded heart that protected itself by lashing out vilely at others; he would not have known what it is to feel the Void dragging on his limbs at every step and long for any kind of finality to free him from it.
His own night would not have been black enough to see L's stars in it, and there is something woundingly sad in that thought.]
Even if we can't succeed in evading him forever, [because that's what this really is, isn't it? It's a war of attrition. Niles would not stop unless killed or pulled back through his mirror. And L hadn't the endurance for it, not burdened as he was by the weight of his own sins. Eventually, no matter how Myr warded him, he would make the mistake that got him caught.
Or he would lie down and wait, thinking himself deserving of that ending.] I wouldn't abandon you to this. Bonded or not, a part of me would die to lose you.
[Breath in, breath out.] I can endure that, to know you weren't alone. Anything less...
[Would be easy, measured against that yardstick.]
[Myr's altruism can be really inconvenient. Even annoying, but... that being said, it goes toward filling a deep and aching hole, to hear his Bonded's earnest voice offering him support in the face of his own fatalistic deduction. It's not reassurance, quite, but that would be the wrong approach; it would make light of the situation's seriousness, which L's never appreciated or abided from anyone. Least of all in a dire situation like the one he-- no, they?-- currently face. It's better to face it head on and accept that the worst-case is a very possible, or even likely, scenario.
He finally closes the distance between them completely, stepping so that his wiry frame can lean into Myr's shorter and sturdier one, and the contact brings with it collapsing relief after desperate deprivation. His next inhalation shudders, and it's a moment before he can speak.]
I believe that you still care that much and... it's a problem. It means I can't keep you from pain, regardless of any approach or concession I make. I wouldn't ask you to endure it...
[Except that he rather has, by accepting a Bond in the first place. Perhaps even merely a friendship. Every day proves further to the detective the sheer foolishness of letting others close, to the point where they can be held hostage over his own decisions.]
You haven't felt a Bond break due to death, before. I won't ask for anything else, and I'll do whatever you want me to with my remaining time, if you just let me spare you from that likelihood.
[Inevitability, if they remain Bonded... though L chooses not to use that word, chooses to dwell instead in the momentary feeling of completion and peace that comes with being so close to his Bonded for the first time in weeks.]
He finally closes the distance between them completely, stepping so that his wiry frame can lean into Myr's shorter and sturdier one, and the contact brings with it collapsing relief after desperate deprivation. His next inhalation shudders, and it's a moment before he can speak.]
I believe that you still care that much and... it's a problem. It means I can't keep you from pain, regardless of any approach or concession I make. I wouldn't ask you to endure it...
[Except that he rather has, by accepting a Bond in the first place. Perhaps even merely a friendship. Every day proves further to the detective the sheer foolishness of letting others close, to the point where they can be held hostage over his own decisions.]
You haven't felt a Bond break due to death, before. I won't ask for anything else, and I'll do whatever you want me to with my remaining time, if you just let me spare you from that likelihood.
[Inevitability, if they remain Bonded... though L chooses not to use that word, chooses to dwell instead in the momentary feeling of completion and peace that comes with being so close to his Bonded for the first time in weeks.]
You wouldn't ask, but I'm choosing.
[The Faun himself would be quick to demur from the charge of altruism, even if an outsider to their Bond would observe little in it for him but pain. (There wasn't--it was far from being suffering only, though he had not words to frame every moment of surpassing awe or quiet contentment or simple bone-deep satisfaction it brought him to be Bonded to L. As now, when his Witch finally consents to lean against him after weeks apart and he feels like he can breathe properly again, like everything trouble heaped up before them is just a little more surmountable.)]
I am choosing, [he continues, quiet,] because you would not ask.
[Because that is one of the sparks of goodness that he hoards up like fireflies, one of the proofs that L is on the path--however long, however dark--to his own best self.
A path that--despite L's own near-conviction on the matter--they are not due to step off any time soon. Myr tightens his arm around the detective's waist in mute comfort as L makes plain just which agony he thought to spare Myr from; mute, because there's a lump of sorrow in his throat at his Bonded's adamant willingness to protect him from pain. It's moments before he can swallow it down and shake his head where he's leaned it against L's shoulder.]
You needn't, amatus. As I said: I wouldn't have you face the dark alone.
[Then, with less iron surety:] He has told me he doesn't intend to kill you.
[Which could have all been an elaborate, months-long lie to keep Myr off his guard; it could have been part of an attempted false bargain to get his collusion against Mello and leave L the more vulnerable. But--somehow--he doesn't believe Niles would lie to him in this, whatever else the Chimera might have deceived him about.]
I think he believes he can be safe while leaving you alive, and not be hunted and hung for a murderer. [He doesn't understand.
And oh, how it writhes in Myr that he'd tried to warn Niles off the whole enterprise in terms that would make L's death seem the better option.]
[The Faun himself would be quick to demur from the charge of altruism, even if an outsider to their Bond would observe little in it for him but pain. (There wasn't--it was far from being suffering only, though he had not words to frame every moment of surpassing awe or quiet contentment or simple bone-deep satisfaction it brought him to be Bonded to L. As now, when his Witch finally consents to lean against him after weeks apart and he feels like he can breathe properly again, like everything trouble heaped up before them is just a little more surmountable.)]
I am choosing, [he continues, quiet,] because you would not ask.
[Because that is one of the sparks of goodness that he hoards up like fireflies, one of the proofs that L is on the path--however long, however dark--to his own best self.
A path that--despite L's own near-conviction on the matter--they are not due to step off any time soon. Myr tightens his arm around the detective's waist in mute comfort as L makes plain just which agony he thought to spare Myr from; mute, because there's a lump of sorrow in his throat at his Bonded's adamant willingness to protect him from pain. It's moments before he can swallow it down and shake his head where he's leaned it against L's shoulder.]
You needn't, amatus. As I said: I wouldn't have you face the dark alone.
[Then, with less iron surety:] He has told me he doesn't intend to kill you.
[Which could have all been an elaborate, months-long lie to keep Myr off his guard; it could have been part of an attempted false bargain to get his collusion against Mello and leave L the more vulnerable. But--somehow--he doesn't believe Niles would lie to him in this, whatever else the Chimera might have deceived him about.]
I think he believes he can be safe while leaving you alive, and not be hunted and hung for a murderer. [He doesn't understand.
And oh, how it writhes in Myr that he'd tried to warn Niles off the whole enterprise in terms that would make L's death seem the better option.]
[Myr's choice is unshakeable, more than L's; the Bond isn't even necessary to realize it. It's in the way he holds L back, the firmness in his voice, small but absolute tells that he doesn't mean to renege on his pledge. It's more than the detective really deserves, to the point where he wonders what masterful, if unintentional, manipulation has led to this upsetting juncture.
It wouldn't be upsetting, under any other circumstance. His bony body is as starved for touch as it is for actual, non-sugar nutrients, and he could wilt and nestle into Myr's arms for hours if allowed. But the faun's next words cause him to grow tense and rigid, not drawing away, but only because the instinct was scarcely suppressed.
Close to Myr's ear, there's a shallow exhalation, then brisk, frantic shaking of L's shaggy head.]
No, that... isn't right.
[It's the same tone one might use with a child who's made an understandable mathematical error, that is frustratingly dense all the same.]
He's going to kill me, if he bests me. He'd... really have to.
[He rattles off the words in a low monotone, as though calculating the odds of survival, disappointment, and... well, horrific retaliation carried out in a dreamlike state of involuntary, unrelenting cruelty.]
Myr, it's OK... I-
[Won't let you down, again.]
--I'll make sure he does more than he intends to. He's emotional and volatile; I can upset him to the point of fury and carelessness. I... can be a real prick, you know.
It wouldn't be upsetting, under any other circumstance. His bony body is as starved for touch as it is for actual, non-sugar nutrients, and he could wilt and nestle into Myr's arms for hours if allowed. But the faun's next words cause him to grow tense and rigid, not drawing away, but only because the instinct was scarcely suppressed.
Close to Myr's ear, there's a shallow exhalation, then brisk, frantic shaking of L's shaggy head.]
No, that... isn't right.
[It's the same tone one might use with a child who's made an understandable mathematical error, that is frustratingly dense all the same.]
He's going to kill me, if he bests me. He'd... really have to.
[He rattles off the words in a low monotone, as though calculating the odds of survival, disappointment, and... well, horrific retaliation carried out in a dreamlike state of involuntary, unrelenting cruelty.]
Myr, it's OK... I-
[Won't let you down, again.]
--I'll make sure he does more than he intends to. He's emotional and volatile; I can upset him to the point of fury and carelessness. I... can be a real prick, you know.
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