makinglies | Respite

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faerun

Respite

The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.

Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.

He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.

As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.

Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.

"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.

Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.

A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.

Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.

"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."

♥

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Whatever passes over Wolfe's face, Amelia misses it. Chris kisses her hand and leads them over to their partner and she's not certain what the cleric thinks is on the man's mind. She's always going to support a play to open up the man, though, so she leans over to kiss the top of Wolfe's head.

"Feeding yourself to monstrous creatures is strictly forbidden. No one in this family of ours will allow it, but I will be especially cross with you." A light tease to bolster their love before he speaks.

"I have no plans to feed myself to anything, thank you," Wolfe glowers theatrically, teasing at the very implication. "And besides, I'm trying to conserve my magic so there will be no ill effects before we face whatever task Mystra sets before us. Going off and facing things that could swallow me whole would definitely require some magic."

Exhaling softly, Wolfe stands and leans over to kiss each of them at their temples, careful not to touch them with his bloody hands. "Chris, maybe you should check sooner rather than later? I'm about finished and I want to get all this gore off of me."

He gives Chris a meaningful look; they both know what he needs to tell her privately, and there's a part of Wolfe that both wants to get it over with and is clawing at his own insides not to. Better to ignore himself in this case or Amelia will suffer for it, but Andrast- Gods-... Flames he would rather die than make her cry again.

But he hates that that's still easier than admitting he's struggling with the desire to even exist at the moment. It will pass, though. He came back from it after the Nightmare, he can do so again. Or... for the first time. Whichever it is. He's alright. He will be alright. For them, if no one else.

Chris catches the look and he watches Wolfe’s expression a long moment before nodding.

“Of course. If Jon comes back afore I do, ask him to take my things into the temple, hmm? I need to wash what little we have.”

So said, he kisses Wolfe on the lips to fortify him and brushes his fingers through some of Amelia’s hair. He’s quick to strip and doesn’t bother with modesty as he takes everything off and leaves it in a pile to spare from the shift from skin to feather and scale.

The siren offers a single, piercing note. One of love. Adoration. Loyalty. All eternal for those he’s attached himself to. Those who are his. Then slips into the murky lake water with barely a splash.

Wolfe sends Chris off on a pragmatic mission, but from the look the pair exchange she knows there's a reason she's not being sent off as well. She touches Chris' arm briefly as the cleric passes and then turns to the mage. He doesn't want to cover her in blood and gore, and she doesn't care; she takes both of his hands in hers without a thought to give him a bit more of the physical connection he always craves to bolster him.

"What is it, love? What's on your mind?" Her frown is sympathetic but concerned. "I'm here for you, whatever it is. If there's anything I can do to help, you only have to name it."

"That's the thing, its not going to be something you can help with if it happens," he says, taking a fortifying breath and glad for her hands in his. He squeezes them gently.

"Have I told you what happens to Thedas' makes if they're severed from their magic?"

'If it happens'...? Her brow furrows in confusion and it doesn't unknot when he asks his question. "No. You told me it was all but impossible for you to sleep because you couldn't dream properly in the Fade when the city took your magic from you, but I know that's different because it's temporary."

Dreams, it's hard to breathe already. This is going to be hard to hear. She holds tighter to him to help them both.

"Its called 'Tranquility', which is both the best and worst description of what it is. In Thedas, the Chantry uses it to neuter mages who are too violent or out of control, though they abuse the Rite to varying degrees in different Circles. By placing a brand of lyrium on the mage, they effectively cut off his ability to pull energies from the Fade, but it also takes away the essence of who he is. Not his memories, but his passions. A Tranquil mage is much more like an animated doll than a person."

Wolfe swallows and closes his eyes. "It's one of the things I fear most, but its something I may have to face if my well of magic runs out before we complete what Mystra tasks us with. I took that potion knowing full well its a possibility - a likely one - and I trust you and Chris and Jon if he's able to pull me from it again."

In Thedas there is no cure, but here there is if Mystra replaces his connection to the Fade with one to the Weave. He's hanging all his hope on that one fact, even knowing that his connection currently might not even be to the real Fade, just some temporary but powerful illusion of Duplicity's god, but whatever the case he has no reason to believe it would act differently.

"I will still remember you in that state. I will remember I love you, that you are important to me, but I won't... feel it. I won't feel anything beyond basic physical sensations with no emotion attached to them." He holds her hands more tightly to keep any tremble from them. "I should have told you before, I just didn't... know how, in the moment. Not with how on edge you already were."

She's quiet for a long moment, eyes glassing over with tears and lower lip trembling like her hands in his. This isn't guaranteed to happen and dreams know she'll fight it with everything she is - just as Chris and Jon will, she's certain - but that doesn't make it less terrifying. Her Wolfe, her passionate and loving and boisterous mage wouldn't be himself anymore if this happened. He would still be Adalwolfe Hawke, but he wouldn't be Wolfe. He would be theirs at a distance. Worse than a ghost for his physical presence but lack of emotion.

"I... I understand why you said nothing." It didn't matter in Duplicity and she's hardly been the pillar of strength and support she's wanted to be since they stepped through the Gate to get here. Knowing sooner wouldn't have made a difference.

Knowing sooner would have flared useless anger that doesn't have a place here. Not now. Not when there's a chance they can avoid this.

Tears start to roll down her cheeks despite all her efforts to stop them. She refuses to let go of him to wipe them away. "I don't... I don't know what to think of this except to hope it never happens and be scared of the possibility. But I promise you, I vow to you--" She tugs his hands closer to her chest and lifts herself to the balls of her feet to press her forehead to his.

"I won't rest until we find a cure if it happens. I love you, Adalwolfe Hawke, and I'm not letting this take you. Any price, any bargain required, I'll do it. The others at my side if I can, but I will pay any price necessary to bring us back together again. I can't be happy here if we're not free to live and love as we always dreamed of while trapped in the city, and I'll do whatever it takes to have us both whole and together."

He doesn't argue this time, doesn't tell her not to fight or to try and go about it logically or anything of the sort. On this, he can't, he just takes simple comfort in her desperate need to see him through when he won't be able to himself.

"Thank you," he says quietly, pressing his lips to her forehead much harder than his grip would imply. "Maybe we'll get lucky. I don't intend to use magic if I can help it until I can learn the magic of this world. I'll do everything I can to stave it off, I promise you."

He will, hence why he'd carved up the animals by had and allowed Jon to start the fire. Why he hadn't just magically cleaned his boots. He hates having to go back to hiding what he could use so freely before, but if its the difference between that and Tranquility, he'll do everything the mundane way from now on.

But that's just staving off the inevitable, isn't it? Its a leak, Topher had said. His magic is going to leave him by drops anyway, whether he used it or not. He's just borrowing time, and he knows in the pit of his stomach it wont be enough. Something is going to happen. Zombies will get in his periphery and he'll have to defend Jon tomorrow or another danger will arise and his magic will be the difference between life and death. That feels so likely it almost makes him despair in knowing he wouldn't make any other choice than to defend them. Tranquility, however terrifying, may well be reversible here, and even if it wasn't it's preferable to the deaths of any of his loved ones.

He could never stand by if they're in real trouble.

"I'm sorry, Amelia. I-I know its hard to hear, and I want to comfort you, but I'm-" struggling. Worried I won't be able to protect you all. Hate that I'm angry for being who I am on top of all this - or because of it. "- covered in blood and guts."

He finishes lamely, unable to get the words past where they stick in his throat. He has no right to put whats on his mind on her too after bringing all that up. She's devastated enough.

"... I'm so sorry..." Please don't cry...

'Stop.'
'Enough.'
'You don't owe me an apology.'

All things she could say and yet none of them pass her lips. Let him feel how he's going to feel. Let him wish things weren't the way they are. Let him feel gutted that things are this difficult when neither of them want that to be true. She can take it. He's here again, he's hers again. For the first time in weeks, she can breathe again.

She can do anything.

Her hands shift along his arms so she can wrap hers around him as much as she can. Even if he doesn't feel strong enough to hold her, she can hold him. Her fingers dig into his shirt, leave more blood everywhere, and she doesn't care. Later, she can clean his shirt to make up for it. She stays lifted on her feet to keep her face pressed to his as much as she can. Anything she can do to press herself closer to him, she does, all so he can feel her resolve and her strength that comes along with her tears.

"I would have you however you are. Covered in blood, covered in snot while wrapped in a blanket, dripping wet after falling over a waterfall - all of it. I want all of it, and all of you." It's why she'll fight. It's why she'll never stop fighting. He's worth it. Their love is worth it. The family they're building with Chris and Jon is worth it. All of it is, always.

Hang whatever she is or isn't, who she is or might be. So long as she can have these arms and the loving heart that comes with them, she has home in this plane where her family now lives. It's all that matters to her anymore.

He laughs but its not a mirthful sound. Its helpless, desperate, and even a little relieved as he finally caves and holds her tightly. In some small way he had been sure that this was what would break them. To get here and still, still not be done. Not be out of danger of losing themselves in ways worse than the mundane threats that plague them. That his telling her this would be the last straw and she'd tell him she couldn't take it. That it's too much.

It is too much, but she holds him anyway, she pledges to fight for him like Chris did only hours ago. He can't help the choked and muffled sob that escapes him into her shoulder. How did he manage to find two people who so unconditionally love him? Who would give him a new life and new reasons to live it with every breath? Who don't only wait for him to help solve their problems but help him with his in turn.

He doesn't cry. His eyes are free of tears as he buries his face against her, hunched so she doesn't have to lift herself up so far onto her toes, but he has to take a very long moment to collect himself.

Wolfe doesn't need to cry; Amelia has plenty of tears for the both of them. Tears for how much this terrifies her and how much it frightens him. Tears for how this is yet another thing keeping them from the life they want to have. Tears for how she's grateful to have his arms around her again when only two days ago she didn't know when this would happen. Tears for the grief that still clings to her even though they're together once more. Tears for anger, relief, and pain. Tears because words simply won't come. All but the three most important words.

"I love you," she tells him, over and over, as she cries and clings and kisses every inch of skin that she can reach. "I love you," because she's desperately wished since that horrible morning that she could tell him again. She needs to say it and she wants him to hear it, as often and as many times as she can until she's breathless.

It's messy and it doesn't move them forward, but it's true and it's theirs and that's more than they've had for far too long.

Eventually she quiets and moves one hand to his face when he draws back enough to meet her eyes again. The small upturn of her lips could be called a watery smile, but whatever it is, it's all for him and it comes with a soft kiss that she pours everything she's been trying to cling to while he was gone into it. Her love, her longing, her joy, her need to be together. All of it and more, even if it means kissing him several times until he can feel it all.

Every item of clothing has been meticulously pawed over, including some lingerie that had made Jon blush before reasoning that is for Amelia, not for him. He’s still on alert as he opens the door to the temple, but it’s diminished enough that he’s left Poppet to shred the scarf and snack on it while he steps out.

“All right. I think it’s-”

Chris is nowhere to be seen, the fire still isn’t lit, and Amelia and Wolfe are both bloody and snogging.

Jon closes the door as quietly as he can and retreats. Clearly he should… keep looking for spiders.

I love you, too, he says without speaking. He says it with how much of it is in that kiss, how his hands are tight on her waist, how his attention is entirely on her and nothing else, including Jon's brief cameo.

He says it perhaps with a little more fervor and want than is strictly necessary but its under layers of gratitude and softness, weariness and grief. He's full to bursting with so many emotions today that he's having trouble processing them all. They vie in him like a cacophony, voices all crying out for attention in his own mind when he's just one man.

"I'm so tired," he mumbles into her shirt, not sleepy but weary to his bones. He doesn't want to think about any of this now. He just wants to exist with those he loves and have nothing to threaten them, physical or existential. Instead, they have to fight zombie hordes tomorrow and then beseech both Gideon for help and Mystra for favor. He's going to lose his ability to speak to and understand everyone until they all learn Common, all while slowly turning Tranquil and praying it doesn't happen before he's connected to magic again. Or if it does, that his family will be able to put him right.

He wouldn't be surprised if Gideon outright refused to believe them. Its a ridiculous series of problems. Anyone would be tired.

He sighs, heavy but settling, and finally lifts his head. "Sorry, I got blood on you..."

There's a fire in her when Wolfe kisses her like that, holds her like he used to. Something she hasn't felt in so long. It feels... good, but she knows she can't have it. Not now. Not yet. Not like this.

Maybe never. Maybe... maybe...

She shakes her head, clearing it enough to focus on her partner again. "I'm tired too." She has been since the city stole him away from the home they were sharing. It's lingered every day as she struggled to breathe and find her feet enough to help Chris, something she never managed in spite of how much she wanted to. Now she has different reasons to be tired, but... "With you here again, I can manage." Slowly, with one foot in front of the other, she can do it.

With a few obvious misses along the way, such as her scream in the woods and completely missing Jon's peek out from the temple.

Her hand stays on his cheek as he stands taller, a wry smile on her face. "We've been covered in blood together before and will be again. You have nothing to apologize for, especially for things like this." Her smile warms as she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, getting a little blood on her lips.

"Thank you for telling me about Tranquility. I hope it doesn't get that far, but I'll be here if it does. I promise." No matter what happens, she'll be here for him.

Edited (typo) 2025-10-28 04:33 (UTC)

The lake is of course nowhere near as deep as the Moonsea or Duplicity’s ocean, but it was sizable enough on its own. It sank deep into the ground, the place the river fed it a vibrant rush of life and greenery that Chris lingers to marvel at.

Because he can. Because nothing is imminently awaiting his attention and he can spare a moment to just marvel at the life in the lake he’d never gone to even though it had always been so close by. How many other things there must be out there that he had spent 20-some odd years never knowing.

He dives deep and does a perimeter of the lake. There were predators in here, certainly. Even some larger ones like giant catfish he ran into, but nothing as big as him and nothing too monstrous beyond a small cluster of blood bloaters on the far side of the lake.

It’s tempting, while he’s down here…to just let go a little. Let the siren do as it would while he turned ‘Chris’ off. Down here in the peace of the water, it was almost too easy to forget how much there was to do. He might not be king as he’d thought, but that didn’t mean he was without responsibility or cause. He was not without people who needed him.

He lets himself float in the center of the lake and close his eyes and just listen to the life and currents around him. Some fish were curious of him, more kept a healthy distance, and others simply ignored him, content as they were with their simple fish lives.

He breathed deep. He lets the peace wrap around him.
Just as he feels the urges starting to grow louder in his blood, he pushes the feeling back down to focus once more.

A luring song spills out into the lake and around it: a simple call of ‘come to me, be safe with me’ as he hunts for blackjaws to add to their rations.

It’s a song that turns to a more serious push to those with wills to resist.

“Join in the water. Find peace in the water. Cleanse.”

Edited 2025-10-28 04:53 (UTC)

"Thank you, Love," he says quietly, kissing a clean space on her palm, and standing quietly with her just a few moments more to try and quiet the rolling thoughts and worries, instead trying to focus on just her. On how loved he feels in this moment.

There's a sense of calm that washes over him after a moment, too. An ethereal sort of blanket that blessedly dampens the multitude of constantly swirling thoughts; things to remember to do, to keep in mind, fears of what might come to pass and plans for things that will. All of it becomes just a low hum behind the siren song as it floats to his ears from the lake.

He knows its Chris and not some other creature. Even as a siren, Wolfe recognizes that song his heart has learned to harmonize with like he recognizes his own name. It's always been a sort of feeling around Chris, the Siren has just made it tangible.

What he doesn't realize in hearing that song is how readily he starts to move towards it. His eyes glaze over a little, peaceful recognition smoothing out his features as he turns towards the lake. His hands slide from around Amelia, one tracing down her arm to loosely hook his fingers in hers even as he takes his steps to the water, seemingly uncaring of the dirt and whatever else that sticks to his bare feet on the way.

It feels nice to be called like this. Like its an answer to his selfish desire to be removed from responsibility. He doesn't have to worry about everything. He just has move to the water and let his siren pull him down and away. No more thinking, no more fear, just a gentle current and a song of safety...

The sudden drift of a melody calling to them isn't surprising to Amelia when she watched Chris dive into the lake in his siren form. She can feel the way the melody speaks to her in a way that doesn't require words, but resists the call. They need to wash off and settle before continuing to cook or go into the temple for their own explorations, but there's no need to rush. A moment longer with Wolfe to be certain he's all right, then they can--

Her thoughts are disrupted when Wolfe gently tugs at her hand, encouraging her toward the water with him. Amelia blinks a few times and looks up at him, concerned when she notices the distant look to his face. A heed of the call to come, perhaps? It matters little. She needs him clearheaded before they get in.

"Wolfe." She keeps her voice steady and calm as she gives his hand a return tug. If she can manage it, she'll try to guide him to one of the large rocks by the shore. "Love, let's at least get undressed before we get in. I don't want to ruin my boots or lose any of my knives. You could even--" She bites her tongue suddenly, keeping herself from asking him to undress her.

Stop. Not now. Too soon. Focus on what's happening, not that stupid thread of wanting that's still living under her skin.

Another tug as she takes a breath, this one coming with a dig of her heels into the earth. "I need to take my things off, then we can see what our siren wants from us, all right?" She tries for a teasing smile. "It'll keep your shirt from destroyed that much longer if you take it off now." She can bribe him into getting naked and that's fine, right?

Chris sings, largely unaware of the extra pull he's put in the song. As much as this was a moment of peace, it was also a chance to try his siren's abilities on his own plane. This form has always been modeled on stories of old of the creatures who sank sailors and drowned young fools, but actually knowing if he was as he was meant to be here and not just some Duplicity-created thing was...good. It was another sign he was himself, no matter how he was made.

The blackjaws and one catfish circle closer, and it's simple work to coax the eel-like green fish close to the shore in a writhing mass of flailing bodies that are simple to catch or beach. The catfish he kills more personally, a swipe of talons across its underbelly that will feed other things here before Chris claims the rest for their needs. It would serve them a long while once prepared and dried. He's quietly grateful for the years of fish preparing and cooking he'd been doing for his own desires in Duplicity; it would make a good addition to their survival skills, better than diplomacy and the sex he wasn't supposed to look to anymore.

A note of annoyance stretches through his song, but doesn't break the melody or the power woven in it; he didn't intend to stop that until he knew they'd collected enough fish. To that end, his golden head pokes up from the water a few feet from the writhing fish mass to watch the results.

Amelia's voice breaks through the song that winds around his psyche and Wolfe stops and blinks rapidly, not entirely certain what he'd been doing.

Right. A rinse in the lake. Chris was calling them. He really must be losing his magic if his careful mental fortifications didn't protect him from the song. Or... No. He's always been weak to Chris' song. Even now he misses the peace it brought, freedom from thought instead of the cacophony his mind was before. He's not upset Amelia broke the hold - it's better to be clear-headed about these things - just a little disappointed.

The look she gives him definitely turns his thoughts another way, though. One he shouldn't but also... It's difficult to remember the harm when she's looking at him like that and talking about stripping down. "Hmm, a good point."

He grins and tugs his shirt off over his head, tossing it over to a nearby rock, after which he steps towards her to reach in her belt where he knows she keeps one of her knives just at the small of her back, effectively crowding her as Chris' head pops above the water. "Do you want some help? It's the least I can do to wash your shirt after I stained it, after all."

Stop. Don't do this. Don't--

Her breath catches in her chest and cheeks flush as he steps against her. She barely notices the pull of her knife, so distracted is she by Wolfe. The cool of his skin through her shirt, his breath against her face, the rumble of his voice in his chest...

"Hang the shirt, I'd rather you wash me." She looks up at him through her lashes, then leans closer to ghost her lips across his. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I've missed your hands on me. It's been too long since we were together. Since we made love."

Dreams, this is the worst idea. They haven't talked yet about what they each want and what she's done. But by all the gods on this plane, she misses being intimate with those she loves.

Chris watches as Wolfe steps in close to Amelia and sees how she responds; of course, neither is able to resist the other. Part of him only feels more annoyance. Were they supposed to be taking things slow? Had she told him what she'd done in her grief and selfishness? Was it his place to even harbor that beyond what it meant between himself and Amelia?

How could it be years now that he'd been in relationships and still he felt like he had no idea what he was doing?

Something in him sours, and it feels petulant, but in his siren form, it's harder to bury and let go of his own emotions. His song breaks, and he shoves the catfish's 9-foot body onto the shore nearest him, pushing and beaching a few more of the blackjaws that don't escape as well. A neat little corpse pile he'd deal with. Later.

He wasn't going to strand himself out here while they...did whatever they deemed necessary. Nor was he in a place to even find the idea of potentially being invited to join them appealing.

At the very least, he uses every ounce of willpower in him to smother his own song and bite back on the urge to screech his irritation as he takes to the air in a drizzle of lake water and soars over to the temple door. He'd wanted to give Jon his time, but...well...now he needed to be inside. Still as a siren, but that was fine. The quartz floors of the temple were easy enough to slide along.

The siren song halts Jon’s consideration of a pair of silken panties that he’s fairly certain had been amongst his wardrobe in the city. The Archivist quickly shoved everything away and heads for the front door. The music cuts off, which is mildly concerning, but before he can check outside again, the hand knob… the ‘handle’ twists and there’s Chris in full siren form slithering his way inside.

“What…?” He catches a glimpse of Wolfe and Amelia at the edge of the water before having to step back and out of the way to give Chris room.

“Are you all right?” The others don’t seem alarmed enough for something to have been in the lake or for Amelia to have told them anything troubling about her encounter with Jon, and Chris looks… annoyed? “It’s, uh… it’s clear in here. Poppet and I were very thorough. Ah! And my cat’s name was the Captain.”

He hovers nearby, a little uncertainly before adding. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Apart from the hand and web nonsense. At least there aren’t any actual spiders. Or monsters in the cupboards.”

Wolfe barely has his fingers on Amelia's waistband when there's an unceremonious slap of fish against the ground. The song is entirely gone too, Chris freeing himself from the water in a spray of crystalline droplets and smoothly gliding to the temple door. Even as a siren, Wolfe can tell he's annoyed. He's not always the best at hiding his emotions even as a human, let alone a creature that expresses itself through the very emotional act of song.

That breaks his mood, worried for what could have caused this sudden outburst. Was it something he did? He and Amelia together? Or... what they're about to do? Wolfe knows he's coming off a bit of a hypocrite here, having just told Chris they should all take it slow. This isn't slow.

Setting his mouth, Wolfe kisses Amelia's forehead firmly and steps back, though his hand moves from her waist to her arm in an unwillingness to lose that closeness entirely. "I'm sorry, I know we both want this, but I don't trust myself to be at all normal about it right now, and that isn't fair to you. Its barely been a full day since we escaped. I'd been... I fantasized about so much to get through it, I don't want to have a poor reaction to the real thing."

He also doesn't want to be intimate just for the sake of feeling something good after having such terrible thoughts not long ago at all, but that part he keeps to himself for now.

"It doesn't mean I don't love you, or not desire you, let me be clear. I've wanted little more than to out my mouth all over you since I saw you again. Things are just... hard-" Wrong word. "-difficult to keep straight right now."

Fish hit the shore, Chris flies overhead, and all at once her heart drops into her stomach. Wolfe is right, they shouldn't do this. She knows that, has known it, yet she pushed.

Dreams, what a fool she is.

"You're right. We should wait, talk first and take things slow." She breathes deeply and moves her hands to his shoulders to steady herself. It takes more strength than she would admit to, and she hopes Jon is distracted enough by the siren to not hear her thoughts screaming about how much she doesn't want to do the hard part anymore. Not again. Not when Wolfe is so close.

Another breath to calm her heartbeat and she nods. "I believe you, and I trust you and your feelings. They're as deep as mine. We'll find our way back to each other. I know it." Neither of them will let it be any other way.

Gently, she rubs his biceps and then steps back. "Let's take care of the fish Chris left us, then rinse off quickly. We can wash our clothes after we have something else ready to wear."

11 insight riiiip lol

cw: suicidal ideation. He's okay though, really x.x.

/doubt

such doubt

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CW: compulsion, DC 19 wisdom save to resist

13 :x

Nat 20!!

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