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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Wolfe is furious, Amelia, predictably, offers to throw herself on the sword, and Jon knows Chris is only going to bristle and entrench. The cleric has made a decision, and he's going to hold to it, regardless of what any of them say or want. He'll reject Amelia's offer, no doubt, insist he knows better, that he's cleverer, that he's prepared this time. And he'll just go behind her back if he has to because that's the sort of man Chris Sonom is when it comes to those he loves.

Unfortunately, it's also the sort of man Jonathan Sims can be, as well.

Chris might turn to Bane in a moment of desperation, but what if someone else had already made a deal? They need to deal with what's in the Shadowfell, and see if Mystra is an option. If not... if not, then Jon can make his own attempts at contact. Maybe Chris would have more luck, but they're connected. It might at least intrigue Bane enough to give the Archivist an audience.

"This argument is moot until it actually comes to that," Jon says, continuing to poke at the remainder of his food. He knows he ought to eat more, but he's grown used to just... not. And his appetite is still aimed toward more metaphysical tastes at the moment. "Let's find out if Mystra is an option before biting each other's heads off."

Wolfe’s silent anger he can manage, but Amelia’s impassioned bid to do as she always did, always does, and make an unasked for martyr of herself stokes anger in him that nearly chokes him. For all he appreciates their wanting to protect him, it suddenly feels like clumsy stomping on a fragile balance that is his and his alone.

He can’t trust any of them with this if they’re all going to trip on themselves to undo years of his own actions. Or Chris’ actions…

Gods, none of this might even matter if he’s deemed superfluous. Which feels like salt in the wound in that moment.

His expression goes icy and his chin tilts up as he locks eyes on Amelia.

“Your grand gesture of self sacrifice loses meaning when it’s the only song you know how to sing, lady Royer. Luckily for all of you, none of this matters right now or potentially ever. The conversation is over. Permanently. It has no bearing on tomorrow or any time in the immediate future. If you’ll excuse me, I missed my period for prayer this morning, I need to plan what spells I’ll need for the morning.”

He stands with all the detached chill of the nobility he wasn’t and cleans up his dishes.

With the animals fed and snoozing, there’s little left to distract himself and the temple is suddenly too closed in.

The temple door doesn’t make a sound when he takes up his scythe and steps outside.

Stop.

He doesn't get the word out in response to Amelia's theoretical martyrdom before Jon is clearly thinking the same thing of himself and Chris turns colder than the temperature that's just receded around Wolfe himself. None of this is the way to go about this, not when its all born of a place of love. Desperate, clinging, and fearful but love all the same. None of them want each other hurt whether they'll be around for it or not, and they are all of them self destructive about it for various reasons. They've lost too much, they fear being alone, they fear being the reason they deserve to be alone. They're in free fall and all they have is each other. Especially Chris, who was supposed to have his Guardians and his position to leverage. Now all he thinks he has is his celestial connections and he's going to damn well use them, but he's been told for the second time today not to use what he has for the benefit of the only people he has left.

They're making him feel useless.

Wolfe breathes out as Chris takes his dishes, a puff of vapor visible in the still cold room. He squeezes Amelia's hand and releases, standing as Chris disappears out the door.

"Stay here," he says in a tone that is kind but still brokers no argument from either of their remaining companions, and then he's out the door too.

"Chris, wait!" he jogs to catch up, aware he's naked again but honestly at this point it just doesn't matter.

Jon tries to cut in without any force behind his words. Chris seethes and retreats. Wolfe grows cold with stress and follows. And Amelia... lets it all happen without comment.

Fuck this. Fuck her for trying. She's too tired for this.

Without a word, she takes all of the dinner dishes and combines what little's left into two bowls she lays out for the girls. The rest get set aside so she can find some sort of cutting board or other strikable surface in the kitchen. Then she returns to the table, takes up all her knives, and walks to one of the rooms set aside for resting. At the door, she pauses to look over her shoulder at Jon.

"I don't want to be disturbed, not by anyone. Give the others warning that I'll aim for any hands that try to open this door before I come out of it." She's tired. Tired of trying and failing, getting yelled at for her efforts, or being told what she's offering is worthless in some way. Tired of the grief that won't let go of her because of the walls that surround her body and heart. Tired of getting so close to having something good only to have it ripped away at the last possible moment.

She needs clarity. She needs purpose, and the people around her won't let her have that in ways she thinks will help and offer nothing in return when they tell her 'no'. She's done with it for the night. Let Wolfe take care of Chris where she can't. Let the cleric sleep surrounded by those he loves. Let them all find solace in each other in ways she's incapable of giving.

Let her suffer alone and away from everyone so they can find their feet and she can pretend to find hers. All she needs to do is push it down long enough to sleep and get through their time in the Shadowfell. Nothing else she does or says matters right now.

She never mattered anyway.

What a merry little hell this has all gone to. Jon regrets raising the topic, but it's something that ought to be addressed. Chris runs off, Wolfe follows, and there's Amelia taking his plate and knife away without bothering to ask. He doesn't stop her, but it might have been nice to at least have the option.

It would also be nice if he couldn't hear her thoughts continuing to ping in his head. "I'll tell them. But for god's sake, get over yourself. You clearly matter or Chris wouldn't care about you sacrificing yourself for him." He makes an irritated sound as he snatches up the book he'd been reading and retreats to the room where he'd found it.

He misses having the network and his phone to text Jamie to complain about something or other. He misses having Morrigan or Martin to turn to for commiseration. He misses the library he'd been building with Ororo and the sense of purpose it had given him.

Jon pulls down another book, this one a general tome on the gods of Faerun. He flips to a random page.

"'Chauntea is our Mother Great,
Hers is the hearth and home.
Our harvests on Her blessing wait
Thus we reap what we've sown.'"

He recites the brief poem clumsily in Common to an empty room, and it feels like it rings in the silence. His eyes catch on some of the web patterns in one corner before they follow along to a raven bookend on one of the shelves. "Do you listen to what's going on inside your temple?" he asks it with a heavy sigh. "I imagine we're making a rather poor showing of ourselves at the moment. Sorry. At least they can kill some undead tomorrow. I'll... document it, I guess? Record it, maybe?" He pulls out his tape recorder. "I doubt you've ever seen one of these. If you do drop by... I suppose you can have one of the tapes."

There's a long pause before Jon shakes his head.

"I need a cigarette."

As soon as he steps outside and feels the slight midday chill on his chest, he remembers the clothes and grits his teeth in frustration. It wasn't actually a big deal, especially when he still had real smalls to wear still, but it was just one more thing.

He'd hoped that might be enough to keep others from following him, but apparently not.

Wolfe's call to him just serves as kindling to his anger and he whirls around, scythe behind him, but arm outstretched before him. Antilife Shell bursts up around him in the distance between them and pushes Wolfe back a couple of feet.

"I know you're observant enough to know when someone is angry, Wolfe. Not every one benefits from a hug and a kiss to feel better. I don't want to have this conversation and I'm tired of people pushing me to talk when there's nothing to say! You've already shown you won't listen regardless."

The shell goes up and Wolfe bounces off of it harmlessly, staggering a bit but keeping his feet. He deserves that, probably, but he can't deny that it makes his heart squeeze painfully.

"Then don't talk, just listen," he swallows, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I know you don't want to lose us again. I'm grateful for that. Flames, I love you for that. I don't-"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head. Its not about him and whatever experiences he's had. "I know you're going to do what you feel you can live with, and the last thing I want to do is tell you to live without me."

Dropping his arms to his side, Wolfe just looks at Chris, standing there naked as the day he was born and trying to accept that Chris - who he feels the same way about, who he's furious at for putting his autonomy on the line after everything they've been through but can't fault for the reasons, and who he would do the same for in a heartbeat - is going to do anything to protect him. That it's worth it to Chris to pay a price to a god who abused his faith and trust and fucked him up in ways they're still discovering to keep the people he loves whole.

"I understand. I'm sorry. I love you."

There’s a moment where the earnest words strike in him and he can feel part of him falter. He wants to believe that, that Wolfe understands…but in the next moment it feels like Amelia saying she gets why he doesn’t want her to take his choice from him or Jon deciding not to tell him something to control Chris’ reaction or lack-thereof.

He grits his teeth and the anger sparks high again.

“Then stop acting like you all get to decide how to handle my past. I accept you love me, I accept I don’t have to face anything alone, but you all deciding that I don’t get to deal with my problems myself or how I think might be best, makes me fear sharing my burdens. It has taken years for me to get here. Years for you to stop deciding things for me, years for Jon to talk to me about his self-destructive ideas…and yet Amelia throws herself into my business how she sees best, Jon accepts secrecy he’s promised to let go, and you claim to understand my anger and frustration and act the opposite in the next breath.

“What am I meant to do? How much more patience am I meant to drum up only for it to be thrown back at me as nothing?”

When would his loved ones stop doing fractions of what Bane has done and calling themselves the better?

They all have things they're working on, or find it very difficult to work on. Amelia's lack of self worth. Jon's overburdened sense of self preservation that wars with his curiosity. Chris' white-knuckled hold on his ability to choose only to constantly contemplate how to give it up - that, in and of itself, being a choice of great weight. Wolfe's sense of superiority, of needing to be better in moral standing, and thus believing he has to make the hard choices even when they're not asked for or wanted.

He and Chris share that, to an extent. Flames, they all do. No wonder he's so angry with them so much if the time.

"I don't want to see you under the yoke of someone who abused you. All I could think of when it was brought up was waking up from being Tranquil only to have you grasped in the same black hand you had suffered so much to escape. I don't want to be the reason you're miserable, Chris. But by trying to forbid you choice, that's all I've done. I'm trying to tell you I was wrong. I still find it very hard to accept but Maker knows - Gods know that I can swallow a bitter pill if necessary. I'm sorry I didn't realize sooner what I was doing to you with my refusal."

He exhales in a small shudder, letting his anger go, or at least trying. His breath isn't visible anymore at least. "I don't want you to hide things from me for fear of my reaction, that... I don't want to be an object of fear."

They're both working at it, though. It's taken him years to get here as well, to acknowledge that he doesn't always know best, to apologize when he recognizes he's done it. Frustration claws at his chest, that fear of being misunderstood or cast aside trying to form his words for him, but he won't let it out. Not here, not now. He can air that later, when they're calmer and more able to have an actual conversation. The point here is for Chris to know he's heard.

"I'm not expecting this to be fixed after one conversation. I can't speak for everyone else, but I know I have to prove to you I'm trying." He wants to ask for patience but after what Chris just said, that's not something he can beg. But there is something else. "Just please, know that if I do fuck up, it's never because I don't care how you feel or what you want. I hope you don't believe that of me."

He hopes Chris doesn't believe that of any of them.

Chris watches him, eyes darting over Wolfe’s expression while he asses his tone. By the end of his scrutiny, his anger has cooled but the frustration lingers. His spell, at least, drops.

“I think you all assume I’ll simply walk into the same arrangement I had before and call it good enough. I swear to you that while I might not be able to beat him, I wouldn’t simply make it easy for him a second time. I also want it clear I do seriously only intend Bane as the very bottom of the barrel in our options. Revealing myself to the Guardian’s mercy is well before him. Whatever you all may think of me to assume I would go about this in the worst way possible l, I am not a complete idiot.”

He motions towards Wolfe but his body language is tense, rigid still.

“As for you…I don’t believe you don’t care how I feel, there’s others here who do that. What I want I think is second in your mind sometimes, whether you mean it to or not.” He scoffs despite his intention not to. “Believe me, it is not a new occurrence for me, I don’t assume malice in it. For now…for now I think we all need some space before any of us can try chatting again. Besides, you’re naked and it’s only going to get colder out here.”

He knows Chris is referring to Amelia and he absolutely thinks that is as uncharitable as its wrong, but Wolfe holds his peace. That's for them to sort out. He has faith they will, eventually. If nothing else, acclimating to Faerûn together will give them no excuse to do anything else.

The rest stings because he's not entirely wrong. He's not entirely right either; Wolfe hadn't assumed he would intentionally walk into Bane's hall with no contingency plan. Chris is too smart for that, but he's also as arrogant as Wolfe is himself sometimes, especially about those who he thinks he understands the whole of. But if there's anything that Wolfe has learned is that you never understand the whole of anyone, mortal or otherwise. You can predict things with startling accuracy if you pay attention but people will always surprise you. And not always for the best.

"I didn't think that far ahead," he says honestly. "The thought of his influence being on you again was enough to have me seeing red without other thought of how it would actually go, or how deeply in trouble we would have to be. I don't think you're stupid or careless, Chris. It was a knee-jerk reaction I didn't think to control."

He swallows and looks aside, crossing his arms over his chest. Chris points out the cold and he very specifically chooses not to snap back sarcastically that he had noticed, thanks, as he's probably shrunk and his nipples could cut glass. Mostly because he knows its a reaction to Chris saying they need space.

All he's fucking had for a month is space, but what he wants he can't have because of the city making him doubt his own intentions, because Chris apparently has to take time to write Wolfe back into his mental calculus, because he doesn't know if Amelia will try and treat him as an escape and he also doesn't know if he's strong enough not to let her, and he hasn't even had much of a quiet moment with Jon because he figured Chris needed the support. He's damn well tired of space and feeling like he can't say what he wants even when he's been encouraged to because what he wants is his people and his people need space.

He could so easily be petty and retreat like a kicked puppy, Ah, right, you said you need time. I'll just go and give that to you. Or he could let it out, get angry and knock that bloody scoff out of his mouth. Maybe they could even throw a punch about it, but what purpose would that serve? It might feel good in the moment to be so aggressive but he'd regret it later. He already regrets even thinking it. He would never hit Chris. At least, not without consent.

"I'm not the only one," is all that he says, with a brittle but bemused smirk instead of the turmoil that threatens to get out.

Chris watches him more. The twinge in his hand, by his eyes. The brittle smile…and he at least offers a look of sympathy.

“I’m sorry none of this has been easy or clean. I’m sorry we all came with baggage that we’re having a hard time managing…I wish I had a better solution for any of this. There was supposed to be one…and now we’re all struggling to keep our heads above water to try and make it to shore.”

He looks from Wolfe back to the temple and sighs, both to shake his anger back down into something he can bury and to try and ease his own tension.

“We all need comfort, assurances, answers…and for some reason, none of us seem to be letting ourselves have that. So no one gets it from anyone else. You pretend you have to be strong for everyone, Jon pretends he doesn’t need any of it Amelia convinces herself she doesn’t deserve any of it, harming the rest of us in the process. Gods know I’m no better than you…but until we can all admit that and stop trying to be pillars, we’ll get no where.”

He takes another deep breath to swallow his own desire to pull away and forces one step, then another to hold a hand out, palm up, between them.

“I only need space to shake my anger. I don’t know where to start with them and I don’t want to do it wrong. It has nothing to do with resettling with you in my life.” He tries to offer a small smile. “If it matters, I think I only need a couple days on that front. Only so long as that for all the rest I’m trying to settle into. Do you believe me that much?”

"I want to believe you," he sighs, resigned to Chris seeing right through him as he always does. Reaching out, he rests his fingertips against Chris' palm. Acceptance, want, but respect too. He saw how Chris steeled himself to offer even this much. "I want to give you the space you need but space is the last thing I want for myself."

He hates the quiet, the silence, he hates that he can't reach out not because he's trying to be a pillar, but because he doesn't want to disrupt their adjusting.

Another shiver rolls through him and he takes his hand back to hug warmth into himself, refusing to use magic to do it. "Will you at least let me get you something to wear if you're going to stay out here? Then I'll let you go."

Chris nods. Both for the statement and the question. He doesn’t want to offer what he’s not in a good place to give: that closeness. If he tried, Wolfe would know if there was a shred of hesitation and possibly take it wrong. This was better for them in the long run; Chris had to believe that.

“I’ve a few options in my things. Then please go get dressed again and maybe study with Jon. If you can form a simple sentence in common by the time I come back in, you know I’ll be quite impressed with you.” He says the last part with a small but earnest smile. He could let the anger resettle in him once he was alone.

Its a direction at least, and Wolfe is grateful for it, even if some immature part of him wants to throw a tantrum still about how this isn't how it was supposed to go. That wouldn't help anyone.

"The trick is remembering how to say it when I need it but I'll do my best. Hold on," resisting the urge to lean in for a kiss on the cheek, Wolfe heads inside and b-lines for their un-conjured belongings. He grabs a simple shirt and trousers for Chris, whatever is on top, and throws the flannel they'd thought to rescue around his waist to hide his tackle. Pants will wait, since his only pair of real ones are still drying, but at least this wont disappear when he goes back out to hand Chris his clothes.

He hands them over quietly, knowing another apology at this point wouldn't be welcome and any other ask is too much. So he settles on "Be safe."

Whatever Chris' answer, Wolfe retreats back inside and closes the door behind him. He doesn't move to get dressed again right away, instead sinking down with his back against the door and looking dazedly at the ceiling, caught somewhere between wanting to weep and wanting to scream, and paralyzed into doing neither.

Chris keeps hold of his smile until Wolfe returns with his clothes and a bid for his safety.

“Thank you. I love you.” He turns to let the door close behind him and absently pulls on the jeans and a shirt better suited for another life, but the long sleeves would help against the chill.

Especially as the sky becomes his destination. Great, black wings carry him up and up and up.

However high he needs to be to turn South and see the glistening strip of ocean.

It’s close. An hour away and nothing if he flew there. There could be answers and stability and direction if he took them there.

Would it be so bad?
His chest clenches and he lets himself imagine an easier option, if only he were stronger or more clever. There had to be a way to finally find happiness for his people.

Someone--Wolfe--comes in, rifles about in something, and promptly leaves. Jon isn't trying to pry or insert himself into the middle of anything, but the mage deserves a warning about Amelia if he's already struck out with Chris. So, the next time he hears the door open, Jon picks himself up and moves to the door. What he finds is a mostly-naked Wolfe slumped against the door.

Jon holds down an exclamation because... why the hell did Wolfe get undressed? Is that what he'd come back in for? To what end? Instead, he frowns and moves into the room with the wardrobe, picking out some basic and comfortable-looking things in the other man's size.

It's indecorous as he marches over and drops the clothes on Wolfe's knees. "Do get dressed, please. You've been naked more than enough lately. And stay out of that room." He points to where Amelia had disappeared. "Our violent rogue seems to be roguing violently."

There's a small pause before he asks, "Are you... going to be all right?"

Edited 2025-11-05 20:42 (UTC)

Wolfe looks at the clothes listlessly for a moment, his brain sluggish at processing what Jon has said, then mumbles an apology. He stands to get the trousers on under his flannel before he unknots it from around his waist so he doesn't flash Jon in the process.

"Do you want an honest answer to that?" He hopes... He's not sure what he hopes. He wants to tell Jon everything if for no other reason than to get it off his chest to someone he can trust. Yet so much of it is fear-adjacent that he doesn't want to risk giving a Statement. He also doesn't want to overwhelm his friend when they're all already overwhelmed to the point of insanity. That's what Chris was talking about, though. They have to stop tip-toing around what they think each other can't handle and allow one another to state their boundaries when they reach it. Jon is good with boundaries, Wolfe has found. Or at least good with stating when he doesnt want to hear something. Better than Amelia, at any rate, and far less likely to accidently or purposefully stab him at the moment.

Finally, Wolfe just settles on the ugly, pathetic truth. "I don't know."

"Right." Jon sighs and looks past Wolfe for a long moment. What does he want to do here? He's not feeling exceptionally sociable, but it's clear to him that the mage needs comfort. Prickly as Jon might be, he's better equipped for that at the moment than Amelia.

"Well, think on it. While you do, come with me." He beckons the other man to follow him toward the book room once he's finished dressing. Jon doesn't wait for Wolfe to agree, just walks off.

When Wolfe decides to join him, he'll direct the mage to one of the sofas. "You can practice Common with me. Figure out how to say how you feel in another language. It ought to be instructive and force you to find the words you need."

Edited 2025-11-06 02:17 (UTC)

Jon walks off as Wolfe pulls the shirt over his head. He doesn't bother tucking it in, leaving his clothes looking a little like he used to dress in the Fleet to make himself feel less displaced, loose and homespun. The sleeves end at his forearms and the pants at mid-shin, both wide and allowing for movement and breathability. They're cotton or linen, something breathable and lasting, and the pants are dyed with what looks to him as woad. The dusky grey-blue pants and undyed shirt with ties at the throat help him feel a little better.

Taking a deep breath, Wolfe heads into the reading room, tossing the flannel back towards their unconjured belongings as he goes.

He takes his seat on the sofa without comment, sort of sinking into the end and curling one leg up under himself while the other he bends at the knee and rests his arms on. "I remember a little from what Caleb taught me. My name is Wolfe and I love you are about the size of it though."

Resting his chin on his knee, Wolfe looks down at the table where the book they need to study is sitting open. "...I miss him."

A stupid thing to say. They're all missing someone, so many someones, but it comes out of him regardless. He misses Caleb, he misses Stephen, he misses everyone they've lost over the years to LIEs machinations.

He misses Varric. Carver.

Anders.

He misses Chris and Amelia even though they're here.

He misses the version of himself that was hail and hardy and full of hope.

Leaning over he takes the book and thumbs through it, trying to find the word he's looking for. It lacks nuance, but its all he has right now.

"Sad. Lonely."

Wolfe sits and Jon fetches another book down before moving to settle himself directly next to the mage. He makes himself lean against his friend, as well. Not asking, just taking up space in Wolfe's personal bubble.

It's not the most comfortable position when he's not feeling very warm and fuzzy, but it's something that will make things easier. His mind drifts to a memory of their time in Duplicity when he'd briefly entertained pet play with Wolfe. That is not where he needs his head right now, though. Better to think of horrible things.

And practical matters. Thinking about the people they're missing might not be much use...

"Remarkable, isn't it, when you can find yourself surrounded by people and still alone. It's one of the more insidious ways the Lonely could get to people. Did get to them. Did you actually catch Chris before he ran off?"

Edited 2025-11-06 04:27 (UTC)

“I remember. I think that’s the Fear I’m most distressed by now. The Vast’s emptiness is still unsettling but there’s at least something freeing in insignificance. The Lonely, though.” He doesn’t elaborate, resisting the slight pull he feels around Jon when something he fears comes up. It’s easier right now, which Wolfe finds odd given his defenses are muddled, but it could be Jon’s powers waning.

He leans his head against the top of Jon’s lightly, immensely grateful for the contact and to offset his own worries about Jon’s potential oncoming catatonia and his own impending Tranquility. They’re both still here right now and that has to be a comfort. “I did. I apologized for disregarding his feelings; we told him not to help with brothel work, he’s no longer a king so his connections aren’t what they once were, so the ones he has left are all he’s able to call on and to tell him he can’t use those either was the last straw. I wish it wasn’t Bane, but I also don’t want to hamstring Chris into having to sit idly while he loses us. It isn’t fair.”

None of this is fair. It’s the best they can do to try and mitigate that as much as possible. Which doesn’t feel like much, but it’s something. “He told me he needs space. That we all need space, but I don’t want it. I had nothing but space for over a month and all I wanted was to be back with you all. Now I am, and…”

He trails off for a moment, looking down at the book again, then repeats.

“Lonely.”

With a sigh, Wolfe lifts his head again so he’s not crowding Jon as much as he could be. Instead he crooks his pinky around one of Jon’s fingers, like he used to do with Alaric when the other man didn’t want to be touched but still wanted closeness. It feels less intrusive.

“What about you? Or no, wait, hold on.” He flips through the book again one handed, taking far too long but finally coming up with what he wants. “How you?”

The words bring to mind Martin's struggles after escaping the forsaken place Peter had pitched them into. They'd both struggled with space when they'd made it to the cabin. Being in constant company and both wanting and not wanting it.

"Scared. Afraid." Jon knows he's a wholly predictable creature. Wolfe likely won't be surprised that the Archivist doesn't have to look for those words in the book. They'd been the first he'd found and started memorizing. "For you. For me. For everyone. Dread for everyone."

He sighs heavily again, glancing down at where their hands connect. It's a little less stifling than it could be this way. "But I'd be that way regardless of where we wound up or under what circumstances. There's too much to worry about. The pair of us losing ourselves, what Amelia and Chris might do to stop it when we're helpless. What thegods here might think of us or try to do to us. Bane's an evil god, I doubt he'd use any knowledge about us, Duplicity, or our home world responsibly. I'm scared I'm not a good enough man to actually stop anything terrible we need to do to survive here, though."

"You know," Wolfe says, trying to choose his words. "I'm frightened of much the same, but fear when its not to the levels you've experienced is supposed to be a motivator. Something that makes us act to prevent such outcomes. Some of it we can't mitigate very much, like what will happen when our powers have leeches away. But as to being a good man, if you're scared you won't be, then you're motivated to try. I know you haven't succeeded in the past, but soon without the Eye..."

He flips a few pages.

"You have choice." He pauses a beat, then smirks a little ruefully. "Just maybe not about they do. And I know you've always been more focused on results than intent, but if it helps at all, I couldn't condemn you for anything done out of love. The action, maybe, but not you. Goodness is relative anyway."

"There's always a choice, Wolfe. Just because you don't like the consequences doesn't mean the option isn't there." Jon doesn't press that point, but he does lean a little more heavily against the other man. "You should condemn people when they do horrible things, even out of love. I've not had my finest moments the last few years attacking random SIN Guards when I was upset about someone disappearing." And now knowing what had actually happened to them...

"Loss. So much loss." Another phrase he doesn't need to look up. "We can't control each other, but guilting works better on some of use than others when it comes to stopping them doing something we won't like. Or vice versa. There's also the issue of... self-worth getting in the way of any adult conversation on the matter."

Jon knows he shouldn't share other people's thoughts, but he can side-step it a bit with implications. "I don't know how Amelia and I are going to manage together. We're not... I'm a bad fit for her. I don't care if she stabs me or yells at me, I can deal with those pieces of her. But I don't know what to do with her when she's completely lost her sense of self. I'd rather she be trying to domme me or chuck daggers at my head. And she's pig-headed enough to claim she doesn't know who she is while stubbornly refusing to be anyone apart from herself.

"Frustration."

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nat 20 insight for 33. crit buff: Moment of clarity

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Nat 20 for a 31 insight

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