[And the thing that's strange is that he almost can't even argue against her feelings on it. Because he would say the exact same thing, if it were him. His death is supposed to be what preserves others, his actions what deliver them. He's supposed to die so that others don't — not be the template model for their suffering.

But he does know the argument against them regardless. And how it aches, to know exactly how it would be delivered, if that person were given the opportunity.]

And you're supposed to suffer things so that others are spared them, not forced to mimic them. That doesn't mean you failed, when it comes to this. It doesn't make it your burden to bear, for all that you might want to.

And you'd feel better if they did. Because then at least they'd have the right idea of you. Because you don't deserve their sympathy or their kindness after what you did.

[He closes his eyes a minute; it's his turn to fold his arms loosely across his chest.]

And it doesn't matter, because what you deserve plays no part in their feelings. Their kindness makes them good. And reminds you that you aren't.

I've a rather troublesome friend who isn't here to take you to task for all this. More fortunate you; my crack at it is merely a pale imitation by comparison.

[He shrugs.]

She would like you. She would also tell you that you're being an idiot.

Reasonable? I'd hardly go that far.

[He actually laughs, at that. Just a little, under his breath.]

Some days I'm half surprised she hasn't turned up here yet.

[gideon have you ever seen a man snap his neck upward so fast he about gives himself whiplash]

...No. No, you don't.

[A long, long interval.]

It's better when things like this only happen to us.

[ first of all, nav, how dare you, ]

...

[................]

I would be the one standing between her and danger. Always.

...Once, I suppose. In my youth, when I'd naught else to live for but myself.

[Just Thancred, he'd told the old man who would soon change his life. And I don't have a family — at least, none that I know of.]

I think I might well have been on the precipice of making a second go at it. Before all this.

But I died.

[And in a fit of something that might almost be sentimentality, he leans against her. Lets her bear his slouching weight, just a little.]

...You'll laugh, you know. To hear it.

Near enough. My heart failed.

[There's an irony there, somewhere. A poet could make all sorts of quips. Most of them would even be funny.]

Fitting enough, I suppose. To think that in the end of it all, the thing that took me down was the consequences of my own reckless actions catching up with me.

'Tis strange even for me to contemplate, I know. Dying quietly in bed — whoever would have thought?

[He shakes his head.]

Looking back on it, 'twas bound to happen sooner or later. I never was one to shy away from pushing myself to the brink of death for the sake of a good cause. I was bound to lose my balance on its precipice sooner or later.

Well, that and the fact that you hit like a behemoth.

[Gideon you should see his bruise.]

...But yes.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm still standing, aren't I?

[He elbows her a little, just a friendly dadlike nudge, and then gazes out across the grody shelves of the literal convenience store they're having this extremely sentimental conversation in before remarking at last: ]

Do you recall some days back, when you asked me how I beat the Number Nine? Why I can drink it without succumbing to all manner of foolish acts.

That's what I do for myself. How I imagine being what I would choose to be if I could.

[He laughs under his breath.]

That it's the best-tasting drink they've served here yet is just a perk. I'd drink it regardless of its taste, just for that.