Deservedly so; it was my fault. And with my body and my knowledge, our enemies were led directly to our hidden base of operations. They had no chance.
[He kicks lightly; a smattering of balls go soaring into the air.]
I've a comrade who has also been through similar circumstances. Overshadowed by a malevolent influence, his body taken and used for evil ends. And one of the things he and I are in agreement on is that we both deserved death as the consequence of our actions. That it was the correct outcome.
The fact that you think it wasn't, that you're outraged by the very thought, is a mark of heroism. Because that's what the heroic do: they reject the notion that they can't save everyone.
[that gets her, a little, because she isn't expecting where it's going. he's right - she is outraged, she thinks it's stupid. and maybe it isn't always as generous and magnanimous as that - sometimes, she is just cruel because she doesn't care. but for him, and for lavi both, she thinks it's bullshit.
she pulls herself up out of the ball pit, and clumsily makes her way over to him. she has to stop, once or twice, because she's tipsy and there are a lot of balls, but she makes it. she sits on the edge, and stares at him, as focused as she can be.]
Horseshit. [she says, sharply.] Balls to that. Balls to - death as a consequence. You didn't do anything wrong except care, you magnificent jackass. Numbnuts.
[ah yes. affection through name calling.
she's kind of reeling at being called anything even close to a hero. it's almost laughable. like she needs to reject it as vehemently as possible.]
I did a great deal wrong, Nav, and you know it. But if you're unwilling to hold me responsible for the blood on my hands, then stop imagining it on your own.
[He takes another long drink of his Number Nine, letting his head fall back a moment before looking over at her.]
I know it hurts. I know you wish it wouldn't. But don't take it out on yourself.
[her mouth twists horribly, and she's afraid for a dreadful, terrifying moment that she's going to cry. she feels it welling up in her chest, behind her eyes, and she holds her breath for a long moment like that's going to stop it.
it does, a little. she exhales shakily. her voice fails her for another minute.]
I'm not... I'm not taking it out on myself. [but that's weak, and it's really mostly just because she doesn't know what else to say.
nobody talks to her like this. except for... well. one person. but he's dead, and not in the way that means she'll ever get to see him again.]
If you quit on caring now, you'll be taking it out on the both of us.
[But he did agree not to psychoanalyze her, so.]
A happier tale for you, then: once upon a time, hope traveled to the very end of all things and lit a spark that vanquished despair once and for all. And it didn't mean that loved ones weren't still lost. It didn't fix every trial and tribulation in life. It didn't make a perfect world; quite the contrary, it rejected the very notion of one.
What it did was prove that hope can win. That running away isn't the only answer. That sometimes we just walk, one footfall in front of the next, until we've traversed the pain and sorrow and heartache, and seen it through to the end.
[... that feels a little better. that feels like something she can try to hold onto, even if she doesn't quite believe it, right now. it feels more real than anything else, an imperfect sort of hope.
gideon brings her hand up to mop at her face. tries to compose herself.]
I didn't have any family when I was alive. [she says, maybe a little abruptly.] You know. I landed on the Ninth and my mother was braindead in a hazard suit with all the power diverted to me.
[she's not sure why she's telling him this. it seems important. it feels important, when she's talking about how much it hurts to lose people, here.]
I don't run from anything. [and it sounds like she's reminding herself.] I'm not running.
she doesn't sass him about it, to maybe her credit. she just thinks, shoulders hunched, body leaning forward as she sits with her legs off the edge of the ball pit. she's tipsy, so she's having a hard time working through it, but...]
Yes. [she says, finally, looking at him. because it's both.]
[this is the hardest question, actually, because she doesn't know what life would be like without harrow, and she doesn't... want to know. so. maybe that's what matters.]
I don't want to lose Harrow. [that, she's sure of. but...] I want both of us to belong.
[maybe she's not answering his question entirely, but it's what she feels.]
Then you know what you want, really. I'm sorry it's not something I can give you.
[He reaches over, hand sliding along the lip of the ballpit until it nudges up against hers, side against side. Contact that could easily be explained away by any excuse in the book. Hers to accept or deny, however she pleases, in her own mind.]
I would if I could. I could give you a way to belong. But I can't give you Harrow. Only Harrow can do that.
[side against side. she's still, for a bit, because she feels like she just gave away a lot of herself in two sentences, and it makes her feel guilty, almost. which is an absolutely buckwild feeling to feel, but it's not like she gets anything else.
but she shifts. rests her hand on top of his, or at the very least, lets her fingers rest on top of his.]
I wouldn't want you or anyone to give me Harrow, anyway, that's cheap. [she says, looking across the room.] She can make her own decisions. She will.
Now there's a rare concept indeed. The notion that I've done enough.
[One that he's willing to bet she can relate to, in terms of how absurd an idea it is to apply to themselves.]
If it turns out, someday, that you can't have her. That your feelings have no bearing on it, that she's made up her mind to do as she will, with no changing or preventing it.
[Farewell, Minfilia.]
Still, you'll be all right. D'you understand? It won't hurt that way forever. It doesn't.
[she absolutely can relate, and it makes her lips twitch.
but... the rest of that, like. she could argue, she could sass or be mean, but she's had a few drinks and she kind of. just wants someone to tell her that it's going to be all right. that she will be. that things won't hurt forever, whatever they are. even if she already knows that, rationally.
she thinks about lavi smiling at her from behind bars, and closes her eyes.]
Yeah, yeah. I understand, God. [okay, maybe she can't resist a little bit of sass. she just tries to let the tension drop out of her shoulders.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Are you actually blaming yourself for getting possessed?
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[He kicks lightly; a smattering of balls go soaring into the air.]
I've a comrade who has also been through similar circumstances. Overshadowed by a malevolent influence, his body taken and used for evil ends. And one of the things he and I are in agreement on is that we both deserved death as the consequence of our actions. That it was the correct outcome.
The fact that you think it wasn't, that you're outraged by the very thought, is a mark of heroism. Because that's what the heroic do: they reject the notion that they can't save everyone.
no subject
she pulls herself up out of the ball pit, and clumsily makes her way over to him. she has to stop, once or twice, because she's tipsy and there are a lot of balls, but she makes it. she sits on the edge, and stares at him, as focused as she can be.]
Horseshit. [she says, sharply.] Balls to that. Balls to - death as a consequence. You didn't do anything wrong except care, you magnificent jackass. Numbnuts.
[ah yes. affection through name calling.
she's kind of reeling at being called anything even close to a hero. it's almost laughable. like she needs to reject it as vehemently as possible.]
no subject
[He takes another long drink of his Number Nine, letting his head fall back a moment before looking over at her.]
I know it hurts. I know you wish it wouldn't. But don't take it out on yourself.
no subject
it does, a little. she exhales shakily. her voice fails her for another minute.]
I'm not... I'm not taking it out on myself. [but that's weak, and it's really mostly just because she doesn't know what else to say.
nobody talks to her like this. except for... well. one person. but he's dead, and not in the way that means she'll ever get to see him again.]
no subject
[But he did agree not to psychoanalyze her, so.]
A happier tale for you, then: once upon a time, hope traveled to the very end of all things and lit a spark that vanquished despair once and for all. And it didn't mean that loved ones weren't still lost. It didn't fix every trial and tribulation in life. It didn't make a perfect world; quite the contrary, it rejected the very notion of one.
What it did was prove that hope can win. That running away isn't the only answer. That sometimes we just walk, one footfall in front of the next, until we've traversed the pain and sorrow and heartache, and seen it through to the end.
no subject
gideon brings her hand up to mop at her face. tries to compose herself.]
I didn't have any family when I was alive. [she says, maybe a little abruptly.] You know. I landed on the Ninth and my mother was braindead in a hazard suit with all the power diverted to me.
[she's not sure why she's telling him this. it seems important. it feels important, when she's talking about how much it hurts to lose people, here.]
I don't run from anything. [and it sounds like she's reminding herself.] I'm not running.
no subject
[Look at him, sharing bits of himself without even being asked, just like he said he would.]
Harrow's family took you in, I gather?
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The House made me a bondswoman. [she mutters.] I don't belong to anything.
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[He says, like he understands, except that this is probably some kind of weird BONE PLANET thing and consequently he really doesn't.]
But you want to.
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Duh. Of course I do.
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I'm going to ask you something, then. You won't like it. But think truly about it, and don't give me sass over it.
Do you want Harrow? Or is she just the likeliest path to belonging that you've ever had?
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she doesn't sass him about it, to maybe her credit. she just thinks, shoulders hunched, body leaning forward as she sits with her legs off the edge of the ball pit. she's tipsy, so she's having a hard time working through it, but...]
Yes. [she says, finally, looking at him. because it's both.]
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[honestly the most resounding proof of gideon's heroism is her stubborn insistence to always take a third option even when it is not offered]
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I don't want to lose Harrow. [that, she's sure of. but...] I want both of us to belong.
[maybe she's not answering his question entirely, but it's what she feels.]
no subject
[He reaches over, hand sliding along the lip of the ballpit until it nudges up against hers, side against side. Contact that could easily be explained away by any excuse in the book. Hers to accept or deny, however she pleases, in her own mind.]
I would if I could. I could give you a way to belong. But I can't give you Harrow. Only Harrow can do that.
no subject
but she shifts. rests her hand on top of his, or at the very least, lets her fingers rest on top of his.]
I wouldn't want you or anyone to give me Harrow, anyway, that's cheap. [she says, looking across the room.] She can make her own decisions. She will.
[she knows that much.]
You do enough for me as is.
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[One that he's willing to bet she can relate to, in terms of how absurd an idea it is to apply to themselves.]
If it turns out, someday, that you can't have her. That your feelings have no bearing on it, that she's made up her mind to do as she will, with no changing or preventing it.
[Farewell, Minfilia.]
Still, you'll be all right. D'you understand? It won't hurt that way forever. It doesn't.
no subject
but... the rest of that, like. she could argue, she could sass or be mean, but she's had a few drinks and she kind of. just wants someone to tell her that it's going to be all right. that she will be. that things won't hurt forever, whatever they are. even if she already knows that, rationally.
she thinks about lavi smiling at her from behind bars, and closes her eyes.]
Yeah, yeah. I understand, God. [okay, maybe she can't resist a little bit of sass. she just tries to let the tension drop out of her shoulders.
quieter, more genuine:] ... Thank you.