The blood drains from his limbs at the thought; weakly, he sits down on the bench, hunched and small. Oh, God. It could happen. It could always happen, and he won’t see it coming. Mulcahy is going to—could, lose him. Could.
She takes the cue to sit next to him, slowly putting a hand on his shoulder. He's not going to have to do this on his own. He'll have another set of eyes at his back, making sure he can navigate this.
"...There are others in his same situation. Living with it long before they came to these shores. The power need not consume him. He can still be himself."
It would be hard, and it would require Gaeta to keep trying. To keep choosing otherwise, when it would be easy to let go. But he has a reason to keep trying, doesn't he? He has things to keep being as close to human as he can manage. There's every reason to hope.
And, a contract she'll take as seriously as that of anyone who asked her to kill them, should they get out of hand.
“I know. I’ve met them. I know that nothing may happen—but it could, and even if the worst never comes to pass, I fear the change this will bring to our bond. He drinks from me. I have already seen it.”
He’s done it himself, going drunk on others’ fear. He always knew that Gaeta would do the same with him, and now he’s seen the look on his face when he does. He recognized it when he opened the door and saw him on the porch.
"I don't know. I think so. I could, or I was told that I could, back when the Lonely claimed me, but it is—horribly addictive, and I will never stop being a temptation. I make it too easy for him."
His hands move to clasp the back of his neck. "Yes. I... yes."
He takes another deep breath. "Fever. I don't know how to tell you how much this means to me. What you promise is not just my protection, it is... the guarantee that I will live. I can exist with the certainty of my continuation."
No matter what happens with Gaeta. Fever will do what has to be done to make sure that he goes on. The Village left him with no more strength to withstand manipulation, and so he will not have to rely on his own.
No one can do it alone.
(When was the last time he had any kind of safeguard against his own destruction? … Before Korea, he thinks. A decade ago.)
The breeze blows, salt-scented, ruffling her hair, and she looks over the potter's field. It takes a moment to put her feelings into words, to express how all of this is. It's not bad in any way, merely...different, to try to hold it and not say you think better of me than I do myself, unwinding the coiled spring of that reflex. Some have asked her to strike them down should they go beyond any hope of retrieval, asking for the safety of others. Here, Mulcahy asks her for his own, to preserve a life instead of taking it. And she finds that she can look at her hands and have every capability of saying yes.
What is this power good for? To know when to go and when to stop. When to destroy and when to defend. I hurt you once before. Are you sure? Does it make sense to doubt him when he doubts himself? Looking at him, she sees the scars in his hands. Fever hopes they no longer pain him.
Thank you for your faith. I'll see it won't go to waste.
"...You're my friend," she says, feeling herself get stuck past that point. The emotion is simply too big to fit through the narrow passageway of her throat and to find its way outside to be expressed. Making light of it feels impossible. "And you shouldn't be caged again."
(She thinks Mother would be proud of them both for making plans rooted in life.)
He knows in some distant, abstract way that one of his violent deaths was because of some kind of Fever. His logic knows this. But his memories don’t hold that connection: he remembers the dead thing standing in the doorway, wearing Fever’s face but so cold and cruel as to be unrecognizable, and then he remembers a cloud of pain—and that is all. In any case, he had snapped his own murderous double’s neck that month. It’s difficult to blame Fever for his mutilation and he has no interest in trying. Loving one more person than one less is a much, much nicer way to live.
It’s a simple assertion she makes. It touches him all the same. “Thank you,” he says, thickly.
But one more point of business. “Please don’t tell him about any of this. If you must act, then better he never sees it coming, and if you never do, then… then better he doesn’t know that I ever asked.” A beat of hesitation; a memory. “Un—unless you think otherwise…?”
"No. It's best that he doesn't know - your instincts are correct. If he knew I was keeping an eye out, he could very easily work to deceive me to hide himself. And if nothing at all happens, then there's no need to burden him with the idea that he needed to be watched. This matter is between you and me, and it'll stay that way."
It's not as though she's unused to keeping secrets from Gaeta. Sometimes it's not about lying, and more about someone else's peace of mind. What would either of them gain, if she told him why she slit his throat those months ago? What would it do for them? Not everyone needs to know everything.
"If you find you need anything else...I'm staying with Lyubov and Anzu currently, and they've been kind with me having visitors. I know you'd be welcome if you wanted to come by." A tiny, tiny beat. "You said you were sealed away from companionship, and I hope you don't feel like that now."
He appreciates her reassuring judgement more than most would, he thinks. He's spent too long having his own questioned, twisted, and beguiled.
But she speaks again, and he smiles ruefully, looking down at his lap where his hands fidget with one another. "Truth be told, I... I believe that such loneliness is a feeling I will be living with all my life. Though I'm working on gathering evidence to the contrary. Today will be a nice addition, I think."
Lev, Anzu, and Fever all in one place. It sounds like a place he may be very fussed over, which makes him nervous, but a lot of good company besides. It is a good thing, to be worried about. He'll have to learn how to readjust to the discomfort of attention.
"If it's possible, I hope that there will be many more days like today. Many more pieces of evidence to contradict it."
Many more times that someone reaches out in one way or another, to have the word friend said and not contradicted. It's an ongoing process, Fever knows - there's never quite a cure for things like this. But there's patience, and there's those who will provide a safety net, and it's a little easier to breathe with both of those things there. Winter's coming soon, anyway, and that'll lighten the load some as well.
May she never need to act on this promise made. May it remain a possibility, and not an intervention she'll have to execute. May the loneliness, if it doesn't leave, become outweighed on the regular. May he remember he's cared for, by many souls.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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“Exactly. Yes.”
He says yes, and puts his face into his hands.
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"...There are others in his same situation. Living with it long before they came to these shores. The power need not consume him. He can still be himself."
It would be hard, and it would require Gaeta to keep trying. To keep choosing otherwise, when it would be easy to let go. But he has a reason to keep trying, doesn't he? He has things to keep being as close to human as he can manage. There's every reason to hope.
And, a contract she'll take as seriously as that of anyone who asked her to kill them, should they get out of hand.
no subject
He’s done it himself, going drunk on others’ fear. He always knew that Gaeta would do the same with him, and now he’s seen the look on his face when he does. He recognized it when he opened the door and saw him on the porch.
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There has to be a way for him to control himself. The bond is already changed. Even vampires can find alternate sources of food.
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"Then you know exactly what he's fighting against, and what he needs to hold himself to. And if he doesn't...I'll intervene. I promise you this."
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He takes another deep breath. "Fever. I don't know how to tell you how much this means to me. What you promise is not just my protection, it is... the guarantee that I will live. I can exist with the certainty of my continuation."
No matter what happens with Gaeta. Fever will do what has to be done to make sure that he goes on. The Village left him with no more strength to withstand manipulation, and so he will not have to rely on his own.
No one can do it alone.
(When was the last time he had any kind of safeguard against his own destruction? … Before Korea, he thinks. A decade ago.)
no subject
What is this power good for? To know when to go and when to stop. When to destroy and when to defend. I hurt you once before. Are you sure? Does it make sense to doubt him when he doubts himself? Looking at him, she sees the scars in his hands. Fever hopes they no longer pain him.
Thank you for your faith. I'll see it won't go to waste.
"...You're my friend," she says, feeling herself get stuck past that point. The emotion is simply too big to fit through the narrow passageway of her throat and to find its way outside to be expressed. Making light of it feels impossible. "And you shouldn't be caged again."
(She thinks Mother would be proud of them both for making plans rooted in life.)
no subject
It’s a simple assertion she makes. It touches him all the same. “Thank you,” he says, thickly.
But one more point of business. “Please don’t tell him about any of this. If you must act, then better he never sees it coming, and if you never do, then… then better he doesn’t know that I ever asked.” A beat of hesitation; a memory. “Un—unless you think otherwise…?”
no subject
It's not as though she's unused to keeping secrets from Gaeta. Sometimes it's not about lying, and more about someone else's peace of mind. What would either of them gain, if she told him why she slit his throat those months ago? What would it do for them? Not everyone needs to know everything.
"If you find you need anything else...I'm staying with Lyubov and Anzu currently, and they've been kind with me having visitors. I know you'd be welcome if you wanted to come by." A tiny, tiny beat. "You said you were sealed away from companionship, and I hope you don't feel like that now."
no subject
But she speaks again, and he smiles ruefully, looking down at his lap where his hands fidget with one another. "Truth be told, I... I believe that such loneliness is a feeling I will be living with all my life. Though I'm working on gathering evidence to the contrary. Today will be a nice addition, I think."
Lev, Anzu, and Fever all in one place. It sounds like a place he may be very fussed over, which makes him nervous, but a lot of good company besides. It is a good thing, to be worried about. He'll have to learn how to readjust to the discomfort of attention.
wrap.
Many more times that someone reaches out in one way or another, to have the word friend said and not contradicted. It's an ongoing process, Fever knows - there's never quite a cure for things like this. But there's patience, and there's those who will provide a safety net, and it's a little easier to breathe with both of those things there. Winter's coming soon, anyway, and that'll lighten the load some as well.
May she never need to act on this promise made. May it remain a possibility, and not an intervention she'll have to execute. May the loneliness, if it doesn't leave, become outweighed on the regular. May he remember he's cared for, by many souls.