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That slap across the face hurt emotionally more than it did physically. He held the now burning cheek with his palm, his eyes darting from Hel back down to the side. His cheek stung. His heart stung. His emotions were as prickly as his nerves.

Her last accusations dug into him like a burrowing earwig. Slow, painful. His throat hurt, and his eyes burned. "How can you say that I didn't try? I tried my very best every single moment." He was no longer yelling, the pain evident in his voice. Orange eyes welled up and glazed over with threatening tears. "I really did... I really did try..." To be told he didn't try hard enough felt like no matter what he had done in the past meant nothing. Nothing at all.

"So.. all that progress I made.. it meant nothing to you.."

So it all came back to him being fragile, being hard to deal with. Things he'd tried to change but clearly failed at. "And with Mac.." He said carefully, "You didn't have to beg, right?" This wasn't said with jealousy or even spite. It still made him mad, but he could also see her side of it, why she had enjoyed it. It made him feel guilty he'd never given that to her.

So, Mot was fragile. He was seen as a fragile glass flower. Easily broken, scratched. Like fine china never to be used. This did not sit well with him at all.

"And once again... I hurt you by being me.." The story of their life. His hand remained on his cheek, for lack of anything better to do with it. "Despite my best efforts, I fear that will always be the case."

A hard truth. Sometimes beings just couldn't change. Maybe it was so deep a part of their core, that it could never hope to be altered. It was such a hopeless fact.

…Are…you done trying?

His hand left his face. His gaze met hers. Her words dug into his ears with a piercing pain despite how softly she spoke them. He didn't want to give her up, but at the same time, he had no means of improving his efforts. He'd honestly felt he'd done all he could.

And there was the issue of Mac. Mot's self confidence, his pride, had been torn by the fact Hel had bedded the other reaper so shortly after they'd been apart. His trust in her was falling. If Mot failed something, she'd confide in Mac. Mac would always know of all Mot's faults every step of the way. Forever judging him and his so called progress. Hel might compare Mot to him with every touch. Every kiss.
He couldn't very well tell her not to confide in her friend. That would be wrong. She needed to have someone other than himself to talk to.

The tears no longer threatened, and what had been there before dripped almost dryly. The pain began to numb. His heart beat less vigorously with each passing moment. "I don't want to give you up. You..." He hesitated, his fingers idly playing with the hem of his tee shirt. He wanted to say she was worth fighting for, but it hung in his throat, a blockade keeping the words at bay.

"You deserve better. Someone who will never flinch at your caring touch." She said she'd never give up, but it was no longer enough. If Mot couldn't deliver, then the effort would forever be one sided. "Holding on to you simply because I love you is selfish. And though I hate to admit it..." He hesitated again, knowing full well this would hurt. "Every time we are together, I fear I will always see Mac in your eyes rather than my own reflection. I can not deal with that. I can never compare."

It was hard, but the thin numbness was making a cozy wall around him as Hel pleaded. She wasn't making it easy, but she never did. Nothing was ever easy. "I am not Lizzy. She is a lot more forgiving than I am."

Those words hurt even him, despite the numb cold of his heart.

"I don't know if I can, Hel."

This finality was painful. Closure, and anything that meant an end was something Mot did not know how to deal with. All his evasiveness and avoidance of a conclusion was all a way to keep this feeling at bay. Anything absolute, like a Yes or a No. Thos were much too final, much too certain. But he couldn't let others hang off his maybes. It wasn't fair.

Maybe was dead. It had to die so the clock could keep on ticking.

To keep himself from falling apart, he reminded himself that after this, hel could heal. She could move on, be with someone who would show her the love he could never give her. The numbness cracked. Hurt started to fill his heart.

"Retreating hurt us even more than fighting ever did."

He looked away, and then back.

"It's... we're..." A painful grimace. "It's over."

The silence was agonizing, suffocating. Drowning in the pain and tension, he wished for release of any kind. A word, a foot step. Something to break from the cloud of misery.

Hel broke that silence, much like she had broken a lot of other things.

Her apology was sincere, one he could accept, even if he couldn't forgive. He could say it, sure, but his heart wouldn't place faith in it. His eyes shifted to the handkerchief, a soft expression briefly lit his face. "I didn't know you still had it.." He murmured, almost touched. Almost.

He nodded softly. "Yes."

And she still kept it, even now. At the very least, Mot tried to see it as heartwarming. He meant something to her. She wanted to fight for them, despite it all. But Mot's heart couldn't bear it. It was crumbling. Bits falling apart throughout this ordeal fell like pedals off of a dying rose.

The small remnant of his heart beat softly as Hel's arms wrapped around his waist, his won arms wrapping over her shoulders. He couldn't forgive, but nor could he forget. She still meant so much to him. The hug was one of the most emotionally painful hugs he'd ever had. An emptiness began to overcome him, a hollow feeling in his chest. Something that had once been there had seeped out.

He remained quiet.

"That won't change on my end either." Mot replied back. He had her back. She had his. That camaraderie had not died. Her pin was a symbol of her word, however tainted it might have become.

He released her as she did, a pained look overcoming him upon seeing the way she stared back. A small voice from the dying pedals that floated down into the abyss of his core whispered and pleaded with him; don't let her go. It could get better. Someone else will have her if you do this.

It hurt. It was right and it was wrong. But he made a choice. For better or worse, he made a choice.

There she went, heading for the door. He dared to look over his shoulder and watch her go.

His head spun.

His heart hurt.

He felt like he was dying.