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 Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 8:07 am
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He resented his old boss. He resented that he had to go see his old boss. He resented his resent, because if he didn't resent his old boss, he wouldn't have to waste everyone's time with this meeting.
Faustite could already imagine the results of said meeting as he marched up the stairs to the Sovereigns' floor. Likely he'd walk in, the two would have little to say to one another, and Axinite would be stressed out enough that even the walls would be covered in baked goods and confections. He might mumble something about an apology, something about duty, hand Faustite a tin of cookies, and send him back to Hessonite's part of the Negaverse. Apology made. So what if some resentment remained?
So what if Faustite wanted an explanation? He wasn't entitled to one. As a General, he was entitled to serving on the front lines and leading the subordinates that were assigned to him. He was entitled to a personal youma. Nowhere did the handbook say that he was entitled to an explanation from a General Sovereign for why he did nothing when he could've been piecing back together one of his Generals.
Part of him wanted to be intentionally late by searching around for Jet's new office. He supposed he'd have to call him General King Jet, now. It was good that he got promoted, Faustite thought; it meant the Negaverse wouldn't need another sovereign for quite some time. It was relieving, in its own way; he was certain Jet would manage better than anyone else, even if friction existed between them.
It beat the hell out of getting picked himself, he thought.
Ultimately, Faustite decided against the search for Jet's new office (General King Jet, he reminded himself). He made for the old, familiar, unassuming door that separated him from the overwhelming aura of a sovereign on the other side. He stared at it a moment, considering if this was really necessary (though it was, it always was, the Queen told him to do it). Finally he knocked but twice on the smooth surface.
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 9:05 am
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Axinite’s door was rarely closed, but today it was. Not because he wanted to close people out, but because the Queen had told him that his behavior was inappropriate for a General King and that he should do something about it, and what was he supposed to do? Disagree?
He had been avoiding Faustite, but not out of any desire not to see him. Just–
It was complicated.
And he was glad for an excuse as mandated by someone else, because it meant that he didn’t have to make a fool of himself–
Well, no, that wasn’t really an issue, either.
It was just complicated.
And now, Faustite was here, and it was still complicated, and there were a thousand things he could have said and he still hadn’t figured out which one it was going to be.
“Come in,” he called. The chairs were already neatly organized, his room was carefully assembled. There were fresh baked goods on the desk, but there were fewer than there had been in a while. He had a few books on his desk, and while he looked like he might have slept recently, his appearance indicated that he hadn’t slept well.
He smiled at Faustite, out of habit and good manners, but the truth was that he was a bit worried about all of this.
And, maybe still a bit hurt that he’d transferred out without saying anything, but that could have been a completely reasonable, professional decision.
He waited for Faustite to come over, but he didn’t wait for any awkward silence to settle in. He wasn’t avoiding eye contact when he asked, “How are you doing?”
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 9:24 am
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Faustite opened the door when Axinite bid him in, and he watched his boss — old boss — for a minute before he took up the offer-command to seat himself. He folded one leg under the other, which was left to whisk side to side out of sight, propelled by some incessant desire to stay moving.
Faustite was learning to fidget with his hands. Ran fingernails underneath fingernails, picked away any trash under his nail beds. Felt the long, smooth nails as they extended out from his fingers, as they curved at the edges. Ground his nails against one another just to feel some resistance. Other times he wrung his hands, interlaced his fingers, passed knuckles between knuckles. Today's talk necessitated all of it, if he wasn't to explode on his old boss and ruin his office.
There was, after all, quite a bit of paper to burn.
"I'm doing," he answered curtly. His attention flickered up to Axinite's face.
"The Queen told me why you stood around and watched during the operation. Bet it felt like ******** stadium seating, standing there, watching everyone else do your job —" Bit his tongue then, drew a long, sizzling breath, and smoke followed it back out.
He shifted uncomfortably, looked anywhere for some excuse to simmer down. "Metallia's orders. I know. But it doesn't excuse what came afterward. You were nowhere. Busy, gone, reassigned, don't ******** know. Not a word, though, not from you.
"Did you like me better dead?" Felt his anger begin to boil, caught behind his throat.
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 10:41 am
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Axinite’s eyes stayed on him, and even that seemed like it took great effort. He didn’t really have any doubt that Faustite was mad at him, and to his credit it wasn’t unjustified. But, it didn’t make it any easier for Axinite.
“No,” he answered easily, because that part was easy.
He didn’t like Faustite better dead.
He didn't know what bothered him more, that Faustite was so angry with him, or that he could have thought he’d have liked him being dead.
“I don’t go into the field much anymore. I don’t think I’m the greatest asset out there anymore. My skills are better utilized here.” At his desk, where it was safe, where he couldn’t watch people be blown apart.
Which, he’d long ago reasoned, much have been more traumatic for Faustite than it had been anyone else, anyway.
But, still.
“I didn’t enjoy it. I’m sorry I gave you that impression. I meant to go see you. It was cowardly not to. At first, I was afraid they were wrong. That you hadn’t survived. I didn't know what I'd do if--" he cut himself off, "And then, I was afraid you'd be upset with me.”
Like now, but Axinite was working very hard to sit still in his seat and not fidget. It didn’t matter what rank he was, or how much power he held, or how long he’d been in the Negaverse.
He didn’t like revealing his vulnerabilities, but it’s not as if they were all so very well hidden. Everyone knew he lost his team. Everyone knew he used to be in Special Operatives. Everyone knew he stayed in his office and tended to Information. He rarely went on missions, if ever, and never seemed to come back quite right.
This wasn’t really so different, except this time Faustite had been hurt in the process.
And then, because he’d been waiting to say it for so long, and because he meant it, he drew in a breath and said, “I’m sorry, Faustite. I thought you would come to me when you were ready. I didn’t mean to place that burden on you.”
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 10:53 am
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"When I was ready?" He sat up straighter, chewed his lip to do away with the snarl that threatened to form. "Like this is what, group therapy? I should've died out there, but I didn't, and life keeps going. Duties keep coming. People don't look to their Generals expecting them to fall apart at the ******** seams and cry about how they should've died on that battlefield. They don't go to them for heart-to-hearts. They don't want my ******** feelings.
"If I'm a ******** soldier, you're supposed to treat me like a ******** soldier. Not let me be. You need me, you summon me. You summon me, you get your answer, don't you? I appear, I'm alive. I don't, then they were mistaken.
"There's so much to do, the Negaverse doesn't have time for our petty little traumas. Can't spare anything for grief." He gestured, flustered, at the cookies that remained. Then there were the files, the books, the tablet. Personnel had to be leaving him messages left and right, making demands on his time, for there was always more to do. More to answer for, more projects to start, more people to set straight.
"Transferred to special operatives," he added as he slumped back against his seat, feeling petulant and glum in one.
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 11:42 am
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“Yes, before Jet’s mission. You went to Laurelite to make the transfer,” Axinite said, because of course he knew. He took Information very seriously. And, maybe was still a bit hurt that he’d only found out about this plan fourteen minutes before they’d returned from it, but that wasn’t Faustite’s problem. He hadn’t been talking to him before, why would he have talked to him during?
He knew why he was here now, because it was the same reason Axinite was here now. Metaphorically. He’d been spending a lot of time at his desk, but still.
“I didn’t know you felt this way.”
He was clenching his jaw, not in anger but in an effort to ground himself. Axinite didn’t seem capable of being angry right now. He was tired, worn thin. Have a conversation that he both didn’t want to have and desperately wanted to. He drew in a breath but sat rigidly, unmoving.
He knew Faustite was angry, but it was more complicated than that.
“You’re more than a soldier, Faustite. I can’t just treat you like someone who exists just to command. You needed to heal. I needed to get over myself. I don’t–”
Quiet, because maybe he was a little too emotional. He drew in a breath and corrected himself in a calmer voice, “I don’t handle some situations well. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I've been worried about you, I just thought you didn't want to see me. I didn't realize you were waiting for me. How can I make this up to you?”
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 12:33 pm
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"Why?" He shifted, leaned on an arm. "Schörl managed it. Umber did, too." And Umber had him as a human — Schörl inherited whatever was left of him by then.
He wasn't sure why it was a surprise that he felt this way. Didn't all soldiers feel this way? Their purpose was to serve, and they served their purpose. If a soldier was assigned a quota, they filled the quota without question. Wasn't that what Laurelite had asked of them? So why the objection from Axinite?
And why was he more than a soldier? What was that supposed to mean?
"Didn't need to heal. Just needed a blood transfusion." Then he was back out, back to work, back to figuring what all these new recruits needed out of the Negaverse right then, back to preparing an unwieldy orientation, back to taking on more subordinates, back to managing the ones he had and the ones who couldn't be left unattended.
Because there was always more to do. Jet didn't sit on his a** when a princess needed catching.
The question at the end, though — Faustite paused, squinted at him. Was this a joke? Was Axinite making fun of him? Axinite didn't have a sense of humor. Would he have learned one in such a short time? Should he blame Taenite for this?
"I don't know. How should I know? No one's asked me that before." All the fluster for it, for not knowing.
How were they supposed to straighten anything out? Faustite huffed, already frustrated.
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 1:56 pm
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“Well, I am asking now. And it is important, so let’s figure it out. I’m not Schörl, or Umber. I don’t know why they would have tried to convince you that you were something lesser to be commanded. Everyone starts somewhere, if my General told me I was just a body to instruct, maybe I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Maybe he would have purified and gone somewhere where he was respected and appreciated.
“I can’t change the past. For you, or me. But the Negaverse has always been important to me. I don't have a family, Faustite. This is it. And perhaps the human nature in me blurs the line between ‘subordinate’ and ‘friend’ but I can't help that I care. I don’t think I’d be here if I didn’t. Everything that I have here, now,” he gestured to his office, to the stacks of paper, and the books, and the tablet, and the infinite projects he always had open, “Is because I care. Because when I should have died on the battlefield with the rest of them, I didn’t. And this is all I can do because I can’t handle the battlefield anymore. When they put me back together, they lost a few pieces, and now I’m here still trying to stitch up the seams. And yet, despite that, people still come to me. You’re here in my office.” And he had been, before. Even without Laurelite setting this up for them because she was tired of watching from the sidelines.
“Your body isn’t the only thing that has to heal when you go through something like that. And you’ve just kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing yourself to do more. Do you want group therapy? Or private sessions? I can set something up. I think you should really consider it. I didn’t have someone tell me to slow down and take care of myself. But, I don’t want you to wind up like me. So I’m telling you that you should. And if there's anything more that you think you need, you should tell me. I care about you, Faustite, and I'm sorry I let you down. I should have come to see you as soon as Kamacite said you survived. I didn't want to be in a medical ward. I don't like them, they make me sick. It's no excuse. I wasn't thinking clearly. I should have come to see you afterwards, but I got stuck in my head, and then stuck with a guilty conscience. You deserved more than that. I want to make it up to you. I've been worried about you, and I've missed having you around. I don't want you to hate me."
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 2:54 pm
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"Part youma was enough for them." He hadn't questioned it; he owed the Negaverse his life by virtue of needing the Negaverse to survive. It was what Umber wanted, though not the way he planned to get it. And it was a novelty to Schörl — something to keep her entertained.
Axinite was someone that Faustite never fully understood. He didn't have a family, but he was human, so he could've made one if he wanted to. Faustite guessed that, given the likelihood of dying on the job, maybe he didn't want to put anyone else through that, or because he devoted so much time to the Negaverse, he didn't have time for someone else. He cared, Faustite supposed, because the Negaverse gave him a purpose. Same reason that Jet was so devoted. Same reason that Faustite stayed so quiet.
As he stared at his own fingernails, he wondered if he could handle the battlefield — if he was handling it. He supposed he was — he showed up at Jet's call, fought Sessrumnir (badly), and distracted him long enough for the Princess to fall into Jet and Aqua's capable hands. It was easy to go back out there, to put himself into danger, because the possibility of death was alluring.
No, alluring wasn't the right word.
When he looked up, he asked, perhaps inelegantly, "What happened to you?" He knew nothing about Axinite's time out in the field, save for the loss of his team. No context, no idea what he gleaned from it, how he lived around it.
He rubbed his chin with a nailed finger. "Thought group therapy was for people who were trying to quit drinking." Or maybe it was when they lost a loved one. Or it was for people who couldn't deal with their own lives. Maybe it was a sign of weakness.
Faustite frowned. He wasn't sure how to take his boss — old boss — tearing himself down like that. It felt vindicating to yell at him sometimes, but that vindication fled in the face of self-disparagement. This wasn't the conversation he was expecting to get when he walked through that door. This wasn't the conversation the Queen wanted him to have. Or was it? Either way, something unsettling twisted in his gut, wormed about in the fire. He felt sick for it, but swallowed it down.
Was satisfying the right word? Correct? Logical?
His brows furrowed and he stared down at his own lap. How was he supposed to respond?
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Posted: Thu Feb 03, 2022 9:55 pm
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Axinite found himself stunned, not entirely because of the boldness of Faustite’s question, but because there was a question at all. His past wasn’t exactly a secret, but he wasn’t usually the one being asked about it. He knew the information had passed through the ranks, or at least some version of it.
He hadn’t been asked about it in so long that it seemed to surprise him. “Oh.”
It was blunt and ineloquent and for a brief moment he was visibly caught off guard.
‘Don’t worry about it’ wasn’t exactly an appropriate answer when he was trying to convince Faustite to open up, to talk to someone. To work things out instead of trying to muddle through the mess of emotions and doubts and insecurities on his own.
“What ‘happened’ is a long story. But I suspect you mean the meat of it. To start, I failed. I failed my mission, I failed Metallia, and I failed my team.” The words were thick, like tar that wanted to stick to his mouth. He didn’t like this conversation. Being yelled at was obviously easier on him.
His brows had furrowed somewhat, like he had to be guarded even just going into the memory.
“Do you want to hear all of it? You can stop me, if you like.” But, he kept talking, while he still had momentum. “It was a fluke. We were supposed to be prepared. We were prepared, with everything we had. But our information was wrong.We went in thinking we had three targets. There were eleven of them that I remember. I don’t know where they came from, they couldn't have been local. They had a Mauvian with them. They had recovered some artifacts, restored them. Enhanced them. They worked in tandem with their magic, I don’t know how they managed it. The building was destroyed, everything was lost. Scraps,” he corrected. “We got broken pieces out of it. Not even anything useful. I don’t even know if any of them escaped.”
But he was skipping around a bit, because that was the end of the story and not really the middle and that’s when things happened. To him, to them.
His jaw was set and and twice he looked off to the side like he was going to redirect his attention elsewhere, or change the subject, but both times he looked back to Faustite and continued, “I blocked the first attack, I was in front. I think the second and third hit me at the same time. There are parts that I don’t remember. We fought. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Felt like longer. Two of my agents were down and bleeding when the first explosion went off. I don’t think it was intentional, they still had their own in the building. I couldn’t hear anything after that, though. The wall fell on me, and part of the ceiling. I was stronger back then. I couldn’t move.”
He wanted to remind Faustite that he could stop him at any point in time, but he didn’t. He kept talking.
“I think that’s when I broke my arm. Crushed my ankle. It blends together. I wound up with a list of injuries. I couldn’t get out. Another one of my agents went down. I knew the first one was dead by then.” He didn’t elaborate how, but there was no question in his voice. “I know we took down a few of theirs. I couldn’t tell you who did it, or in what order. I dug my way out by the time my fourth went down. I think he was dead before he hit the floor. He didn’t even have time to get a starseed. He watched me on the way down. I didn’t see the fifth, I didn’t know where she was. I hoped away, but. That’s not how our team worked. I fought. I didn’t count them. There was a sword through me at one point. That slowed me down. I shouldn’t have looked. I don’t remember who got my axe. I don’t remember how. I didn’t let it go.”
The words could tumble out, and then he’d stall, and he opened his mouth to say something, closed his mouth, looked at Faustite. Thought about how this wasn’t the first time he thought he could have benefitted from talking to someone. He remembered how Faustite had been upset after his mission last year and they’d spoken. Thought about how Faustite had blamed himself for everything that went wrong.
“I saw her then, the fifth.”
They had names. He couldn’t bring himself to introduce them to Faustite in this story, though. They deserved more than that.
“They took her down with it. It cracked, I haven’t been able to fix it. No matter how many times I summon it back to me. A Mauvian couldn’t repair it. Metallia couldn’t. So that’s just the way it is now. I had a different youma back then. I didn’t even think I’d need him. I don’t remember summoning him then. I panicked. Or it was the blood loss. Adrenaline. I was already grieving. It wasn’t the time or place. I lost control. They didn’t just dust him, they obliterated him. I don’t know what they had, I couldn’t see it. I think there was blood in my eyes. I could taste it. It went off like a bomb, sent me flying. I could feel it, before I hit the wall. Like the bomb went off inside me, too. You lost your youma, you know what it’s like.”
Another pause, and then he said, “I think I blacked out. But sometimes, when I sleep, I remember everything clearly, so I don’t know. There was another explosion, beneath us. The roof came down on us too quickly, I didn’t see them get out. I was there for a while, in and out of consciousness. I could smell smoke. Everything burning. I didn’t think I’d make it out. I shouldn’t have. I don’t remember them pulling me out. But I woke up in the hospital three days later. I wanted to leave but they wouldn’t let me until the burns healed up a bit more. I wasn’t taking starseeds very well. I wasn’t taking anything very well. I couldn’t manage Special Operatives, they had to put someone else in charge while I was recovering. And when I came back, I think it was pretty apparent that I wasn’t functioning at my best. I wanted to be useful, though. I wanted Information. So I moved into that, and I started working. I didn’t know what else to do. I worked. Nobody stopped me, I didn’t let them. I needed to make sure this didn’t happen again. So far as I know, it hasn’t. But every little slip up, every little mistake, every little thing I don’t catch might be the segue into the next tragedy. And I can’t let that happen and I don’t know how to change and I don’t think I can. This,” he gestured to his desk, “Is how I function. This is my life. This structure is how I maintain myself, and I don’t belong on the battlefield because I don’t know how to do it anymore. I don’t trust myself. I don’t know why Metallia did. I don’t know if she got what she wanted out of it or if I disappointed her, too. But I’m sorry, Faustite. I lost myself out there and I should have done more when we were back. I didn’t handle it well. You deserved better from me.”
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Posted: Fri Feb 04, 2022 5:42 am
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That he answered at all was surprising, in retrospect. If Faustite were in his position, he would've told his subordinate to ******** off in as fiery and explosive of a way possible, such that they would never ask again.
But Axinite answered him. Faustite had stayed silent through it, ever fidgeting beneath the line of the table, but he kept his eyes trained on his superior. It wasn't so much a story — it wasn't a clean-cut beginning, middle, and end, but it was a recollection, told in the language of trauma. And that was a language with which Faustite was familiar.
As he listened, he tried to imagine it. He'd heard and seen buildings collapse, but he'd not been caught under one yet. He'd seen people die in various ways; the details of those deaths weren't necessary. He'd never had a weapon to lose, but he'd heard about Aquamarine's encounter with Sessrumnir and the way he was gored with his own weapon. He'd lost people out in the Rift. He thought half his team was dead. The first one, anyway. It was too easy to remember each of these things as Axinite forged on, and to stitch them into his superior's story.
He'd never seen a chipped weapon before, but he wondered, then, if weapons were some kind of mirror of the agents who wielded them. Reflections of what they'd been through, or what they lost. Perfect images of their owners' psyches. He wondered — would Axinite have been glad to get it fixed, or would that feel like another loss? A slight on the memory of his team?
When Axinite reached losing his youma, Faustite smiled sardonically. His eyes canted down to his hands.
It was so much to endure, he knew. All that death and loss, all that waste, those people he must've been connected to. The youma with whom he partnered. The branch he led, the city in which he was stationed. Now everything was different. Everything was this.
Faustite looked around the room. Information was difficult to argue with — either they had information, or they didn't. Either that information was right, or it wasn't. Either that information was useful, or it wasn't. Desk jobs, they weren't messy like the field.
And, he supposed, sitting in this office, checking and double checking his information, collating it, distributing it — that was his way of making up for what went wrong. Of moving past it. Or, maybe he was just moving around it.
He looked back to Axinite. Faustite touched his index fingers together underneath the table, then they tried to take up with the words he spoke. "What if... You made it up to me by doing therapy with me." He expected a flat no, of course, but he didn't know a damn thing about therapy, and a familiar face was…
Well. He wasn't sure what he needed. What either of them needed.
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Posted: Sat Feb 05, 2022 1:37 pm
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Axinite didn’t respond immediately. He looked at Faustite, and then gave up the pretense of formality and leaned back in his chair. He tipped his head up to look at the ceiling, and the seconds ticked on, and on, and on. It wasn’t uncommon for him to keep his thoughts to himself while he mulled over something important, but this was different.
This was personal.
Finally, he looked back at Faustite.
He had insecurities. He had doubts. He wore some of them on his sleeve, and the rest he kept buried away under a thin bundle of nerves, waiting to be exposed with the right stressor.
Maybe, if he’d done things differently, everything wouldn’t still be so raw and sensitive. He didn’t want Faustite to end up like him.
He wasn’t going to discourage him.
He inhaled, held it. Exhaled, slowly.
Took his time to make an important decision.
“Yes,” he said, finally. “We can do that.”
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Posted: Sat Feb 05, 2022 5:09 pm
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Kamacite’s ankle was still painful to put pressure on, so he teleported where he could. It was easier to talk to Misha about things, and he’d let his friend look at the injury, which was bruised and swollen. He rested for a while with ice, but insisted that he didn’t need to go to the infirmary or a hospital. The burns down his arms and hands had been wrapped as well.
Yuuri helped Misha with his injuries, from that horrible Saturn Knight. And Lev was there to fuss over his “baby brother” as well. Luckily, they were able to hide and lock the bedroom door so Lev would leave them alone. Which they only did for a few minutes before unlocking it and opening the door for Lev to see they were alive, since they both felt bad for pushing him away when he was worrying.
He was glad that the mission was over. Glad that he didn’t have to keep secrets from Axinite any longer. Glad he didn’t have to sit in complete silence as they ate lunch together because he was worried about saying something that would give everything away. He knew Axinite could read him better than most others. Maybe Misha could read him just as well, but few others could. Silence wasn’t unusual for them, but there’d been a tension when it was usually comfortable.
So when Kamacite arrived in Axinite’s office with the food he made for their lunch, he was startled to find Faustite there as well. For a moment he was about to apologize for interrupting, but a quick look from one to the other seemed to be enough for him to realize there was something more going on.
“How are your injuries?” he asked Faustite instead, because no matter what, he was still worried about his friend. He’d fought Sessrumnir himself on a couple occasions, and neither time ended with him winning. The first time he’d almost drowned.
It was clear that he didn't intend to go anywhere, unless Axinite told him to leave.
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Posted: Sat Feb 05, 2022 5:21 pm
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Faustite wasn't sure what he'd just agreed to, but Axinite knew. The fireborn youth watched the way he composed himself, took in those long seconds to assess whatever had turned and burned in his head, til he accepted it, gave his word for it. Faustite wondered, then — was therapy hard? What was it even like? Could he have Headache look up a YouTube video later and do some research on it? Or was it more individualized, like a poem? Could he ask for an algorithm to do his therapy for him?
How was it even done? Would they have to go to someone else?
The questions percolated and compounded on one another until he left himself more lost and confused than he was before he'd begun to think on it, and then he heard the door unlatch behind him, and turned to view the visitor. Brows quirked when he noted it was Kamacite.
Felt like he'd been busted somehow, but Faustite tucked the feeling away. "Sore. Told me to ice it, but…" He didn't think he needed to finish that sentence.
"Said there's nothing they could do, unless it punctured a lung again." He'd gotten painkillers from Taenite, whatever he had on hand, whatever was strong. Felt it, too, if he took too much in too short a span. Couldn't fully explain that, except that he felt better than he deserved when he did. Between that, and refusing to do much with himself, he could ignore the ribs.
It wasn't much worse than perpetually burning, anyway.
He thought about asking after Kamacite's injuries as well, but that seemed like it emphasized a point he shouldn't have been making. Instead, he asked, "need me to go?" Kamacite and Axinite were often in each other's company; if Kamacite was working on a mission with him, far be it for Faustite to get in the way.
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Posted: Tue Feb 08, 2022 8:10 pm
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Axinite bristled at Kamacite’s sudden arrival, not because he was ever unwelcome but because his nerves were still on end and his skin was crawling. He felt particularly vulnerable, like a child caught in the middle of doing something he knew he shouldn’t be doing, but there was nothing here to be guilty about.
He was having a conversation with Faustite–an important one. So, he used Kamacite’s sudden arrival as a means to collect himself, to breathe.
To shake away the memories that festered and clawed at him.
He was used to Kamacite’s lunches, he knew why he was here. He wasn’t about to chase Faustite away, though. “No, you don’t have to leave. I’ll contact you later, we can work out a schedule. Are you getting enough to eat, Faustite? I’ve got plenty, if you’d like to stay for a bite.” He pulled out a box of pastries for emphasis. “I want to catch up, if it’s not too much to ask. I’ve missed having you both around. I hope you’ll still come visit now that you’re in Special Operatives, Faustite. Even when it’s not work related.” Or therapy.
He smiled, a little hopeful and just a bit more relaxed.
He still looked tired, but just a little less worn down. The conversation had taken a lot out of him, but the promise of a chance for a more positive future gave him hope, at least.
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