chrisisofaith | IC Contact

"No, not whatever I need." Some other time, if he'd had energy, there'd be more bite to that. More defiance against Chris shoring up his defenses and focusing on him instead. Or he'd be able to coax a different direction, maintain his previously expert command of words and social ability to get them talking, to excise this feeling of... He's not sure what, but it's wrong. Heavy. More than misery and anger but less than desolation and rage, somewhere in a hateful middle that makes progress seem so out of reach. Instead he sounds a little stoic, a little exhausted but accepting despite the rejection of the words. He knows the other side of that and well; be of service, be there for him and only him, you don't matter in this moment.

Only they both matter in any moment, especially now.

He looks over at Chris, his entire focus on his boyfriend's sagging demeanor, half collapsed with tears obvious even among the remains of their dive. He shifts, grunting softly as he rolls up on one side and brings his hand very near to Chris' knee without touching, a little island in the sand within easy reach. He leaves it there only a moment before deciding that's not enough and moving it closer, gently curling fingertips against Chris' boneless grip. A compromise of touch that he needs to give but isn't sure Chris wants. "Whatever we need. Together."

He searches his love's face and finds loss there, regrets and guilt and so much else it puts a lump in his throat. He finds his voice around it, husky for emotion and low, barely audible above the surf. "Talk to me, dear heart. I'll wait until you find the words."

Edited (Stupid autocorrect) 2023-04-04 13:32 (UTC)

Hawke takes his hand and turns his words around and it would be so much easier to just let him be right, to just accept that they can feel badly together as he had with Jon just the other night. He grits his teeth through a wash of anger he knows isn't actually meant for Wolfe, but makes him want to turn and sock the man for pushing anyway.

It runs through him and then fades and he's just left more tired. His cracks are on full display and he can't find how to cover them again. Maybe he shouldn't. Not for his boys. All three of them left.

His mind jumps to the empty, silent, theatre. A place of ghosts and memories of people he should have done better by, for all they'd given him. His spine bows under the weight of it and the thought of Hawke being gone when he next opens his eyes makes Chris' hand curl tight around the fingers under his. He doesn't want to vanish too, he doesn't want his nightmares to come true. He doesn't want to lose anyone else who's his. He doesn't want to feel so...sad anymore.

His forehead falls to Hawke's chest, his other hand digging into the sodden fabric of his own shirt like it might make his chest stop aching so deeply. The keening sound that comes out of him is unfamiliar for having only heard it from himself once. After that night in Ilinivur, when he'd gone off by himself, punched some drunk in an alley, and tucked himself away in some dirty corner to brake down. It's the same sound now as everything crumbles in him and his shoulders shake and sobs wrack his frame. He opens his mouth to say something, to explain, and he can't form words around the chunk of pain that comes out in wretched shout and shuddering breaths.

Hawke hasn't heard this from Chris before. He's cried on him a little, after Martin vanished, but the thin pained sounds and gasping sobs are gut wrenching. He doesn't let go of Chris' hand but does lay back, freeing his other arm from underneath himself to gently lay in Chris' curls, holding steady as he can while everything bleeds through.

It's not as steady as he'd like.

Eyes squeezed shut, Hawke tries to swallow back the lump still jammed in his throat, eyes prickling in a way that has nothing to do with ocean salt. They're still here, he tries to tell himself, but that is cold comfort when here is both the blessing he wants it to be and a curse that's doggedly eating at them but won't let them die. Little pieces go missing every time the Creator gets his claws in or Veracity's radicals act up or they try to do literally anything that isn't bend over and take it. He feels smaller than he was before. Diminished.

It's the people that help. It's Chris' that helps, even like this. Even wracked with pain and mourning. Hawke curls his fingers in Chris' hair as tightly as the other hand in his and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of sorrow that rolls over him. It doesn't stop the tears, nor the stuttering in the rise and fall of his chest, but that's alright.

It's alright.

"I've got you," he tells Chris, a little brokenly but no less sincere. "I've got you."

He can hear Wolfe's words, feel the shuddering in the chest beneath his face that betrays his own grief, but he just can't stop. Each attempt to find calm and fold it all back down again is met with another tearing sob and shudder that wracks through him and fresh tears fall.

It takes a lot longer to get out than he'd like.

Eventually, the spasms of his breathing slow and his fingers uncurl from his shirt to bury in the sand under Hawke's shoulder instead. The sounds fade, the tears run out, and his uneven breathing has him shifting to better lay on top of his boyfriend to recover. He feels...hollowed. Scraped out. Whether it's a good thing or not was still uncertain, but the anger he'd felt since the Zoo had faded at long last, at least.

"Caleb's gone." He croaks out and clings to Wolfe. "I'm so tired, Wolfe...I want to be there for my people, for you, but I...I'm not very good at it, I guess." Not if he's going to break down on one of them like this. "Fairly certain a king's meant to do better."

"You don't have to be good at it, Love." Hawke's breathing still stutters in his chest and his voice is uneven and liquid, but his dam had shorn up more quickly than Chris', for good or ill. Maybe it was just not quite as full, he's not sure and he's too worn to pursue that analogy further. "You don't have to be a king. You just have to be. That's all anyone should ask."

He means it, too. He means it with every nerve. Chris is just Chris to him, and that's all he's ever wanted.

"I'm so sorry. I know how much he means to you." The fingers in Chris' hair move a little, gentle strokes, while his other hand remains securely coiled in the cleric's grasp. He can't help but wonder, though, if Caleb was actually transported home through the door. He's not sure he should ask or if it would make things worse somehow.

The quiet of the surf and the few errant sea birds reigns for a moment and Hawke's fingers continue to bury themselves in Chris' hair, finding the back of his love's neck and pressing gentle circles there.

"... You're not bad at it."

He shakes his head a little. "He's either back home where his magic is steadily killing him...or he's not. There's little I can do now." Unless...unless whatever magic he'd been working on alongside Chris had worked. What if it had sent him through the gate properly? What if it had sent him to Nate and Nick like he'd been hoping? His own hair wouldn't serve Caleb, Chris wasn't inherently magical, but if he'd just gotten to the others...it's foolish, but he chooses to believe it.

"But that's not...I'm not just me. I'm..." He sighs and shakes his head again and moves to sit up and roll off Hawke. "Are you alright? You must have swam hard. Your lungs make it?"

"My lungs are fine, stop trying to redirect," he tugs at Chris, trying to coax him back down by taking hold of his sleeve. He'll not force him, that feels wrong and especially cruel right now but, pathetically, he just wants that weight of Chris on him or against him, the solid assurance that he's not lost. "You're always yourself. That's what I like best and fell in love with, you're always you."

He's not making sense really, but the words feel right on his tongue even if they scratch coming out. He shouldn't have cried, shouldn't have yelled when he'd reached for Chris there in the water. All it did was exacerbate his still healing throat and gut. It's not much, the feeling nearly gone just for time, but he hadn't bothered to heal it in the moment - or hadn't the expertise for it - and once he'd returned to conscious thought it wasn't a priority. The still-open wounds, yes, but a rough throat and sore midriff muscles? They would heal on their own, eventually.

He leans up again, rolling so his forehead is against Chris' arm when he doesn't choose to simply pull the cleric back down atop him. It's not ideal, but it's contact and that's what he wants if nothing else. Just contact. Just the kind hand of someone who hasn't hurt him. It's unfair to ask, especially with Chris dealing with Just One More Thing regarding Caleb and his departure. One more support of Chris' foundation cruelly kicked away.

"I'm glad-" he starts but his voice breaks and he coughs and shakes his head, forehead rubbing against Chris' arm. "I'm glad we're still here. Selfish as that is. I-I don't want to lose you."

He pants a little, the effort of so much emotion driving him to speak making the soreness more acute, but he ignores it. He doesnt want nor have time for it so it may well not be there. "Please, just. Just lay with me awhile, if you can. I want to help but I need it too and simply being near you right now is more than enough, if you don't want to talk."

They can just be miserable together.

Chris looks over his shoulder at his mage when he catches his sleeve, but he doesn’t turn toward him until Hawke’s struggling voice becomes apparent. He knew that sound. That ache.

He hates that he has to return the favor from over a month ago, but he places a hand over Wolfe’s throat and just within the divot of his rib cage. The healing comes with its customary chill and the feeling less of putting something back than taking something away, but it saps the damage and strain from Wolfe’s body.

There was nothing to be done for the scars on his arms, but so be it. He shifts then and lays out on his side to pull his boyfriend in closer to his chest, tone softening a bit. “I can lay with you…but I’d like to know what happened. As detailed or not as is your want, but I want to know…so I can help tend to it or carry it as you need.”

Cool magic runs through him, humming softly and easing the ache. He swallows without difficulty and there's a moment of relief there as he swallows again to make sure. His breathing evens too, his diaphragm finally understanding that he's not moments from shock or suffocation.

"Thank you," he bids to Chris, no longer at all croaking, but he does still bury his face against his love's chest. He shouldn't. He should be the one wrapped around Chris, and it makes him raise his head again after that momentary indulgence, shifting so they're eye to eye instead of his body tucked into the hollow of Chris' chest; no matter how comforting that is, he's not just going to take.

"I will, but only if you agree to the same, for the same reason. We are neither of us delicate, even if we feel fragile at times" He won't let Chris focus on him entirely just because he'd cried too. Chris doesn't get to shy away anymore from the hard talks.

But neither does Hawke.

"They had Grayson take my throat. And Amelia cut on me. Extensively, but not at the same time. They both did the best they could, I don't blame either of them. I'm not angry at them, but I am angry at any of it happening. At the Creator for making it happen. On a whim.

He feels that prickling of his eyes again but fights it back this time.

He looks away at the stipulation but nods. He gets where Hawke is coming from, any other time, he’d agree. Holding each other up is the wiser thing to do, it’s just hard to do when faced with the hurt on his loved ones. He’s only just starting to get there with Jon, it’s…a process.

But he only nods and Hawke has fire in him when the clinical is past. The part with Grayson is uncomfortable and unfortunate, but better to know it was someone who likely did do his best to get through something unpleasant for both. The Amelia part…he wishes he was surprised. They’d clearly made certain arrangements intending to hurt.

He sighs and reaches up to brush back some of Wolfe’s hair. “The horrors of tyranny. We weather their familiar return just as it seems he’s lost interest in us. You know what to do with that anger, my love…but your allowed to let yourself be tired and take a breath afore you do.”

"I know. I spent all yesterday with Amelia. I thought after that we'd be..." He trails off, uncommon for him when he's usually so sure of what he's saying. He holds just that much tighter to Chris for trying to find words. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, as if sharing some shameful secret. "She didn't want to do it, I know that. We both know that. But I can't help seeing it behind my eyelids. She was just... Blank. Focused. That look on her face was the same one she gets when hunting a mark. I couldn't even- They'd taken my magic again, too, so I was helpless, and it made it so much worse. I trust her, this isn't anything she'd wanted to do, but now I... I flinch. If she's anywhere near a knife, I flinch."

He sighs raggedly, like some of the weight has shifted and it's not a comfort, just a source of shame to have what's underneath be revealed. "I don't want to be afraid of someone I love. It's not her fault, and I don't know how to fix this."

Chris' brows crease and he shifts to be able to bring both hands up to cup Hawke's face. "Darling, it'll take more'n one peaceful afternoon in the sun to things right. You've been hurt, she's been hurt, you can't make that right with one action or one conversation. I know you know it."

He looks away a moment, thoughts turning and that practical tactician's mask slipping into place. "Do you feel that stir of discomfort around her without the knife? When she comes up behind you or turns too quickly? And when you talked over what happened, was she open with her part or did she seem to close off and focus on you?" Break it down into manageable pieces, easier for him to move about and easier for Hawke to follow Chris' logic as he goes.

Watching Chris' mask slip on has Hawke feeling guilty for it. He should be the one trying to help, to support Chris through losing so many of his loved ones in so short a time. But he's still frustratingly right and if Hawke tried to bring the subject back around now, he'd only hit a wall. He sighs, letting his head loll to the side a bit in the sand.

"A little at first but it's faded. It's just around the blades. It reminds me of the bonfire, how the ocean spray hit me in just the right way and then my mind put me back in the Pit for a moment. I see the flash of steel and suddenly I'm in Realignment. That's not even the worst part, though."

Turning his head again, Hawke does his best to look at Chris, craning a bit for the angle. "She feels so guilty it's like she's a different person. Small and not standing up for herself or her wants at all. I don't like being treated as if she thinks I'm better than her but I don't know how to address it, but it's making me feel guilty for what happened too even though I know we were both victims."

Chris shifts and sits up a bit but only to take more of his weight onto his knees and run a hand soothingly over Hawke's chest.

"As with the sea spray, the blades will likely fade with time and patience from you both...and if it doesn't, you can decide what to do then. For the rest...I think she needs to know that. She needs to know you're creating an echo chamber of guilt and sorrow that's eating up the happiness you ought to have with each other. Neither of you'll heal that way."

He sighs and his thoughts shift to he and Jon, stood naked and clutching to each other as they let their grief run through them.

"Jon and I've fallen into a similar issue before. We did for this too, what happened in Realignment. We each blamed ourselves for the pain we caused the other...up until we could name that we were going in circles with it. Only then were we able to talk properly."

"You have talked though, yes?" Hawke's concern shifts focus readily, reaching to catch Chris' fingers in his as a reassurance for them both. He looks at Chris with patient openness, setting his worries over Amelia aside to simmer in this new advice. They'll talk, when he's ready they'll talk, but he's for Chris right now. He's not about to go running off and leave his boyfriend - his best friend - to suffer alone.

"I'm glad to hear it." He wants to reach up, brush the hair from Chris' face, but he stops himself, not entirely certain why. It just seems like he shouldn't. He feels small too, in a way. Helpless in the face of such insurmountable sorrow. "You need each other. You're... Better, with each other, in a myriad of ways, even when it seems the opposite. You're more open and he's far happier in general."

Hawke smiles and it's only slightly forced. Real enough in intention, just pushed through a layer of weariness. "You can tell by his grousing, but he takes better care of himself too. He wouldn't just for himself."

Jon loves Chris more than himself, but Hawke's certain that's no revelation. What or whosoever Jon loves is always going to be more than himself. It's himself he loathes.

As soon as Hawke asks, he realizes his mistake. The shift in focus wasn’t what he was after, but it’s here now and fondness wraps with annoyance in him for their usual dance.

The words themselves pull a small smile to his lips and he brings Hawke’s hand up to kiss his palm. “He does…and he minds my more…destructive tendencies with compromise that betters us both. We can be terrible together, we’re not great people inherent and I know we both see better looking at each other than in the mirror, but we manage.”

Chris leans down, his arm bracing on one side of Wolfe’s head while his other hand sweeps through wet and sandy hair to dry it as he goes. “I think you’re one of maybe two people who feel that way about us, though…and I appreciate it. Neither of us’d be anywhere so good without you, in our different ways.”

Edited 2023-05-10 16:51 (UTC)

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