Gonou falls silent for a long moment, losing himself in lazy kisses.
Eventually, he says, half a whisper, "I'd -- like to stay with you. Wherever you want to go after you're done here." If he graduates by then. If it's possible. He's choosing not to worry about all the things that could ruin that plan.
Jedao makes a soft, punched-out sound. It's shock without nearly as much surprise, because he knows Gonou, how tightly he binds himself, how close they already are. They even sort of talked about it before. Sort of. But it's still so much he could never have asked for, could never have imagined six months ago.
"Sometimes," he says finally, squeezes his eyes shut. "I lay awake at night and try to think what I could do in your tea shop." The one he doesn't have, the one he's only thought about.
"Take care of the gardens? Wash dishes? If you wanted to drink tea for sixty years, I'd still want you there," Gonou says quietly, threading his fingers through Jedao's hair. "Or -- if you'd rather go to another world, one more like yours. I could learn to pilot a ship."
"I will admit I mostly ended up with fantasies of sitting at your feet in front of a fire. In my head your tea room always has nice armchairs and very soft carpets," Jedao confesses wryly.
"We still have gambling in space. We could trade off being card sharps and bodyguards." It had been fun, in New York. "I...it would be nice, to go somewhere machines can be people. My only friend from my world is a machine, and it'd come, I think, if I gave it somewhere else to go."
"We'd have to have nice armchairs and soft carpets wherever we go," Gonou agrees, tone a little silly, but also a little serious, because he very much likes that image himself. "And at least a screen that can display a fire."
He takes a deep breath, and ducks his chin in a tiny nod.
"Hemiola? I'd like to meet it.
"...I think it would be nice," he adds, low, "to go someplace where aliens are normal, too." For Jedao. For himself, too, because as much as he prefers to look human, he isn't anymore.
"You know, it's extremely annoying that Jedao One's new world fits all these criteria," Jedao mutters, with the faint huff of every rich kid who theoretically wants to make it on their own.
"I've been thinking I might want two deals," he admits. "So - we have time. We'll decide together?"
He says them softly, fighting back the shame that wants to creep in. Even the one that's supposedly selfless is so small, in the scheme of the Hexarchate's horrors. But Jedao One got someone to make a deal for the moths already, he said. And Jedao did the work. He did enough for the cause. He has to hold onto that, and not waver, or he thinks it could eat him alive, everything he could possibly do and hasn't, everything that isn't having his own life.
"I'm glad," Gonou says softly in return. "That one is for you." And not surprised that one is for his crew who died.
There are ten thousand selfless things that the Admiral's deals could be used for. Ten thousand grand, deep plans -- but, in Gonou's opinion, the grand and deep things are those that people have to solve themselves. Deals are only worth it for the unsolvable, the personal, and those things that are both combined.
"Bringing people back is a harder wish," Gonou murmurs. Harder to think of, harder to decide on -- lost soldiers for whom Jedao feels responsible are a clearer cut case, but even so, it makes sense to him, that it wouldn't have been the first thought.
"I still don't know whether to include Dhanneth," he confesses. "I want it to be like....they weren't given to me, they just never met Kujen at all. They were with High General Brezan or Protector-General Inesser in the war, and came through it okay. That's what I want them to remember. They didn't choose to go with Kujen and they didn't choose for Revenant to slaughter them. But -"
But Dhanneth. Gonou's hand hesitates briefly in his hair. He knows it's unfair to hate Dhanneth a little for everything he'd done to hurt Jedao, both physically and otherwise: he hadn't had a choice in most of it.
But he could have chosen not to hate and be disgusted by someone who was also Kujen's victim, and who'd been -- what, seventeen, eighteen at the most.
He sighs out a long breath, easing back into the soft petting of Jedao's hair.
"If you want it to be, for them, like they never met Kujen... I think you should include Dhanneth."
There is a point, Jedao muses, when it's probably churlish to argue against what he wants to hear.
"Not least because without Dhanneth, Captain Talaw would know something was wrong," he mutters, even though that probably is the least reason. "It feels worse, somehow. To mess with his memories. But if I'm doing it to all the others then I've decided it's not wrong, for this. To just - give him a life like he never met me."
He sighs softly, nuzzles Gonou's neck. "There's a selfish part of me that wants to like - write him a letter. To say sorry for something. But I know I shouldn't."
"You should write it," Gonou says quietly; his hand doesn't pause in the gentle rhythm over Jedao's hair, this time. "And then you should put it away somewhere. And when Mr. Flint's found his way to graduation, and you can bring them all back, you should look at the letter again, and decide if you want to send it or just set it on fire."
Setting it on fire is the only real choice, and Gonou's sure Jedao knows that even better than he does himself. If he's taking himself out of Dhanneth's life, because there's no way to leave Dhanneth with those memories without also leaving him with the pain he'd shot himself to escape, then -- a letter will only make the man pull at the loose strings until all of Jedao's work saving them falls apart.
But writing a letter, even if it can't ever be delivered, might help.
Just shudders out a long, soft breath. "You're so kind to me," he says softly.
The other thing he wants is to let Talaw remember it both ways, or at least give them a choice about it, but that's selfish too; he doesn't want to give up being known by one of the only people who was kind to him before, even if they sort of hated him too, even if they would never meet again. He has to, though, if he's going to save them all without undoing Revenant's freedom. He has to accept that miracles have a cost. But it's one he can bear.
"I love you, too," Gonou murmurs, and brushes a kiss against his forehead. "You do know I'm copying most of my kindness from you?"
Well, and Xie Lian. But the portion he's learned from Jedao is the portion that's better at handling important people's feelings gently, when he sees them.
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"Hmm-- I might be able to pull off some tasteful hairline scales," he agrees, lightly. "But I don't think the lizard nose would suit me."
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"Look," he mutters, and then completely fails to follow it up with any argument.
"I'm a simple man and I know what I like," he settles on eventually.
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"I'm very lucky that you like me," he says gently. "Claws and all."
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Eventually, he says, half a whisper, "I'd -- like to stay with you. Wherever you want to go after you're done here." If he graduates by then. If it's possible. He's choosing not to worry about all the things that could ruin that plan.
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"Sometimes," he says finally, squeezes his eyes shut. "I lay awake at night and try to think what I could do in your tea shop." The one he doesn't have, the one he's only thought about.
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"We still have gambling in space. We could trade off being card sharps and bodyguards." It had been fun, in New York. "I...it would be nice, to go somewhere machines can be people. My only friend from my world is a machine, and it'd come, I think, if I gave it somewhere else to go."
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He takes a deep breath, and ducks his chin in a tiny nod.
"Hemiola? I'd like to meet it.
"...I think it would be nice," he adds, low, "to go someplace where aliens are normal, too." For Jedao. For himself, too, because as much as he prefers to look human, he isn't anymore.
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"I've been thinking I might want two deals," he admits. "So - we have time. We'll decide together?"
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"So... if we can." Quieter, he murmurs, "I'd like that. Deciding together."
A brief hesitation, and he adds, "Why two deals?"
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He says them softly, fighting back the shame that wants to creep in. Even the one that's supposedly selfless is so small, in the scheme of the Hexarchate's horrors. But Jedao One got someone to make a deal for the moths already, he said. And Jedao did the work. He did enough for the cause. He has to hold onto that, and not waver, or he thinks it could eat him alive, everything he could possibly do and hasn't, everything that isn't having his own life.
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There are ten thousand selfless things that the Admiral's deals could be used for. Ten thousand grand, deep plans -- but, in Gonou's opinion, the grand and deep things are those that people have to solve themselves. Deals are only worth it for the unsolvable, the personal, and those things that are both combined.
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"That's the one I started with, actually. I didn't even think of using it to bring my Kel back at first."
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But Dhanneth.
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But he could have chosen not to hate and be disgusted by someone who was also Kujen's victim, and who'd been -- what, seventeen, eighteen at the most.
He sighs out a long breath, easing back into the soft petting of Jedao's hair.
"If you want it to be, for them, like they never met Kujen... I think you should include Dhanneth."
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"Not least because without Dhanneth, Captain Talaw would know something was wrong," he mutters, even though that probably is the least reason. "It feels worse, somehow. To mess with his memories. But if I'm doing it to all the others then I've decided it's not wrong, for this. To just - give him a life like he never met me."
He sighs softly, nuzzles Gonou's neck. "There's a selfish part of me that wants to like - write him a letter. To say sorry for something. But I know I shouldn't."
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Setting it on fire is the only real choice, and Gonou's sure Jedao knows that even better than he does himself. If he's taking himself out of Dhanneth's life, because there's no way to leave Dhanneth with those memories without also leaving him with the pain he'd shot himself to escape, then -- a letter will only make the man pull at the loose strings until all of Jedao's work saving them falls apart.
But writing a letter, even if it can't ever be delivered, might help.
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The other thing he wants is to let Talaw remember it both ways, or at least give them a choice about it, but that's selfish too; he doesn't want to give up being known by one of the only people who was kind to him before, even if they sort of hated him too, even if they would never meet again. He has to, though, if he's going to save them all without undoing Revenant's freedom. He has to accept that miracles have a cost. But it's one he can bear.
"I love you."
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Well, and Xie Lian. But the portion he's learned from Jedao is the portion that's better at handling important people's feelings gently, when he sees them.
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