deuceoftears | TLV IC Inbox

He holds her close, stroking her hair, murmuring softly.

"Sometimes, even when two people love each other, they can do very terrible things to each other." He knows, and he knows she knows. "And the love doesn't make those things any less likely to twist us up inside. Maybe even the opposite."

"I don't want to hurt Max," she says firmly. "Or Fitz. Or John. Or Sokie."

She holds him tightly. "I don't want to."

"We all hurt each other sometimes. That is the truth of putting your soft heart into someone else's hands, no matter how careful. But we do not always hurt each other in the same degree or kind. Do you feel the same way about them, as you did about Malo?"

"No," she laughs and it sounds so absurd to say. "Of course not. He was - awful. But he adored me."

"No, and you are not exactly the same person now that you were then. But that person, the ways she was hurt and the ways she practiced her skill to hurt others, she is also still with you." Jedao kisses her forehead.

"You should not need to endure someone who is awful, who makes you want to hurt them back, in order to be adored. And even if it was a choice you made at the time, that doesn't mean it hasn't...affected you."

He's right, but that gnawing sense of shame and guilt is still with her, still deep.

"How do I stop it?"

She hasn't felt so deeply, so strongly, in many years. Now that it has her in its grips, she falters under it, buckles under the weight of how enormous just...feeling is.

He keeps holding her, gently stroking her back.

"I want you to imagine a beautiful rosebush," he starts, after a little quiet. "Trained, with wires, to grow in a certain shape. And then it grows bigger than the wires, in every direction, but they're still underneath, under the tangle of stems and blossoms and thorns, holding the central trunk and branches a certain way. Maybe cutting into it, hurting it, because the rosebush is still trying to grow, but the wire doesn't grow with it. Clipping the wires is possible, untangling them from the bush is possible, but it's difficult. It has to be done slowly, to not damage the plant. And it will mean digging into those places with older, sharper thorns. It may hurt sometimes, to do that work."

He hugs her more tightly for a few moments.

"But it is worth doing, because you deserve to grow in the way that is best for you, without being constricted by a memory that is trying to protect you from a dead man, that still thinks you need to be ready to destroy him before he destroys you. It can be done, and I will help you, and I have every faith in you," he promises, guiding her gently towards the bed to sit down.

She sits and she curls up and she holds fast to him. She wants to be that rose, wants to grow without constraint, but she can feel that wire in her chest. It presses into her heart and her lungs, constricting her breathing more than any corset.

"I did a terrible thing today, Jedao. I feel like I may never be fixed. I don't want to keep pricking other people's fingers with my thorns and my wires."

"You will not be fixed, because you aren't broken," he tells her gently, steadily. "You will be healed. You have already begun. I am very proud of the steps you've taken today," he tells her honestly.

"And I think part of the misery you are feeling right now is also - a deep shadow of the past, clinging to you, even though you have thrown off the memory itself. It's very normal to feel shaky and awful after an echo attack. It's happened to me, a few times. Breathe with me. Oscar is going to be okay, and you're going to be okay too."

It's easier to follow his breathing and his movements, easier to regulate herself when she has him as a guide.

The panic fades, eases a little, and something like exhaustion sets in. "I will give him a proper apology later," she decides. "And I hope he - sleeps better."

"I hope so too. I think he will let people give him some assistance other than alcohol. When you are feeling ready, I want to talk about all the things that I think you did right."

A rather different post-mortem than they've had before.

"But right now I think you should have some water and a snack, and either rest or something to distract your mind from the very weighty things, a game or a craft, something that you don't have to think about too much, that uses your hands. What do you think?"

She nods and pulls away. "I was working on my embroidery," she tells him, standing up from the bed to retrieve it. She usually works on it while she's in the Wardrobe, but she wouldn't mind the break.

"That's perfect. Do you want to stay here or come with me while I get snacks?" he asks.

"I want to stay," she decides, gathering up her needles. "Walking seems like quite the chore."

"Alright. I'll be back in a few minutes," he promises, dropping one more kiss on her forehead before stepping out.

He goes to fetch his tea set and start it brewing, and some of the little meringues he likes best, and heats up some dumplings Hakkai left in the fridge, coming back with everything on a tray.

Justine sits in her chair by her quiet fireplace. There's music playing from her little player, mostly songs from Rent and Chicago, and she is decidedly more relaxed than she was when he left.

Her fingers move with practiced care along a patterned handkerchief, embroidering small flowers.

He sets everything down and pours her a warm, gently steaming cup of tea, and doesn't speak first; if she's enjoying the flow of embroidery, he wants to let her have it, let her wash out the panic and disorientation with the steady and familiar.

She doesn't look up or speak, but she does reach out for the tea after a while, letting herself get lost in her music and her work. When she is feeling better, calmer, her tea drained and set aside, she finally does break away.

"I...I didn't realize how absorbed I'd gotten."

He has his own tea and his slate, tapping idly through a maze game; he glances up and smiles at her.

"That's okay. It's good to get absorbed after an echo attack. It's one of the things that can help weaken the echoes."

"Echo attack," she repeats with a nod. "I am - ready to talk if you want."

Now that she's more aware, she notices the food and picks at the dumplings.

Echo damage, his own world's term for what is essentially PTSD.

"It can happen to anyone. Can you tell me more about what you were thinking of?"

She sets down her embroidery and smoothes out her skirts. "I wanted to help him get somewhere to dry out. I was worried that he would not be safe in such a state. I was...I remember I was angry at him for being so drunk in public. How...how it wasn't fair that a man in his profession could act like that and be so damning of me. It reminded me of the anger and embarrassment I felt for Malo, when he was drunk and in public with me."

Her fists tighten around her skirts, knuckles white. "I was angry with Monsieur Oscar for it."

He offers her his hands to clench, if she would like.

"Has Oscar been damning of you? Or did he bring out other bad memories in that way, too?"

"No, no. He has been kind and I - I was cruel to him when he tried. But priests...there was the one who tried to have me locked away."

Father David, who she had chained to the rack. Father David who came to take her away.

"Your feelings are not a crime," he says softly. "Kindly or no, Oscar cannot demand you put away that old pain and fear, any more than you could choose to simply forget it. I'm glad for you, that you are able to see that he has been different. It was truly good of you, to wish to help him, even in spite of your anger."

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