[Maketh shivers again, then puts her hand over Henry's, squeezing tight. It shouldn't have come to this. She's made a mistake, perhaps one that can't be recovered from.] All right. All right.
[Henry bumps their foreheads together, a gesture Maketh normally initiates, then slowly draws his hands from her face, shifting the one she squeezes so that they remain joined.]
[Stars above. Maketh shudders hard, then opens her eyes.]
All--all right.
[They'll talk. She'll try not to cry. She feels pressed flat and exhausted, not really present. This might be a dream. A bad one. But Henry--he's real. His hands are strong, she knows his voice.
[He leads Maketh to their living room sofa, and tugs her to sit with him at his side, away from the kitchen and her plans.]
You left Doctor Sweets cowering a floor below us. The fear in his voice was poorly disguised when he called me. If you have no more use for him, send him home.
[He wouldn't stop talking. Maketh leans against Henry, closing her eyes again. It's hard to think clearly. She doesn't know why. The whole situation feels oddly removed, as if it's happening to a stranger and she's observing through dirty glass. How strange.]
I see. Perhaps he merely waited for me to arrive first.
[Henry falls quiet, then sighs heavily after a moment. He didn't think that Maketh and Shadow were so close that her desire for vengeance would be so furious.
So perhaps there is more to it. The conversation he had with Nick before coming here has made him question his doubts about the whole incident that started this.
He wishes he did not have to ask, and hates that he cannot be certain without doing so.]
...Maketh. Be there more to Sato's accusations than mere falsehood?
Shoot him in the head with a small caliber weapon. Then cripple him. Put you in command.
[There would be no place in the Guard for her after that. But someone had to teach Sato a lesson, so he'd know they were serious. So he'd know he couldn't attack her men.]
[The term puzzles him, but that does not change his opinion. He frowns, worry in the gaze that he rests upon her.]
Sacrifice should be one's absolute last resort. I am [he pauses, searching for the right word] dismayed by how hastily you turn to it at the expense of all other options. Your determination to act alone...
[Henry says it precisely because he loves her, and because she makes that same decision again and again. Even now she seems to think that she can keep the Guard safe only at cost to herself, rather than fighting alongside them.]
[She bumps her head against his shoulder. Stars, she's tired. All these things have spiraled out of control and she fears raising her head to see where they have finally fallen. And she's disappointed Henry again. She made him worry.]
[Henry continues to stroke Maketh's hair tenderly. For a brief moment for what, precisely? sits heavily on the tip of tongue, and he can all but taste the bitterness of those words. But she is vulnerable and he does not truly want to hurt her, so the dissipate as quickly as they formed.
He nods instead, acknowledging her apology.]
No vile deed was done. That is what matters.
[It's not exactly all right — this has become a terrible mess of a birthday — but it is what it is. He will take care of her because he wants to. His deep affection for her is not conditional.
But no small part of him wishes that he was in France, tipsy and laughing with Edward, or in Northumberland, utterly drunk in their private rooms and tussling with Ralph while Alan and Margaret placed bets.
Anywhere than this wretched city.]
Rest, sister. Enough has happened today. Our remaining concerns can wait.
[I'll be better, Maketh wants to say. I won't do it again, I'll find another way. But those words ring too close to empty and she's not certain - not really - that she won't falter again. She hates knowing that about herself, that she hesitates when it matters most. Either she cannot commit to an act or she swears to the wrong one entirely. She wants to do right by the Guard and Henry - stars, she wants so badly not to disappoint him - but--
Well. What she intends is not always what she does. And that is entirely on her.
She's sorry. She even told him so, for all the good it does. Apologies are confusing things for Maketh - why would words change things when the deed has already been done - but she tried, nonetheless.
Perhaps it helped.
She closes her eyes.]
Edward would be proud of you.
[For all that he is and for all that, when it really matters, he refuses to bend.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mismanagement) wrote2016-01-25 02:02 pm
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I don't--it's my responsibility.
[The Guardsmen are under her protection.]
What do I do now?
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[He says, gently but resolutely.]
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[He's her brother. So that--
That hasn't changed.]
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Come. Let us sit and talk.
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All--all right.
[They'll talk. She'll try not to cry. She feels pressed flat and exhausted, not really present. This might be a dream. A bad one. But Henry--he's real. His hands are strong, she knows his voice.
They'll talk. Okay.]
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You left Doctor Sweets cowering a floor below us. The fear in his voice was poorly disguised when he called me. If you have no more use for him, send him home.
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[He wouldn't stop talking. Maketh leans against Henry, closing her eyes again. It's hard to think clearly. She doesn't know why. The whole situation feels oddly removed, as if it's happening to a stranger and she's observing through dirty glass. How strange.]
I didn't hurt him. I just wanted him to go.
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[Henry falls quiet, then sighs heavily after a moment. He didn't think that Maketh and Shadow were so close that her desire for vengeance would be so furious.
So perhaps there is more to it. The conversation he had with Nick before coming here has made him question his doubts about the whole incident that started this.
He wishes he did not have to ask, and hates that he cannot be certain without doing so.]
...Maketh. Be there more to Sato's accusations than mere falsehood?
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He was a contingency. In case Sato attacked again. I didn't---not like this.
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I believe you.
[Unfortunately he cannot leave it there. Part of him tires of how much goes on without his knowledge.]
What was your plan?
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[She says it simply, without emotion.]
Shoot him in the head with a small caliber weapon. Then cripple him. Put you in command.
[There would be no place in the Guard for her after that. But someone had to teach Sato a lesson, so he'd know they were serious. So he'd know he couldn't attack her men.]
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[It's a good thing Lance saw fit to intervene. But more importantly, now that fate has been averted:]
Why must you insist on needlessly sacrificing yourself?
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I can take the--weight. I thought it---best. I am likely---likely a psychopath. I should do something for the Guard. Keep them safe.
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[The term puzzles him, but that does not change his opinion. He frowns, worry in the gaze that he rests upon her.]
Sacrifice should be one's absolute last resort. I am [he pauses, searching for the right word] dismayed by how hastily you turn to it at the expense of all other options. Your determination to act alone...
[Henry says it precisely because he loves her, and because she makes that same decision again and again. Even now she seems to think that she can keep the Guard safe only at cost to herself, rather than fighting alongside them.]
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[It doesn't matter. Maketh shivers. She wanted to be better, not an Imperial, but wonders too often if that's possible. Perhaps not.]
I just want you to be safe.
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[He squeezes her hand.]
You are a good woman, sister. Do right by yourself.
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[She bumps her head against his shoulder. Stars, she's tired. All these things have spiraled out of control and she fears raising her head to see where they have finally fallen. And she's disappointed Henry again. She made him worry.]
I'm--I don't know. I will try.
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[To put the notion of torture to rest once and for all.
Henry raises his free hand to stroke his fingers over Maketh's hair.]
Lose not your heart.
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[That's....something, isn't it? Maketh lifts her head a little.]
I--would be lost without you. I'm sorry, Henry.
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He nods instead, acknowledging her apology.]
No vile deed was done. That is what matters.
[It's not exactly all right — this has become a terrible mess of a birthday — but it is what it is. He will take care of her because he wants to. His deep affection for her is not conditional.
But no small part of him wishes that he was in France, tipsy and laughing with Edward, or in Northumberland, utterly drunk in their private rooms and tussling with Ralph while Alan and Margaret placed bets.
Anywhere than this wretched city.]
Rest, sister. Enough has happened today. Our remaining concerns can wait.
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Well. What she intends is not always what she does. And that is entirely on her.
She's sorry. She even told him so, for all the good it does. Apologies are confusing things for Maketh - why would words change things when the deed has already been done - but she tried, nonetheless.
Perhaps it helped.
She closes her eyes.]
Edward would be proud of you.
[For all that he is and for all that, when it really matters, he refuses to bend.]
I hope you know that.