[Useless. Utterly useless, she lost. She fought and failed in front of someone who matters, and it--
Maketh shudders hard and grabs his hand, though doesn't stand. She's shaking too hard, on the verge of crying and furious at herself for it. This should not be happening. She's better than this.]
She's gone.
[It comes out small. Maketh swallows hard, tries to blink her vision clear. Stars, she must look pathetic.]
[Henry squeezes Maketh's hand, then kneels himself. He places his free hand on the back of her head and strokes her hair. When he speaks, it is gently.]
Keep going on. But you must allow yourself to grieve.'Tis never weak to feel.
[This whole thing is foolish - this moment, her reaction to it, everything but Henry's patience in the aftermath. He's being kind despite everything she'd done to him. Maketh shudders, resting her head against his shoulder. Maybe she can just hold there for a moment, just a fucking moment, and when she finally looks up, then everything will be okay again. She'll be in control of herself.]
I--it hurts.
[And she feels foolish for admitting that. Who was she to think Hadriel would allow this to stand, that she - a traitor to the Empire, a failure to the officer corps - could ever have this? That someone like Lilith, strong and vibrant and wild would ever want to stay at her side?
And now she's spent far too long on the training mats attempting to cause bodily harm to the man she calls brother.
What a messy. What a bloody mess.]
I'm sorry, I--I didn't mean to hit you like that. I shouldn't have done that.
[As the adrenaline and focus of the fight fade, the ache returns to prominence. But that is irrelevant. Bodies heal quickly and easily enough in a way that wounds to the soul do not. He knows.]
It shall hurt for some time. There is no escaping that. But... [Henry sighs, still stroking her head.] But you need not bear it alone, Maketh. Nor must you bear it well every minute of the day. Let go. Those who care for you will gladly comfort you.
[He would know. The death of one and the absence of another. Oh, he would know. Maketh bites back a sob, squeezing his hand tight. She's tired all of a sudden, tired and sore and sick of this whole thing. It doesn't help to cry but her eyes are watering already. Stars above. Lilith only went home. She hasn't died. It's better like this.
It's better this way. If she says it enough, then it will be true.]
[She makes a rough sound but doesn't start crying. At least, not too much. At least he's still there. Henry has always been at her side, he's always been strong when Maketh is not. Family.] I, uh--should not have hit you like that.
[He feels a small pang of guilt at that. Getting to his feet, Henry then hauls Maketh up too.]
...I cannot stand the thought of you alone after this. [He tells her, before he insists:] Once you are done here let us return to your apartment, where you might pack a bag and then bring it up to mine. You should stay with me.
[It's the expected pain. And in some ways it's easier to focus on the physical than everything else. Lilith is gone. And yet -- the work continues. Henry is standing at her side. She can bear the weight.]
I-- [Maketh clears her throat.] I would like that. Very much.
[Maketh rubs her shoulder with a grimace. It feels oddly surreal to be talking about food after spending so much effort trying to hit each other. Yet, here they are.] Do you need any ice?
[Only for him to look embarrassed once he catches on. He's torn between the prospect of some relief and how undignified the means would be, given where the ice would be applied.]
[It would be unkind to laugh then and she's tried besides, worn down by everything coming to a head. Maketh just smiles, briefly. Henry comes from a different time. Perhaps such things are not discussed?] The Empire was always--Well. Pragmatic. With such things.
[Maketh takes more time than is perhaps needed to fetch the ice and wash her face, hoping that the distance is enough to give her a presentable distance - or at least get rid of the damning redness around her eyes. She hates crying and hates it even more when there are witnesses. It accomplishes nothing.
She returns, clear faced and tired, and sets the ice down on the table, wrapped in a rag. Embarrassing to him, perhaps, but--needed.
Well. Here they are.
Maketh rubs her face. She's tired and sore all over, shoulder aching from the strain of--everything.]
I don't--mean to be like this. When I fight.
[Or at all.
She's quiet for a moment.]
I almost killed someone, in training. I never told anyone that.
[Maketh rubs her eyes with a sigh. This was a mistake, thinking she could bleed the ugliness out of herself by hitting him. She's tried that before and it only made things worse. That's always been one of her greatest flaws, failing to learn from her mistakes. They always repeat themselves.]
He died. [She drops her hands.] Not from--that. But he died.
[In most ways, it was her fault. She thins her mouth at Henry, not a smile. Perhaps he can understand. He went to war as a child. He knows very well what it feels like to end someone's life.]
I decided then I would calculate everything I did. So there would be no more mistakes.
Edited (it was bothering me) 2016-11-21 04:47 (UTC)
[Henry puts a hand on her shoulder. He's certainly no stranger to high expectations, but even he sees the folly in trying to hold oneself to perfection.]
'Tis an impossible task, Maketh, despite your excellence. You cannot expect to make no mistakes. We are all imperfect. What you can do is never repeat the same mistake.
[Maketh closes her eyes. That way, perhaps he won't see how much she wants to put her hand over his, just hold him close. A weakness. She needs too much from Henry and fears one day it will ruin him. No one in Maketh's life has ever truly survived knowing her.] I keep making them. I thought--it would be all right, if I hit something. If I hit you or you hit me back, then perhaps I'd forget for a little.
[It didn't work like that. It never has.
She sighs.]
How do you bear it? Knowing someone like that and then...
[Henry's hand remains there, and he squeezes her shoulder.]
...You remind yourself of the life that she would want you to lead. You remember that you remain the same woman who captured her heart. You refuse to break because you are stronger than your grief.
[Lilith would want something better than this, wouldn't she? Maketh takes a shuddering breath and then lets it go. In and out. Focus. Concentrate. Don't let your mind spiral, there's no use in that.] Thank you, Henry. Brother.
[Of course he pushes the point. Maketh shakes her hair out of her face with a sigh, pulling the plate closer.] You said once only a sibling could cause you this much trouble.
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Maketh shudders hard and grabs his hand, though doesn't stand. She's shaking too hard, on the verge of crying and furious at herself for it. This should not be happening. She's better than this.]
She's gone.
[It comes out small. Maketh swallows hard, tries to blink her vision clear. Stars, she must look pathetic.]
What--what am I supposed to do?
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Keep going on. But you must allow yourself to grieve.'Tis never weak to feel.
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I--it hurts.
[And she feels foolish for admitting that. Who was she to think Hadriel would allow this to stand, that she - a traitor to the Empire, a failure to the officer corps - could ever have this? That someone like Lilith, strong and vibrant and wild would ever want to stay at her side?
And now she's spent far too long on the training mats attempting to cause bodily harm to the man she calls brother.
What a messy. What a bloody mess.]
I'm sorry, I--I didn't mean to hit you like that. I shouldn't have done that.
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It matters not. You are forgiven all the same.
[As the adrenaline and focus of the fight fade, the ache returns to prominence. But that is irrelevant. Bodies heal quickly and easily enough in a way that wounds to the soul do not. He knows.]
It shall hurt for some time. There is no escaping that. But... [Henry sighs, still stroking her head.] But you need not bear it alone, Maketh. Nor must you bear it well every minute of the day. Let go. Those who care for you will gladly comfort you.
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It's better this way. If she says it enough, then it will be true.]
I--I'm sorry--!
[For a great many things, she is sorry.]
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[Henry does not promise that all shall be well again, but he remains a solid presence for Maketh to lean on as long as she needs him.]
You can and will survive this, sister. I promise.
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[She quips a smile. It's weak but it is there.]
I was a--always pragmatic in this sort of thing.
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I pray that you refrain in the future. I do plan to have children.
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[She takes a breath and lets it go.]
Would you mind helping me up? My shoulder is--bothering me.
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[He feels a small pang of guilt at that. Getting to his feet, Henry then hauls Maketh up too.]
...I cannot stand the thought of you alone after this. [He tells her, before he insists:] Once you are done here let us return to your apartment, where you might pack a bag and then bring it up to mine. You should stay with me.
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I-- [Maketh clears her throat.] I would like that. Very much.
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[Henry says with satisfaction, giving her a smile.
He releases her hand after a moment, then retrieves the food that he set aside earlier. He walks with a slight limp.]
For now you should eat.
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Ice?
[Only for him to look embarrassed once he catches on. He's torn between the prospect of some relief and how undignified the means would be, given where the ice would be applied.]
Ah... perhaps.
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[Win at any cost.]
I'll get you some.
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She returns, clear faced and tired, and sets the ice down on the table, wrapped in a rag. Embarrassing to him, perhaps, but--needed.
Well. Here they are.
Maketh rubs her face. She's tired and sore all over, shoulder aching from the strain of--everything.]
I don't--mean to be like this. When I fight.
[Or at all.
She's quiet for a moment.]
I almost killed someone, in training. I never told anyone that.
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His brow furrows at her confession. It's unexpected, despite what he's just seen. That, he thought, was an extreme.]
Did you...? [Watching Maketh, he carefully asks:] Are you afeared of losing control?
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He died. [She drops her hands.] Not from--that. But he died.
[In most ways, it was her fault. She thins her mouth at Henry, not a smile. Perhaps he can understand. He went to war as a child. He knows very well what it feels like to end someone's life.]
I decided then I would calculate everything I did. So there would be no more mistakes.
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'Tis an impossible task, Maketh, despite your excellence. You cannot expect to make no mistakes. We are all imperfect. What you can do is never repeat the same mistake.
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[It didn't work like that. It never has.
She sighs.]
How do you bear it? Knowing someone like that and then...
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...You remind yourself of the life that she would want you to lead. You remember that you remain the same woman who captured her heart. You refuse to break because you are stronger than your grief.
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[He has always been honest with her.]
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[Henry gives Maketh's shoulder one final squeeze before he releases it. He then pushes the plate of food before her and gives her an expectant look.]
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[She quips a smile.]
Well. I suppose that's true.
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