In the aftermath of everything that she was told, Angel doesn't go to look for anyone at all. She curls up in a corner of the agricultural level, knees to her chest, and remembers them. The Vault Hunters. Roland. Bloodwing. Her father. Who he was before, he couldn't take that from her, and for the first time in a long time, she mourns that man. He was dead now. She had it truthfully from the one person she could trust about it. It would be the Vault Hunters or Jack, and if Zer0 was still alive, then that was proof enough. That was that story was going.
But she didn't know about the price for her own death.
So she cries. Not loudly or long or hard. Not desperately, asking why. She knew why. Roland died because Jack would never forgive the person that killed her. Jack had made that clear. It was her fault. It was just... Her fault. Roland - Roland was everything Jack never would be. A true hero. Someone who fought and became a leader not because that was his goal, but because he stood up no matter what, and people flocked to that earnesty. So of course would Jack would take that, eye for an eye, always.
But in her exhaustion, even that turns to nothing, just shaking limbs and eyes that leak even when the dehydration headache creeps in, she needs water, she needs a change of clothes... Though, nor could she face anyone. That eventually leads her back to Connor, hours later.
What time it is, is barely relevant. Night and they're all asleep as she clips her quietly into Connor's room looking for a dress she'd left in there. The first mistake in a selfish avalanche. She was still, if privately, wary of sharing rooms with them all. It was good, it was so good, to wake up with Connor's pleasant weight at her back, burrowed into her, and steady heartbeat filling her senses, to hear Jacob and Charles beyond the walls talking and moving. To bounce out of bed of a morning, ask them how their night was, admire them all ruffled in a morning slouch, and not be worried about anyone breathing down her neck over it. To share like she always imagined it would. A cup of coffee left lukewarm, the hang of clothes on the back of a chair to dry, the flicker of lights that illuminated tired first thing smiles.
Other times, it was overwhelming and she felt the need to run. To throw it all back at them and never come back because being attached to people, to anyone at all, was terrifying. Raw and open that was much fear of being used as it was the fear of the consequences.
Settled even deeper than that was what she tried never to say to them but was so utterly true to her mind: she did not deserve their kindness. Their welcome. The goodness that hung like stars in their warmth. Suspended and so freely observed and admired.
But right now, more than anything she can't stand to be alone. To breath him in, sleeping peacefully, is the first, middle and last rebuttle to her conflicting need to punish herself. That by the end of the short task of changing clothes is shifted through in silence, has been fought and lost. Angel crawls into bed beside him in just his shirt half buttoned up and falling off her shoulders, dishelved and needy.
Gently, carefully she pulls one of his arms around her, not wanting to wake him up. God, she doesn't want to wake him. Her sun and he deserved his rest, he always worked so hard and did so much for so many people she was loathed to ever disturb him. She will not compound her crimes, not now.
But the hiccups of the tears that won't stop go on, her best attempt is to muffle it into the pillow. Wriggling her back into his broad body, his arm clutched into her chest with her legs pulled up as she secured herself in as little as a afterthought. Half as soft of the little hitched whispers. It's not the first time she's had to sit in the aftermath of the lives she's caused to die. It's not the first time she has had to smother herself as the grief poured thick and toxic as a Eridium vein.
It's not the first time she's cried the night through next to him, either. Not because of him or any news that made her eyes sting. But simply a thing that overwhelmed her at times, what her life was and had been crept into her mind like an old ache that wouldn't let up. Waking up sobbing, clutching a pillow and dragging herself to him like a chewed up skag for the comfort he provided.
But this is the first time, she isn't alone. Some of it doesn't come easy: she cannot believe she is worth waking him, to want to talk about it, that says even now she ought to force herself to be alone. She hated herself for that too. Lilith didn't get to have this, but she did? She should let herself rot. Wallow like a Bandit corpse in the pandoran sun, laid bare and festering and ignored. But - but she's weak, that's all it is, just like Jack always said. Weak and scared and not willing to face the consequences of her actions. But with her eyes closed, surrounded by him, she didn't have to be so alone as she continued to cry quietly in the dark room. Clutching and held in his arms, and that, as it was to all she had never had, was everything.
The fact that Angel doesn't return to their rooms that night doesn't worry Ratonhnhaké:ton. It's far from unusual for her to be distracted by something or other and, by now, if there is anything that he needs to know, he trusts she will tell him. So he goes to bed with only a passing thought and a feeling of missing her presence, but falls asleep nonetheless.
She is so familiar now that he doesn't notice when she returns, when she wraps herself up in his arms and presses herself up against him. He only instinctively tightens his grip around her and buries his nose in her hair. It takes some time before the sounds of her crying breaks through the darkness and haziness of sleep, and for a moment he does little but stir and sigh deeply, only to settle again, with a mind that it's little but a dream.
Only it persists, and finally he blinks his eyes open, and lifts his head. Angel is back, he finally realises. She's back, and she's ... crying.
"Angel?"
It's little more than a whisper, and he doesn't move. If this is what she wants, then that is what he will give her. Perhaps he shouldn't have alerted her to the fact that he is awake, but ...
She goes still by instinct. Holding her breath to try and lesson the sound of her crying. Be still, be quiet. It's hard. It's hard to move an inch.
But nor does she want to worry him. So when she thinks she can keep her voice steady (she can't) she does her best to reassure him. "It's okay, you can go back to sleep."
Each word is pinched. Stilted in her effort to keep going but failing in the shakiness of the breath between it.
The fact that she doesn't answer immediately gives away just what she's doing, but Ratonhnhaké:ton doesn't press her. Instead, he wordlessly moves one hand to put it on top of hers, gently wrapping his fingers around.
It felt like benediction, as his hand curled over hers and it only made it worse. Her sobbing growing harder for a second in the care he gave her. Curled in harder, the sweeter he is, the more she sobs. She can bare any kind of pain, but how gently he reassures her - that she falls to pieces at. Consistently and over again.
She's mentioned Roland before. One of the vault hunters? He thinks she has told him that he reminds her of that man. Never said anything about him being dead, however.
Makes him wonder how it could be her fault.
"What happened?"
She must have heard it from Zer0, if she didn't know before. Wonder what he told her.
Saying it out loud is impossible for a minute. Because it makes it real. Makes it true and she can't stand that to be true.
But it is. It always is. This is what life is. There is nothing good, and if there is, it has a timespan. A clock counting down over their head until -
"Jack killed him. After they killed me. To teach them a lesson, pay them back for... My death. To teach them what they had to lose."
She can almost hear it, the desperation and madness in Jack's voice as he demanded her to change her path. Threatened the Vault Hunters in a tone she had never heard since the day she had been sold and traded for the bounty of a life time.
It wouldn't matter if it took her a minute, an hour, or if she never spoke the words for the whole night. She would wait for her to be ready, if she ever would be. Because he'd only like to hear about it from her.
And as always, she takes Jack's actions and places the blame for them on herself.
"I know this is difficult for you to accept," he murmurs. "But it is not your fault."
Another moment and she curls in tighter, curls into the space he provides, where he curls around her.
"Isn't it? I knew there would - would be consequences. For whoever dared to do that for me. That's my fault too. I only cared - I only cared about ending myself. I was being selfish, I was just thinking about myself. I should have known what he'd do - I should have planned their escape better... I... "
More tears, no matter how hard she grits her teeth, swallows on the hollow in her throat, the pain of it would not pass, and the tears would not stop. Hiccuping messily, her face turning into the pillow, her horns pressing heavily into the soft material as she desperately tried to smother the regret of it away.
He doesn't answer immediately. Considers for a moment whether this is a conversation to be had right now, when she is barely holding herself together in his arms. Perhaps there is something else she needs instead. Something to calm her down, instead of question what she feels is the truth.
He has to think for a few seconds. Bring up old memories that are half forgotten. Then, he starts to sing, barely beyond a whisper and only for her ears, a lullaby that his mother used to sing to him.
She might be waiting for it, so she can bury it deeper and deeper into this comfortable coffin of guilt that Jack has made for her so well. Her body so easily fitted into this loathing, this ability to hate herself that comes like second nature.
But she should have known he'd never let that sit. Never let herself tear herself apart. No matter how often or how hard or how determined she'd be about it. Not when Jack had arrived, not when she had torn others to pieces, he stayed with her for all of that.
That it follows the same, just the same, as he doesn't bite into it. Turns softer in the way she never expects. His voice so quiet and no, she doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't need to, his voice is all she cares to know. Warm and forgiving like she so desperately wanted.
That even as she seems to still cry, it's not quite so hard, not so sharp inside her chest where her breath begins to even out. Slowing down to just little hiccups.
When the sobs quiet down to hiccups, when she stops shaking so much in his arms, he stops singing. But he still doesn't speak, just rubs his thumb soothingly over her palm as he bends down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
Sometimes, there are things one simply couldn't expect or predict, or never even knew about. Sometimes, one simply cannot do enough. And it hurts. He knows that. So, maybe for tonight, that's all it can be.
She doesn't sleep, not exactly - more just an empty, unhappy state, where her eyes are closed and her body is restless, it's not the first time either of them have had nightmares, or that she has cried in her sleep. It simply happens, it's what they are. Too much in both their lives like that. But to broken from it - to wake up to him in those seconds where her heart is beating at a thousand miles an hour, to hear his far more steady, as always, it calms her.
That when it's some hours later, she rolls over and doesn't get out of bed. No idea what time it was, or care what she had to do Just lays on her side, her hands tucked in between their bodies so she could lift her fingers to trace his features. Curling under his eye, the corner of his lips, that strong line of his jaw.
Not sure if he's awake, and to that, the words are murmured into the early morning air like dust curling into light, to be forgotten by the harsher light of day. "What am I going to do without you? How am I ever going to wake up if I can't hear your heart to tell me it's okay?"
He stays awake for a while, listening to her breathing and ensuring that she doesn't wake up as soon as she's drifted off. But even if he might have liked to stay awake to watch over her, sleep doesn't tend to be cooperative, and he soon finds himself falling back asleep.
When she speaks, he's only partly aware of the fact that she's being spoken to, not asleep but not awake either. He just breathes in deeply, his whole torso shifting with it, but doesn't move.
She couldn't go to see him. She just had to trust Charles and Jacob had seen it through after she'd managed to pull the truth out of the plants about what she needed to cure Connor's memory. Though she had said it over and over again, only if he wanted it. It wouldn't be right to taks his choices, no matter his state of mind because of a strange alien maze, away from him. The only thing that mattered to her was Connor's happiness, and if he... If he just wanted to never see her again then... That was that. She had no right or claim.
But she figured if... If she stayed out here worrying instead? Listening intently with super hearing to make sure he was okay, then... Then that would be alright? Nothing too bad. Nothing overt. She just wanted him safe and happy and free.
Which meant she wasn't doing much else but sitting, staring at her own feet, hands tucked under her legs at the edge of her bed, half torturing herself with the presence of him, our of reach, but knowing she couldn't go in there. He looked at her like she was... She didn't know. But she knew she couldn't handle it.
Her heart was breaking. A way she didn't think it could, but it was.
She pressed her knees together, her hands tucked under legs and her shoulders tense as she fought wanting to curl up into a ball and hide away from the hurt of it. Jacob and Charles had looked after her, not let her be alone.
It just wasn't the... same. Or, it was its own special they, but it was shadowed in the pain of this - being reviled by the person she'd give herself up for if he asked, to be looked at like she was nothing.
Oh, stop it, she was being pathetic. It wasn't anyone's fault. Except creepy maze. It was the creepy mazes fault and she'd done everything she could.
"Snap out of it, Angel. It'll work or it won't. Quit moping. What are you? A little girl?" It's a miserable mutter as she wiped at her own eyes. Angry at that too. Connor made the crying feel not so sad and pathetic, he'd hold her and whisper warmly to her. But alone? She had nothing but those thoughts to live with.
So wrapped in them, for once, she didn't hear anyone approach her little room in the quad where she sat on the end of the bed, just the sound of her own sad frustrated sniffles as she tried to get her composure together as she waited to here whether it worked or not, or if Connor still had forgetten well - everything.
To no surprise, Connor had been suspicious of the concoction, even if he trusted Jacob and Charles ... for the most part. He just wasn't exactly convinced there was anything that needed to be changed or fixed. As far as he was concerned, everything was clear. But he did do as asked eventually.
Years and months of memories flooding back all at once was a very strange experience, and for a moment he was left reeling, confused and lost, a mess of emotion and thoughts that finally settled on something closer to dread. The heartbreak on Angel's face as she quietly tried to compose herself became crystal clear, and his heart sank.
Nothing was more important, right now, than talking to her.
So he left the others, and went into their room, stopping immediately inside the door to watch, just for a moment, the state this situation had left her in. This is not what was meant to happen. He'd told himself that he'd stay with her for ... he's not sure how long, really. Until it felt right. Until he had little to no choice. But they were supposed to be able to say goodbye. And, sure, he's not gone, but he might as well have been, for all that time. Someone who didn't trust her, who hadn't found peace yet, who hadn't concluded the business that rested so heavily on his shoulders.
"Angel," he says, gently, his chest aching as he closes the distance between them to get down on one knee in front of her.
What does he say? What can he say that will fix this? Where does he start?
It took one look. One second to hear her name spoken by him in recognition, the look on his face like he was so sorry.
And she flung herself at him. Arms around his neck, face shoved into his shoulder as she cried. Sobbed and clutched to his jacket and held him until her arms ached from tense.
Because he was gone. At least from her. Months and months doing things together, like they never existed except in her memory. Reducing her to a wraith that crept ghost like around the small rooms. Terrified of seeing him and having to face the blankness in his expression.
It's not fair. He didn't do it on purpose and she isn't angry. He never would. But it didn't change the outcome. Alone and helpless - "I lost you." Terrified and rasping, she hiccuped it into his collar as her voice stuck in the back of her throat. "I lost you, and I didn't know if I'd get you back."
Maybe he doesn't need to do too much after all. He feels at once both relieved and sad. Relieved that he doesn't need to reassure her more, that she's finally letting out the sorrow that he can now remember seeing in her while he wasn't quite himself. Sad that this happened at all, that her heart was broken and it wasn't his fault, not really, but the guild buds in his chest anyway.
He holds onto her almost as tightly, one hand lifting to brush through her hair in soothing strokes. It's all right now. He's here. He can finally help her.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, even if it's not his fault, because he truly is.
Sorry that this happened at all, that she had to go through this. He thinks it might be better than being angry, when everyone still inhabiting this accursed colony has suffered. Whoever created the thing that stripped his memory is probably no longer here.
Angel nodded, hiding her face still against his chest and neck. She didn't blame him, she just missed him. Missed him so hard her whole body hurt. It was like wondering around missing a hand that she kept using to reach for. That he was the person she talked too, about everything. About how to help and fix things and how her day was. All of it.
"I didn't know if it would work. Those plants wouldn't give me a straight answer, I quizzed them for hours." her teeth grit, running her cheek against his shoulder as she tried to hold it together. She wasn't the one who had her head messed with this time. She had no business breaking down.
Pulling back, she reached to touch both his cheeks with her hands, smoothing over his face in affirmation. For one second it was like it had been one of her painfully real illusions, but for now, it was over. She was here, and he remembered her, and she'd take it.
"What about you? No side effects, no weird feelings, is everything there that you can tell? Can you see, hear taste, smell correctly? Have you done a motorfunction test? We should make sure there has been no nerve damage. It took me a whole day to put it back together, so we should take it slow and it's okay if it doesn't come easy. Then we should double check about your uhm, your special sight, make sure that's UN affected."
Her default state to powerless and fear: research, research, research.
No, this isn't right. She's doing that thing where she pushes everything down to focus on fixing, when he's not the one who was hurt. Yes, his head feels thick and sluggish, like it's trying to wade through mud, but he remembers who he is. He remembers that Charles Lee is dead, since a long time ago. He remembers that it has been years.
He's fine.
He puts his hands on hers, and gently pulls them down to cradle them against his chest.
She fixes a look at him. Flicking between his eyes, sudden and immediate. Terrified it'd go away again, he'd stare at her blankly like nothing happened. Biting her lip she tries to stick herself back together to some semblance of sensible. It worked, some what, his presence helped like it always did.
Tries then instead to ease the pain
"You didn't tell me you used to be a stubborn ass when people were trying to help you."
He huffs quietly in amusement, shaking his head as he leans forward to ... nip at her nose. Just a little bit. A pinch.
"Did I not tell you about my arguments with Achilles?"
They usually came down to one thing: He'd already decided how he wanted to do something and refused to listen to any warnings or other ideas. Maybe he would have found himself in trouble less often if he had. Whether things would have turned out better or worse, however, he wasn't going to reflect on. What's done is done.
Tear strained and sniffling, she can't help the little hiccuped scrunch of her nose as he nipped, a whine on her lips of Connor, don't tease, I'm messy.
"You told me you argued with him. That's not the same as being so stubborn I had to kick a wall in to make you listen to me for a second."
She leans over and nips him back, all things in equal measure.
"You should have seen your face though. You looked like your eyes were going to fall out of your head in surprise."
Well, he supposes she wouldn't know exactly how those arguments went. Achilles may not have had the physical strength to kick a wall in, but there was power in his voice that would probably sway many.
He smiles gently at the whine, and only makes a slight face when she returns the favour. It's only fair, after all.
"I'm sure I did."
He pushes himself up enough to take a seat next to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head while at it, as he releases one of her hands but keeps holding onto the other.
She leans in - and as much as she wants to keep up her teasing banter with him, in a second she will to make sure - make sure he's okay. That he's back to himself. That's what matters most.
But for that second when he kisses her forehead, her eyes close, and she breathes out so slowly. He's there and he's okay. He wants to kiss her still, wants to hold her. It'd been easier if he'd just been gone. Then she wouldn't have to look at him and want to touch him, but have to stop every impulse and make it worse.
Her eyes close and her head tilts up. Her now free hand resting on his shoulder as she curls it up against his clothes, holding him tightly. The warmth of him, his heart beat loud in her ears again, soothing and settling through her.
"It was hell, Connor." She breathes out at last. As much as she could admit. "You were right there, and I couldn't talk to you. I couldn't ask you anything. You looked at me and..." she might as well have been a ghost in the shadow of their relationship that never was. Erased in a way not even Jack could divine to be so hurtful.
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But she didn't know about the price for her own death.
So she cries. Not loudly or long or hard. Not desperately, asking why. She knew why. Roland died because Jack would never forgive the person that killed her. Jack had made that clear. It was her fault. It was just... Her fault. Roland - Roland was everything Jack never would be. A true hero. Someone who fought and became a leader not because that was his goal, but because he stood up no matter what, and people flocked to that earnesty. So of course would Jack would take that, eye for an eye, always.
But in her exhaustion, even that turns to nothing, just shaking limbs and eyes that leak even when the dehydration headache creeps in, she needs water, she needs a change of clothes... Though, nor could she face anyone. That eventually leads her back to Connor, hours later.
What time it is, is barely relevant. Night and they're all asleep as she clips her quietly into Connor's room looking for a dress she'd left in there. The first mistake in a selfish avalanche. She was still, if privately, wary of sharing rooms with them all. It was good, it was so good, to wake up with Connor's pleasant weight at her back, burrowed into her, and steady heartbeat filling her senses, to hear Jacob and Charles beyond the walls talking and moving. To bounce out of bed of a morning, ask them how their night was, admire them all ruffled in a morning slouch, and not be worried about anyone breathing down her neck over it. To share like she always imagined it would. A cup of coffee left lukewarm, the hang of clothes on the back of a chair to dry, the flicker of lights that illuminated tired first thing smiles.
Other times, it was overwhelming and she felt the need to run. To throw it all back at them and never come back because being attached to people, to anyone at all, was terrifying. Raw and open that was much fear of being used as it was the fear of the consequences.
Settled even deeper than that was what she tried never to say to them but was so utterly true to her mind: she did not deserve their kindness. Their welcome. The goodness that hung like stars in their warmth. Suspended and so freely observed and admired.
But right now, more than anything she can't stand to be alone. To breath him in, sleeping peacefully, is the first, middle and last rebuttle to her conflicting need to punish herself. That by the end of the short task of changing clothes is shifted through in silence, has been fought and lost. Angel crawls into bed beside him in just his shirt half buttoned up and falling off her shoulders, dishelved and needy.
Gently, carefully she pulls one of his arms around her, not wanting to wake him up. God, she doesn't want to wake him. Her sun and he deserved his rest, he always worked so hard and did so much for so many people she was loathed to ever disturb him. She will not compound her crimes, not now.
But the hiccups of the tears that won't stop go on, her best attempt is to muffle it into the pillow. Wriggling her back into his broad body, his arm clutched into her chest with her legs pulled up as she secured herself in as little as a afterthought. Half as soft of the little hitched whispers. It's not the first time she's had to sit in the aftermath of the lives she's caused to die. It's not the first time she has had to smother herself as the grief poured thick and toxic as a Eridium vein.
It's not the first time she's cried the night through next to him, either. Not because of him or any news that made her eyes sting. But simply a thing that overwhelmed her at times, what her life was and had been crept into her mind like an old ache that wouldn't let up. Waking up sobbing, clutching a pillow and dragging herself to him like a chewed up skag for the comfort he provided.
But this is the first time, she isn't alone. Some of it doesn't come easy: she cannot believe she is worth waking him, to want to talk about it, that says even now she ought to force herself to be alone. She hated herself for that too. Lilith didn't get to have this, but she did? She should let herself rot. Wallow like a Bandit corpse in the pandoran sun, laid bare and festering and ignored. But - but she's weak, that's all it is, just like Jack always said. Weak and scared and not willing to face the consequences of her actions. But with her eyes closed, surrounded by him, she didn't have to be so alone as she continued to cry quietly in the dark room. Clutching and held in his arms, and that, as it was to all she had never had, was everything.
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She is so familiar now that he doesn't notice when she returns, when she wraps herself up in his arms and presses herself up against him. He only instinctively tightens his grip around her and buries his nose in her hair. It takes some time before the sounds of her crying breaks through the darkness and haziness of sleep, and for a moment he does little but stir and sigh deeply, only to settle again, with a mind that it's little but a dream.
Only it persists, and finally he blinks his eyes open, and lifts his head. Angel is back, he finally realises. She's back, and she's ... crying.
"Angel?"
It's little more than a whisper, and he doesn't move. If this is what she wants, then that is what he will give her. Perhaps he shouldn't have alerted her to the fact that he is awake, but ...
He's worried.
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But nor does she want to worry him. So when she thinks she can keep her voice steady (she can't) she does her best to reassure him. "It's okay, you can go back to sleep."
Each word is pinched. Stilted in her effort to keep going but failing in the shakiness of the breath between it.
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"I won't."
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"He's dead. Roland's dead. It's all my fault."
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Makes him wonder how it could be her fault.
"What happened?"
She must have heard it from Zer0, if she didn't know before. Wonder what he told her.
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But it is. It always is. This is what life is. There is nothing good, and if there is, it has a timespan. A clock counting down over their head until -
"Jack killed him. After they killed me. To teach them a lesson, pay them back for... My death. To teach them what they had to lose."
She can almost hear it, the desperation and madness in Jack's voice as he demanded her to change her path. Threatened the Vault Hunters in a tone she had never heard since the day she had been sold and traded for the bounty of a life time.
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And as always, she takes Jack's actions and places the blame for them on herself.
"I know this is difficult for you to accept," he murmurs. "But it is not your fault."
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"Isn't it? I knew there would - would be consequences. For whoever dared to do that for me. That's my fault too. I only cared - I only cared about ending myself. I was being selfish, I was just thinking about myself. I should have known what he'd do - I should have planned their escape better... I... "
More tears, no matter how hard she grits her teeth, swallows on the hollow in her throat, the pain of it would not pass, and the tears would not stop. Hiccuping messily, her face turning into the pillow, her horns pressing heavily into the soft material as she desperately tried to smother the regret of it away.
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He has to think for a few seconds. Bring up old memories that are half forgotten. Then, he starts to sing, barely beyond a whisper and only for her ears, a lullaby that his mother used to sing to him.
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But she should have known he'd never let that sit. Never let herself tear herself apart. No matter how often or how hard or how determined she'd be about it. Not when Jack had arrived, not when she had torn others to pieces, he stayed with her for all of that.
That it follows the same, just the same, as he doesn't bite into it. Turns softer in the way she never expects. His voice so quiet and no, she doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't need to, his voice is all she cares to know. Warm and forgiving like she so desperately wanted.
That even as she seems to still cry, it's not quite so hard, not so sharp inside her chest where her breath begins to even out. Slowing down to just little hiccups.
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Sometimes, there are things one simply couldn't expect or predict, or never even knew about. Sometimes, one simply cannot do enough. And it hurts. He knows that. So, maybe for tonight, that's all it can be.
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That when it's some hours later, she rolls over and doesn't get out of bed. No idea what time it was, or care what she had to do Just lays on her side, her hands tucked in between their bodies so she could lift her fingers to trace his features. Curling under his eye, the corner of his lips, that strong line of his jaw.
Not sure if he's awake, and to that, the words are murmured into the early morning air like dust curling into light, to be forgotten by the harsher light of day. "What am I going to do without you? How am I ever going to wake up if I can't hear your heart to tell me it's okay?"
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When she speaks, he's only partly aware of the fact that she's being spoken to, not asleep but not awake either. He just breathes in deeply, his whole torso shifting with it, but doesn't move.
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But she figured if... If she stayed out here worrying instead? Listening intently with super hearing to make sure he was okay, then... Then that would be alright? Nothing too bad. Nothing overt. She just wanted him safe and happy and free.
Which meant she wasn't doing much else but sitting, staring at her own feet, hands tucked under her legs at the edge of her bed, half torturing herself with the presence of him, our of reach, but knowing she couldn't go in there. He looked at her like she was... She didn't know. But she knew she couldn't handle it.
Her heart was breaking. A way she didn't think it could, but it was.
She pressed her knees together, her hands tucked under legs and her shoulders tense as she fought wanting to curl up into a ball and hide away from the hurt of it. Jacob and Charles had looked after her, not let her be alone.
It just wasn't the... same. Or, it was its own special they, but it was shadowed in the pain of this - being reviled by the person she'd give herself up for if he asked, to be looked at like she was nothing.
Oh, stop it, she was being pathetic. It wasn't anyone's fault. Except creepy maze. It was the creepy mazes fault and she'd done everything she could.
"Snap out of it, Angel. It'll work or it won't. Quit moping. What are you? A little girl?" It's a miserable mutter as she wiped at her own eyes. Angry at that too. Connor made the crying feel not so sad and pathetic, he'd hold her and whisper warmly to her. But alone? She had nothing but those thoughts to live with.
So wrapped in them, for once, she didn't hear anyone approach her little room in the quad where she sat on the end of the bed, just the sound of her own sad frustrated sniffles as she tried to get her composure together as she waited to here whether it worked or not, or if Connor still had forgetten well - everything.
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Years and months of memories flooding back all at once was a very strange experience, and for a moment he was left reeling, confused and lost, a mess of emotion and thoughts that finally settled on something closer to dread. The heartbreak on Angel's face as she quietly tried to compose herself became crystal clear, and his heart sank.
Nothing was more important, right now, than talking to her.
So he left the others, and went into their room, stopping immediately inside the door to watch, just for a moment, the state this situation had left her in. This is not what was meant to happen. He'd told himself that he'd stay with her for ... he's not sure how long, really. Until it felt right. Until he had little to no choice. But they were supposed to be able to say goodbye. And, sure, he's not gone, but he might as well have been, for all that time. Someone who didn't trust her, who hadn't found peace yet, who hadn't concluded the business that rested so heavily on his shoulders.
"Angel," he says, gently, his chest aching as he closes the distance between them to get down on one knee in front of her.
What does he say? What can he say that will fix this? Where does he start?
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And she flung herself at him. Arms around his neck, face shoved into his shoulder as she cried. Sobbed and clutched to his jacket and held him until her arms ached from tense.
Because he was gone. At least from her. Months and months doing things together, like they never existed except in her memory. Reducing her to a wraith that crept ghost like around the small rooms. Terrified of seeing him and having to face the blankness in his expression.
It's not fair. He didn't do it on purpose and she isn't angry. He never would. But it didn't change the outcome. Alone and helpless - "I lost you." Terrified and rasping, she hiccuped it into his collar as her voice stuck in the back of her throat. "I lost you, and I didn't know if I'd get you back."
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Maybe he doesn't need to do too much after all. He feels at once both relieved and sad. Relieved that he doesn't need to reassure her more, that she's finally letting out the sorrow that he can now remember seeing in her while he wasn't quite himself. Sad that this happened at all, that her heart was broken and it wasn't his fault, not really, but the guild buds in his chest anyway.
He holds onto her almost as tightly, one hand lifting to brush through her hair in soothing strokes. It's all right now. He's here. He can finally help her.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, even if it's not his fault, because he truly is.
Sorry that this happened at all, that she had to go through this. He thinks it might be better than being angry, when everyone still inhabiting this accursed colony has suffered. Whoever created the thing that stripped his memory is probably no longer here.
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"I didn't know if it would work. Those plants wouldn't give me a straight answer, I quizzed them for hours." her teeth grit, running her cheek against his shoulder as she tried to hold it together. She wasn't the one who had her head messed with this time. She had no business breaking down.
Pulling back, she reached to touch both his cheeks with her hands, smoothing over his face in affirmation. For one second it was like it had been one of her painfully real illusions, but for now, it was over. She was here, and he remembered her, and she'd take it.
"What about you? No side effects, no weird feelings, is everything there that you can tell? Can you see, hear taste, smell correctly? Have you done a motorfunction test? We should make sure there has been no nerve damage. It took me a whole day to put it back together, so we should take it slow and it's okay if it doesn't come easy. Then we should double check about your uhm, your special sight, make sure that's UN affected."
Her default state to powerless and fear: research, research, research.
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No, this isn't right. She's doing that thing where she pushes everything down to focus on fixing, when he's not the one who was hurt. Yes, his head feels thick and sluggish, like it's trying to wade through mud, but he remembers who he is. He remembers that Charles Lee is dead, since a long time ago. He remembers that it has been years.
He's fine.
He puts his hands on hers, and gently pulls them down to cradle them against his chest.
"I'm all right. Let it take a day."
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Tries then instead to ease the pain
"You didn't tell me you used to be a stubborn ass when people were trying to help you."
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"Did I not tell you about my arguments with Achilles?"
They usually came down to one thing: He'd already decided how he wanted to do something and refused to listen to any warnings or other ideas. Maybe he would have found himself in trouble less often if he had. Whether things would have turned out better or worse, however, he wasn't going to reflect on. What's done is done.
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"You told me you argued with him. That's not the same as being so stubborn I had to kick a wall in to make you listen to me for a second."
She leans over and nips him back, all things in equal measure.
"You should have seen your face though. You looked like your eyes were going to fall out of your head in surprise."
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He smiles gently at the whine, and only makes a slight face when she returns the favour. It's only fair, after all.
"I'm sure I did."
He pushes himself up enough to take a seat next to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head while at it, as he releases one of her hands but keeps holding onto the other.
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But for that second when he kisses her forehead, her eyes close, and she breathes out so slowly. He's there and he's okay. He wants to kiss her still, wants to hold her. It'd been easier if he'd just been gone. Then she wouldn't have to look at him and want to touch him, but have to stop every impulse and make it worse.
Her eyes close and her head tilts up. Her now free hand resting on his shoulder as she curls it up against his clothes, holding him tightly. The warmth of him, his heart beat loud in her ears again, soothing and settling through her.
"It was hell, Connor." She breathes out at last. As much as she could admit. "You were right there, and I couldn't talk to you. I couldn't ask you anything. You looked at me and..." she might as well have been a ghost in the shadow of their relationship that never was. Erased in a way not even Jack could divine to be so hurtful.