westfallcorndog | Here Because of You (For Isidor)

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isidor

Here Because of You (For Isidor)

It's only been a few days since returning to the Nexus from Tamriel, but Harrowheart can't stop worrying about Isidor. She came out alive from everything they saw, but it's what they saw that worries him. He remembers what it's like, of course he does. How utterly unsettling it is to be a living person faced with monstrosities like that. The fear of it has faded with time, but he still remembers how sickening it all was the first time he saw the Scourge.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and his first thought is, 'Fuck me.' He still doesn't have Isidor's number. This is getting to be bullshit. Viatorus is going to start getting wise to how often he asks to spend time with his sister, and then the whole thing is going to come tumbling down. At least this time he has the excuse of an 'adventure' to cover for him.

V my man how are you doing? Are people being nice to you? Do I need to beat Peenia or Sajean up for you? Anyone at all? And when are we hanging out next?

Good, good cover. And honest, too. The last time they did anything interesting was when they went fishing, and after everything on Tamriel that feels like a lifetime ago. A little casual time with Viatorus would be great right about now.

How is your sister? I need to talk to her about things that happened. Do you think you can get her in touch with me? If she can meet me tell her to come to the clearing where we worked on magic training.

He expects Viatorus will pull through for him. Of course he will. That's why he's already in the clearing lying on top of the picnic bench, his runeblade resting on the ground beneath it. Nothing here has changed since the last time she arrived, apart from the turn of the seasons... And the little area of ground that she flattened for a fighting ring. It seems Harrowheart expanded on her work, turning a circle of flat pounded ground into a large square of hard-packed dirt.

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The runes of the weapon thrum when they sense Isidor's approach. Harrowheart doesn't see her coming and subsequently backing away, but when the weapon becomes aware of her so does he. He rolls on his side to look at her and the second he sees her face his bored neutrality cracks to a bright smile.

"Isidor! There's my hero." he calls, shifting so that he can slide off of the table. He beckons her over even as he crosses the distance between them with open arms. He's as happy to see her now as he ever has been.

He asks with a laugh, "You get stuck in traffic on the way here?"

The moment she's caught she freezes and starts stepping towards him. She manages a small smile but it doesn't match the enthusiasm of Harrowheart's welcome. Up close it's easier to see what she's hidden under layers of makeup. Red around the edges of her eyes, dark circles emphasising them. Thankfully the bruises and scratches on pale skin are more easily hidden.

"I have a job, you know," she says, trying to sound playful despite not having any energy behind it. "I had to sort a few things out."

She's tired still, he can tell from her voice. When he's close enough he reaches out with his wrist-bound hands and hovers his fingers near her face. It's more than her voice that shows the signs of her struggle. He wants to touch her, but he doesn't. He can't explain why it feels like it would be wrong to do so.

He quietly chuckles at her job comment and starts to nod. "I forgot they got you workin' for your inheritance. You'll have to take me in sometime so I can see what you do. I can wear that magic locket. I'll even put on a tie to blend in."

He puts a hand on her lower back and nods toward the benched table, under which the runeblade waits. They should sit. He starts to make his way toward the seating expecting that she'll follow, and over his shoulder asks, "You eatin' okay? Sleepin' okay? I know it ain't 'proper,'" he air quotes, "but if you wanna swing by Naug's tower you can have dinner with me and the family and get some sleep with other folks around to keep you company?"

He clears his throat and busies himself with sitting as he tentatively suggests, "Or just with me."

Harrowheart goes to touch her and she watches his hands as they come close only to fall away again. Thoughts about the almost-touch are replaced with the image of Harrowheart in a tank top, shorts and tie. That gets a smile, but by the time she goes to say he would find it incredibly boring he's already making her hesitate again.

She follows him slowly, cautiously, towards the bench, her eyes on the runeblade. Her brow twitches into a frown when he mentions other people. Just when she opens her mouth to firmly tell him how much she doesn't want to be around a big group of people he goes and makes that final suggestion. She blinks at him in surprise while her cheek start to burn.

"I-I..." Can't process this. Spotting a tremor in her hand, she heads to the bench and sits down, turning away as much as possible from the blade underneath. "I... don't want to be around other people." That sounds wrong. Flustered, she corrects herself. "Other people apart from you, I mean."

Despite Isidor's obvious hesitance, what she has to say leaves Harrowheart smiling slightly. "Just you and me then," he says with a single, confident nod. "I can come by your apartment tonight. You got a private one just like your brother does, right? I can make you dinner and keep you company, and if you get scared at night I'll be there for ya. Just for a night or two, 'til you're ready to be alone again."

Laughing, he gestures to the flat patch of earth on the other side of the clearing. "I'd invite you to my place, but it's kind of a work in progress."

It's exceptionally difficult to tell if Isidor is unamused or genuinely confused, even for her. She stares between Harrowheart and his gesturing, trying to follow it all and react however she would normally react. With a little shake of her head she brings herself back into focus and looks at Harrowheart again.

"I never said I was scared. Or that I needed the company."

How did Harrowheart not expect that would be her response? Sure, she looks like she hasn't slept since he last saw her, but that doesn't mean anything. She just spent ten days in the wilderness of another world culminating in a day of abominations, rotting human flesh, and sentient murder blades, but that doesn't mean anything either! No, he's made an idiot of himself assuming she needed comforting!

Words fall out of his mouth like scalding soup. "O-of c– of course not. You're... I-I mean, that was..." He giggles worriedly, "That was real presumptuous of me, shoot. Forgot who I was talkin' to for a minute there."

His blue eyes bore a hole in the table as he sits through the universe's most uncomfortable three seconds of silence. Hesitantly he looks up and his selfish anxiety melts away to worry for her instead.

"So you're... Doin' fine, then? Nothin' you saw... It ain't on your mind at all?"

Those three seconds allow her to try and regain her old composure back. Harrowheart isn't the only one who needs to remember who she is. Her fingers curl around her wrist tightlt, uncurl, and then curl again.

He asks if anything is on her mind and she forgets to breathe. A minute passes and it feels like an age. "I'm fine," she says eventually. As soon as she's said it she squirms in her seat and squeezes her wrist. "There is... something that... that I want to ask you about." A deep breath and her eyes drift down to the table. "But it's... You might not want to talk to me about it."

That's so much worse. Hearing her say that and not knowing what she wants to discuss is so much worse than being surprised by a subject he's not ready to hear. His mind floods with the worst possible news. She can't handle it, can she? Being with a dead man after the things she saw. This is it. His eyes glaze over and he stares into the middle distance as if he can see the whole of the universe behind her. He doesn't blink, he doesn't breathe. Whatever he expects she's going to say to him has taken him completely out of this reality.

But eventually he shifts, blinks, and with it comes his focus. Now he looks at her, rather than through her, and in the smallest motion nods. "Tell me," he says.

Her grip tightens again. The dull pain as she cuts off her own circulation is oddly grounding. She stares at her hand, clenching hew jaw.

"Your soul... talked to me," she starts. That's it. That's the hard part over... isn't it? "When Felix and Jim came back... all these spirits appeared. You appeared."

No. This is the hard part. "You... You asked me to..." She can't say it. "Set you free." The deep breath she takes shudders. "It was like... like nothing that... that you'd been through here mattered. Like it all meant nothing. All you wanted was..."

Watching Isidor fret and stumble is incredibly difficult. That kind of body language... It isn't her. And as soon as she speaks he understands why. That wasn't what he expected to hear. He couldn't have guessed that given all the time in the world.

"My s–" He can't even say it. His distance turns to confusion. His eyes begin to dart around, searching the table, his hands, her hands, her face.

"My soul?..." His lips part and his eyebrows furrow. "But it's..."

His gaze drifts downward. He can't see the blade through the table, but he knows it's there. Knows it's resting right there at their feet. His lips come together into a thin line and he begins to rub at his sideburns. This time when he silently stares across the clearing it's not with distance in his eyes, but thought.

"I-I..."

He sighs, defeated, and looks to Isidor for guidance. "I never knew it wanted..." That. Another sigh, a shake of his head. "We're separated. Part of it is in me, part of it is..." In the runeblade. "It doesn't know what I know. It must still be feeling... The last thing it ever felt."

Elbows on the table, head in his hands, he stares downward.

"But it knew who I was," she insists suddenly only to go quiet again. She glances at his face but is quick to look at her hands again. "At least... It recognised me. Spoke to me, not the others. It knew I was close to you, but... Whatever it knew, it still... still wanted that."

His teeth grind as he tries to process this. Now it all makes less sense than before. The seconds creep past as he sits in total silence running this through his mind. His soul, which knows who Isidor is, begged to be released from the runeblade. To be gone. To be--

One of his hands drops to the table and he looks Isidor in the face. "Are you asking if that's what I want? Deep down?"

He sits in silence despite his overwhelming urge to answer for her and waits for her response.

Is that what she's asking? It's not a question she wants to ask. What if the answer is one that terrifies her? What if he tells her what she fears to hear?

She can't bring herself to look at him. It feels too... intrusive. Too cruel. "I'm... I'm asking if... if there's always going to be a part of you that's sad and desperate and lonely." Breathe. Keep it together. Breathe. "If no matter what I do or try there will always be that part of your soul... wishing for..."

The thought of it makes her feel sick.

It's a good thing he doesn't need air, because he feels his breath catch in his throat. His tension and fear slip away to something else. To the sickness and sadness of being right when he least wanted to be. He gnaws at his lip and, like Isidor, grips one of his wrists with a hand. He can feel it under the bandage, the slight separation. The way his bones move where they shouldn't.

"Maybe," he whispers, eyes on Isidor's hands.

What a worthless answer.

"Maybe," he repeats.

Eyes heavy with shame and worry he drags his attention to Isidor's face once more and tries for a smile that refuses to stick. "But not since I've been here. Not since I've been with you. I've been happy for... For the longest time I've ever been happy, and I don't want it to end."

He moves forward in his seat until his chest touches the table and he begins to reach out toward her. "When we were in Tamriel I wanted to fight to stick around. I've never wanted that before, not like I did then. I didn't wanna live just 'cause I was scared of dyin'... I wanted to live because I had reasons to live. I had someone who fought for me. Someone who made me want to be here. It's so different. Like nothin' I ever knew before. I – I am free, Isidor. For the first time ever. Now I'm free."

His fingers nearly graze hers, but at the last minute they ball into a loose fist.

"But if I asked you somethin'... Would you be honest with me? Would you tell me the truth, even if you think it's gonna hurt me?"

Maybe. What an awful, useless word. There it is again, repeated: Maybe. Like an echo, like emphasis, like the soul and the body communicating, agreeing.

She looks away, wishes they weren't having this conversation, but her gaze is dragged back to him as he speaks. Her eyes search his face, troubled but wishing he was right, hoping that the Harrowheart in front of her means more, means everything.

It's still with an uncertain hope that she watches him when she says, "Yes..." If they are to bare their souls... they might as well be honest.

"When you look at me," he starts, but he has to stop to be sure he wants to ask. He has to be ready for the truth.

"When you see me, do you think about what I told you that day in Stormwind? When I touch you with my hands does it bother you to know? When I don't wear my wrist wraps, is that what you see?"

Isidor frowns at him, tilting her head in confusion. "No…"

The creases in her brow smooth out and her eyes drift down to his hands. Now that she thinks about it, that isn't entirely true.

"Sometimes," she admits. Her voice goes quieter, softer. "When I wish you weren't… When I wonder… if I could have stopped it. Stopped you."

When I wish you weren't...

There's so much to react to here. He retracts the hand he'd held before her and runs his fingers through his hair. It's easier to keep his eyes on the table as his mind works through all of this.

In the end he rests his cheek in his palm and stares at her shoulder.

"I think you could have," he says. "But you didn't know me then. We can't change that. I am... The way I am. I did what I did. No matter how much we both regret it."

His hands scrub down his face until he finally drops them in his lap. He shakes his head and tries to force a smile that only comes off as a grimace. "I can't talk about this anymore." He huffs a halfhearted laugh and says, "Besides, Viatorus said I'm not allowed to talk about bad things with you today."

A few seconds of quiet pass as he redirects his emotions. None of what they were speaking of before. Something different now. Worrying about her is easier than talking about himself... And her opinions of him.

"He says you've been tired lately, but... If you're sure you're fine, I won't make you talk about it." And yet the expectant look on his face suggests he'd rather she would.

Viatorus should mind his own business. She thinks it before she can stop herself. Startled by herself, and ashamed, she looks away while the silence stretches on. It's just the tiredness, just the stress...

Oh yes. Very good, Harrowheart. Get me to tell you how I feel so you can feel bad about it. So I can be the bad guy, and you can be the one who gets hurt. Her jaw seizes up tight, her eyes a fraction too wide as she stares into the trees. She needs to stay in control but the thoughts, the anger, keeps going. I'm really struggling with this? This? I need to be strong, but I can't even hold myself together.

She blinks slowly, grits her teeth. If she says anything she'll ruin everything. She'll hurt Harrowheart. What if she can't stop and it just keeps going and she hurts everyone she knows?

After the longest stretch of time she answers with an unconvincing, "I'm fine."

She's so quiet. So quiet for so long, and so intense all the while. Isidor's expression tenses and twists, and Harrowheart's slips to guilt. He doesn't have to be empath to know she's angry. He said he wasn't going to force her to talk about it, and he's about to make a liar out of himself.

"Isidor," he tries softly, "I need to be able to be there for you. That's how this works."

He reaches across the distance between them and tries to rest his hand on hers if she'll allow it. It's difficult to smile, and he's sure she won't want to see it, but he does manage to push away his anxiety long enough to try for some joy.

"Let me help you this time."

He reaches over and she lets him. The gesture, small as it is, makes her shoulders sag, her expression soften and her heart ache. She lifts her fingers so that the back of them touch his palm... but then she drops them back onto her lap.

"How can I?" She glances at him from the corner of her eye but soon looks to her hands again. "You can't even talk about yourself. How can I talk to you about me? If you need space and time to deal with your problems that's fine." No, it's not. He should be talking to her about it. Why isn't he...? "But don't think I'm going to pile on my problems too."

"Pile on?" He huffs in surprise and shakes his head. Something colors his smile, turns it from an attempt at positivity to something difficult to discern. Amusement and concern at once.

Her fingers fall away from his hand and he stands, then rounds the table and takes a seat beside her rather than across from her. He loops his arm behind her lower back and his hand finds hers once more in her lap.

"Sometimes I forget you ain't ever been in a relationship before, and then you gotta go and say somethin' like that."

He shakes his head again and this time his smile is as genuinely charmed as it ever is when he looks at her.

"When you tell your problems to someone who loves you, you ain't makin' more problems for them. If you tell me that you feel bad, that don't make me feel worse. I'll hurt a little for you, sure, but... Ah Hell, I probably ain't smart enough to explain it, but I'd be happier somehow? If you told me when things ain't workin' out for you, I'd feel like I'm part of your whole life. I wanna know you're happy, but... I wanna know the bad stuff too. I wanna share it with you and help you carry it."

He laughs and with his free hand prods her bicep. "Just like you carried me in those ruins. How'd you manage that anyway?"

"My trainer isn't as tall as you, but he's heavy too," she answers swiftly. It's a brief, but refreshing distraction from talking about Feelings.

Isidor inhales deeply and exhales sharply, whereupon she straightens and turns to look Harrowheart in the eye. "Fine. But if we're sharing things then you have to share too. You can't expect me to admit things aren't going well if you're not telling me when you aren't all right. Understood?"

The way she orders him gets a raise of the eyebrows and a surprised little laugh. "Yes, my liege."

He opens his mouth wide and takes a deep breath... And in a rush says, "But you go first."

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