* * *
Elete
* * *
The ocean nips my bare toes. I notice it simply because it's better than noticing anything else.
The water this time of year is that deep, electric cold that, when it contacts your skin, has its own peculiar burning heat. As I stand there, my feet sinking into the wet sand, I watch the bare skin on top of my feet first turn a shocking pink, then a grayish-purple.
I don't have to wonder how it would feel to sink into that frigid surf, feel the ice close over my head and steal the air from my lungs. My wife remembered it for me as she died, and my daughter -- I am grateful that my daughter was unable to do the same. I have only my own imagination to tell the fine details of her demise.
The wind whips my hair, stinging my cheeks as it changes direction with the sunset breeze. I shift my weight, pulling one foot out with a soft pop before shifting my weight and freeing the next. I step forward, the soaked hems of my robes gaining a bare moment of buoyancy before pulling down with additional weight. The water sloshes against my knees.
Behind me, my keeper shifts her weight on the rocks, but doesn't move to stop me. I take another experimental step, but don't dare push my luck too much farther. My obligations hold me back more than she does... but in a way, having one of my Poets present makes that obligation physical. More real.
She clears her throat, and I almost smile at the proof of Poetry inherent in my hearing it. The storm winds still rattle shingles loose from the roofs of the city, after all. A polite cough would normally be lost in it.
"I've readied a place for you to stay, Elete."
Ah, my bare name. Cheeky of her to leave off my title, but then, she is babysitting a grown man in mourning, not the Poet King. I do appreciate her consideration, but at the same time, it would be nice if she'd just leave.
Not that either of them would let me leave. In fact, both of them are going to end up staying with me this night. I can see it will be for the better, but that doesn't ease my ire. I want to be alone. I don't want anyone else reminding me of the living. I want to be with my wife, with my daughter.
I take another step, and this time, I can't move forward.
"That's enough. Come inside."
* * *
My feet feel like they've been dipped in liquid fire. The bare wisps of steam rising from the top say otherwise, but the sensation isn't leaving me less cranky. I also feel naked -- Katherine stripped me to the skin before wrapping me in a dry blanket, the calm warning of summoning backup lurking in her scowl as I hesitated. She presses tea into my hands, tucks the blanket closer on my shoulders, then somehow manages to vanish from my perception somewhere behind me in this bare shack of a room.
I watch the tea swirl in my cup, steam curling as it rises, and think about my wife.
Ivae...
The teacup shatters against the wall before I fully comprehend I've thrown it. I stare at my hands, wondering where it went, wondering why Katherine hasn't thrown her arms around me and comforted me... why am I so alone?
Then I feel her fingertips part the top of my hair, brushing my ear, and I collapse.
Katherine still makes no move to hold me, comfort me as somehow I've grown used to over the past year. She just stands next to me, letting me be aware she's there, but leaving me alone with this strange ache inside. I've lost so much, lost entire years, and I'd think that I could handle this loss, but it's just growing, eating away at me, and soon I will be nothing, just a wailing spirit still searching for the other parts of my soul. For my daughter, her laughing blue eyes and wicked smile, so like her mother's. I imagine the ship breaking up under her, tearing her apart even as she flails and tries to scream, icy water rushing into--
"No." The vision goes dark, is swept away. "Do not punish yourself." I hear her leather belts creak as she keels next to me. "Do not be so irresponsible as to write her a worse death than she might have already had. You know better."
I hear the Judge's growl in her words and nod. I should have known I wouldn't be left without both my keepers.
"And stop blaming 'Sy. I'm just as capable of preventing you from tearing yourself apart." She wills me to look her in the eyes. I stare into them, relieved on several levels that I'm looking into green ones. She presses another cup into my hands, and her scowl eases into something a bit softer.
This time, the sweet smell of starflower wafts from the glass. I drink anyway, longing for the oblivion of sleep.
* * *
Katherine
* * *
His mind is quiet as he sleeps, but for the occasional ripple -- and that ugly, black scar across his mind. His soul, you could say. I sigh as I trace the edges of it, but don't dare try to touch it directly. He needs his rest as much as he needs intervention, but we can't give him both at the same time.
Every time we've left him to rest too long, though, he's torn himself apart even further. And this time, more than any other... no matter how I try, he won't let me close enough to reach in there and heal it. He guards that wretched wound like he treasures it. I suspect that may be the bald truth of the situation, as well.
Any change?
No. He tried to walk in again.
I feel 'Sy's snort like a soft rumble across my head. Death wish. Amusing in everyone but him.
I sigh heavily, biting my lip. There are so many ways around this problem, so many different solutions we could try... but so many of them are lethal. Choose the wrong treatment, and we'll kill him before he can suicide, or even give him the chance he needs.
Do you have any ideas?
I feel his hesitation. So, he has one, but he doesn't want to act on it. Must be a rather spectacular idea, then, and probably one that will work. ... If it doesn't kill us all. 'Sy has a brilliant mind, but too often his idea of strategy is walking a razor-thin line between utter destruction and even more utter destruction.
Ridiculous whelp. I wouldn't bring Diyn into this. I catch an echo of Diyn's disgruntlement and smile.
You can't have him yet, silly tuning-fork.
Watch your perfidious mouth, meat.
Really, he cares for me almost as much as 'Sy does.
I don't expect that he would have healed already, but I did expect some progress. 'Sy's breath tickles the hair on the back of my neck a moment before he plants a soft kiss behind my ear. He chuckles when I don't startle, even mentally. You seem to have made some progress of your own, however. His fingers twine with mine, fingertips resting on Elete's head. I feel his weariness as he borrows my point of view, exploring the outer landscape of the Poet King's mind.
You make more of an arrival than you think, turkey. You had an idea?
I feel him flinch. An idea, but I can't say it's one of my better ideas. I... It's fairly easy to slide in and simply read it off of his mind. Ever since we... since Gerald... it's been easier. I have to admit 'Sy's idea has merit, but I also can't resist jibing him a little.
Surely this isn't just some excuse to mess around behind my back? And just how did you come by this particular tactic, hmmm?
He snorts and gently bats the back of my head. This is not supposed to be a dalliance, you insatiable trollop. His mood quiets, serious once more. I simply cannot think of another way of distracting him so completely and yet so close and contained that you'd be able to...
Piece him together? I frown. I suppose it would work. He's such a distant person... I stroke his hair, fretting over the situation. I'm worried it will hurt him worse, 'Sy. So soon after their deaths, and the timing --
It's been a year, Kathe. He is obviously degenerating, and doing it willfully. I doubt we'll exactly be doing much damage by hurting his feelings. We need his guard down, we need him distracted, and he needs to connect to something besides longing for his own demise. His nose wrinkles. Not even the Poets are enough to keep him in one piece anymore.
I sigh, twining a dark strand of Elete's hair around my finger before letting it fall. I can piece him back together, but he has to want me to. I refuse to force this on him. I look up into 'Sy's eyes. The tiniest of frowns appears between his eyebrows, but he nods. Besides, I add, lightly swatting his arm and grinning, I happen to know the prospect of exploring your fine form is hardly abhorrent to him. That part aside, love, we still have to convince him to live before he can decide to heal.
Elete stirs, mumbling softly. I reach over and brush his forehead, sending him just a little deeper into true sleep, steering him away from his dreams, then adding a few small blocks for good measure.
He'll rest for a while without needing to be monitored. I stand and stretch, grunting as my shoulders pop. Keeping that man from his own nightmares is quite an effort. That leaves us time to go get some rest of our own, hmm?
'Sy chuckles and wraps his arms around my waist. Right. No time to waste.
* * *
'Sy
* * *
It's admittedly a bit painful to watch her like this -- so gentle and careful, almost timid in her motions. The Armed side of her is alive, forceful. By comparison, this Poet seems so weak. I know it for a falsehood, and have certainly met with the harsher end of Poetry on more than one occasion at her hands, but still. This doesn't seem to be the real Katherine. This is some simulacrum of her, something more delicate and graceful and breakable.
She turns and looks at me over her shoulder, frowning. "I haven't done anything."
"Don't worry about me. I'm only thinking."
Her frown deepens. "Stop thinking so hard at me, then. It's uncomfortable." She starts to turn, then sighs. "And quit making that face. Nobody buys that flat I-have-no-emotions look."
I smile a little to myself. Every living thing except the Advocate (and my cursed brother) sees what I want them to see. And she accuses me of making her uncomfortable.
She sighs, then sits back. "He'll wake now. I don't know..." Her voice trails off, and I pick up the whisper on the edges of her thoughts. I don't know how this could possibly work. I don't know how he could possibly agree to this.
Elete's blue eyes open, then blink rapidly. He looks over at Katherine, then sees me lurking behind her. His eyebrows raise the tiniest fraction. "Is everything alright?"
"No."
Katherine winces at my abruptness and places a hand on Elete's chest. "The damage is spreading, Elete. You're coming apart, and..."
"And we know you're helping it along." The ice in my tone makes him flinch. I note his glance at my hands. Katherine sighs and nods. "We can't just let you go. Not as Elete, not as the Jhe h'Logos. This has to stop."
He has wit enough to look guilty, although through Katherine's senses I don't see any attempts being made just yet to pull himself back together. To his credit, he's not currently attempting to pull himself apart any further, either.
Elete closes his eyes and sighs, and through my connection to Katherine, I feel the slightest ripple turn the world around us, centered around Elete. There's almost a whisper in the storm, like -- like I'm experiencing Poetry through the eyes of a Poet.
Dammit.
Katherine chokes back a yelp as I yank my mind away from hers and glare at Elete. He holds up his hands in self-defense. "I'm sorry, 'Sy, I didn't see that coming, I swear."
"What was it?" There is Poetry at work. No, worse -- that was some sort of time mischief. Of course I'm suspicious, and doubly so since Katherine is just looking at him with that patient student look on her face. To my surprise, Elete flushes and ducks his head.
"Instructions. Ah, a hunch, you could say."
Katherine shoots me a warning to contain my ire. I settle for glaring at a cupboard, then notice a suspicious glass glint. I reach out a finger and nudge the door open further. Wine? I gently ease it from its cradle and am beginning to rotate the bottle to better inspect it when I hear a muffled squawk from Katherine. I look up, and nearly forget the bottle in my hand.
For a Time Lord, he has the strangest ideas on timing.
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