maskormenacelogs | (no subject)

[It is after the evening meal in DC7 that Aral gently pulls his wife away. It is, in many ways, to give Gregor the space he needs to process, Miles the time he needs... but also, most importantly at this very moment, Cordelia the privacy to fall apart. She'd held up admirably, but he could see the storm behind her expressive grey eyes.

He makes no comment, just closes the bedroom door behind them.]

[ It had been all she could do not to fall at Kareen's feet when she first saw her, whole and alive and standing next to Gregor as if that disruptor had never never gone off, that she'd never set fire to the Residence wing with her body in it and let it consume her—

And that had been another shock, too ironic to be coincidence and leaving much too bitter a taste in Cordelia's mouth to have ever been met with humor. Kareen's power over fire was like a slap to the face for her, and it had taken all she had in her to not burst into nonsensical apologies in the middle of dinner. The clatter of silverware as she dropped her utensils had drawn enough attention, and she knew she couldn't hide her expressions ever.

Only Aral's grip on her arm steadied her throughout the meal, and bless the man for pulling her away, her hand still tightly gripped in his. She rakes her free hand through her hair as if she could physically pull calmness from the depths of her spinning mind. ]

[He doesn't let go of her hand, merely pulls her close instead, wrapping the other arm around her.]

Do you want to talk?

[ She turns in to lean against him immediately, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. It helps to finally hide her face, but that small relief doesn't hide the warble in her voice. ]

I can't—I couldn't believe it, even as she was standing right there. I still think I'm hallucinating somehow ...

It's real. [As much as anything here was. Somehow this seemed even more fantastic than meeting their son and Gregor some 20 years in the future... There were traits, differences... but this... there was such a deep finality to death that was just turned on its head. The offerings had been paid, but the ghost was in flesh.]

Completely real... you're not crazy. More than any of us, at least.

Am I still not crazy if I keep seeing her face after the disruptor hit her?

[He can't actually say yes. Not in any good faith, not in any universe where she wouldn't cut up the comforting lie for what it was. Instead he lifted his hand to card fingers through her hair.]

Something would be wrong if you didn't.

But God, Aral, her powers—

[ Her voice chokes there, tears threatening to spill over now that she wasn't holding herself in so fiercely. ]

[He doesn't answer that, just holds her closer, rubbing his hand in circles along her back.]

[ She can't help the hiccups in her voice as she tries to explain it; saying it out loud makes it feel more real to her, as well as cutting her more deeply. ]

I—I wonder if she knows—if I was the one who—

Hers is not blood on your hands.

[He steps back, taking her face in his hands, gentle, but urgent.]

But if I could have stopped it somehow, or waited to show her the shoe and timed it better, or—

-Or any number of things you will think about from here to the end of days... You had no planning, no time, no margin of error.

[He slides a hand under her chin, lifting her head from his shoulder, so he can see her eyes.]

You see through the hearts of men, of murky situations to the best path, of decisions without the compromise of self..

But even you may not see the future at a crossroad.

[ Her eyes are red around the edged, and bright but not yet filled with tears. Her gaze is hungry for words of comfort he might provide on the subject, even if she's sure she'll only half believe them when he says it. ]

I wouldn't want such a power anyway, if not just for that one moment. To spare Kareen that pain, to spare Gregor of it.

I would add you to the list. If we are talking what ifs...

And spare the whole damn Imperium while we're at it ...

[ She sighs harshly, leaning a little more into his hand. ]

[His hand lifts just a little, cupping her cheek.]

You've more mercy than I.

No, just less patience.

[He simply accepts that without argument. If anyone has given Barrayar more than its due in chances...]

...

There... wont be an easy means to avoid her. Not while we live here, you know.

God, I don't want to avoid her.

[So maybe that's what he'd do.]

Then...?

I just ... I don't know. I wish I could think of some way to tell her I'm sorry without it sounding hollow or just some pittance of an apology.

[He's silent for a moment, brow furrowed. Sorry had never set well with him, always seemed to small.. like trying to remove a past, absolve it.]

You mentioned once, that Kareen seemed a woman who never truly had an ally. Instead of an apology, perhaps you could be that to her.

[ She lets out a harsh breath. ] Because it seemed to me that your war council all about gave up on her because of those broadcasts.

[ It's not an accusation he hadn't heard before; her venting after the Pretendership when she realized Barrayarans were starting to respect her for the wrong reasons covered that and many, many other topics. It's wasn't necessarily aimed at him specifically, though he was in the group she pointed her ire at. ]

[He didn't answer that. He knew better than to answer that. The cold ruthlessness of political justification was something that had no place here. The debate about it having any place at all wasn't one he was keen on tackling.]

But you didn't.