The devil's in the details

Evie

Though her home isn't far, Evie chooses a modest restaurant for her meeting with Hadama. No friends have visited her home - mostly due to her lack of them - but she also doesn't want Erebos anywhere nearby for this. Not because she thinks Hadama is a danger, mind you, but because she won't risk the correlation striking at still-tender wounds and lifting her defenses.

Maybe it's the timing of the Ursur at the gates and her decision to finally draw a line in the sand with Talyson. Maybe it's the approaching finalization of Halo's quest and all the political allyship that will involve. Maybe she's simply had enough time to parse her feelings. Either way, Evie sits at a booth in the back with a straight spine and contemplative expression, finger tracing the rim of her mug in an endless circle. She's certain of how she feels and what she wants to say. That has to be enough. She has to trust - no, not trust, hope - that Hadama will meet her halfway. Across from her, another mug of steaming coffee sits in front of an empty bench, a silent peace offering.

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad

Halo was not unknown to him now, though he had avoided the Citadel out of consideration for Evie's desire for space and time. Halo was her home, and the last thing he wished was to disrespect her feelings by forcing the issue - even by accident - before she was ready. So though he had arrived on an early skyship, it had taken him longer to find the small restaurant in the unfamiliar city than he had anticipated.

It was just as well that he had extra time to search for it, then, because it meant that he stooped his tall frame to duck inside the door at the time she had chosen, rather than particularly early or late. The red of her hair was a beacon that he could never mistake, and once his emerald eyes lit upon it he began his slow, steady way towards the back to join her.

There was nothing flashy about his appearance beyond his unmistakable size today, though in deference to the snow he wore boots and his chest was notably hidden within a heavy wool sweater. His steel-silver hair was neatly braided back and his visible jewelry was confined to his grandfather's earring, his goddess's ring, and a bulge on his bicep beneath the sweater's sleeve that indicated his armlet.

He came as neither King nor demigod but simply as a man that Evie had once called friend, and he settled gingerly into the booth with the careful awkwardness of a man who was a bit larger than the furniture had been intended for. He gave his hostess a deep nod of greeting and curled his hands around the waiting coffee to absorb its warmth into his skin as his eyes returned to her face.

Searching.

"Thank you," he rumbled quietly before lifting the mug to his lips for a welcome sip of the hot drink. He let it linger on his tongue before he swallowed it, bitter and strong and fortifying, to pool with rising heat in his stomach. He lowered the mug just as slowly, his breath an exhalation of appreciation before he spoke again. "I have missed you." Simple words, hiding a far more complex tapestry of emotions that had accompanied him on his journey as he had considered the reason for her summons ranging from the best scenario to the worst before accepting that he could not truly prepare for any of them.

He could only listen, and accept the decision that she had made.

Evie

The offerings closer to the heart of the Citadel would have had no problem accommodating his stature, but she doesn’t let herself entertain the twinge of guilt when Hadama’s restrictions become immediately apparent upon his arrival. He’d come here without complaint, and she must remind herself that his discomfort does not outweigh the comfort this arrangement brings to her.

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs, testing her tongue before she settles into true utilization of it. Evie had asked the waitress ahead of time to visit them sparingly for the sake of privacy. When he opens with sentiment, she knows that was an appropriate choice. 

“I’ve missed you too. I don’t have many friends - hardly any - so it wasn’t easy for me either.” Taking a fortifying breath, Evie curls her hands around her mug to stop the endless circling of her fingers and steels herself enough to look up into his eyes. “What you did at the meeting hurt me very deeply. I know you’re not the type to let someone get hurt because of their own rash behavior,” she allows, though it’s a brief respite before she soldiers on, “but you didn’t just pull her away. You stood with her. You backed her up, and that immediately threw the rest of us into danger.” While many might have thrown Maea to the wolves, Evie can’t overlook the fact that there had been an alternative option of simply hissing a reprimand or pulling her away, as Evie’s parents had done so often when she or Sam had embarrassed them. 

“Why?” It’s a strained plea for a better answer than she thinks he can sincerely provide. If only it was that easy. “I’ve never known you to act without thinking. I don’t know what I’m missing here.”

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad

The truth was a blade slipped gently between his ribs, made all the sharper because she was right to be upset at the choices that he had made. He inclined his head deeply in acknowledgment of her pain before meeting her clear blue eyes again as she continued to bare her heart, taking in each word with the respect that they were due. For a moment they were not sitting in the peaceful security of Halo's Citadel but were instead back in a basement in the Hollowed Grounds, with the violet wolves at the door.

And that single, simple word settled across his shoulders, heavier than the ocean at the bottom of the Maw.

"But I did," he admitted slowly, not looking away as he studied Evie's face across from him, aware of the cost of his honesty but unwilling to lie to his dearest friend, even if it would be the last time he was allowed to call her that even in his thoughts. "Act without thinking. Not beyond the moment. Maea..." He paused, a sea of complications in the name that lingered on his lips that ended with a quiet sigh. "It was... reaction. Hope. That the presence of a leader at her side would make the Reaper pause. That she would be less likely to kill a King than an Ambassador, and risk war before they were ready for it." His fingers tightened around the mug and then relaxed slowly as he consciously forced them to cradle the porcelain. "And at the time, uncertainty. Because I did not know if she intended to remove Caido's leaders at once. Regardless of Maea's actions." Hindsight was perfect, after all. It was easy to see his mistakes in retrospect, once the adrenaline had faded and everyone knew that Dahlia had come to make a political point rather than remove obstacles from the Void's path.

Evie

His acceptance of the mantle of her judgment is a testament to his character, one she’d never thought to doubt before. It’s familiar, representative of the man she knows, but the depth of wound he’d caused has cautioned her against that sort of faith - so there is no relief to be felt, no allowance for the temptation to comfort herself that this is the true heart of him. She can’t be that hasty, no matter how she might miss him. 

Evie pays him the same attention he’d given her, keeping the emotions on her face minimal and allowing herself time and empty silence to contemplate his response before she gives her own. “Why not simply usher her away? How could that not be your first thought when we know practically nothing about Dahlia? When you admit you were uncertain?” She can’t just accept it like this. There’s something more here on one of these sides - but which one? Dahlia or Maea? 

Her hands bleed white around her mug, eyes dropping toward it and away from Hadama’s bowed head to indulge in her moment of cowardice. “Was it to impress Maea? Was it…was it a moment of martyrdom?” She’s a healer, she knows she can’t leave the question unasked - that he might have courted death intentionally, for himself if not others. She isn’t sure what’s worse of the two options; would a peacock display for someone she has irreparably tangled feelings about be more forgivable somehow?

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad

He held his cup like a lifeline but did not raise it or drink from it. Evie held all of his attention, except when she sent him back within his memories to a moment that he regretted deeply. He watched her, emerald eyes sorrowful with the pain his thoughtless actions had caused her and the price of them, and perhaps he sensed something in her posture when she bowed her head for he waited for her to finish.

Her accusations drew a deeper breath into his chest, his eyes widening briefly in surprise to the second, if not the first. "No." Definitive, with no room for second thoughts. "I am not a martyr. But..." He exhaled the breath slowly, and for once there was reluctance as he gave her a tilt of his head that was not quite a nod. "Maea is... a more complicated question."

It was his turn to drop his gaze, turning the cup between his large fingers slowly though he did not seem to truly see it as he moved back to her previous questions instead. "It was... feeling, not thought," he said again, more softly. Grey brows drew together, struggling to put into words the instincts of a Mer whose animal form had been, for all its size, still prey. In hindsight there was far less uncertainty about how the situation would have played out, and he could only give a shake of his head in deep apology, knowing his words were not enough but offering them since she asked for them. "A shark that is not hungry is a tense neighbor, but well-mannered. But you do not turn your back on a hungry shark, or show it weakness. It could provoke the attack you wish to avoid. Dahlia is something that even sharks would fear. And I did not know if she had come to hunt, or only to observe." He had not known if pulling Maea away would have provoked the very attack he was hoping to deter, and in truth he had reacted according to his own instincts without thinking. Evie's instinct - to usher the Ancient away, to make apologies for a recalcitrant child - had been the correct ones, but he had not realized it at the time. Not until it was almost too late.

"I should have pulled her away," he admitted slowly. "Knowing now what Dahlia intended... yes." He raised his head to look at her again, if she was ready to meet his eyes. "But I did not. And I am sorry for that."

Evie

Complicated is as good as damning for a man as reticent on the topic of romance as Hadama, but Evie strives to suppress any reaction to the allowance from showing on her face. It's something to consider and mull over while he continues, a mere fragment to this sharp-edged glass mosaic she's trying to put to rights.

"And yet you left with Maea instead of staying to determine whether she meant to hunt or observe," she points out, voice hardly a murmur but eyes unflinchingly level with Hadama's, whether he meets her gaze or not. "I'm not going to lecture you with the privilege of hindsight, or acting on emotion. I fully intended to abandon everyone there to whatever fate may meet them if it meant getting Erebos out." A bald confession that is utterly shameless and free of any shred of doubt. Evie would have done it in a millisecond, and even if her own husband had perished she would known in her heart that he would have wanted her to. She's not faulting him for being human.

"You pulled her away regardless. You took her outside. You made a choice between her and everyone else in that room." Including me and my son. It's unspoken, but weighs heavy in the air between them.

Yet, seemingly at odds with what she says, Evie reaches a hand across the table and lays it palm-up with fingers lax and inviting. "Complicated or not, I know where I stand in your considerations now. It's not where I hoped I might be," she confesses, a wrinkle on one side of her mouth turning her smile wry and sorrowful, but ultimately understanding. "And it has reduced my trust in you, I won't deny that." Greatly, and perhaps she's being hypocritical and unfair when she would have abandoned him for her son's assured safety, but an infant child and an unactualized romantic interest are very different in her eyes. "But you're my friend, Hadama. I want to keep that. I want to give us the chance to rebuild that trust." And her open hand says if you're willing.

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad

He had returned his eyes to hers and they did not waver as Evie made her own priorities clear. Ones that he had understood from the moment she had shared news of her pregnancy with him, and even before. Family would always come before friends, regardless of whether one had flukes or feet, and he accepted her confession with the smallest tilt of his head that acknowledged it without judgment or surprise.

But the accusation that followed drew a reaction from that stoic sorrow. He drew in a deep breath, sudden and swift. His chin tilted up, though his gaze remained on hers, and for once he did interrupt. "Is that how you saw it?" His low voice was quiet and his tone carefully even, betraying nothing of his own pain at the revelation. It had not truly occurred to him that of all the people in that room, Evie would be the one to misunderstand his actions in removing Maea so deeply.

It made the offered hand a moment later a bittersweet bridge. The former-Mer looked from Evie's wounded smile to the empty fingers and back again, emerald gaze searching her own for a long moment before he finally released the sturdy tea mug with one hand. For all his size and customary deliberation he moved with a hesitance that was rare for him. His fingertips came to rest lightly on her own, presuming no more than that when there was so very much to rebuild between them. "I have missed you, my friend," he said softly, the confession nearly the same as that which he had uttered upon seeing her at the start. The tension in his chest began to slowly unravel as he took a slower, deeper breath. "Even if we must start from the beginning again." And perhaps what they built from the sand could never be the same as what had been washed away once. But at least it would not be for lack of trying.

Evie

His hurt - his reaction - would normally make her recoil, either defensive or guilty, but this time Evie meets his troubled gaze head on. "What else was there to see? A turned back has no expression or explanations to give, Hadama." How is it any more fair of him to expect her to give him the benefit of the doubt, when he had left them to the circling shark he professes such fear of? "You said it yourself - you don't turn your back on a hungry shark. But you did. And you left us with it." But maybe it's a cruelty, and a damning one at that, to try and say this now when he takes her hand so soon after. Evie clings to it as if it will somehow prevent him from changing his mind in the wake of her continuation. "Regardless of what you meant to do, or what I saw, or what either of us felt - it's a hurt I want to help heal." What good is her healer's heart if it cannot mend something as precious as this? "I hope that willingness is more meaningful than any assumptions we've both made." Because Evie doesn't want to hear more, selfishly. She's scared she might dig deep enough and find something she truly doesn't want to hear. Not if it will cost her one of the only friends she has.

Maybe that means she doesn't have much of a spine either, but she's stood up for herself against Talyson for the first time in years, so maybe it's more a matter of picking her battles. This - Hadama's hand in hers, hurt steeped between them like a bitter brew but both reaching for the other with open eyes and open hearts - it's a battle she's willing to wage. "Not so far back as the beginning," she corrects with a tired smile, squeezing his hand, "but we're both rather good at building things, wouldn't you say?" They wouldn't have crowns on their heads and kingdoms at their feet if they didn't. "There's been so much I've missed, I don't even know where to start. Why don't you tell me what comes to mind first?" As the waiter comes back around Evie keeps her hand in Hadama's, content to keep that tether of physicality for as long as she can have it.

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad

He listened to her words even when she misunderstood - deliberately or otherwise - the analogy he had used. And with others he might have remained silent, letting them think what they would. But he could not rebuild a relationship - a friendship, and one that had meant so much to him - on a foundation of misunderstandings and lies of omission. Even Maea had heard him out, however little she had liked his reasoning.

This time and in this place he did not remain silent even as he took her hand with light fingers and returned her squeeze, meeting her eyes in spite of the hurt that had caused his previous quiet query. "Maea... does not wish to see me anymore," he said in answer to her final question. "Because I left. And took her with me." The agreement came to her earlier statement - or accusation. One she had made without giving him a chance to respond, while he was ignorant to her battles with Talyson and Noah. "I left because the Reaper was willing to accept Sunjata's flattery, and Maea's apology. She was still a shark, but at that point I judged she did not come to hunt. Not without provocation." Then he dropped his eyes, inclining his head in recognition of his own responsibility. "Provocation that Maea and I were at risk of providing again." He raised his head, and his gaze was tired. "I did not trust Maea not to rise to further baiting. And I did not think she would leave without Danta's direct order. Or my request." And he did not know the Maverick well enough to judge if he would have made that call or simply sat back and watched things play out. "I stood at Maea's side to protect her. But I left with her to prevent the fight we had almost started. To avoid putting the rest of those in the room in greater danger."

She had called him here today to ask his intentions, and to judge him on them. He regretted his initial decision to protect Maea ahead of all others, but not the one that had come after. Knowing now how the others had viewed it, still he thought the risk of Maea remaining to seethe and potentially snap at the Reaper after her pride had been so sorely tested by the apology had been too great.

But Evie's opinion mattered to him more than that of the others who had been in that room. And his own pride was too great to let the misunderstanding lie. Even though it would not change her opinion of him, he seemed to breathe a little easier once the words were out. "Since then I have spent a great deal of my time in fighting the Void, and protecting Torchline from it. It... does not make for good teatime conversation," he admitted, a touch grim at the reminder of how stark his life had become. "I would like to hear about how it is, raising a son. And how you have been?"

Evie

It's a testament to their demeanors - and their desires to make amends - that they soldier on even when the easy out is there on the horizon. It's an imperfect explanation, but perhaps that is simply Evie's human, aching heart. Maybe the insistence that it's not enough will fade in time as the memory and emotional wounds do the same. 

"Maea is...very good at running away from what hurts," she puts delicately, a murmur of sympathy and something far older and more tired than she should be able to express hiding in her tone. "And I'm sorry - that you risked so much, for her and in general, and still have to suffer her absence." It's a kinder way than to loose the sharpness of her tongue to reveal what she really thinks of Maea's continued pattern of behavior. It's a much older and crueler Evie crafting those words anyway. "It helps to know what you were thinking. The hurt of how it felt in that moment..." Evie sucks in a sharp, deep breath. Releases it much slower as she looks up at him and gives a lopsided smile that is more entreaty than assurance. "Give me time. The head and heart have to find a middle ground." Knowing the why won't fix how deep the wound had cut at that moment. Little sutures every day are all she can hope for, until all that's left is a scar. 

Refusing to part their hands, Evie gracefully takes the bid for what it is and takes up the topic he provides her instead. "Two sons actually, though that's a story unto itself..." Leaning into the easy love for her family that loosens her tongue and sets the words flowing like warm syrup, Evie fills the uncertain space between them with cautious optimism and the hope for a brighter future for the two of them. 

- Fin

listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
like a heartbeat that drives you mad