Sleep, perchance to dream

He wasn’t used to being so open, or so vulnerable. It scared him as few things did, but for once he didn’t feel the desire to run away from what could hurt him so deeply. Rory held his hand securely, an anchor against the tumult of his emotions and a point of steadiness in a world that was turning upside down and changing in ways he wasn’t ready for. In ways he would never be ready for, but when had change ever waited for him to be ready?

As he had been since the day they had met, the hunter was a pole star, firm and true, and Jigano found himself reaching out, layering their hands and seeking that little extra point of contact, shamelessly sharing Rory’s warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled a little at the reassurance and the tacit forgiveness for his anxiety over his alienness, though the smile still eluded him in the confused emotions of the moment. Not since Hiraku had he trusted someone so completely… and he had never spoken of any of this to the stone-faced bodyguard and friend who was the only other survivor of the Silvermount. What was happening with Rory was something new, and precious, and fragile… and stronger than he was ready for.

Which didn’t stop him from wanting it… whatever it was.

Rory’s wince drew his attention immediately, and he freed his recently-moved hand to reach up and brush light fingers over the unburned portions of the hunter’s cheek. He didn’t have to tell his friend to be careful – the wounds would remind him just fine without Jigano’s unhelpful words – but he let his touch speak for him as he considered what Rory asked.

There was a great deal of pain down that road, old and at best only partially healed. There were shadows that stood in his memory, accusing, angry, or innocent. There was a world that had been saved for the price of a single broken heart and three lives, and could there be any cheaper bargain? But though he had agreed to pay the cost and bear the weight of those decisions on his shoulders, he was not as strong as he had believed himself to be, four and five years ago. Even now he seemed to shrink under the burden of them, bowing his head and hunching his shoulders as his hand dropped away from Rory’s face to rest on the cot beside him.

”My decisions have gotten people killed,” he said quietly. ”And… worse. It… has not seemed right, that I should know happiness while they are dead. When I’m with you I… forget that.” And what that meant for him – for them - going forward, he didn’t know.

Except that he didn’t want to lose what he had found, and his hand tightened around the ones that held him as if to a lifeline.

Again: fingers on his cheek, trailing lightly over his skin, little shivers coursing through his soul. He was calmer—more grounded in the words that had passed between them—and a little sore, his nerves thrumming to his heartbeat, so this time.. it did not quite set him on fire in the same way, did not make him think of things that were better left unthought for now. But he closed his eyes, gently leaning his cheek into the touch. It had been some time—too long—since he was touched.

As the hand fell away, he opened his eyes again to regard the man sitting on his bed. Head bowed, shoulders hunched, turning himself inside out in the span of minutes, with more secrets and bad memories sticking in his throat. Rory's fingers kept moving over the hand he held, eyes softening despite the pain tickling at his mood.

There were things, when remembered and spoken of, would have Rory bowing over the same way.

”My decisions have gotten people killed,” the fox said, and Rory's fingers traced little circles on the back of his hand. Whose hasn't? he wanted to say, thinking back on a childhood full of dreams and love and laughter, of boys growing up into still-not-men, but old enough to die all the same. But he sensed that whatever blame Rory had for that, it was much less direct than what Jigano meant.

But this wasn't about that. His hands tightened around Jigano's, holding it, for it seemed to be what he needed, but what words he might need, Rory did not know. He was silent for a while, looking at their clasped hands. There was much that he could say, but some things it was neither the time nor the place for. So he rolled the words around in his mouth and mind. And much of what he wanted to say was rather callous, and Jigano really did not look receptive to that at the time.

"The decisions we make are the ones that seem best at the time," he ended up saying. "It is only when we see how it goes that we know if it was good or not. It is hindsight that allows us to grow, and learn." He could hear footsteps coming down the hall outside, and he had a sinking suspicion they were making their way towards his room. He didn't know who else was in the Infirmary, after all, but it was not unreasonable to think a nurse was coming to check up on him.

"They are dead, Jigano," he said very, very gently, "and punishing yourself for it will not make them less so."

Jigano didn't need words just then, so much as he needed the quiet comfort of Rory's presence, and the steadying touch of his hand. Fox and man and something in-between, and still the hunter reached through to the heart of him no matter what shape he wore. It was a terrifyingly reassuring thought, and one that mattered more than any platitudes. It wasn't the words themselves so much as the tone that reached through to him, and something in his posture began to ease. He started to raise his head, blue eyes seeking Rory's--

The sound of footsteps came to his foxy ears like approaching drum beats, signalling an end to their private time together. The nurse would be expecting the fox who had stayed by Rory's side while he had slept, and having just shared his secrets with one man who he trusted far too much, too deeply, too late to turn back now he was in no shape to give so much of himself away to a stranger. He flattened his fox's ears in distress, but not before Rory made a final argument with such gentleness that it that rang like a quiet chime down to his bones.

Punishing yourself will not make them less so.

"I..." His head knew that, he wanted to say, but his heart felt differently. But was that true? His head hadn't even considered that very simple view, in all the years since they had died. And, now, his heart had become dangerously vulnerable, dangerously open again. He knew he deserved to be alone, for what he had done...

But a growing part of him no longer wanted to be.

And then the footsteps were slowing outside the curtain and he shook his head, squeezing Rory's hands tightly for a moment before a wan, lopsided smile lightened his expression and he met his friend's eyes. "At least now we'll have time," he said softly. "To see..." If he could learn to let go of the past. If he wanted to let it go. If Rory wanted to be a part of his future.

As his shape slid down into the compact form of the white fox he realized that the last 'if' had already been answered. He didn't yet know how, but he didn't want to think of a future without those gentle blue eyes, deep and welcoming, laughing and filled with tears, angry and bright with joy... and everything in between. As his close friend, or as something more...

But the 'how' didn't needed answering right away, if it even could be answered yet. He nestled back against the hunter's side, fitting comfortably against him and resting his head on his friend's thigh as the nurse slipped in to check on the wounded man and the little menagerie that stood loyal guard over him through the darkness of Long Night.