A/N—This is a sequel to 'Only A Mistake'. It can be read alone, but it makes more sense at a sequel.
I don't own this. It all belongs to Michael Scott.
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Not the Word You Used To Give It
As soon as dinner was ended, Flamel dragged the twins outside, leaving Palamedes and Will alone.
Will pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He sniffled slightly, trying to conquer the remaining tears. Palamedes patted him lightly on the shoulder.
"The world would have been a poorer place, Will. You know that?"
Will sat heavily in one of the chairs, pushing Flamel's untouched plate aside and putting his elbows on the table. He buried his face in his handkerchief, and Palamedes heard him give a muffled sob.
"Your work has shaped millions of people, Will," Palamedes pressed on. "Including myself."
The Bard looked up, tears streaming down his face.
"My work," he spat the word, a disgust and disdain that Palamedes had never heard before gracing the monosyllable, "was the product of a crime."
"Crime is not the word you used to give it. Crime is Flamel's word—don't apply it to your actions."
Will removed his elbows from the table and clasped his hands in his lap, where he began to knead the handkerchief.
"Will."
He didn't move.
Palamedes placed his hand on the back of the Bard's chair and spun the piece of furniture around so that Will was facing him.
"Look at me."
Will's pale eyes remained fixed on the ground.
"Will!" Palamedes tapped Will's chin, and his strength caused the Bard to raise his head.
"You are my friend, Will."
Will hiccupped softly.
Palamedes sighed. "In my desire to aid a dear friend, I injured a dearer one."
The Bard opened his mouth to speak, but at the moment Flamel came in, one word on his lips.
"Perenelle."