Dum Spiro Spero

See disclaimer in part 1

"How did you know where to find Roswell, anyway?" Nessiah was finally able to ask.

He and the others were arranged across both sides of a long table, eating breakfast outside. They would be headed to Flarewerk in the afternoon to aid in the hard, sweaty effort of rebuilding the inner city; Nessiah wasn't particularly looking forward to it, but it was a necessity. He wasn't sure whether or not the others felt the same, but all of them were taking their time about their food.

Yggdra considered his question for a while, and eventually shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just felt—I just felt that he was in pain, and that he needed me." She laid her hand over her chest, frowning. "I… I'm just not sure how to describe it, but it was such a powerful pull. I didn't know where he was consciously, but I felt drawn to the mansion…"

Nessiah frowned and then nodded. "…I suppose that makes sense. The way you've trained your magic… probably would strengthen your intuition and empathy." Those were, after all, his own magical strengths—it would make sense for Yggdra to have inherited them, also.

She nodded, staring down at her food with a grimace; Kylier looked to him questioningly. Nessiah shook his head slightly, trying to keep her from asking—at least here.

"It's just unfortunate that you had to arrive before Gulcasa and the healers did. That you had to see Roswell like that, I mean…"

Yggdra shook her head. "I've… seen Roswell hurt himself before. And over the course of the war, I've seen… and caused far bloodier scenes. I… I appreciate your worry, but all the same…"

"It's different, though, when it's somebody you love in the middle of a bloody scene," Kylier pointed out. "I think I'd flip out pretty damn hard if I saw Milanor or Ness like that. I mean, cripes. Especially when there's nothing you could do yourself."

"Don't poke at her—or at me, please," Nessiah told her. "It was painful to be with him then, but better with him than away from him. I'm not sure what I think of having seen that, even after all I've seen and done."

"I think… that's true. That's… how I feel about it, too." Yggdra set her fork down and sighed, still staring down at her half-eaten meal.

Nessiah sat up and leaned forward, reaching across the table to cover her hands with his. Yggdra looked up and smiled at him, then interlaced their fingers.

"I'm just glad he'll be recovering," Elena murmured. "Flone said he'll be able to join us working by the end of the week… Asgard's medicine certainly worked quickly."

"Considering how old Asgard is, it has no excuse for producing anything substandard," Nessiah said lightly, unable to keep from smiling. He squeezed Yggdra's hands, then let go of them. "…Now… are you going to be finishing that?" he asked, pointing at the fried bread on the edge of her plate.

"Yeah, yeah! 'Cause if you're not…" Nietzsche piped up.

Yggdra looked up at him, blinked, then turned to Nietzsche—and started to giggle. "There's more than enough to share," she managed at last, and gathered up the Undine's plate and the fallen angel's, promptly dividing what was left on her own plate between the three.

Rosary lay sprawled on her bed, holding her new pactio card out and staring at it as she lazily flipped it between her fingers.

It looked a lot like the one they'd done as kids. Well, there were exceptions—the image of Rosary herself had changed, the Artifact looked less childish, and the values had changed a bit—but even so, it brought back memories.

God, she'd been such a pushy little brat back then. It was a little bit embarrassing, remembering how she'd acted—throwing tantrums left and right whenever anything had displeased her, when she should've been able to accept what she had even if it hadn't been perfect. At least she'd grown up enough that she never did that anymore.

What she'd done with the contract that time was especially embarrassing. Even as a kid she'd had a flair for the dramatic, but ripping the cards in half? Roswell had gotten a look on his face like she'd just punched him in the gut, as if she hadn't already gone overboard with what she'd been saying.

That night had been a mistake, and a big one. Sighing, Rosary rolled over onto her back, holding the card up and crossing her legs at the knee, clutching the spread with her toes. The contract hadn't been. She hadn't been able to take the one back, so she'd destroyed the other. And she'd hurt him even worse.

That was the problem with Roswell, really—there was nothing wrong with being sensitive, but when you were that oversensitive, you were just begging to get your heart trampled on.

She made a face and ran her free hand through her hair. It was that quality in Roswell that made her wonder how in the fuck he was even friends with someone like Nessiah, let alone anything more. The pipsqueak of a fallen angel was grating by nature, and went out of his way to have fun at other people's expense. By all rights, he should've reduced Roswell to a bloody weeping wreck. The fact that he hadn't was—weird. It put strange little stabs of—Rosary wasn't sure what, in her chest.

Maybe she should just be relieved to know that Nessiah was capable of something other than smugly making humans dance on his strings and demanding an eye for an eye. There'd been real righteous fury on Roswell's behalf in his stance, in his voice when he'd yelled at her. More than, when he'd taken a swing at her. (How did a tiny little guy like that hit so hard?) It was a revelation, and maybe not a pleasant one—Nessiah was capable of caring about something other than himself.

Anyhow.

Rosary hoped she was taking a step in the right direction, redoing her pactio with Roswell. It was high time she stopped ripping on him whenever any little thing in her world went wrong—high time she took another step towards growing up, because for God's sake, she'd changed in the past three years. Or she hoped she had. Maybe they'd never again be as close as they'd been when they were little, but they could at least be friends again, right?

"At least be friends," Rosary murmured aloud, and sighed. "…oh, boy."

She hoped to God that what that pactio had led to had been the magic talking, more than either of them. She really hoped so. Their first pactio hadn't been nearly that intense, but then, there wasn't any of the passionate good and bad between them back then that there was now. And it probably was the magic, considering—she'd been standing there sure enough when Roswell had done his contract with Nessiah, and that probably would've gone horizontal if there hadn't been an audience; they'd been half-groping and Roswell's tongue had just about been down Nessiah's throat.

Rosary shook her head and rolled over again, burying her face in her pillow.

She liked sex. She was red-blooded, human, and breathing; of course she liked sex. She liked the physicality of it, the sense of control, and of course the pleasure. She liked feeling dominant and powerful and female; she liked instilling a sense of helplessness in her partners. She liked to make sure they were helpless, damn it, with blindfolds and shackles and rope if that was what it took. And, fine—it turned her on to be able to do whatever she pleased with her bedmates while they were tied up and helpless. She stopped teasing them if it scared them; she wasn't some kind of rapist, dammit. It was a kink.

There had been no control with Roswell. He'd had none. She'd had none. She'd been as helpless as he was, and she didn't like it. She'd been too caught up to realize it then, of course. She'd been too caught up to realize much of anything; thank God she always wore protective charms out of habit, or she might have gotten pregnant. Which would have been a complete and total disaster no matter how she sliced it. She wasn't ready to be a mother; even giving a child away for adoption would've knocked nine perfectly useful months out of her life with sheer misery. And finding a healer willing to perform an abortion was rare and said damn healers made their patients pay through the nose.

Rosary punched her pillow.

What really bothered her, though, was that despite how charged with lust and magic it had been, Roswell had been so goddamn tender with her. It touched things in her that she didn't want touched; it had slapped her in the face with something she didn't want to realize.

He loved her. He still loved her. Damn it.

He'd been in love with her for the past three years, since their first time or maybe before—Rosary wasn't sure, couldn't be sure. She wasn't in his head. She remembered the look on his face then—shy, worried, reverent, adoring—and she remembered vaguely thinking uh-oh before their bodies had really clicked and pleasure had knocked every thought out of her head until her parents had burst in.

And she'd buried that memory, refused to think about that pleasure and that look on his face, in all the chaos. She'd wanted to blame the misery she'd gone through afterward on anyone but herself, and Roswell had been the nearest and easiest target. Even after she normally would've forgiven him—her parents had gone to so much trouble to pour poison in her ear about the entire goddamn Branthèse family, and she'd started to believe it. It had been, was much easier than shouldering any kind of blame.

Even now, having been confronted with the way Roswell felt about her, something in Rosary wanted to do a repeat performance. Part of her was telling her that she had to rip this card in two, pack her bags, and run for the hills. She didn't have any idea what she did and didn't feel about him, or even how much of what she did and didn't feel was her parents' influence talking. She didn't want tender, didn't want to be tied down; she wasn't ready for that yet, and it panicked her.

But she didn't want to run away. She wanted to change. If she ran now, while Roswell was still vulnerable, the shock might kill him. If she hurt him badly enough, she'd wind up with a crazed fallen angel out for her blood. And much more importantly, just because she was an Esmeralda didn't mean she had to stay her parents' daughter forever. She didn't have to hurt Roswell just because he was Roswell.

There was a middle road somewhere. There had to be. And if there was no obvious one, Rosary would make one.

She'd almost wanted to stay with him, she admitted to herself. She'd almost wanted to stay with him while he'd been lying asleep, all mussed and vulnerable with his arm soft and warm around her waist. But that would have been stupid all around. It would've given him the wrong idea, and anyway, Roswell was Nessiah's lover now. (Weird, how she had to keep reminding herself of that even when it was stuck on her mind.) She certainly didn't intend on destroying that, when she didn't want Roswell for herself. (Especially when Nessiah was crazy and would probably have something to say to her about it.)

Rosary sat up and sighed, staring down at the pactio card in her hand.

"We just keep putting one foot in front of the other," she told it. "We just keep doing that, and watch where we're going for once so that we don't wind up in the same goddamn rut as before."

It was simple, she knew. She just hoped to God it wasn't too difficult to stick with it.

Roswell paced the town border unsteadily.

Flone would probably scold him if she caught him out and about—she'd been riding herd on him ever since he'd started getting restless abed; even with the medicine he was still taking, she didn't want him exerting himself "too much". And she'd gotten downright snappish with him two days ago, when he'd tried to head down to breakfast with the others.

If he didn't have the sense to tell for himself, she'd make him pick up sense somewhere; there was only so much he could handle at the moment. She'd told him that in a no-nonsense tone and gotten to work pushing him back towards bed while Russell had shot him sympathetic looks.

But he had to find Nessiah, and talk to him. Somehow. He had to confess what he'd done; it was the right thing to do. Even if it tore at him.

He loved Rosary—he always had—but that was no excuse. Neither was the power of the magic that had connected them then. He'd managed to restrain himself when it had been Nessiah he'd kissed—managed to restrain himself twice. And Nessiah was the one he was supposed to be with.

It was a promise they'd made each other. And Roswell had broken it.

He'd never done anything like this before, and it sickened him a little that he was capable of something like it, even just based on getting carried away. Rosary—her magic, her lips, her body, their sex—had driven Nessiah completely out of his mind, and it wasn't until he'd awakened afterward that he'd really realized what he'd done.

Roswell had been unfaithful.

Even as he thought the words, his chest clenched.

Even though I promised—even though Nessiah trusted me with so much—even though I trusted him with so much—despite everything, I…

He hissed, and bit his lip.

Footsteps made a soft whispering sound in the grass behind him, and Roswell turned to see that it was Rosary. She had one arm behind her back and was scratching at her cheek with her other hand, glancing off to the side.

Love roiled in Roswell's chest, followed by confusion and pain.

"…Um, hey," Rosary said awkwardly.

"…Hello," Roswell answered, his voice soft.

There was a tense silence.

"About—yesterday," Rosary began, and sighed, fidgeting like a naughty child. "I—that was bad. Really really really bad. I—can't believe I'm saying this again so fast, but. Sorry. I… put a hole in your perfect track record, it looks like." She tried to smile, but it didn't stay on her face.

Roswell shook his head. "You don't need to apologize."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

He shook his head again. "…I have to tell Nessiah—somehow. I've wronged him badly, and I need to come clean with him for it. No matter how painful it may be—hiding it would be worse, and far more painful."

Rosary grimaced and nodded. "Yeah—that's probably the right thing to do. …Since when'd you have all these balls? I don't think I could do it if I were in your place. Um—do you want me to come with you? It's my fault as much as yours, it takes two for that kind of thing."

Sadly, Roswell smiled; the coincidences and ironies of life were so cruel. Here he finally had some of his friendship with Rosary back, but had that come at the cost of his relationship with Nessiah?

"…No. I'm afraid that—if you were with me it would only be more difficult."

"Yeah, I get the feeling that maybe he doesn't like me too much." Rosary rubbed her cheek with an ironic smile and woeful eyes.

How could he ever say how grateful he was for her understanding? Was this how Nessiah had felt when he'd first used Restoratus, was this the feeling of regaining a limb long lost? It was natural for Rosary to be his ally, more natural than anything else. Roswell couldn't help but smile a little.

"It's true that Nessiah would be less receptive to anything I have to say with you around. But more than that—Nessiah is my responsibility, and even though… what happened between us is something that both of us can be blamed for… you weren't the one to betray him. That was me, and only me."

"That's true. When'd you get this responsible?" Rosary shook her head—Roswell guessed the gesture was directed at herself. "Well, I—can't say too much about what you should and shouldn't feel bad about, but… if you need a plan of attack, or moral support, or just somewhere to come if this goes really badly—well, I'm here."

She held out her hand with a lopsided, shy little smile, flush-faced.

Heart aching, Roswell reached out and clasped it in his own.

"Well, are we all ready to go?" Yggdra asked, looking around.

"…I suppose we must be." Nessiah wasn't exactly looking forward to this, but it couldn't be helped—and it was important to do, too. And—well, there was also the matter that he would be able to catch glimpses of Gulcasa performing strenuous labor. Which was both a blessing and a curse.

Beside him, Kylier turned around and frowned. "…Hey guys, you can go ahead without me if you want, but I gotta go take care of something for a sec." And before anyone could ask what this nebulous 'something' happened to be, off she went.

"What's that about?" Nietzsche asked aloud—of course; she was the only one of them who would address it so openly. "Bathroom?"

"Maybe," Nessiah replied, nonplussed. "I hope she doesn't take so long if that's the case; we've got a fair bit of ground to cover before we can really join up with Gulcasa and the others."

Elena, who had been watching as Kylier ran off, suddenly frowned. "Isn't that… Roswell she's talking to?"

Nessiah turned sharply around, too—and be damned if it wasn't Roswell there. They were quite some distance away and Nessiah couldn't tell what was being said, but Roswell looked anxious, and Kylier's back presented a stern image to their group. After a few sharp gestures, she sent Roswell off in the other direction, and then walked back towards them, making a face.

"…Kylier, what did Roswell want with us? Shouldn't he still be in bed?" Nessiah asked blankly.

Kylier's scowl deepened. "He wanted something really stupid. Worry about it later, guys—we've gotta get going or we're going to be late."

With that, they headed to where the cart was waiting with a pair of unfamiliar dragons under its yoke, clambered on—and helped Nietzsche up—then set off towards what remained of the capital.

The journey was about an hour long, as the cart had to make its way through Drominos; even knowing the pathways through the marshy woodlands, it always took a while to navigate them. Yggdra checked and double-checked their supplies, with Kylier eventually moving to help; Elena sat and seemed to meditate, and somehow or other Nietzsche fell asleep with her tail flukes hanging off the edge of their ride.

Even though he wouldn't have thought it possible the way that the cart jolted over every uneven patch of ground, Nessiah supposed he'd dozed off, because one moment he was curled up in the corner as they entered Drominos and the next Kylier was shaking his shoulder and telling him that they'd arrived.

…It stung, seeing Flarewerk like this. Nessiah had been in and out of the proud Bronquian capital several times over his hundreds of years—it had once had a decadent grandeur on par with Paltina or the Aqua Palace in Embellia. But now—

The skeleton of Castle Bronquia still sat upon the cliff, mostly walls and framework. The Obsidian Spire behind the castle proper had crumbled entirely, crushing Brongaa's altar beneath its shattered, melted bricks. Even what was left of the stone that had formed the castle showed scars from the fire, and the upper city was a scorched ruin yet.

At least, Nessiah thought to himself, at least the lower city was regaining some life again. The fires hadn't hit this area so badly, although the destruction of the Arc of Triumph had damaged a number of homes and the lower market. That damage had mostly been repaired—new homes were standing in an odd mismatch of old styles and new that managed to be strangely charming, although Nessiah felt like he could practically still smell the sap on them. And there were people living in the new homes, too.

From what he'd experienced before, Flarewerk felt like a tiny colony or separate community from Bronquia as a whole—it was very tight-knit yet dependent on the rest of the country, since it couldn't support itself quite yet. And even with the rest of the country's aid, the reparation wouldn't be getting anywhere without the money Yggdra had strong-armed her cabinet into putting into it, but—

Everywhere he looked, Nessiah could see people carrying lumber, tools, and supplies, excited and determined. And he could sense it from every soul in the ruined city—no matter how close Flarewerk looked to being a dead, lifeless husk, it was overflowing with hope.

In imitation of the Royal phoenix—and Nessiah himself—the Imperial capital would rise from its ashes as proud as ever.

The cart reached the plaza that was serving as the capital's hub, and they disembarked—helping Nietzsche down from her perch, Elena and Kylier carrying supplies.

A man in work clothes waved them towards what remained of the fountain. "Bring your stuff over here, and we'll figure out where to send you all."

Gulcasa was at the fountain, holding a sheaf of paper and alternating between reading it and handing off orders. The shirt he'd been wearing was draped over the edge of the fountain; he'd pulled his hair back messily into something that would have resembled a horsetail if it didn't appear to be steadily coming loose. His skin was shiny with sweat and looked bronzed in the midday sun; his pants were hanging low on his hips and just like that time before, just the faintest suggestion of that red-black line of curls peeked over the top of the heavy fabric. He looked so very in his element and powerful and assured and male—

"Privy…," Yggdra squeaked from where she stood next to Nessiah, and dashed off back down the road. Nessiah's blush darkened, but he knew where she was coming from, and managed something along the lines of having to go too.

When he came back about ten minutes later, Gulcasa was thankfully gone; Elena also seemed to have gotten some kind of assignment. Kylier and Nietzsche were still there, though.

"You shoulda gone before we left," Nietzsche told him sagely.

"I didn't have to then," Nessiah replied with a straight face as Kylier snickered. "Do we know where we're going?"

"Yeah, you and I are fixing roofs and Nietzsche's on supply runs with Yggdra; we're just waiting for Herself," Kylier told him, still grinning.

He settled in to wait along with them, but Yggdra joined them only a few minutes later, taking the road at a run, still looking deathly embarrassed.

"I… got lost on the way back," she said before anyone (meaning Nietzsche) could ask. Her face was still rather red and she was out of breath, though that could very well have been from the running. "I'm sorry, everyone."

Nietzsche scolded her for not visiting the privy before they'd left (Yggdra blushed harder, and Nessiah felt his face redden along with hers in sympathy); Kylier repeated the orders they'd gotten, and they started heading towards the construction they were supposed to be assisting.

"At least we don't have to worry about Gulcasa popping in all shirtless for today—he's working on the other side of town, so you guys don't have to be on watch. Or jump in the river."

Nessiah glanced to Yggdra, who had also glanced towards him; both of them blushed and looked away sharply.

"Kylier…" Yggdra's voice was tiny and constricted.

"Kylier, shut up," Nessiah said flatly.

And then they arrived, and they didn't have to worry about Kylier's teasing or Nietzsche's innocent questions anymore—their supervisor took them aside and explained the day's goals, and they would be working far too hard to pester each other.

Nessiah looked up—the sun was still high in the sky, mocking him. He turned away from it and sighed; today was going to be a long and thankless day.

So in the end it comes down to me having to play messenger, Rosary thought ruefully.

Not that she thought it wasn't the most convenient way to do things—she couldn't sneak him down to Flarewerk without his being caught and really yelled at, and especially since he was still kind of wobbly, there was no way in hell he'd be able to do it on his own. So even though she wasn't too keen on it, it would be easiest for her to go and make sure Nessiah knew he needed to talk to Roswell once the workday for the current Flarewerk crew was done.

Since she was able to ride on her broom, it was easy to clear the road through Drominos to reach the ruin of the city; it was nice taking the trek by herself for once. When Rosary was actually on the reconstruction crew, going to and from Flarewerk was always the worst part; the difficult terrain slowed everyone else down considerably, and she couldn't race ahead of them because waiting for them to catch up once she'd reached Flarewerk was boring as hell.

It was about an hour after midday when she actually reached the city, from what Rosary could tell when she squinted up at the sky (the sun wasn't directly overhead, at least—but then she wasn't exactly good at telling the time just from ogling the heavens). She sighed as she arrived at the gate, dismounted from her broom, and balanced it sweep-up on her shoulder as she marched under the ruins of the Arc of Triumph.

…There were a lot of mixed emotions for her in this place, really. She'd had big plans for the Ankhs—there were places she could get with them so much more easily, and she could have jumped over her own limits so much faster with them in hand—and not only had this place marked her final failure to obtain them, it'd shown her just how far apart she and Roswell really were in maturity.

Rosary paused where she stood and looked up again. Part of the Arc was still intact, and its rough outline blocked out the sun, its blinding halo just peeking out balefully from behind the stone. She remembered fishing around in the rubble while Milanor had been hurrying Kylier back towards the emergency camp they'd been forced to set back up the road, and coming up with a few scraps of silvery metal. She remembered wanting to cry and kicking rubble instead, pocketing them. Roswell, up on his feet with a few bloodstains still at his lips and nose and on the front of his then-dusty finery, had come to stand with her, but he hadn't rummaged with her, and only smiled hollowly at her frustration. He'd made some remark about it being beneath him, about it not mattering anymore now.

It had made her really mad then, even though she'd been guilty about it at the time. At least now she understood better where he'd been coming from.

Was this what other people referred to as "growing up"? Rosary made a face; it was an anxious kind of happiness and impatience, and it was entirely uncomfortable.

At least now she'd actually be able to sit down with Roswell over tea and talk about stuff like this with him again. If there was one thing she was actually thankful to Nessiah for, it was kicking her indirectly into choking out that apology, making her swallow her pride enough to bridge the gap between herself and her hapless cousin. She really had missed his friendship.

Of course, now it came with the obstacle of those messy feelings of his, but you had to take stuff one step at a time. Rosary would figure out how to answer him at some point.

"Can I help you?"

Rosary blinked and looked down at the man whose voice had interrupted her reverie. She didn't know him, but he was dressed in work clothes and had planks of wood tucked under his arm, so it was probably safe to mark him as somebody doing reconstruction.

"Uh, yeah. I've got a message for Nessiah," (mentally she congratulated herself for not appending insults to the brat's name aloud) "you know where I can find him?"

The man paused to think, then grinned. "He should be with Kylier's group, and they're on lunch break right now. Head up the road and then take a right at the fountain—you can't miss 'em."

Rosary nodded her thanks and started off, not really paying attention to the construction other than what she needed to not run into (or be run into by) anyone. The noise had driven her insane when she'd first started working, and it was still obnoxious, but she could deal with it better now.

Her current pet peeve regarding construction was that it was so much harder to keep track of your own progress than in magic, where your work could be measured in months if results weren't instantaneous. Construction was usually consistent, but it was slow and had a habit of doubling back on itself, and the fact that she was working here every few days kept her from being able to look at Flarewerk at the start of the week and come back at the end and notice, for instance, "Oh look, a new line of houses got rebuilt". All she could see was the continuous effort. What a pain; she couldn't even get properly proud of her accomplishments if she didn't know how to measure them.

Anyhow, it really was easy to find Nessiah with the worker's directions. There was a grassy slope near the river, and Kylier's little group had put a picnic blanket down to sit on while they ate. Nietzsche was stuffing her face as usual, Elena seemed to be trying to get her to eat more politely, and Kylier was apparently teasing Yggdra, who was blushing and waving her hands awkwardly. Nessiah was asleep with his head and shoulders on Kylier's lap.

"Yo," Rosary called, raising a hand to wave at them. The girls turned to look at her; Nietzsche waved back enthusiastically, and Yggdra and Elena smiled at her. Kylier just raised her eyebrows.

"Good afternoon, Rosary," Yggdra said brightly as she drew closer. "What brings you here today? I didn't think you were on the construction group today…"

"Nah, I'm not—I'm just here on messenger duty," she replied as she sat down.

Kylier groaned, and Rosary turned to her to see that she was facepalming. "I can't believe it. Roswell got you to come say it for him?"

"Yeah, he said you headed him off," Rosary retorted a bit flatly, "but I don't get why. You don't even know what we're trying to pass along, do you?"

"Not really. I just don't think Nessiah needs to get distracted right now."

Yggdra, Elena, and Nietzsche were following the conversation intently with varying amounts of curiosity and confusion on their faces, so Rosary just shrugged and sighed. "There's a saying about shooting the messenger, isn't there? And it's not like we're trying to—distract him. It's just pretty important."

Kylier scowled. "Well, obviously he's asleep."

Rosary shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You don't have to wake him up, just pass it along. Or tell him when you're on the way back, or whatever." What did Kylier think they were trying to do, honestly? Roswell wanted to come clean, and he at least deserved the chance to do that, didn't he?

"I don't really understand what's going on, but I… suppose we'll pass on the message," Yggdra told her with a smile.

And I highly doubt Kylier's going to give you the chance, but… "I guess I'll go back then, thanks. Keep up the good work."

Rosary wanted to shake her head at them again, but instead she just stood up and headed back towards the Arc. Making a pest of herself probably wouldn't help their case at all.

"What's gotten into her?" she complained to Roswell later, waving her fork—they were eating dinner in his room because Flone didn't want him straining himself heading down to the outdoor mess tables (despite the fact that both of them protested he wasn't that delicate). "I mean, she's acting like she's his disapproving mom or something." And she raised her eyebrows at him, trying to ask without saying it if Kylier really was disapproving of Roswell and Nessiah's relationship.

Roswell, who'd been playing with his food more than eating it, delicately speared a piece of meat on the end of his own fork and turned it over and over in the sauce, frowning. "Kylier knows about us, but she's always been—supportive. And she couldn't know what happened between you and I… I'm lost as to why she would be trying to keep us from communicating." His frown deepened a little. "Unless Nessiah is still upset with me because of the festival."

Rosary scratched her head and groaned. "Well, I have no idea, but it's a pain. You want to talk to him, it's important to you, so she should at least let you talk to each other." She put her fork down; she felt like stabbing something with it. "And I don't get why he'd be upset with you. He just seemed pissed at me, really."

He didn't answer her for several moments—first he played with the piece of meat for a while longer, then he ate it slowly. "He's been—trying to help me with the way I… overreact and get that way… for some time. And I think I frightened him. He has more than enough reason to be upset with me."

She had to wonder if this was making him waffle on his decision to talk to Nessiah, or getting him worked up about it even more. Either way, Rosary's first instinct was to tease him, which she stifled. She wanted to be a better friend, which meant being supportive.

"Well, he was in here before I came to talk to you, right? He didn't seem mad at you then, did he?" Rosary picked up her fork again and waggled it at him.

Roswell looked up at her with something between surprise and wonder on his face, and she could feel her cheeks heat up slightly (what was with him? God) as he nodded slowly and smiled a bit.

"No—he seemed normal. You're probably right."

"Of course I am—and you should know, you two are that close, after all." Rosary put her fork back down, folded her arms, and nodded to herself. When she remembered the issue at hand, though, she scowled and deflated. "Still leaves us with the question of why Kylier's being a stick in the mud."

They sat in silence for a while as Roswell resumed slowly eating, and after a while there was a knock at the doorframe. Rosary turned around.

"Well damn. Guess it's true that if you talk about devils long enough, they'll pop out of the woodwork, huh."

Kylier's brow knitted as she gave Rosary a schoolmarmish look; Rosary barely resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out.

There was another short silence, and then Roswell spoke.

"Will you let me talk to Nessiah now? It—really is important."

Kylier made a face and scratched her cheek; she looked sullen and unsure. Rosary was almost certain she was biting back some kind of it's complicated remark. "How important?"

"Just believe him when he says it's important," Rosary said flatly; the way Kylier was acting was so obnoxious. What was she, Nessiah's secretary? "Why are you so worried about it?"

"I just—" Kylier hesitated again. "I just have a bad feeling about it."

Rosary suppressed the urge to snort. What, so is she a fortune-teller now?

"I mean it. It's hard to explain, but the way you're acting—I just do. And damn it, if this was what it was like for Ness back when he was dead sure you were getting sick and I didn't believe him…," Kylier's voice trailed off and she shoved her hands through her hair. Rosary had no idea what she was talking about, but she looked frustrated. "He's been having a pretty crappy time, and I just—don't want him to wind up unhappy again right away. If you've got bad news or—whatever—I just… can't it wait?"

"It would be worse to wait," Roswell said softly. "This is something I need to tell him now—it would be an unkindness to postpone it. It's true that I—don't have something particularly happy to discuss, but the situation can only deteriorate at this point."

It was admirable of him, Rosary thought to herself—Roswell knew that he would probably come off the worst here if he offended Nessiah, but he wasn't shying away or squirming at the prospect of getting yelled at, maybe zapped. He'd done something wrong, and he was prepared to take whatever punishment he felt he deserved. It was a stupid attitude, but it was responsible. Somehow she felt like she'd turned her back on him for five minutes and he was already an adult.

Kylier didn't seem convinced. "Well, will it hurt him?"

"Possibly, yes," Roswell admitted evenly.

Her stubborn expression deepened, and Roswell sighed.

"When you've been shot, it's better and it hurts less to break the shaft and pull the arrowhead out quickly and cleanly," he said patiently. "It's very painful, yes, but you might do even more damage if you spend your time wiggling it and trying to pry it out bit by bit. If Nessiah is going to be hurt by this—I'd prefer to do it like that, instead of letting things fester and giving him more things to doubt and resent."

Kylier crossed her arms. "It's important?"

"Yes."

Rosary thought she was going to refuse, but Kylier's shoulders fell slightly. "I guess… I'll go get him then." She gave the two of them a look that was more wary than accusing, and vanished from the doorframe.

"Good evening, Roswell."

Nessiah was smiling. He looked a bit flushed, and in the light from the window, his skin shone a bit as though he'd spent a lot of time sweating. He'd probably been so busy working under the sun lately that he was going to wind up with a sunburn, Roswell thought; these kinds of experiences were probably good for him though. Nessiah had talked to him before and told him—mentioned shyly that this was the first time in a long while that he'd worked so hard with other people, out in the open, instead of from the shadows, on the outside looking in. Even now, although the sun was setting and it was going to get a bit colder, Nessiah was only dressed in his underrobe.

…Roswell had heard that Emilia was trying to cajole him into expanding his wardrobe, getting a few more outfits like this one. He could understand where she was coming from—Nessiah's robes were so old and battered and thin from wear and washings. The pale lavender stripes in the folds of this one had probably been crisp violet once. Nessiah was a little worried about Emilia's taste in clothes—likely more than just a little—but if other people helped, he would probably cave in.

As those observations ran through Roswell's mind—all of them painful—Nessiah sat down on the edge of the bed. He was smiling—still relaxed—still happy, still blithely unaware. You shouldn't seem so innocent, so naïve, so pure. You shouldn't have put your trust in me so easily if all I was going to do is destroy it.

"Kylier said you had something you wanted to talk about?" Nessiah prompted.

Roswell nodded. "I do."

It was like… he had to put them on a scale, and constantly weigh them. He'd been doing so ever since yesterday. There was a part of him that was urging him to defend himself—to make excuses—to plead with Nessiah through their bond, their relationship. To hold on to Nessiah, cling to him with everything he could use. Because while Roswell had loved Rosary for so long—Nessiah was the one who had always been here for him. Had comforted him, and slept by his side, and entrusted him with the vulnerable parts of himself, and supported him when Roswell couldn't support himself.

But if he really cared at all—he couldn't weigh Rosary and Nessiah against each other. It was too late, and if he really cared at all, he had to do the right thing.

"I have something I need to apologize to you for. I—did something cruel to you."

"…Roswell?" There was concern in Nessiah's voice and confusion on his face.

"I won't make excuses." Roswell looked down at his hands. "And I won't try to explain myself. Though I will—tell you the situation. I've reestablished my pactio with Rosary."

Nessiah seemed taken aback, although the surprise on his face was positive, and he was starting to smile again. "Roswell—"

"…I slept with her."

The smile fell away, leaving Nessiah with a blank expression.

"There are thousands of ways I could try to justify it, but nothing will. You and I have a relationship—have a trust, and I disregarded that selfishly. It was—wrong of me to betray you like that." And Roswell did not, would not, ask for forgiveness. He didn't need it—loving Rosary didn't make it right to betray Nessiah, or betray his own principles.

Nessiah was silent for a while, but then his smile returned.

"Isn't that something… you should still be congratulated for? Roswell."

He was smiling, but there was a faint desperate note to his voice, and a hollowness to that smile. It hurt Roswell's chest. "Nessiah—"

"I mean—she's the one you love. Isn't she? And if you two… it means there's still hope for things between you after all. She's abandoned—her pretense of trying to hate you, hasn't she? You're going to resolve things. I'm happy for you. I never had any hold on you from the beginning, so—"

"Nessiah, stop it," Roswell interrupted. He knew he was going to have to bear this pain—he'd brought it upon himself—but he just couldn't stand watching Nessiah make that face. "This isn't about—Rosary and me. It's about us. About the fact that I betrayed your trust. I don't—want to hurt you, but it happened, and I just—knew I had to tell you. It would be wrong to pretend that everything is fine." To try to hold on to Nessiah, cling to him selfishly, and think that Roswell's infidelity didn't matter. Because Nessiah was his friend, his lover, and should have been important enough to stop him back then.

The smile slipped from Nessiah's face again, leaving him with a blank expression. There was a long silence as he turned to stare at the wall. It—hurt. Nessiah wasn't the cool and controlled man Roswell had first met—he wasn't the shy but happy person of the past few months anymore—he looked like a discarded doll.

"…I don't know…"

"Nessiah…?"

"I… don't know… what I should say… or what I should feel." Nessiah lifted his hands and stared at them emptily. "…Should I be… angry? Or sad…? Or hurt, or…? I don't… know. This… it's the first time anything like this…" has ever happened to me went unsaid. "…it wasn't ever… a possibility in any plan. So I don't—understand how I should react."

"Nessiah—" Roswell lifted a hand automatically, wanting to offer some form of comfort, but Nessiah held up an arm to stop him, blocking Roswell's attempt at touch.

"Don't…" Instead of emotionless, now Nessiah's voice was small, and it shook slightly. I don't want to fall apart here was probably the implication.

There was a long silence as they sat like that, Roswell still unsure how to proceed now and Nessiah apparently gathering his composure.

"What—should we do?" Roswell asked at last.

Nessiah shook his head slightly. His chains made a soft sound—dragging, grating, not musical. The sound of that metal was always dull and heavy. "I don't—know either, but…

"I think…," he said weakly as he raised his head—he sounded so unsure—"I think we should… take a break… for a while."

The words were weights on Roswell's chest, but he nodded. "I understand. If you decide you want to—try again, let me know. If this is—really it, I… understand." He tried to smile, but it felt wrong, so he abandoned it. The expression would probably look as hollow as Nessiah's.

Abruptly, Nessiah stood; he didn't look at Roswell. "I have to—" he broke off, shook his head. "I have… to go. I need to think."

Roswell nodded, but Nessiah was already half out of the room; the sound of the door closing made him wince. It sounded altogether too final, trite as that was.

He sat still for a while, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so that he could hide his face in his hands.

(tsuzuku)