Chapter Text
Eleanor watched the ceiling through tears, smiling openly, but not with that feeling that had caressed her as an embrace to her heart —when Dayn proved to see her as someone rather than a basket case or a potential monster— but with something deeper and more corrosive: the repressed mourning, the ignored pain... and, finally, the relief found in the least expected way through the person she had never imagined would play such a significant role in her life. For years she had never allowed herself to think of letting go of his memory not only because of her, but because Christopher had been Arthur's idol. He had loved him like an older brother since before she had taken an interest in that boy.
When the tragedy passed, neither could let go of his memory and let Sol or Lua, or both, cradle him in their arms, and to top it off, she had convinced herself that she deserved to bear his cross because it was her own penance for failing to persuade him to stay with her, and not sparing her brother that suffering.
She still felt that she let his name become a weight that they both did not want to accept openly, that pulled them down into the mud out of fear, out of shame, out of habit —because they never knew how to stop it, but in time she understood that it was never her fault. Christopher was everything they ever wanted to have. The only thing that felt real, genuine, perfect. However, it didn't have to be that way anymore. They had suffered enough.
Enough of hurting themselves for a punishment that Christopher himself would never have agreed to carry for so long.
“No more... no more of this, right, Christopher?” the woman repeated to herself, savoring the sensation with her brain and her heart and every fiber of her old and new self.
Eleanor was still getting used to that resolution, if she was honest with herself, but it was pleasant to feel that it didn't hurt as much anymore, no longer pressed with the desperate ferocity of yesteryear, no longer stung like an open, throbbing wound that didn't know how to close —or rather never had the chance to do so.
In fact, the words had flowed quite well since she had picked up one of her notebooks and the first pen Dayn had nervously given her when they first met.
The feelings had flowed so naturally that the nagging doubt in her ribs had finally been answered: she did love Christopher as a man, and she was in love with him too, no matter how much she questioned it. Everything she had done, felt, cried and thought about him was not about mourning a family member or a best friend. That was Arthur's job, clearly. Her was something she tried to question and reject and deny, otherwise how long had it been since she'd lost her mind?
The techrot was insidious. If she had come to this realization earlier, she would have wavered. But now it was okay to accept it. She wasn't a potential monster. She wasn't a basket case. No one was afraid or disgusted by her as she had always believed. The Hex loved and treasured her in their rough and broken way, and Dayn would never let her succumb to the voices that hissed with malice —rather inhuman love like Lizzie's for Flare.
So, it was okay to finally let it flow. And, of course, she did. With all of herself.
The smell of ink mingled constantly with the salty taste of her tears, with the purulent rot of her restlessly swirling tongue, stricken with the pain of tragedy repressed for hours, and the peculiar aroma of the mall, until the distant smell of coffee quickly reached her face by the time her twin handed her a steaming cup of coffee, or something like it.
Looking up, blinking in confusion as she came to, Eleanor noticed that Arthur had a slightly reddened nose and watery eyes. Like a good older sister, she pretended not to notice that her twin had gone from saying goodbye to his best friend with a letter, just like her, to running to her to be comforted —and wanting to comfort her as well— but her chest heaved because Arthur, her Arthur, was finally coming back to her like as he hadn't for so long.
“How are you feeling?” He asked finally in a raspy voice.
‘Fine,’ she replied with complete honesty, accepting the cup. She took just a sip before setting it down on the table, embracing the sweet taste of caffeine and the pain of a heart as fucked up as hers.
“I... I don't want this to be about me. But...how did you do it?” His lip quivered, and once again, Eleanor looked at the child trying to play tough, now in the face of a leader who was still learning. “How could you just get through it like nothing happened? Shit, I need a drink...” Arthur didn't move, though he looked longingly towards the exit.
The twins stood in suspended and uncomfortable silence for at least ten minutes.
Eleanor didn't continue writing, didn't drink any more coffee, didn't move, watching her words with suddenly empty eyes. The Hex leader clenched and unclenched his fingers constantly, including those on his toes.
And then, as subtly as he came, he knelt down and then wrapped his arms around Eleanor, half choking back a sob, and held her close to him until she woke from her self-absorption and returned his embrace, weeping openly in a silence laden with what she could never say even to him, and now, at last, oh at last, she could blurt out without fear of prejudice.
“I'm sorry.” Arthur murmured suddenly, before forcing himself to break away.
She shook her head in understanding. ‘A hug is never ou—'
“No. Not for that reason.2 He interrupted her, letting little pearls drip from his eyes after blinking several times, finally letting his crying out. "I mean... everything I said and did and... and what I kept on doing and saying, and what I..."
‘Perhaps you'll continue doing and saying in the future?’ She smiled, motioning for him to come closer, then wiping away his tears with her thumb, feeling like they were the little Nightingales again, once more facing the adult world just the two of them, together, as they always promised to be.
Arthur rested his cheek on her palm before nodding slowly, enjoying her touch, that motherly touch that crept into her since they were children, for she always proved to be the strong one, not just the wiser and older twin. Then he pulled away, standing up, sniffling reluctantly, his cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of breaking down with the one who was having the same or worse time than he was.
“I'll let you finish. If you need anything...”
Eleanor nodded, her expression softening. Years seemed to melt from her features. Arthur looked away, patting her shoulder, then walked away, looking both ways just in case.
After watching him leave, the former journalist returned to her letter, the cup still steaming with its delicious aroma, and a much more comforting taste and sensation warming her body.
She didn't know how much time passed until she saw a shadow projecting itself in her periphery, bringing her back to the present, to her current reality, like someone popping their head out of a sea —only this one was of words that were finally flowing onto the sixth page, only needing to sign it to finish her farewell message From the silhouette, she thought it was Arthur, but when she looked up, her half-smile widened a little more, discovering that it was actually Umbra. Just the old General Dax, no stowaways.