[ Drowning his sorrows and resigning himself to death, searching for something, one last act of good he could leave behind, along the way—in other words, his typical modus operandi brought to a dangerous, almost soul-crushing head.
Taken? Alhaitham is poised to ask, eyes narrowed again. It's the scholar in him, the pursuer of the unknown, who reflexively asks for every detail of a situation he doesn't understand. It's Alhaitham, the one closest to Kaveh, who held his hand and filled his cup with wine, that feels age-old protectiveness like a lump in his throat. What do you mean when you say you weren't in your right mind?
It's a good thing that he doesn't. He watches as Kaveh's foundations begin to tremble all over again. In Alhaitham's periphery, Kaveh's grip shifts over his cup, but Alhaitham's focus is on the sudden glassiness of Kaveh's eyes. What happened to Nahida is evident enough in Kaveh's unraveling. That takes precendent over any other prying questions, at least for now. Trying to qualify or excuse Lessor Lord Kusanali's actions might only exacerbate the issue.
Alhaitham sets a steady hand on Kaveh's shoulder. The other carefully pries the cup from Kaveh's hand and sets it on the table. ]
In your own ways, the two of you were trying to act in the best interest of everyone involved.
[ Ignoring the own hammer of his heart, the one that hesitates to betray itself, Alhaitham takes Kaveh's empty hand in his own and squeezes over his fingers. Stay here, it says. ]
Both of you were not at fault for the circumstances you were in, regardless of any mistakes made by the dieties overseeing the game. Neither of you should have been put into the position of having to weigh the lives of others against yours or the lives of those you care for.
[ He looks at their hands, then back to Kaveh. ]
You won't believe this yourself, but I'll say it because I think you should hear it out loud. None of what happened was your fault.
[Just as it did in the doorway, reality threatens to shatter into pieces around him--and once again, it is Alhaitham who stabilizes it. The warmth of his palm drives away the encroaching chill of guilt and grief, and his tight grip keeps Kaveh steady, present. His voice is low and calm, but it cuts through the dark whispers in his head, the phantom nausea and the memory of cheap wine on his tongue. Unthinking, Kaveh grips Alhaitham's hand tightly, as if he's on a cliff's edge and it's the only thing stopping him from plummeting.
It takes time for him to calm down enough to process Alhaitham's words. Even when he does, he doesn't respond. He simply draws in a long, shaky breath and rubs at his eyes with his other hand, trying his best to cut off another outpouring of grief and pain.
Alhaitham is right--he doesn't believe it. He can't, and likely never will. Even under normal circumstances, Alhaitham's logic and rationality have never been able to convince Kaveh to relinquish his iron grip on guilt and self-flagellation; it's even less possible now, when Alhaitham wasn't there with him.
That's not to say Kaveh blames himself for everything, though. There are dozens of things Kaveh will never forgive himself for, things for which Kaveh wholeheartedly believes he has inarguable proof of his own fault. Those things are more than enough to haunt him. He doesn't need to grab for the parts that were out of his control, too.]
...There was--a girl. [Rather than responding to Alhaitham's sentiments, Kaveh sidesteps them, shifting the conversation in a new direction. He clears his throat when his voice breaks, but even when he continues, it remains a little shaky.] Rather--two girls, and one man. They were called Reapers. They were... meant to watch over us, I suppose. To ensure the "game" ran smoothly, in accordance with the rules of whoever was in charge, above them. But Ruby... she was tired of it all. She wanted to put an end to the games entirely.
[The sorrow on Kaveh's face shifts--it's still deep, and there's still something personal about it, but it's very different from before. His grip on Alhaitham's hand loosens as his focus shifts away from the memories of Nahida's execution, but he doesn't let go, utterly oblivious to the way Alhaitham's pulse races just outside his reach.]
I don't know much about what she'd been through. But she'd become convinced that the only way to end things, to stop others from going through the game, was to destroy it all. In her desperation, she turned herself into a weapon, and she intended to sacrifice herself, and us, to disrupt the system.
[ It all takes time. Alhaitham, silent and observant, stays with him until that time ends. When Kaveh tightly grips his hand, Alhaitham squeezes back, solid and reassuring. He's brought Kaveh back from the cliff's edge before, away from the sea of black that means to swallow him whole. Age-old feelings and racing heartbeats are secondary to the strength and stability Kaveh needs from him.
(Or from someone, at least. Maybe anyone. Alhaitham won't assume so much importance. He gives Kaveh what he needs because he wants to, whether or not that pays dividends in the end.)
There could be catharsis in Kaveh falling apart when he needs to, abandoning propriety and reason and all attempts to parse his feelings into words. Freshly released from whatever hell he was in, Kaveh deserves his shameless outbursts of pain and grief. Alhaitham will simply pick up his pieces and lacquer him together again.
Instead, Kaveh wipes his eyes and continues. Alhaitham's grip loosens as Kaveh's does, but not to the same extent. He won't be pulling back until it's distinctly called for, especially when Kaveh's expression becomes unreadable, deeply affected by the circumstances he's dredged up. As he listens, Alhaitham swallows back his probing questions for once. Understanding logistics can wait when Kaveh isn't in utter misery. ]
... You look as though you have something to say on the matter.
[Once again, Kaveh doesn't respond right away. But this is a quiet of grief and contemplation--there's guilt and trauma there too, of course, but mostly Kaveh's just... sad.]
I was so sure we could save her. [Softly.] I thought... I knew we might have to fight her. But I thought, after that... that we'd be able to reason with her. I even promised the people I spoke to, before we went after her--that we wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. That it was done.
[...]
I should've seen the sign. That she'd--given up. [He knows what that looks like, after all. He saw it in his mother, before she found herself again overseas. He saw glimpses of it in his father, before his father resolved to travel into the desert, determined to fix things with his own two hands. He certainly saw it in Matsui, after Buzen's murder--to the point where he'd gently tried to encourage others to mourn Matsui, even before he died.
But he didn't. In fact, he barely even spoke to Ruby, let alone the other two. Would things have turned out differently, if he had? He doesn't think so, and that's the worst part.]
...One life cannot outweigh countless worlds. [He does know that. Even if it hurts, even if Kaveh stressed over and over that everyone deserved a chance to live, to fight. It's for the best that he didn't have to deal the killing blow--he never would've recovered.] But I... I don't think we even managed to change her mind. We couldn't save her life, and we couldn't grant her peace.
[Someday, in the future, Alhaitham will notice a new portrait in a frame on Kaveh's desk: a young girl in black and red, sitting atop a skyscraper with her face turned towards the moon, a content expression on her face. It won't be signed, but Alhaitham will recognize Kaveh's art style.
For now, though, Kaveh simply sits beside him, shoulders bowed under the weight of mourning.]
[ Alhaitham has been with Kaveh through his heart-rending grief before. Kaveh was already spent before this, hollow-eyed, slightly placated with alcohol. To see him bent over in suffering, shadowed by his hair, and racked again with trauma that Alhaitham can't ever fully understand, makes Alhaitham ache under his ribs.
He cradles Kaveh's loose fingers carefully in his palm. He watches them, tracing their scars as he speaks. ]
I'm sure you've already recognized your first mistake. [ He has to point this out because he's Alhaitham, but he does so a little more quietly, leaning in. ] Regardless of your idealistic views, you shouldn't have guaranteed something without definite proof of its fruition. It's one thing to consider possibilities and another to set up false expectations. An unfavorable outcome becomes that much more devastating.
[ He looks at Kaveh, straightforward and steady. ]
If you were to hear of this situation from someone else, your answer would likely be thus: though the opportunity for Ruby's rescue and redemption may have been slim to none, what matters is that you, or someone at the very least, acted on that possibility. Without that, the probability of her survival would have been zero.
[ His fingers tighten. ]
It's Lessor Lord Kusanali's view that the most important thing isn't what state the world is in now, but what people hope it can become. For that time, foolishly or not, you embodied the hope for a better future for everyone involved.
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no subject
Taken? Alhaitham is poised to ask, eyes narrowed again. It's the scholar in him, the pursuer of the unknown, who reflexively asks for every detail of a situation he doesn't understand. It's Alhaitham, the one closest to Kaveh, who held his hand and filled his cup with wine, that feels age-old protectiveness like a lump in his throat. What do you mean when you say you weren't in your right mind?
It's a good thing that he doesn't. He watches as Kaveh's foundations begin to tremble all over again. In Alhaitham's periphery, Kaveh's grip shifts over his cup, but Alhaitham's focus is on the sudden glassiness of Kaveh's eyes. What happened to Nahida is evident enough in Kaveh's unraveling. That takes precendent over any other prying questions, at least for now. Trying to qualify or excuse Lessor Lord Kusanali's actions might only exacerbate the issue.
Alhaitham sets a steady hand on Kaveh's shoulder. The other carefully pries the cup from Kaveh's hand and sets it on the table. ]
In your own ways, the two of you were trying to act in the best interest of everyone involved.
[ Ignoring the own hammer of his heart, the one that hesitates to betray itself, Alhaitham takes Kaveh's empty hand in his own and squeezes over his fingers. Stay here, it says. ]
Both of you were not at fault for the circumstances you were in, regardless of any mistakes made by the dieties overseeing the game. Neither of you should have been put into the position of having to weigh the lives of others against yours or the lives of those you care for.
[ He looks at their hands, then back to Kaveh. ]
You won't believe this yourself, but I'll say it because I think you should hear it out loud. None of what happened was your fault.
no subject
It takes time for him to calm down enough to process Alhaitham's words. Even when he does, he doesn't respond. He simply draws in a long, shaky breath and rubs at his eyes with his other hand, trying his best to cut off another outpouring of grief and pain.
Alhaitham is right--he doesn't believe it. He can't, and likely never will. Even under normal circumstances, Alhaitham's logic and rationality have never been able to convince Kaveh to relinquish his iron grip on guilt and self-flagellation; it's even less possible now, when Alhaitham wasn't there with him.
That's not to say Kaveh blames himself for everything, though. There are dozens of things Kaveh will never forgive himself for, things for which Kaveh wholeheartedly believes he has inarguable proof of his own fault. Those things are more than enough to haunt him. He doesn't need to grab for the parts that were out of his control, too.]
...There was--a girl. [Rather than responding to Alhaitham's sentiments, Kaveh sidesteps them, shifting the conversation in a new direction. He clears his throat when his voice breaks, but even when he continues, it remains a little shaky.] Rather--two girls, and one man. They were called Reapers. They were... meant to watch over us, I suppose. To ensure the "game" ran smoothly, in accordance with the rules of whoever was in charge, above them. But Ruby... she was tired of it all. She wanted to put an end to the games entirely.
[The sorrow on Kaveh's face shifts--it's still deep, and there's still something personal about it, but it's very different from before. His grip on Alhaitham's hand loosens as his focus shifts away from the memories of Nahida's execution, but he doesn't let go, utterly oblivious to the way Alhaitham's pulse races just outside his reach.]
I don't know much about what she'd been through. But she'd become convinced that the only way to end things, to stop others from going through the game, was to destroy it all. In her desperation, she turned herself into a weapon, and she intended to sacrifice herself, and us, to disrupt the system.
no subject
(Or from someone, at least. Maybe anyone. Alhaitham won't assume so much importance. He gives Kaveh what he needs because he wants to, whether or not that pays dividends in the end.)
There could be catharsis in Kaveh falling apart when he needs to, abandoning propriety and reason and all attempts to parse his feelings into words. Freshly released from whatever hell he was in, Kaveh deserves his shameless outbursts of pain and grief. Alhaitham will simply pick up his pieces and lacquer him together again.
Instead, Kaveh wipes his eyes and continues. Alhaitham's grip loosens as Kaveh's does, but not to the same extent. He won't be pulling back until it's distinctly called for, especially when Kaveh's expression becomes unreadable, deeply affected by the circumstances he's dredged up. As he listens, Alhaitham swallows back his probing questions for once. Understanding logistics can wait when Kaveh isn't in utter misery. ]
... You look as though you have something to say on the matter.
no subject
I was so sure we could save her. [Softly.] I thought... I knew we might have to fight her. But I thought, after that... that we'd be able to reason with her. I even promised the people I spoke to, before we went after her--that we wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. That it was done.
[...]
I should've seen the sign. That she'd--given up. [He knows what that looks like, after all. He saw it in his mother, before she found herself again overseas. He saw glimpses of it in his father, before his father resolved to travel into the desert, determined to fix things with his own two hands. He certainly saw it in Matsui, after Buzen's murder--to the point where he'd gently tried to encourage others to mourn Matsui, even before he died.
But he didn't. In fact, he barely even spoke to Ruby, let alone the other two. Would things have turned out differently, if he had? He doesn't think so, and that's the worst part.]
...One life cannot outweigh countless worlds. [He does know that. Even if it hurts, even if Kaveh stressed over and over that everyone deserved a chance to live, to fight. It's for the best that he didn't have to deal the killing blow--he never would've recovered.] But I... I don't think we even managed to change her mind. We couldn't save her life, and we couldn't grant her peace.
[Someday, in the future, Alhaitham will notice a new portrait in a frame on Kaveh's desk: a young girl in black and red, sitting atop a skyscraper with her face turned towards the moon, a content expression on her face. It won't be signed, but Alhaitham will recognize Kaveh's art style.
For now, though, Kaveh simply sits beside him, shoulders bowed under the weight of mourning.]
no subject
He cradles Kaveh's loose fingers carefully in his palm. He watches them, tracing their scars as he speaks. ]
I'm sure you've already recognized your first mistake. [ He has to point this out because he's Alhaitham, but he does so a little more quietly, leaning in. ] Regardless of your idealistic views, you shouldn't have guaranteed something without definite proof of its fruition. It's one thing to consider possibilities and another to set up false expectations. An unfavorable outcome becomes that much more devastating.
[ He looks at Kaveh, straightforward and steady. ]
If you were to hear of this situation from someone else, your answer would likely be thus: though the opportunity for Ruby's rescue and redemption may have been slim to none, what matters is that you, or someone at the very least, acted on that possibility. Without that, the probability of her survival would have been zero.
[ His fingers tighten. ]
It's Lessor Lord Kusanali's view that the most important thing isn't what state the world is in now, but what people hope it can become. For that time, foolishly or not, you embodied the hope for a better future for everyone involved.