"There's no need for it now," John points out, though it feels hollow now. It's hard to take joy in the idea that she'll be traveling back with them. The question of which of them would stay, who would shepherd the newly delivered Nascere forward, is no longer an option to concern themselves with. It is a forgone conclusion that they will return to Kirkwall, and whatever way forward will come from there.
But it's a bitter thing to consider. Celebration feels far from this moment.
It shouldn’t be a complicated question, but it is. Madi takes a breath to speak, but holds it a moment before it resolves into her answer:
“I will be.”
Because the immediate answer is no, she is not alright. And yet it is also yes, she is. She is unharmed but for some minor scratches, a bruise here or there, the usual trophies from engaging in action. Nothing a bath and a glass of wine cannot soothe. But the utter devastation of the island, of Flint’s home, of her own island’s main source for things necessary to survive...the quantities needed to soothe that sting would drown the best swimmer.
“Loss was always a possibility,” she adds, pragmatic but for the obvious emotion tightening around her throat.
Yes, maybe loss had always been. But none of them had expected it. They had not once spoken of it, apart from glancing acknowledgement, conversation flowing smoothly past it on to the next step and the step after that. Victory of some nature had been a foregone conclusion.
A mistake maybe, now that he thinks of it. But he hadn't seen it then.
For a few moments he's silent, then pulls her closer as his thumb runs back and forth along her knuckles.
"There's no need to put a good face on it for me," he says softly. He doesn't say, I'm sorry to have failed you. John won't let that thought take up any space, wouldn't allow for the contemplation that there was something they could have done differently. He's sure she's already spent time considering it, and John doesn't want her contemplations to have more purchase in her mind than the already do.
She doesn't resist being pulled closer, but her gaze drifts over their surroundings before she fully gives into it. That they're together isn't a secret, but there are reasons not to be cavalier about their affections. And reasons she can't afford to be a mess over this.
When Madi turns from the rail to face John, she takes his hand in both of hers and kisses it. He is, in this moment, a much needed anchor keeping her from going adrift. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his.
She doesn't know what to do. She has to lead and she doesn't know how to salvage this. Not yet.
This should have all gone differently. Not for the first time, John considers how much blood it would have taken to trade for a better outcome. All those pour souls, dragged beneath the earth, would they have given him something better if he'd had time to grab for it?
His hand lifts to the nape of her neck. He turns his head to kiss her temple.
"We'll put it back together," he promises. That much he is certain of. But there are other factors to consider. He has been able to catch no word of Billy, whether he is alive or dead. John had thought, briefly, that there would be no better man to safeguard Madi's people, to see through some alternate means of supply while John returned to Kirkwall.
But Billy may very well have died. He may have been dead before they ever set foot back on Nascere. They'd need to find another way.
"We don't need to know how yet," John tells her, before she can raise objection. "We have the entire journey to divine our way forward. If nothing else, you can trust that I've assessed that much correctly?"
Madi had taken a breath to object, but his assurance comes just in time and she meets his gaze, searching for any reason to doubt him. She finds none.
There is so much doubt beyond him, surrounding the future and where they'll end up, but he is certain. She places a hand on his chest, over his heart and feeling it beat under her palm, and she nods.
Madi's trust is something precious. It's something to be safeguarded, something John somehow gained and has managed to hold through all of this. He feels the weight of it, unspoken, with the wreckage of all their plans around their feet.
Softly, he kisses her mouth.
"I love you," he tells her, aloud after two years of that sentiment finding her only on parchment. "And I'm not so sure you can be happy so far south."
She will not think of it. He knows this of her. She and Flint are of the same approach; their own happiness will come after what is necessary. Even John had fallen into that habit, though his reasons were hardly so lofty. Yes, Madi will come with them because there is nowhere else she can be. But he still wonders if she wouldn't be happier boarding a ship with her people in Antiva, raising a rebellion without thousands of miles between her and the only living family she has left.
There are things John wants for her. Happiness. Safety. A war, waged successfully. He is very aware of how little he can deliver of those three things.
The dubious expression on Madi's face speaks to the truth of John's assessment. She hadn't even thought of happiness as part of what they're striving for, much less factored it in to what must be done. She wasn't happy to be left on Nascere for two years, waging guerrilla war while Flint and Silver (because they are always a unit, Flint and Silver, never James and John) vied for more power, more assets in the south, but it was necessary. Was it not necessary?
"You know, you both know," She says, firm. "I will do what needs to be done. Happiness, or the lack of it, does not sway that."
It is not so different from a conversation some months ago in a jungle between himself and Flint.
He does not say But I'd like to make you happy. It settles in the silence, unconsulted in the course of this conversation.
Of course they don't doubt her. They have all made the same pact. John has bartered and halved away the most carefully held part of him, despite every reason he has to balk over the gamble.
"I've never thought otherwise. If anything, I believe it will be easier for him to have you with us."
And she does not say I don't want to be without you again. If it were advantageous to their goals, she would go to Antiva. She would sail beyond the Nocen to the uncharted north, without a map, if it would guarantee the fruition of this war.
But there is so much she's missed over the two years they spent separated, so much ground she may never be able to make up between them.
And what John says is puzzling.
"Easier for him?" She asks, the furrow between her brows deepening. "Why is that?"
Gut instinct is hard even for John to explain. He has taught himself to reason beyond the initial instinct, but he trusts his assessment. Madi balances them.
"For the same reason everything was easier for us on Nascere, before."
Madi sees things John does not, things he cannot. Her voice carries a very different weight than John's.
If he takes a moment to consider what she will be like in Kirkwall, whether she will be as dismayed and irritated by the stinging cold and seemingly endless drag of wet chill in the spring, or what it will be like to hear her voice coming over the crystal unprompted—
"I know we've suffered a real loss," John tells her, though that doesn't manage to cover the totality of what they've left behind them. "But between the three of us, I think we can find a way to put it back together. And part of that comes from having your voice to support his when we have to sway the Division Heads."
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no subject
But it's a bitter thing to consider. Celebration feels far from this moment.
"Are you alright?"
A better question: Will you be alright?
no subject
“I will be.”
Because the immediate answer is no, she is not alright. And yet it is also yes, she is. She is unharmed but for some minor scratches, a bruise here or there, the usual trophies from engaging in action. Nothing a bath and a glass of wine cannot soothe. But the utter devastation of the island, of Flint’s home, of her own island’s main source for things necessary to survive...the quantities needed to soothe that sting would drown the best swimmer.
“Loss was always a possibility,” she adds, pragmatic but for the obvious emotion tightening around her throat.
no subject
A mistake maybe, now that he thinks of it. But he hadn't seen it then.
For a few moments he's silent, then pulls her closer as his thumb runs back and forth along her knuckles.
"There's no need to put a good face on it for me," he says softly. He doesn't say, I'm sorry to have failed you. John won't let that thought take up any space, wouldn't allow for the contemplation that there was something they could have done differently. He's sure she's already spent time considering it, and John doesn't want her contemplations to have more purchase in her mind than the already do.
no subject
When Madi turns from the rail to face John, she takes his hand in both of hers and kisses it. He is, in this moment, a much needed anchor keeping her from going adrift. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his.
She doesn't know what to do. She has to lead and she doesn't know how to salvage this. Not yet.
no subject
His hand lifts to the nape of her neck. He turns his head to kiss her temple.
"We'll put it back together," he promises. That much he is certain of. But there are other factors to consider. He has been able to catch no word of Billy, whether he is alive or dead. John had thought, briefly, that there would be no better man to safeguard Madi's people, to see through some alternate means of supply while John returned to Kirkwall.
But Billy may very well have died. He may have been dead before they ever set foot back on Nascere. They'd need to find another way.
"We don't need to know how yet," John tells her, before she can raise objection. "We have the entire journey to divine our way forward. If nothing else, you can trust that I've assessed that much correctly?"
no subject
There is so much doubt beyond him, surrounding the future and where they'll end up, but he is certain. She places a hand on his chest, over his heart and feeling it beat under her palm, and she nods.
She trusts him.
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Softly, he kisses her mouth.
"I love you," he tells her, aloud after two years of that sentiment finding her only on parchment. "And I'm not so sure you can be happy so far south."
She will not think of it. He knows this of her. She and Flint are of the same approach; their own happiness will come after what is necessary. Even John had fallen into that habit, though his reasons were hardly so lofty. Yes, Madi will come with them because there is nowhere else she can be. But he still wonders if she wouldn't be happier boarding a ship with her people in Antiva, raising a rebellion without thousands of miles between her and the only living family she has left.
There are things John wants for her. Happiness. Safety. A war, waged successfully. He is very aware of how little he can deliver of those three things.
no subject
The dubious expression on Madi's face speaks to the truth of John's assessment. She hadn't even thought of happiness as part of what they're striving for, much less factored it in to what must be done. She wasn't happy to be left on Nascere for two years, waging guerrilla war while Flint and Silver (because they are always a unit, Flint and Silver, never James and John) vied for more power, more assets in the south, but it was necessary. Was it not necessary?
"You know, you both know," She says, firm. "I will do what needs to be done. Happiness, or the lack of it, does not sway that."
no subject
It is not so different from a conversation some months ago in a jungle between himself and Flint.
He does not say But I'd like to make you happy. It settles in the silence, unconsulted in the course of this conversation.
Of course they don't doubt her. They have all made the same pact. John has bartered and halved away the most carefully held part of him, despite every reason he has to balk over the gamble.
"I've never thought otherwise. If anything, I believe it will be easier for him to have you with us."
no subject
But there is so much she's missed over the two years they spent separated, so much ground she may never be able to make up between them.
And what John says is puzzling.
"Easier for him?" She asks, the furrow between her brows deepening. "Why is that?"
no subject
"For the same reason everything was easier for us on Nascere, before."
Madi sees things John does not, things he cannot. Her voice carries a very different weight than John's.
If he takes a moment to consider what she will be like in Kirkwall, whether she will be as dismayed and irritated by the stinging cold and seemingly endless drag of wet chill in the spring, or what it will be like to hear her voice coming over the crystal unprompted—
"I know we've suffered a real loss," John tells her, though that doesn't manage to cover the totality of what they've left behind them. "But between the three of us, I think we can find a way to put it back together. And part of that comes from having your voice to support his when we have to sway the Division Heads."