𝟏𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐓. 𝐄𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fidior) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2024-02-06 05:13 pm
fidior) wrote in singillatim2024-02-06 05:13 pm
Entry tags:
how to hold a thing one loved
Who: Kate Marsh & Edward Little.
What: It's been some time since Kate came to Edward's cabin while he had a Visitor, and there are hurts to amend.
When: Early February.
Where: The Community Center / through town.
Content Warnings: Depression, mention of / allusion to suicidal ideation.
[ The thing (the tangible, cold thing) is gone, but it hasn't fully left him.
The particular veil it cast over his eyes has faded, leaving his vision clear again — like waking from a long, lingering nightmare. But the things in that nightmare still exist, and he can see them with that cleared vision, now. He sees the terrified features of La'an Noonien-Singh, forever frozen, unmoving and body cold, dead. He sees the faces of all of his men, too — some dead, some dying, all suffering. He sees the faces of those he has come to care for in this town and knows he cannot truly protect. He has already failed. He will fail again and again.
He still feels all of that empty, cold ache from the shadowed double that had attached itself to him, or perhaps come from within. Edward mostly perceived it as his own soul made free, capable of moving and walking and watching him. Black and miserable and dripping with guilt. He's since learned that others experienced something similar — Wynonna had a visitor come creeping out of the dark to fix itself to her, perhaps others as well — but still, he can't help thinking that it was a punishment he was always deserving of, and doomed to face someday.
His shadowed twin faded away, and he no longer thinks about the number of bullets in his gun, but he feels no less heavy. No matter that he sheds literal layers of himself, hasn't worn his greatcoat or the other outer pieces of his uniform for days now. They've stayed tucked in his wardrobe; he only wears his jumper, trousers, and boots. It's... about as casual as Edward Little could get, hair an unruly mess of waves, freed of his officer's cap.
He hasn't left his cabin in what feels like a very long time, and the last person he's seen was Wynonna — and it helped, oh it helped immensely, feeling connected to someone again — but as he steps from the wooden door and starts making his way up to the town again, he feels like a stranger to it. He feels much smaller without the usual layers of his clothes or the familiar weight of his gun. He feels... like an imposter, almost. Fortunately there aren't many out and about, and he's glad for it, not quite ready to socialise or explain or be looked at when he's like this. And yet there is someone he seeks out, someone he'll allow to see him this way, because she deserves it, she deserves so much from him — apology, remorse, a plea for forgiveness.... His heart is in his throat as he steps up to the Community Center and lets himself in, quietly. He hopes there aren't many lingering in here now, either. But he hopes she will be.
She is. It doesn't take long to locate Kate Marsh, and when he does, he's giving a soft exhale of breath, stomach twisting. She must think he's abandoned her. It's exactly what he'd done. ]
Miss Marsh?
[ The familiar name feels a little less so, after going so long without speaking it. He's still re-finding how he fits with everyone here. But when Kate looks up to him and he makes contact with the familiar soft hue of the girl's eyes, he remembers more of how he fits with her, at least. Edward swallows, fingers pressing into palms. ]
I apologise for disturbing you precipitously, but I was wondering if... you might have a walk with me? So that I may... speak with you. I—
[ He's still formal around the border of things, but falters a little with that, and voices how he feels in the next breath. ]
I very much would like to speak with you.
What: It's been some time since Kate came to Edward's cabin while he had a Visitor, and there are hurts to amend.
When: Early February.
Where: The Community Center / through town.
Content Warnings: Depression, mention of / allusion to suicidal ideation.
[ The thing (the tangible, cold thing) is gone, but it hasn't fully left him.
The particular veil it cast over his eyes has faded, leaving his vision clear again — like waking from a long, lingering nightmare. But the things in that nightmare still exist, and he can see them with that cleared vision, now. He sees the terrified features of La'an Noonien-Singh, forever frozen, unmoving and body cold, dead. He sees the faces of all of his men, too — some dead, some dying, all suffering. He sees the faces of those he has come to care for in this town and knows he cannot truly protect. He has already failed. He will fail again and again.
He still feels all of that empty, cold ache from the shadowed double that had attached itself to him, or perhaps come from within. Edward mostly perceived it as his own soul made free, capable of moving and walking and watching him. Black and miserable and dripping with guilt. He's since learned that others experienced something similar — Wynonna had a visitor come creeping out of the dark to fix itself to her, perhaps others as well — but still, he can't help thinking that it was a punishment he was always deserving of, and doomed to face someday.
His shadowed twin faded away, and he no longer thinks about the number of bullets in his gun, but he feels no less heavy. No matter that he sheds literal layers of himself, hasn't worn his greatcoat or the other outer pieces of his uniform for days now. They've stayed tucked in his wardrobe; he only wears his jumper, trousers, and boots. It's... about as casual as Edward Little could get, hair an unruly mess of waves, freed of his officer's cap.
He hasn't left his cabin in what feels like a very long time, and the last person he's seen was Wynonna — and it helped, oh it helped immensely, feeling connected to someone again — but as he steps from the wooden door and starts making his way up to the town again, he feels like a stranger to it. He feels much smaller without the usual layers of his clothes or the familiar weight of his gun. He feels... like an imposter, almost. Fortunately there aren't many out and about, and he's glad for it, not quite ready to socialise or explain or be looked at when he's like this. And yet there is someone he seeks out, someone he'll allow to see him this way, because she deserves it, she deserves so much from him — apology, remorse, a plea for forgiveness.... His heart is in his throat as he steps up to the Community Center and lets himself in, quietly. He hopes there aren't many lingering in here now, either. But he hopes she will be.
She is. It doesn't take long to locate Kate Marsh, and when he does, he's giving a soft exhale of breath, stomach twisting. She must think he's abandoned her. It's exactly what he'd done. ]
Miss Marsh?
[ The familiar name feels a little less so, after going so long without speaking it. He's still re-finding how he fits with everyone here. But when Kate looks up to him and he makes contact with the familiar soft hue of the girl's eyes, he remembers more of how he fits with her, at least. Edward swallows, fingers pressing into palms. ]
I apologise for disturbing you precipitously, but I was wondering if... you might have a walk with me? So that I may... speak with you. I—
[ He's still formal around the border of things, but falters a little with that, and voices how he feels in the next breath. ]
I very much would like to speak with you.
no subject
[ Kate can't speak of the Expedition. She wasn't there, after all. But she doesn't doubt that he didn't try his best there in such a terrible, impossible situation. And maybe she'll never fully find out. It's a hard one to really know either way. But it's okay.
What she can speak of is the time in which she's know him. Their own relationship over the past several months. And for her...? He's done... so much for her. He's been there for her, even when she didn't ask him to. Even when no one asked him to. He took it upon himself, right from the very start, and tried his best and she's so grateful for that — for everything he's done for her. She wishes she could show him that better.
He takes her hand, and she manages a small, sad smile. Gently squeezes it back after he does.
But she... understands. She gets it. Guilt is a powerful feeling. She knows how easy it is to be gripped by it, and it's a grip that is hard to shake off. It's a feel that comes as easy as breathing to her. Guilt and shame, even when she knows that it was other people who created the situation for her.
And she understands what he means by 'forces at work'. He hasn't been the only one she knows who's... had something weird and heavy going on. Eddie had been sat alone in his cabin, like he'd given up. Wynonna sat alone in hers, the door open and fire barely embers. She hates this, she really does. She doesn't understand why these things are happening, it's not fair. ]
Of course I would. [ Come to find him. It hadn't been right, not seeing him. His absence didn't feel right. And he matters, matters enough she came to call. ] You don't need to thank me for that.
[ Her brow pinches at the last thing he says, and she inhales shakily with the upset. It hurts to hear it. That he's felt alone. It's a strange sting and ache all at once, and Kate's still for a moment trying to grapple with it. She looks up at him, and something shifts in her.
Very gently, she lets go of his hand. Instead, she moves toward him, closing the space between them to embrace him. Her arms raise a little, wrapping around his middle as she presses her face into his chest. She's quiet for a moment, just holding onto him, before she shifts her head to one side a little to speak. Her voice hushed, crackling a little: ]
No, you're not alone. I hope you don't forget that.
no subject
Ah. The words catch him, stun him — not unwelcomed, certainly not that. But it's so unexpected to hear such a thing. Truly, it catches him off-guard and he just stands there for a moment, speechless.
He.... did try his best. Deep in his heart, Edward Little knows that. The horror, the guilt, the remorse, comes from the fact that it wasn't enough, that his best couldn't be enough for those men, or even for himself. That he would never have been able to be anything more. That he lacked some strength that a better man could have possessed. That perhaps a better man could have done more, if he stood where Little was, instead. Perhaps another man could have saved them. Done something. Done better.
He still feels that way, but.... it means something to hear someone say that they think he's enough. That one person doesn't see him as failing, or less, or lacking. 'I never once thought you weren't enough.'
He believes her, this kind, sincere girl who believes in him so much. And perhaps that is where a new type of strength can be born, can blossom, grow. Even if he still flinches back from his own reflection at the mirror, avoiding the deep dark ache of his own gaze, even if his stomach still twists and his heart stings and he feels the unbearable coldness of so many ghosts, always, even if he loathes so much of himself.... there is someone who believes in him, and he must keep trying for her.
It stirs forth memory of sitting on a bed with his shotgun so close, and everything around him so heavy and hurting, and Kieren Walker telling him that he has to keep trying — 'You can't stop suffering, Edward. But you can be there for people, you can be with them through it.'
There are people he still has to protect.
He's still reeling a little from the words when he realises that Kate is moving, slowly, quietly — closer, and then there are arms wrapping around him and the soft pressure of the girl against his chest, and he's giving a shaky exhale. He can't recall the last time he was embraced, the last time anyone came so close and wrapped themselves tight and warm to him, closing any distance. It's foreign — for a moment he doesn't know what to do with himself, but then it comes, nothing unnatural but the only thing that feels right in response.
His own arms slowly slip around Kate, and it's gently at first, carefully, but then he feels himself holding on more tightly, returning the embrace with a soft sound, the hot sting of his eyes welling enough that he needs to close them, and so he does. And he stands there like that, lets himself seek the comfort that Kate is providing to him; for so long maybe he's needed it. Needed to be held.
Gently his head tips a little, and his own words are quiet, wet — and warm. ]
Thank you.