It's agonizing. Isn't it always? Luke has never wanted other people to look at him too closely, constantly hiding his pain behind smiles and omissions and outright lies. I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Forever. The moment he realized his grief could be a burden to his new family, he vowed to do anything it took to protect their peace and happiness, and that creed has guided him ever since. He does not like his truths to be seen.
Dion sees them now. He sees the exhaustion that Luke knows must show on his face, any hope of a facade shattering as the light vanished from Dahut's eyes. He sees the respite Luke wants him to have, and maybe Luke should be grateful that Dion doesn't think him spiteful and cruel--but Dion thanks him with his dying breath, and it hurts. More than Dahut dying in his arms, more than waking up to see he'd failed to protect Sheba, it hurts to be cared for in this way. Seen.
Dion grants him a swift death. But perhaps slow torture would've been kinder.
The glaive is the only thing holding them up. As it's ripped free, Luke can't break their fall. Dion deserves to be lowered gently, with the care and respect a good man deserves. But Luke can't give him that, not with one hand and a gaping wound. They hit the ground together, blood coating the floor as it pours out of them. Luke drops the clippers, gripping Dion's shoulder tightly as he rapidly grows lightheaded. He watches Dion hit the floor first, and thinks, ridiculously, that he hopes it doesn't hurt.
(It doesn't, of course. Dion is dead.
He hopes nothing hurts, anymore.)
Gravity drags Luke down too, in the next moment. And he can't do much but lie here, a lonely chill creeping through his body as his "heart" tries, and fails, to keep him alive even longer, his mind grasping at all the reasons he's kept going thus far, everything that's driven him all the way to this.
He can't do much. But he finds that he can do just a little more. So he reaches out with cold, shaking fingers, and closes Dion's eyes as he closes his own.
His breath leaves him, a jumbled mess of memories flashing through his mind. Every life he's ever lived culminates in this: Luke Pearce is dead.]
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It's agonizing. Isn't it always? Luke has never wanted other people to look at him too closely, constantly hiding his pain behind smiles and omissions and outright lies. I'm fine. It doesn't hurt. Forever. The moment he realized his grief could be a burden to his new family, he vowed to do anything it took to protect their peace and happiness, and that creed has guided him ever since. He does not like his truths to be seen.
Dion sees them now. He sees the exhaustion that Luke knows must show on his face, any hope of a facade shattering as the light vanished from Dahut's eyes. He sees the respite Luke wants him to have, and maybe Luke should be grateful that Dion doesn't think him spiteful and cruel--but Dion thanks him with his dying breath, and it hurts. More than Dahut dying in his arms, more than waking up to see he'd failed to protect Sheba, it hurts to be cared for in this way. Seen.
Dion grants him a swift death. But perhaps slow torture would've been kinder.
The glaive is the only thing holding them up. As it's ripped free, Luke can't break their fall. Dion deserves to be lowered gently, with the care and respect a good man deserves. But Luke can't give him that, not with one hand and a gaping wound. They hit the ground together, blood coating the floor as it pours out of them. Luke drops the clippers, gripping Dion's shoulder tightly as he rapidly grows lightheaded. He watches Dion hit the floor first, and thinks, ridiculously, that he hopes it doesn't hurt.
(It doesn't, of course. Dion is dead.
He hopes nothing hurts, anymore.)
Gravity drags Luke down too, in the next moment. And he can't do much but lie here, a lonely chill creeping through his body as his "heart" tries, and fails, to keep him alive even longer, his mind grasping at all the reasons he's kept going thus far, everything that's driven him all the way to this.
He can't do much. But he finds that he can do just a little more. So he reaches out with cold, shaking fingers, and closes Dion's eyes as he closes his own.
His breath leaves him, a jumbled mess of memories flashing through his mind. Every life he's ever lived culminates in this: Luke Pearce is dead.]