Out to Sea [Eitan]

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The shattering of the porcelain against the floor felt like it was inside Stefan's head. He shouldn't be fighting Eitan, they were all each other had left. This home was all that was left, and he was breaking it. However he tried, however he fought, he always did it wrong. Tears welled in his eyes but they couldn't fall, because the enormity of his failure was swelling inside him to block them. The inside of his thoughts were expanding out, slicing themselves on the broken glass. It wouldn't do. He wouldn't do. Pretend to be Brenner all he might, he would never be the man everyone needed, and even now, as he fought his every instinct to keep his family safe, he was still failing.

Fast, or slow, he was still going to lose. Except...

It was his throat that was swelling now, closing off what words he'd intended to try. Eitan was there still, angry, now, and that, at least, felt right. Stefan lifted a hand, tried to swallow away the choking so he could try, just one more time, so explain. He could be a person, or he could be a concept, but he couldn't be both, there wasn't enough room in his skin for it. Brenner had been both with so much room to spare the whole of Zaichaer had fit so easily inside.

What Eitan was saying made sense, in a world that made sense, but Stefan wasn't sure he believed in such a place anymore. It was like when they had stepped into the bubble of confusing magic in the Warrens what seemed like several lifetimes ago. What his mind told him should be real and what was real were no longer the same thing and yet...

He wanted to believe it, wanted to lean into it, wanted to know someone would still be there to catch him when he fell. Maybe he didn't deserve it but if Eitan wanted... him.

It hurt. It hurt a lot more than he was ready to feel, and beyond the pain he knew there was an ocean of hurt that he'd walled away so he could keep functioning. If he let it come he would drown in it, but Eitan was there, asking him to try anyway, and, for reasons he couldn't put together, there was hope in that.

He realized his arm was still raised, hand open, palm up, like he was asking for something, or reaching for it. Curling it back toward himself felt like he was moving through thick water. His vision was beginning to tunnel, shadows creeping up from the corners of his eyes as he realized he was panting, sucking air in hard and fast like he was actually drowning. It took looking up at Eitan to realize he had fallen to his knees.

"Sorry... I'm so..sorry..." The words didn't sound right in his own ears, "Ei...Eitan..?"

[Eitan Angevin]

Perhaps he had gone too far—he didn't know. The Dratori taint in his blood was always a monster in the shadows, but he had thought he had mastered it. Vanity, he had accused Stefan of, but he had his fair share. Thankfully, perhaps, that rough beast skulked away to its shadows as Eitan's words found their mark and felled his brother-in-law.

Now Stefan was on his knees, gasping like a fish out of water. He looked like he was dying. He couldn't die—not him too. Who would raise the next Dornkirk? Delia was an Angevin; Reiner was a rustblood. Eitan right hand was always holding his left hand down by the wrist lest his elven barbarism emerge. He was no fit regent. It had to be Stefan.

"It's you..." he whispered. "It has to be you."

His suspenders hung by his knee as he stepped forward, shoving Stefan's face into his belly, fingers twining through what hair was long enough to suffice.

"Just be you," he demanded, begged. "We need you to be Stef at home, Mister Dornkirk at the Windworks. Whatever else Zaichaer needs from you, the Dornkirks and the Angevins will figure out how to provide."

Eitan still wanted to give Stefan a beating, though. He wanted pain to purify, to cleanse his mind of doubt, vanity, and anything else that clouded his judgment, wallowed in unearned shame, or prevented him from being the man Delia married and the man Eitan called brother.

Perhaps Stefan needed that just as he needed to be inspected and not found wanting, to be known and to be wanted. Eitan could wrap his mind around that. Perhaps the weight of things would prove too much for Eitan's shoulders as well, but he would give his all to his family just as he would to his nation, fractured as it was.

"Cry," he said. It might have been an order. Stefan needed release and catharsis; Eitan's own eyes burned dryly. Perhaps his brother would weep for the both of them, for those who were gone, and for the work yet to come.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Eitan stepped forward, whispering words that claimed him; the man's warm hand came to wrap around the back of Stefan's head and press his face against the solid reality of him. The rest of what was said washed over him to settle somewhere in the back where he could pull them out and examine them at his leisure another time. They weren't a rejection, far from it, and knowing that was enough. He was still breaking inside, but there was solid ground ahead, something he could land on, the hope of survival and he was reaching for it.

He wrapped an arm around Eitan's thigh, clinging as though he were actually drowning and began to weep. Between the wracking sobs came words that might not have made sense to anyone else, but Eitan might be able to piece them together and understand.

"He's gone." This first sounded like it was tearing his throat open, then, "I couldn't... couldn't save him." He shook silently for long moments after this until he drew a deep breath and cried like he hadn't even as a child. The admission, the failure implicit in it was almost more painful than the reality of Brenner's loss. And yet, somehow, as he continued the cling, the flood that had built up inside him began to wash out. By the time he was winding down, it might have been minutes or hours, he felt cleaner, like he'd been stopped up but was now flowing again. The flowing hurt too, but it felt like, once his mind was clear of the congestion, he would at least be a person who was hurting instead of a creature wholly made of that pain.

Eitan's trousers were soaked quite through and Stefan couldn't breathe through his nose very much, his face was red and likely swollen, little capillaries had burst under his skin with the intensity of the storm that had run him over and through. He looked a mess, he imagined, but it didn't seem as though he cared. Slowly he lowered himself from his knees to sitting on his arse on the floor and took a few shaky inhalations to try and steady himself. When he was finally able to look up at his lover he took the man's hand and brought it to his lips, managing to croak out,

"I'm sorry, Eitan. I'm sorry." But this time, he sounded like Stefan.

[Eitan Angevin]

It was, he thought, a breakthrough rather than a breakdown, and that was the best he could hope for. They were all of them spread thin, but he hoped they were not so brittle as to break beyond mending. He didn't make soothing noises, but his hand didn't leave Stefan's head. Eitan was trying to put his money where his mouth was, to offer the strength and support that Stefan needed so he could be strong for Zaichaer and his family.

When the storm abated and Stefan eased back onto the floor, Eitan merely sat down on the settee, reaching into his doffed coat for a handkerchief. Leaning forward, he once more took Stefan by the back of the head to steady him. This time, though, he dried his tears and let him blow his nose into the fine linen.

"I couldn't save him either," he said quietly, finally. A part of him still hoped something might be done with the metallic skeleton Brenner had left behind, but it would take all Stefan's genius, and likely that of Agata Beeman and others, to make that sort of a scientific breakthrough.

"And yet, you still trust me... and I still trust you. Perhaps there were choices we made that were incorrect, but hindsight is more perfect than foresight. We are only human." And Eitan, less than that. "He would have wanted us to do what we are doing, I think, to be strong and carry on. I will give you, my family, and Zaichaer all that I hvae. You can count on me. But I need to be able to count on you to do the same for me, your family, and Zaichaer."

With a sigh, he slipped down to sit upon the ground with his brother-in-law, his back resting against the settee. There was a sturdiness to things in his home; it was difficult to remember sometimes that it flew aloft, higher than most birds, coccooned in his wards.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Earlier that day Stefan would have said he was nothing but brittle, ready to break at the first fall of anything too heavy for him to catch, but he felt different now. Wrung out like a rag done being washed out. Cleaner, somehow, though weak enough he might have been trembling. At least it was Eitan that had witnessed it, though, thinking about it he doubted anyone else could have pushed him just so to get it out except his brother.

It felt odd, letting someone else help him blow his nose, almost enough to make him laugh at the ridiculousness of the situations. But he was tired, so very tired, so he didn't resist, or even try and help other than to blow when he was told. When that was done he turned slowly until he was leaning back against Eitan's legs, settling in their crook and wrapping one arm around a calf in a mimicry of the first night they'd let each other close. He was quiet for a time, letting the other man say the things that he needed to, really listening to the words.

He shifted over when he felt pressure from behind, till they were side by side again. It felt right, even being on the floor; a symbolic expression of where they were in life, despite their literally lofty positions. The silence sat for a time, but not uncomfortably. Stefan's eyes feel on nothing in particular while his mind went back over the day they'd all lost so much. The probing was delicate this time, like blind fingers softly running over the contents of a table, not moving anything, or judging it. At last he said,

"Brenner made his own choices too." It was calm, and though there was no blame in it, it was likely the first time in his life he'd considered his brother's actions without the rose-tinted worship that had swooped in to dominate his existence the moment he'd been presented with the squalling bundle that had been Brenner. This lingered for another long moment before he turned to properly look at his remaining brother.

"I shut down, when we found him. I couldn't... anything, really. So I just went away. I'm back now and I'll try not to go again, or, if I need to, I'll let you know and just go into my workshop for a few hours. Ration it, at least." He tried to make the last bit into a joke as pretty much everything was currently being rationed. It wasn't that they had so little, it was that he worried they would if they weren't careful.

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan nodded. Brenner had always seemed so sure of himself, it was often difficult to remember that he wasn't always correct. Old habits died hard. Old friends died hard. They lingered, making the best of things with the loved ones remaining.

He smiled wanly at Stefan's halfhearted joke.

"You are well within your rights to check out for a few hours," he said, weariness creeping into his voice too now that the passion of confrontation had died down. "I'll just... you know... find you and bring you out when it's time. With my suspenders, if necessary."

His laugh was even more wan than his smile.

They were quiet for some time. That was good, too. Comfortable.

"I'm going to put you to bed now," he said. "And then I'll send Delia in. She's worried. You don't need to do anything. Just be you, just hold her. Tomorrow, we play with your daughter before we go back to our duties. I will be there with you."

Eitan got up himself, then reached down to help Stefan up. Soon they would have to find time for the two of them, but for now, this would have to do. With things set aright and a bit of rest, things ought to return to the new normal. He wasn't worried about their friendship so long as he knew Stefan was connecting with his wife and his daughter, and finding joy in them and in his work. There had to be the things that made the work worthwhile, and honor just wasn't enough. It wasn't sustainable.

"Come on. Up you go. Your brother's got your back."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Stefan glanced at the suspenders when they were recalled. There was something there, something he thought that maybe he needed. He would think on it later, let himself wonder why a part of his mind thought there might be safety in the violence of their offer.

"Yes," He murmured, leaning to the side till their head's were touching, resting on each other, "You do that." It was consent, and gratitude. The quiet stretched and it felt good, like stretching after a hard run. The clock ticket behind them and the wind blew outside, as it always seemed to this high up, and peace passed between the two men sitting on the floor.

"You don't have to..." He murmured, but it sounded like it was by rout, an automatic response that he might not have even noticed as he began to push himself up and offered Eitan a hand once he was standing. Nodding to the rest as stood and then waited till they were put together enough to exit into a house which might have any number of unexpected people in it, he let himself be led to his bedroom.

What 'being put to bed' meant in this circumstance he did not know, but he intended to show at least some form of gratitude, even if it was only a hug. A part of him that had laid dormant for a long time hoped for more, but he wasn't honestly sure if he was capable. Something Eitan had said caught up to his brain and he said,

"Do babies play at this age?" It seemed awfully early for such a thing, but then, aside from Brenner, of whom Stefan's memories were understandably few from that age, he'd never engaged with an infant. He imagined his daughter was still being swaddled tight for her own comfort but he could be woefully wrong. A book on the subject would have to be located. He had obtained some on the subject in the happier days when Delia had first informed him of her condition but then things had gotten away from him.

[Eitan Angevin]

The Air Commander finally felt as though things were moving in the right direction when he had Stefan up and moving. They walked arm in arm out the door, and Little Devil spied them en route to Stefan's bedroom, offering an impish grin before flitting away. He rather worshipped Eitan as his savior since the old master of the house had been jailed for his crimes. If Eitan had had high hopes for Albrecht, it seemed those who had faced actual slavery were improving their lot best. He wondered if his old subordinate had gone down with the Presidium.

"I don't know that she knows she's playing," he admitted. "But she'll grip my finger if I put it in her hand. We play a mean game of peekaboo, which is to say... I peekaboo and sometimes she smiles or coos at me. Uncle Eitan, the fool."

If Dienerin saw them, he made himself scarce. Eitan accompanied Stefan into his room and began to do what Dienerin might have: helped him out of his clothes and into his night clothes. He kept up a soothing, aimless chatter. If Stefan didn't pay attention, it was all the same. The sound of his voice might soothe the man as it soothed his infant daughter sometimes. But Eitan had been careful, not wanting the tiny girl to decide that he was her father and Stefan someone else entirely.

When Stefan was finally seated on his bed, Eitan bent down to kiss him goodnight. Just then, there was a light rap at the door, and then it opened to reveal Delia Dornkirk. Her smile was tremulous, but grew more sure when she saw Stefan's face.

"All's well?" she asked lightly, though there was real concern there.

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The remaining Lord Dornkirk did not notice the presence of the young Lysanrin who sometimes ghosted along after Eitan, he was far to weary and, even if he had not been, unless he had specific reason to be on the alert, noticing details not associated with his work was not his forte. He had been a dutiful, but not a particularly good soldier, and fact which had contributed to his commanders being so willing to release him to the private sector after his first tour of duty had been completed.

A tired smile crept over his face at the idea that his child might be able to at least understand that her uncle was playing with her. He really should read that book on childhood development. It was almost certain that Stefan's Dienerin saw the two men coming and made his discreet exit before they arrived, the man more than made up for his master's lack of attention to detail.

"I suppose I'll have to take over the job of amusing masculine figure before your own arrives to soak up your time." It wasn't exactly teasing, Stefan was no where near clever at the moment, but it wasn't serious either. The tone was familiar and warm more than anything and he kept himself tucked close against his brother's side until they moved a little away from each other so they could ready for bed.

Before he really realized it he was sitting on his bed and letting Eitan's mouth gentle over his own. The knock on the door did not have him starting or moving away, which, later, he would think about and consider what it meant. When Delia entered he couldn't smile, as guilt wrapped a fist around his heart, but he did hold out a hand to beckon her closer.

When she was close enough to put her hand into his offered one he kissed it, too tired to consider how to properly explain, or even apologize. He murmured a simple 'I'm sorry' and hoped she would give him the grace of waiting until he got what was likely the first full nights sleep since the 34th. He hoped one of them would stay with him; actually, he sort of wanted them both to, one tucked to each side, but they were siblings and, as gracious and good as they were about... everything, that might be uncomfortable for them. Besides, Eitan should be with Luca, who was likely to go to her labors at any time.

He thanked Eitan, kissed his hand in turn as a show of appreciation and mending, then asked his wife if she would stay.

[Eitan Angevin]

"You'll always be my fool," he assured him drolly.

When Delia entered, Eitan didn't look her way. Instead, he began to undress Stefan as if he were his Dienerin, eyes intent on the find motor work and giving them a touch of privacy. Delia needed no second invitation, but came immediately to take her husband's proffered hand. In response to his apology, she merely brought his hand up to her own lips to kiss.

"Of course I will stay," she murmured, not letting go as she took a seat on his bed and pulled his head down into her lap so she could take over with the buttons of his shirt as Eitan pulled Stefan's legs up onto the bed, removing his boots.

His family, such as it was, took care of him. Delia, already in her dressing gown, seemed content to toy with his hair and brush soft hands over his face once her work was done. Eitan was a bit rougher, but sure, as he pulled the covers back despite Stefan's weight and tucked him in. It would seem that the Angevins weren't going to put up with any virtues that stood in the way of their connections with him.

"My husband," she crooned, brushing her fingertips gently down, closing his eyes. Eitan sat atop the covers, his hand on his brother-in-law's, unwilling to leave until Stefan was safely asleep. The man was too tired, too tightly wound, and even though they all were, they were going to make sure he didn't snap. Zaichaer needed him, and so did they.

fin.