He pushes himself up onto his elbows, and that's about as far as he's going for the moment. The light in his chest dims until it goes out completely. The orb settles, still hungry but not ravenously so, and this is a level of pain he deals with most of the time anyway, tolerable enough to mostly ignore.
"Ah, that..." Well, the cat is well and truly out of the bag, but he still doesn't look forward to explaining it. "That is the reason I've asked you to bring magical items. It is... a lingering reminder of past mistakes. In an effort to prove myself to Mystra, I found a tome containing a lost piece of Weave, and I sought to return it to her. I was so certain that this gesture would so impress her that she would welcome me into domains hitherto forbidden. However, I had not understood the nature of this piece of the Weave. It was a scrap of the Karsite Weave, Netherese magic that lodged itself inside my chest. It is a blight, hungry for magic. If I can feed it magic from items, it prevents it from... well, feeding on me."
She sighs again and moves to support him so he can sit up. Her hands move restlessly over him, checking his vitals for a second time and generally fussing.
"I'm alright, for the time being." Aside from a heartbeat that won't settle, he seems fine every time she checks. "You're hurt," he observes. Not just hurt, but had been hurt multiple times, with bruises and other wounds in various states of healing, now that she had no ring to hide it. "I thought you weren't coming back." He's a little ashamed to admit that, though he's not sure why -- maybe now that she's found out the entire, terrible truth, she really will leave for good. And who could blame her?
"Lost in the Underdark," she replies, which explains the absence and the injuries. "Sending stone is at the bottom of a pit somewhere. It's been a whole thing."
She waves off the rest of the story, because she's not really ready to move the subject off of him and his what-the-fuckitude. She's usually hurt. That's not even worth noting.
Her hand is warm and solid on the back of his neck and she presses her lips to his forehead.
"Who's your doctor? I'll make them do a housecall."
A kiss on the forehead is such a simple gesture, but something about it nearly breaks his composure. It has been so long since anyone kissed him or held him, even platonically. Even before he parted ways with Mystra, their relationship had taken place almost entirely on the astral plane. During that time, his focus had been on his goddess, to the exclusion of almost every other mortal, save perhaps Tara and his mother. Losing Mystra had been a double edged sword, because in losing her, he had realized he had nearly no one else. Gale takes Harley's hand and squeezes tight, eyes stinging.
How pathetic he's become.
"I'm afraid no doctor, healer, chirurgeon, or cleric is going to be able to do anything about this. If Elminster couldn't help me, no one can." Save, perhaps, for Mystra herself, but they're not exactly on speaking terms.
"Come on, I'm sure I've got a healing potion, and you'll be wanting a bath and to sleep," he says, already trying to get to his feet and brush off what just happened.
Harley stares at him in disbelief at-- well, a lot of things. He doesn't want a doctor. He's ready to move on immediately. He lives like this. She opens her mouth to fight, decides several things at once, and clenches her jaw with a grim nod.
"Yeah," she agrees. "Yeah, okay. Alright."
The potion takes the edge off the pain. Time and rest will heal all. She scrubs herself raw in the bath, and raids his wardrobe for a linen tunic to sleep in. Everything she owns is steeped in dark-stank and laundry is entirely beyond her tonight.
Once she feels like a person again, she finds him and puts on her best stern look. Which is hard enough for her to pull off when she's not damp and wearing his shirt.
"Your turn. Go take a bath and get ready to sleep."
Harley steels herself for an argument, drawing herself up to her full
height and drawing in a breath, and then... just doesn't. That has him more
off kilter than the argument would have, but she does still need tending,
so he doesn't bring it up.
While she bathes, he casts mending and prestidigitation to repair and clean
the clothes she changed out of and leaves them on the guest bed. He never
goes through her bag, so those garments will just have to be cleaned later.
He finds two of the three buttons that popped off his shirt when she ripped
it open and casts mending on it; the other button is likely lost in the
piles of books.
By the time that's done, she's out of the bath.
"I'm fine," he insists, because like a spell, if he says it with enough
conviction, maybe he can make it become reality.
Because maybe if he's not a burden, she won't leave for so long again.
This time, it's Gale who gives up on arguing before it's even begun. He
loves a debate, but as tired as they both must be, he thinks neither of
them have much left in them for senseless arguments. So he heads off to the
bathroom and runs a hot bath. There are lots of bottles and soaps on his
shelves, and he's not sure whether Harley has ever availed herself of any
of them, though he's offered. This time, he dumps in a potion in to the
water meant to ease tense muscles and pain. Next, he pours in mundane
bubble bath smelling of lavender and vanilla. When he sinks into the water,
he's ready to admit that she was right, because he feels better already. He
won't have to hear her 'I told you so', because he's certain she's already
asleep.
She is not already asleep. She is listening at the door, and has been the entire in case it happens again while he's in the tub and she has to save him from drowning.
This is a very chill and normal thing to do.
When he emerges, she points wordlessly to his bedroom. He can go to sleep willingly, or learn a very hard lesson.
He was planning to go to bed --was being the operative word. Now, he puts his hands on his hips and furrows his brows in a way that makes him look like a stern professor. "Why aren't you already asleep?"
He softens immediately at that. Even if she is sort of yelling at him, she still cares. Yesterday, he thought she was gone forever, but against all odds, here she is.
"Apologies," he says, looking sheepish. For trying to tell her what to do? For not following her orders? She almost dying? It's not clear.
"I'm sorry I worried you." He puts his hands on her shoulders. "I'm much better now, thanks to you."
"Put... me down?" He's not sure which is worse, the amusement or the challenge in his voice. Does she intend to carry him? Knock him out? Both are frankly ridiculous options. "Don't be ridiculous."
She gets a hold on one of his arms, bends to tuck her shoulders against his gut, wraps an arm around the backs of his knees, and hyup. Get fireman carried, idiot.
She hauls him into his bedroom, drops him on the mattress, and pins him with her hands around his arms and a knee to the chest.
He means to protest, but it happens very quickly, and all he's able to really do is let out an undignified yelp before he's in his bed.
"Alright!" he concedes, but he's laughing, and once he's started, he can't stop for a few minutes, like all his worries have bubbled over into irrational giggles. "I yield. Though I would still like to lodge a complaint about being spoken to like a pet." It's only okay when Tara does it.
Harley drops her head to his shoulder and laughs with him until she's out of breath, and out of energy. She's half on top of him, but not inclined to move another step tonight.
Her yawn is muffled against his sleep clothes. "Complaint noted," she mumbles, and cuddles into his side. His chest is her pillow so she can keep track of his heartbeat.
Once they've both laughed themselves out, Gale waves his hand, extinguishing the only candle in the room and leaving them in darkness. The heavy drapes over the window keep even the moonlight out. His heart beats a steady rhythm, and for a while, their breathing is the only other sound in the room.
It's so peaceful that he hates to shatter the quiet, but he can never stay silent for long.
"I'm very glad that you came back." She is warm and always so much sturdier than he expects. "I thought you were gone for good." She is tucked against his side, and he wraps his arm around her back. "Tara never doubted you'd return, for the record, so she'll be pleased to tell me 'I told you so' once she returns."
She had worried that she would feel trapped in a room after so long underground, and had planned to drag a mattress to the balcony to sleep in open air, but Gale is a familiar comfort. Rest is easy to find with his heartbeat under her ear and she burrows closer as his arm curls against her back.
"Didn't mean to stay gone so long," she whispers in the dark, the words stretching around another yawn. "Where is Tara?"
"She left to find more magical items, a little farther afield than we typically search, but with the hope that she might be able to bring back more than one," he says to the darkness overhead. "It's... going to keep being like this. What happened today will likely happen again. So I would not fault you if you did think it best to stay away."
"Ow." If doesn't really hurt, but when her chin lands on his chest, he has to complain on principle.
Her declaration makes him laugh softly, because he doesn't yet realize she's serious. "Because... There is so much unknown about my condition, and it's all the more dangerous for it. Dealing with it will likely only become more difficult and complex. Why would you want to put yourself through that?" Another soft puff of laughter, then, "I know, I know, for Tara. A worthy cause, indeed. But you would be able to keep Tara's acquaintances without..."
Without bothering with me. But he doesn't say that thought aloud.
"Without troubling yourself with all of this," he finishes with a gesture that she can't see, but can feel instead.
Her body goes tense against his side and she untangles their limbs to sit up.
"Gale." She says his name like a warning, but as her eyes adjust to the dark and she can pick out the shape of him next to her... This isn't about her, she realizes, and goes all soft inside.
She hasn't seen signs of any other guests. No other names mentioned. He doesn't even see his own mother, who allegedly exists and likes him.
Harley's fingers trace his face in the dark and she bends down to kiss his forehead, temple, the bridge of his nose.
"The people who love you will stay if you let them."
He regrets saying anything as soon as she sits up and a chill settles into the spot she had occupied. He tenses, expecting a lecture, or maybe for her to just pick him up and toss him out of the bed.
Instead, her fingers brush his cheek, and he sucks in a surprised breath. Harley kisses his face, and it's the kindest anyone's been to him in some time, certainly kinder than he ever is to himself. It makes his sinuses sting with unshed tears again, but at least he doesn't have to try to hide it in the dark. In a rare turn of events, he doesn't quite know what to say. Part of him believes her, but worries that anyone near him is just as doomed as he is, and another part has known enough loss to doubt it at all.
"You're very difficult to argue with, you know?" He wraps his arms around her and pulls her down in some kind of clumsy approximation of a hug. "And that's coming from someone who debates like it's breathing."
She lets him pull her back down and wraps her arms around him too. Her head tucks under his chin and her breath tickles against his neck.
"Think of this," she sighs and rubs a soothing hand over his side. "If your friend told you that they were sick, that they didn't know how to fix it and that sometimes they'll have bad days. Would you walk out on your friend?"
"Just to clarify, this friend's condition is possibly dangerous to others and the only palliative treatment is very expensive?" He heaves a heavy sigh, which lifts her along with it. "No, I don't suppose I would." But it's different when it's me, goes unsaid. "I did try to convince Tara to leave, too, for the record. As you see, it did not work."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Ah, that..." Well, the cat is well and truly out of the bag, but he still doesn't look forward to explaining it. "That is the reason I've asked you to bring magical items. It is... a lingering reminder of past mistakes. In an effort to prove myself to Mystra, I found a tome containing a lost piece of Weave, and I sought to return it to her. I was so certain that this gesture would so impress her that she would welcome me into domains hitherto forbidden. However, I had not understood the nature of this piece of the Weave. It was a scrap of the Karsite Weave, Netherese magic that lodged itself inside my chest. It is a blight, hungry for magic. If I can feed it magic from items, it prevents it from... well, feeding on me."
no subject
He's stupid.
She sighs again and moves to support him so he can sit up. Her hands move restlessly over him, checking his vitals for a second time and generally fussing.
"What do you need right now?"
no subject
no subject
She waves off the rest of the story, because she's not really ready to move the subject off of him and his what-the-fuckitude. She's usually hurt. That's not even worth noting.
Her hand is warm and solid on the back of his neck and she presses her lips to his forehead.
"Who's your doctor? I'll make them do a housecall."
no subject
How pathetic he's become.
"I'm afraid no doctor, healer, chirurgeon, or cleric is going to be able to do anything about this. If Elminster couldn't help me, no one can." Save, perhaps, for Mystra herself, but they're not exactly on speaking terms.
"Come on, I'm sure I've got a healing potion, and you'll be wanting a bath and to sleep," he says, already trying to get to his feet and brush off what just happened.
no subject
"Yeah," she agrees. "Yeah, okay. Alright."
The potion takes the edge off the pain. Time and rest will heal all. She scrubs herself raw in the bath, and raids his wardrobe for a linen tunic to sleep in. Everything she owns is steeped in dark-stank and laundry is entirely beyond her tonight.
Once she feels like a person again, she finds him and puts on her best stern look. Which is hard enough for her to pull off when she's not damp and wearing his shirt.
"Your turn. Go take a bath and get ready to sleep."
no subject
Harley steels herself for an argument, drawing herself up to her full height and drawing in a breath, and then... just doesn't. That has him more off kilter than the argument would have, but she does still need tending, so he doesn't bring it up.
While she bathes, he casts mending and prestidigitation to repair and clean the clothes she changed out of and leaves them on the guest bed. He never goes through her bag, so those garments will just have to be cleaned later. He finds two of the three buttons that popped off his shirt when she ripped it open and casts mending on it; the other button is likely lost in the piles of books.
By the time that's done, she's out of the bath.
"I'm fine," he insists, because like a spell, if he says it with enough conviction, maybe he can make it become reality.
Because maybe if he's not a burden, she won't leave for so long again.
This time, it's Gale who gives up on arguing before it's even begun. He loves a debate, but as tired as they both must be, he thinks neither of them have much left in them for senseless arguments. So he heads off to the bathroom and runs a hot bath. There are lots of bottles and soaps on his shelves, and he's not sure whether Harley has ever availed herself of any of them, though he's offered. This time, he dumps in a potion in to the water meant to ease tense muscles and pain. Next, he pours in mundane bubble bath smelling of lavender and vanilla. When he sinks into the water, he's ready to admit that she was right, because he feels better already. He won't have to hear her 'I told you so', because he's certain she's already asleep.
no subject
This is a very chill and normal thing to do.
When he emerges, she points wordlessly to his bedroom. He can go to sleep willingly, or learn a very hard lesson.
no subject
no subject
He stands like a professor and she squares up for a brawl.
"Because I came home and found you dying on the floor!"
no subject
"Apologies," he says, looking sheepish. For trying to tell her what to do? For not following her orders? She almost dying? It's not clear.
"I'm sorry I worried you." He puts his hands on her shoulders. "I'm much better now, thanks to you."
no subject
She points toward his bedroom again with a scowl, although there isn't much edge to it.
"Now go to bed, or I will put you down."
no subject
no subject
He gonna learn today.
She gets a hold on one of his arms, bends to tuck her shoulders against his gut, wraps an arm around the backs of his knees, and hyup. Get fireman carried, idiot.
She hauls him into his bedroom, drops him on the mattress, and pins him with her hands around his arms and a knee to the chest.
"Stay, boy."
no subject
"Alright!" he concedes, but he's laughing, and once he's started, he can't stop for a few minutes, like all his worries have bubbled over into irrational giggles. "I yield. Though I would still like to lodge a complaint about being spoken to like a pet." It's only okay when Tara does it.
no subject
Her yawn is muffled against his sleep clothes. "Complaint noted," she mumbles, and cuddles into his side. His chest is her pillow so she can keep track of his heartbeat.
no subject
It's so peaceful that he hates to shatter the quiet, but he can never stay silent for long.
"I'm very glad that you came back." She is warm and always so much sturdier than he expects. "I thought you were gone for good." She is tucked against his side, and he wraps his arm around her back. "Tara never doubted you'd return, for the record, so she'll be pleased to tell me 'I told you so' once she returns."
no subject
"Didn't mean to stay gone so long," she whispers in the dark, the words stretching around another yawn. "Where is Tara?"
no subject
no subject
"Why would I want to do that?"
She doesn't call him an idiot out loud this time, but it is absolutely implied in her tone of voice.
"If anything, I'm moving in."
no subject
Her declaration makes him laugh softly, because he doesn't yet realize she's serious. "Because... There is so much unknown about my condition, and it's all the more dangerous for it. Dealing with it will likely only become more difficult and complex. Why would you want to put yourself through that?" Another soft puff of laughter, then, "I know, I know, for Tara. A worthy cause, indeed. But you would be able to keep Tara's acquaintances without..."
Without bothering with me. But he doesn't say that thought aloud.
"Without troubling yourself with all of this," he finishes with a gesture that she can't see, but can feel instead.
no subject
"Gale." She says his name like a warning, but as her eyes adjust to the dark and she can pick out the shape of him next to her... This isn't about her, she realizes, and goes all soft inside.
She hasn't seen signs of any other guests. No other names mentioned. He doesn't even see his own mother, who allegedly exists and likes him.
Harley's fingers trace his face in the dark and she bends down to kiss his forehead, temple, the bridge of his nose.
"The people who love you will stay if you let them."
no subject
Instead, her fingers brush his cheek, and he sucks in a surprised breath. Harley kisses his face, and it's the kindest anyone's been to him in some time, certainly kinder than he ever is to himself. It makes his sinuses sting with unshed tears again, but at least he doesn't have to try to hide it in the dark. In a rare turn of events, he doesn't quite know what to say. Part of him believes her, but worries that anyone near him is just as doomed as he is, and another part has known enough loss to doubt it at all.
"You're very difficult to argue with, you know?" He wraps his arms around her and pulls her down in some kind of clumsy approximation of a hug. "And that's coming from someone who debates like it's breathing."
no subject
She lets him pull her back down and wraps her arms around him too. Her head tucks under his chin and her breath tickles against his neck.
"Think of this," she sighs and rubs a soothing hand over his side. "If your friend told you that they were sick, that they didn't know how to fix it and that sometimes they'll have bad days. Would you walk out on your friend?"
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I don't have a flabbergasted enough icon for their interactions
she flabber on my gast til i con 💦
LOL
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)