[ Shoot me. <3 ]

How do you pick up the pieces of a life you've left behind in every way? How do you pick up someone who seamlessly fitted into your life, and with fear trembling your hands, try to slot them back into place—holding you breath and praying they'll still fit?

Or don't you dare? Do you take what you have, the memories and the love, and walk away? Let it become nothing but fond memory, protected from failure and heartbreak, simply out of fear? Coming face to face with one of his oldest friends again, a man he had let down as thoroughly as he'd let down anyone who came close to him, he felt that fear creep up on him, choking tendrils of shadow forcing themselves down his throat to grip his heart. What if I lose him? The Ice King that had stood upon the World's Edge so long ago and spoken words of glory and destruction, the man with the iron conviction and a heart big enough to listen to everyone.. he was no more. The man d'Artagnan had chosen to follow, was no more, and Mauja was terrified that just Mauja wouldn't be enough.

That d'Artagnan would scorn him for his weakness and leave him out in the cold, bloodied pieces of his shattered heart strewn about him as the cold stars watched impassively as yet another tragedy occurred in the snows.

He drew a deep breath, trying to mask the sudden, and sickening, rush of fear he felt. It certainly wouldn't impress the red if he crumbled down here and now, and became nothing but a sobbing pile of Mauja-mess. Even when the shit raged around them d'Artagnan always seemed to keep his dark old heart intact, and even when the times changed, he had never given Mauja reason to believe he'd shed their ideals.

Blue eyes closed for a moment, a black-rimmed ear flickering to the first question. "Blame spirits and darkness and Irma," he murmured, a stab of guilt that he could not take better care of them. ”Where have you been?” He opened his mouth to speak, dark lips parting and eyes opening, but nothing came out. After a moment, he shut it again, teeth coming together with a click. Where had he been, indeed? When had he last seen his friend? And what had happened to him since? He seemed older, more worn, lines carving through his handsome face in an unfamiliar fashion.

He couldn't, easily, place when he'd seen the red madman last. One year? Two? Three? It must've been when he still lived in the Basin, so that had to be before Kri came up to challenge Psyche, because it was at that time that he'd gone south to infiltrate the Throat, which had ended with Sarazheha and Gaucho and Midas.. and then he'd gone and become the hero of a doomed war, brought peace to two warring nations, returned to Helovia and nearly died, received Diego, hid in caves, left again because of Diego, returned, moped, hunted and haunted, that whole business with Kahlua, leaving again to return north, coming back, finding Tolio dead and fighting Ophelia...

"I've been everywhere and nowhere," he finally admitted in a quiet voice, something dangerously close to defeat lurking in the silent spaces between his words, and in the depths of his blue, blue eyes. "Running, searching, fighting, fleeing. I..." For a moment he looked aside, then he spun his gaze back to the Doctor. If anyone deserved honesty, it was him. "I can't lie to you. I'm a mess. I'm not who I used to be. I'm weak and confused and.." A sigh. "I just don't know but.. I just.. thought you should know.. not to expect wonders of me anymore." Soft, so soft, his voice floated across the space between them, drifting gently against the walls and stopping there, not strong enough to cast a damning echo. And with tightly controlled fear he watched his friend, preparing for doom but praying for hope.

[ @[imi] <3 ]

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