Of Watchers and People Persons

[nomorekaraoke]

Seeing Emma--

Let's start over.

Seeing Beth was probably one of the hardest things he's done in the past year, but he doesn't regret coming here. He doesn't care about the looks he gets from everyone, nor about the whispers or the tension so thick you could cut with something suitably sharp... And yet, it's getting to him despite his best efforts; he needs air, he needs open spaces, and more than anything, he needs a mini marshmallow.

Or twelve of them. Badly.

Only problem is, once he's outside, there's this thing... getting the bag out of his (very manly and stylish) traveling suitcase is one thing. Getting it open (without using his teeth, thank you very much) is kind of difficult if you've only got full use of one of your arms. In short, life sucks on all levels today. Why can't Deathwoks have sharp claws like every other demon? Or fangs. Actual fangs would be nice.

He is not going to use his teeth for this. Not gonna happen.


His problems, so huge, aren't they. So huge even his narration jumps on the sarcasm wagon.

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[nomorekaraoke]

His face drains another touch of color, his hand tremors for one brief, telling moment. Again, the plastic squeaks, only reminding him of how close he came to throwing everything away for someone he barely even knows. But he wasn't there for the others, he ran, and people died. He isn't going to be that kind of bastard again. He'll do everything he can to be there for her. He'll be her Champion.

"I don't have the faintest. But if you guys were old school, she'd be dead already. The fact she isn't...means you're considering your options. Weighing her crimes against some kind of moral code or notion of what's best for everyone involved. Most suitable." He doesn't think. Doesn't want to think of what they might do to her. What they're going to do to her.


A pause, meeting Andrew's eyes, or trying to. "She's terrified." But not as terrified as he is. So much his heart lurches from just making the suggestion.

[stilljustandrew]

He makes himself meet that red gaze without flinching.

"She should be. We don't have a lot of leeway here. And we have to consider both what she's already done, and what she could do if we let her go."

[nomorekaraoke]

One step closer, two, walking right past Wells to lean against the big, comforting hunk o' tree trunk. He needs it, needs the one solid point of reference before the world starts spinning faster. Before he's actually sick instead of just feeling it.

"She's harmless. She didn't know what Baldwin wanted the Scythe for and now that she does, she's dead and dying on the inside for what she did."

Not saying she isn't guilty. Just saying she's got a guilty conscience.

[stilljustandrew]

Very quiet, and heavy with certainty: "That doesn't make her harmless. Guilt can make you turn to the bad guys because you know the good guys won't want you. Or decide there's no such thing as good guys or bad guys, so you don't have to hate yourself for being on the wrong side. Or make you vulnerable to blackmail, or ... all kinds of other things."

He shakes his head, and this time his eyes move away. "She lived here for months. She knows the layout, the protocols ... plus she knows every other Slayer here by sight. That's how she outed our inside agent to Baldwin, after she took the Scythe, and she probably didn't even do that on purpose. But sorry or no, she’s not harmless."

[nomorekaraoke]

"She believed she was doing the right thing. She believed the bitch could help her get rid of her nightmares, and believe you me, that's a pretty potent incentive right there."

He really isn't in the mood for a fight, even if Wells is hitting him where it hurts. Wesley, the late turn coat-of-sorts. Himself, the line dancer. He isn't in the mood for much of anything, really. "Furthermore, she believed she was working for the good guys. She's harmless in my book. Sweetest girl I know, and if you start finding flaws with that opinion too, I might as well get out of your goldilocks.

"I'm telling you my opinion of her. If it doesn't count, why do we even bother?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Your opinion," says Andrew, and his voice has gone just a little flat.

"Why don't we talk about that."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, now what have I done?"

He's just tired. That's all. Just tired.

And increasingly frustrated with the goddamn bag of marshmallows. He gives up. Lets it fall to the ground when he loses his grip.

[stilljustandrew]

"I'm just interested in what you might think would count as not harmless. Say, sufficiently not harmless to justify taking measures to make sure the person won't be a threat in the future."

Beat.

"Like, for instance, a geas to keep them from talking. Or something more permanent, if that doesn't work."

[nomorekaraoke]

Fitz.

How come every last little thing comes back to Fitz?

But the thing is, there's nothing to justify what he did to Fitz. He did it because he had to protect himself, but that in and of itself doesn't justify anything. It's an excuse. He didn't have to do anything. He just chose to not stand idly by. To do something wrong for the benefit of his business doesn't make it right. He slides down against the tree trunk, very literally deflating.


"There's nothing," he sighs, very close to whispering. "No justifications, just excuses. Stupid little excuses of excuses aiming at self preservation."

[stilljustandrew]

"Self-preservation isn't nothing," Andrew says quietly. "It just isn't everything."

He studies Lorne’s face for a moment.

"I'm guessing you thought it would be kinder than having him killed."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Is it kind if it makes you sick to your stomach?"

A beat, leaning the back of his head against the bark. It scratches nicely, keeps him grounded. "Even if you're not sure you have one?"

[stilljustandrew]

He shrugs.

"You tell me. Killing him would've been cheaper. And probably easier. So why the mind-whammy?"

[nomorekaraoke]

"I don't care about money, and nothing's ever easy."

He doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want to tell his deep, dirty secrets, but he isn't exactly in a state - of mind or otherwise - to be running away. He's stuck, but even if he wasn't, he isn't sure he'd move one inch. Running makes you look guilty. It's even worse if you are.

"Because I couldn't kill him. Because I've laid down rules, and everyone expects me to follow them. Because he... He made a living off of exploiting everyone's personal integrity, off of selling secrets. He'd sell his own mother if he thought it would make him big enough of a profit. Because I didn't want him to keep ruining all my hard work for I don't care how much cash you paid him."

[stilljustandrew]

His lips tighten at the venom in those last words, but after a moment he nods, acknowledging their truth.

"We've all got secrets to keep," he says. "I didn't just bring this up cause it was a handy way to turn the conversation around. I brought it up because both the geas and the tabula rasa spell have been brought up as possible sentences."

He's looking directly at Lorne as he says it.

[nomorekaraoke]

They all got secrets to keep, and Lorne isn't doing his best to keep them kept and hidden and locked away, and it's all getting to be a bit too much. He feels sick, vulnerable, and all too close to accepting defeat. He's too drawn even for righteous indignation... But the fact Wells would outright tell him about the Council's potential plans throws him for a loop, makes him wonder why, and most importantly, he's too far gone to mask his surprise. Not at the possible sentences, but at the candid leveling with him.

"Haven't you ever known someone...who made some bad decisions, or, or just did some pretty stupid, bad things? And you didn't care, you just wanted them to be safe because of what they meant to you?"

[stilljustandrew]

He's watching for the shock, and sees it, and despises himself a little for that move. Enough to feel that he's earned that jolt of unexpected pain at Lorne’s question.

(It's been a long time since he's thought about Warren.)

"Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, I have."

[nomorekaraoke]

"Sorry, doe eyes. Just had to see if you have any idea what I'm dealing with, here." He sighs, closing his eyes. "I didn't know her before the big bad bang. I just... I'm just struggling with this."

His heart aches.

[stilljustandrew]

"I get that."

Low, and careful.

"I do get that. And I'll do what I can for her. But she can't be my first concern."

[nomorekaraoke]

He nods, eyes still closed for fear of what he might say or do if he sees the look on Wells's face. "Of course.

"...thank you."

[stilljustandrew]

With his eyes closed, he's not going to see Andrew stoop to pick up something on the grass.

He'll probably hear the rustle of a plastic seal being tugged apart, though, and when he opens his eyes he'll see Andrew holding out the opened bag of marshmallows.

"You dropped these."

[nomorekaraoke]

His breath doesn't quite get caught on the sheer surreality of the moment, not on the surprise... But it catches on the kindness of the gesture. He reaches out, speechless and beyond, accepting the bag as if it's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"I, yeah. I did, didn't I." It is the sweetest thing ever. "Thanks. You're such a darling."

[stilljustandrew]

See if you still feel that way by this time next week, he thinks caustically.

"You should probably be going. To ... wherever it is you're staying tonight. The hearings are starting tomorrow, and Beth's isn’t going to be until after they’ve finished with the others."

[nomorekaraoke]

He doesn't answer at first, because right this moment sugar is his first priority. One tiny marshmallow disappears behind his pearly whites, and another, and slowly, slowly, the wooziness begins to fade and all he can think is Thank God for people like Doc.

"I wasn't planning on setting up camp, don't worry. I'll be off the grounds in no time, just need to regain some of my bearings."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew nods. And, for the moment, doesn't say anything else.

What he's waiting for, he couldn't say.

[nomorekaraoke]

Licking some stickiness off his molars behind closed lips, Lorne looks up at Wells with knowing red eyes. Though, knowing might be stretching it, so let's call it a hunch. An inkling.

He reaches up with a small smile, holding out the bag of sugary, fluffy goodness.