(no subject)

[thxforthememories]

It was a wonder there were not permanent impressions of his feet by the shore of the lake. He had certainly spent enough time there, lately, staring at the water as if it would somehow give him answers. Something... oddly morbid, really.

Except there were none to be found. There never were, save for one, and he was rapidly growing exhausted of hearing it. Of trying to accept it, or striving to overcome it. How long did one have to work, how many wrong steps did you have to take, before you found the path? Before you found your place?

Unless...

He stood at the water's edge, now, little waves lapping around his feet. Almost unthinking, he stepped forward into it. Right – he had to wash. He couldn't go back to his rooms, not with Kay there, not with the acolyte – he still had fluid smeared all over his plating, bright against the dark greens and black. It was here, at the lake, or nowhere. Here, at the lake, where he stood so often. Where he'd been consoled and advised and helped and –

Memories sparked to life. Hot, pained, and vivid as the fluids staining his frame. He had felt his friend's life go out. Seen the little light in that ravaged face grow dim and die. The memory of the ruined office flared, and, for a moment, it was so real he could have sworn he was back there again, unable to fully process what he'd seen.

He'd never felt as if he were drowning in his memories before. They had always been safe, gentle things to lose himself in – but now? Now they were tainted somehow. And he could no more be rid of them than he could miraculously gain a soul. His arms drew around himself, his body hunching over, as he sagged where he stood, ending in a half-crouch in ankle-deep water. His wings spread out for balance, for protection, something. That was all he wanted to do, wasn't it? Protect what was important. He should have been able to. Shouldn't he?

Unless …

Right. I'm nothing more than //// shadow.

… unless it was true.

He stared down at his reflection, at the pained, tired expression he couldn't seem to alter. What was the point of it all? Living was nothing like he'd wanted it to be. It wasn't beautiful. It was harsh, cold, and filled with empty aches. And yet, the others seemed to carry on as if nothing at all were amiss. If what the human beings told him wasn't true... why couldn't he do this? Why couldn't he keep others safe? If he truly had a place among these beings, even amongst the other BPs, why did everything that mattered slip through his fingers?

“Not everything.”

The reflection in the water was no longer alone. Someone looked back at him, smiling softly, looking down at him. For a second, he couldn't move. He couldn't even think. He stared at the water, at that face, and wondered, distantly, if this was another misfiring memory. Or if he dared to hope if this was real...

“Of course I'm not real. Come now... is this what you've been reduced to? Chasing ghosts, mm?”

He shook his head, and dared to look up. Despite a sinking feeling, despite dread, and the image's words... there was a familiar form hovering above the surface of the water. Within touching distance. He reached for it, the motion desperate, jerky, and found his hand gripped in one so like his own. A memory wouldn't be so solid, would it?

“I don't know what else to do,” he whispered. “Nothing is working. Nothing is going as it should... so many are lost. I couldn't save them – I couldn't even keep my promise to you.”

“You can't give up now. What would that accomplish? I cannot imagine you, of all of us, deciding enough is enough. You wanted so badly to live.”

“Too badly!” he shot back, and his hand tightened. “I wanted it too badly and now... I'm here. I've made so many mistakes.”

“That is a part of living, is it not? Weren't you told that much?”

“Yes...”

“Then you must listen. Surely, it's not only my words you take to heart?”

He couldn't look away. Just held tighter, and tried drawing nearer as the image's smile turned a little sad. “You're the one who matters most. Please... just. I need you here. I need to know what to do.”

“You are as alive as anyone. You can't keep turning to me for an answer. I can't stay.” The image tilted its head. “I am not here for you... but she is. That little bird of yours.”

“Please. I can't – I can't do this.”

All that answered him were the soft, repeated words, recycled bits of speech he remembered so clearly, strung out together again. It was all this had ever been, some part of him realized – memories lumped and overlaid with one another until the new image, the new thoughts, blinded him. He tried holding on, tried keeping it pulled together, but it began to fragment, as his AI recognized what it was he saw.

Still, the words lingered.

“I am not here for you... but she is.”

The hovering image faded into bits of imagined, remembered, motes of light, leaving him kneeling in the water, as alone as ever before.