ukan | IC CONTACT

He steps back and gets in his face again, gets against him, bows up to him, sucks in air deeply.

"I fucking hate them," he says. "I bomb their city. I shoot their soldiers. Fuck them. I won't give up my throne because it means I can't do that any longer."

"They've taken your family from you. The only thing they don't have yet, they will come for, because after everything they have, now they want to take your life." Don't let them. He knows how Pagan's life ended; he also knows how much more Pagan could do, if he can ever see his way through.

Pagan shudders at that, still in his face, but trembling a little.

"I'm so tired of it, Lark," he finally admits.

I know. Lark doesn't say it; it's in every subtle muscle movement in his body. He realizes that over time he's begun communicating to Pagan like he would another wolf; he isn't sure how much of it translates but it's also not a conscious action so he can't stop doing it.

"You don't have to give them anything more," his voice as low, intent as before. "If your life is the last thing you truly have, you decide what to do with it. It isn't theirs to take."

Pagan makes contact with him again, but it isn't to hit him. It isn't to hurt him. It's to simply rest his forehead against Lark's shoulder.

Though he doesn't communicate fully with him non-verbally, he does know what he means. What he's talking about.

There are no words of comfort for something like this. Nothing anyone could say, from Gandhi to Genghis Kahn, would have had any impact on the level of Lark's misery if he had lost what Pagan has lost. So he says nothing; he rests a hand on Pagan's shoulder, holding him close but giving the option for Pagan to stay or go as he needs.

Pagan sighs a bit and closes his eyes. He doesn't move.

"Am I supposed to be angry? What am I supposed to do?" he mutters.

"You're supposed to be feeling what you feel now. Conflicted...maybe even contradictory." There are probably more emotions coursing through Pagan's veins than either of them can even count.

"What you're supposed to do is let yourself feel them. Let them run their course. The ones that you can act on will surface."

Pagan still doesn't move. Still can't do anything but breathe through it. "I don't want it," he mutters softly.

"I want out of this bullshit."

Lark's hand is steady, no longer on the edge of Pagan's shoulder but resting over his shoulder blade. "The fact that you're feeling this means your mind is working. If you felt nothing, you would be standing still."

That old saying: when you're in Hell, keep moving.

He pulls away slowly with a haughty sort of sniff, looking away as he counts his breaths, hoping that will help him focus on something more important.

"Don't I ever get a goddamm break?"

"You're about due for one," Lark says with a small smile. "Does anything relax you or does the king in you just keep you going on all cylinders?"

"Numbing things," he says softly. Alcohol, mostly.

"Distractions. Kazuma usually helps, but not with this. This is your problem, I'm afraid."

"The problem with numbing this away is that it doesn't heal when you do. It's not like a pain killer after a surgery. Alcohol is a handy break, it can give you a breath of relief, but if you don't come up with a plan for after..." It just becomes an endless cycle.

"So find the core of what you want. Whatever it is that's true no matter how drunk or sober you are, no matter how much you hurt."

He just stares at him blankly because, really, he doesn't know. "Now, really, Lark. How is anyone supposed to know that?"

Lark does. Of course Lark does. But how to find it?

"Who are you when you have nothing left?"

"When I have nothing left?" he wonders softly. Thinking. "Angry, Lark." Blaming everything on the Golden Path. Making it all their fault.

Scared. Terrified. Cold.

"Under that." Searching Pagan's face, looking for the confusion that always comes before clarity. They almost certainly won't get past the muddied thoughts today, but planting the thought will allow it to grow.

"You're angry because you aren't someone who shuts down and gives up. You get tired, you need a break; that's natural. But you have fire in you."

That doesn't seem right, he wants to say. He wants to say that he gave up for twenty years. That he gave up and didn't do anything for twenty years because he was scared and tired and wanted to hide.

He just waits a moment.

"So what's the point, Lark? What am I supposed to do about it?"

He shakes his head. "That's not the core of you either, Pagan. At the risk of sounding like a philosophy professor, you need to find that and then you can find your best options. Who are you under the anger? I don't want an answer today. You don't have to give me an answer, ever. But it's something everyone should learn and almost no one does."

He settles into the couch and buries his face in his hands, sliding his fingers through his hair. "I am doomed to be here for ten years," he grumbles, though he really doesn't mean it.

Because he knows he needs to get a handle on his anger before he's going anywhere. He has to do something about it, to stop it from ruling him.

Lark chuckles. "I hope not. If I'm here another ten years I'll kill someone. Another warden, obviously."

But that's been a lot of heavy talk for one day. "Does Kiryu watch movies at all?"

He takes a breath. Another one. He wouldn't do that to Lark. He would not make Lark stay here for another ten years.

"He will."

Another breath. Then a laugh. "He's never heard of Disney, so I forced him through The Little Mermaid after which we promptly had a fight."

But the way he says it does not imply that the fight was in any way meaningful or real or anything more than playful.

He smirks, almost laughing. "You fought about Ariel? Why, what did she ever do to you?"

"I said that Ursula had been mistreated," he tells him. "And that she should have been the one to rule Atlantis."

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