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[ressusciter]

un: avenger.
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[manlet]

[Dantes rants and rages, a veritable storm loosed. It is a sight that would make any man fear a blow, a great physical violence that'll crash upon either one of them. Andersen does not move from his seat. He listens, he waits, and it is only when Dantes is finished that he sets down his cup and says in a calm, level voice:]

Then I will kill you, Edmond.

[He goes to him. If he is allowed, he will reach for his hand.]

If you truly think you cannot walk among the people here, that you are beyond salvation, I will kill you by the month's end. Give me the dagger, and I will do the deed myself.

[Softer:]

You do not need to trust them all at once. But you cannot survive alone. Has your time at Chaldea not proved you capable of allowing people in? Am I not proof that there is still goodness in our worlds?

There are people here who don't know you. Doesn't that grant you the freedom to present yourself as whatever man you wish? To reframe your past, free of the author's influence?

[ressusciter]

[that hand is accepted, held as if it was a lifeline in the swell of the ocean, before he drowns himself and chokes on everything he feels at once. somehow, the promise of his own death does much to help him breathe - the idea that he could finally, finally escape. maybe send his soul back to Chaldea, where he could do far more good than he can here.

he's quiet for a long moment, eyes turned down, still brimming with energy that could lash out at any moment. and then, he speaks softly.]

I found a copy of the book here.

[something he had hid from Andersen, months ago. a copy he had taken in his two hands and burned at the edge of the Wilde until there was nothing there but ashes, and then dust. if there was one, couldn't there be another? couldn't there be those that would hear his name and think they knew him? the very thing he wants least of all in the world.]

[manlet]

[A touch is all Dantes needed to anchor himself. Andersen knows this from the dreams he's seen -- dark as the ocean's trenches, colder than any cell -- and he's grateful it's helped him settle somewhat. The mention of the book, though, causes his brow to furrow.]

What?

[That doesn't make sense.]

When?

[ressusciter]

Several months ago. In someone's shop, when I asked him for help on binding the Abbe's words into a book.

[it had been like getting shot in the stomach, to see it there, the burning numbness that had spread through his body.]

When he went back through the mirrors, I took it and destroyed it. But it was enough of a sign to say I will never be free of that man's influence. He owns my name now.

[manlet]

Then abandon the name of Edmond Dantes, the Count of Monte Cristo. Be Edmond, a man who is bound to no one save himself.

[Andersen hesitates.]

Be the man I still call my friend.

[ressusciter]

How? Could you cast away being Hans Christian Andersen, Caster of Chaldea?

[gently, slowly, he raises their joined hands, until Andersen's is on his upper arm, where the crest is inked into his skin. the reminder, more than his scars, of who he is. what he is.]

As long as they wish, the Count of Monte Cristo, this Avenger, will continue to exist.

[manlet]

[He can't deny what they are, for their existence hinges on their nature as Servants. This isn't their second life; they were and have always been intended to be used as tools for a greater cause, much as their Master tried to treat them otherwise. But--]

Not in this world. Not here. Until I return to Chaldea, I can call myself Hans for a little while. That's what I'd wish for you: to return from the place beyond love and hate.

[ressusciter]

[his own words, offered out to him. he inhales, exhales, feels the pull of it on his lungs. physically collected, grounded, tethered back down to the earth by a touch and honest words. all of that fury drains from him like a cut vein, and he wishes he hadn't said part of that - hadn't forced knowing the burden that it would be on Andersen's head. but it cannot be undone. as it is, he can only breathe, before his eyes slowly creep up to meet the other man's again.]

...I missed you.

[so soft. three words that were so hard to say, were like admitting gaps in his armor, but the genuine truth under the ashes and poison.]

[manlet]

[Oh. It's shameful how three words can strip away his caustic attitude, leaving his weak core exposed. Red creeps up Andersen's cheeks and he has to look away from those golden eyes, now painfully aware of the fact that they're touching. He knows better than to deny Dantes's sentiment; he isn't so much of an egocentric monster that he'd kick such a vulnerable confession.]

Maybe I felt the same. [His voice is steady but his expression says it all.] Why else would I have rushed my offer to Bond with you?

[ressusciter]

Obligation, since you know how stubborn I'd be about finding someone else.

[he sees that expression, and him looking away hides how Dantes's own expression has cracks in it.]

...To answer your question, I don't know. I don't know what I'll do when you're gone. But I'll endeavor to figure it out.

[manlet]

[A quiet affirmation that Dantes will live -- perhaps miserably, but he'll still try. Andersen keeps his eyes down. Very slowly, he reaches up with his free hand so he can press Dantes's.]

That's all I wanted to hear. You have a chance at freedom in this world; I don't want you to waste it.

[ressusciter]

[the touch makes him close his eyes for a second, committing it to memory.]

Perhaps I have forgotten what the sensation of freedom is.

[opening them again, he shifts so that they're slightly closer to each other.]

Did you mean it, when you said that you'd kill me?

[manlet]

[He looks up.]

If that was what you truly wanted? Yes.

[ressusciter]

Thank you.

[he doesn't smile, but there's something in his expression that suggests it. something that asks Andersen if he'll stay, if he'll leave, and he'll hold his expression if he's allowed to.]

[manlet]

[To think he'd find himself under the thrall of a new muse. Andersen has had many long months to dwell on his thoughts -- many sleepless nights to closely analyze just why he so frequently thought of a world that wasn't his own. Why he was miserable over Dantes's lack of memory.

He doesn't move away.]

... it's nothing to thank me over. An author who can't hear his subject's wishes is a useless one.

[ressusciter]

[there's a long moment where they look to each other, where Dantes cannot move away from those eyes, from Andersen, for otherwise the moment would be utterly shattered. finally he speaks, calm and collected.]

...Let me make you breakfast.

[a peace offering. a sign that he doesn't want him to leave. he won't press any points that Andersen doesn't want, but he'd like him to stay.]

[manlet]

[And it's over, just like that. All of the night before, all of what was quietly boiling beneath their conversation evaporates. Andersen finds it a little easier to breathe and is disappointed by the relief.]

If you won't say it, I will. I'm sorry and I'll have my eggs sunny-side up.

[ressusciter]

Any other specific requests?

[dawn is growing in the room, beginning to illuminate things more clearly through the open curtains. he lingers for half a second more before he pulls back, going to collect his coffee and move back towards the kitchen. having breakfast in mind is settling into an old routine, an old dance that he knows too well, and he rolls up his sleeves to begin.]

[manlet]

[He eases back onto the sofa with a sigh. It's as if nothing has happened between them at all, that their life on pause has now resumed. Andersen picks up his coffee and takes a large gulp of it.]

Yeah. Feed yourself, too, then get your ass to bed. I know you worked all night to keep yourself from sleeping.

[ressusciter]

I doubt I'm going to be able to sleep for a while still, Andersen. You know my habits.

[he says this, and soon enough the sounds of cooking will drift through the door. it's truly like an early morning before he left, as if they simply were returning back to old roles. Dantes knows where everything is, what Andersen likes - that he's going to end up adding bread and fruit in the bargain to the plate. simple, but cooked well.]

[manlet]

[His eyes roam over the table. Catches a glimpse of blue, which he peers at closer.]

Then take some of that drug you've got stashed away.

[It's the brooch. He bought it for Dantes a long time ago, on an impulsive whim. To think he'd pick a color his Witch was associated with -- that was an egocentric move only Andersen could make. But...]

You've kept this old thing this whole time?

[ressusciter]

What thing? I keep a lot of things.

[he knows what Andersen means. but he'll play dumb for as long as he can, busy with setting up their plates and cooking his own eggs.]

[manlet]

This thing!

[He realizes Dantes can't see what he's talking about. He groans, goes over while waving the brooch in question.]

You've held onto it. With the way you've been tending to my room and my things, I'm beginning to think...

[Wait. No. He can't finish that thought.]

[ressusciter]

Beginning to think what?

[he's sliding eggs onto their plates, and he looks over at the brooch for a second before he moves to set the table. of course he'd held onto it. it was important - it was something that stayed.]

You can't have thought I'd get rid of it.

[manlet]

[He's always been good at reading people. In Chaldea, it was essentially a skill. The ability to peer into another and see the core of their existence -- but in this world, it went both ways. If he could look into Dantes, then Dantes could look into him. And Andersen can't help but wonder how much the other man saw.

He turns the brooch over in his hand. Runs his finger along its edge. The words on the tip of his tongue stay where they are and he sits down.]

... whatever. If I say what I'm thinking, you'll get on my case again. Are my eggs ready?