nonscriptum | hadriel { ic inbox }

It doesn't.

[Nick tries to keep the venom from his voice, but it's hard when talking about Maketh. She betrayed all of them: what she did tarnished the reputation of the Guard, and all those who swore to uphold its ideals, working to make Hadriel safer. Henry was never the same, having had to turn his back on his chosen family, then watch her vanish without any resolution. Rey had to practically erase her from memory to overcome the trauma, risking her own mind in the process. As for Nick, there are days where he can still feel the knife in his back from having watched someone he had such faith in turn traitor.]

Hux killed someone. I don't have proof who, but if my gut is correct, it was a damn kid.

[His fingers curl into a fist -- all save for his rusty pinky, which barely moves. He'd track what information he could about the other deaths, watched the network, lingered at the temples. All but one was accounted for; if he had blood, it'd be boiling at the thought.]

Maketh covered for him. She knew what he was doing, said he knew better than to target the Guard. Made it sound like murdering a kid was the better option. Like she was keeping us safe when our whole damn job is to protect this city.

[His face wrinkles, his teeth bared, grinding in disgust.]

Shit.

[Nate remembers. He remembers holding Ellie's hand as she writhed in a bed, looking too small for the covers as sweat beaded on her forehead and she succumbed to some kind of poison that none of them had the solution for. She died because someone wanted a godkiller.

He wonders if she was the one that Hux killed and his fingers clench at the edge of the table, mirroring Nick. There's no sense to anger when it happened and there isn't any concrete evidence, but that doesn't make Nate any less furious on behalf of the victim.

Anger doesn't have to make sense, anyway.]

So what happened? How'd you find out?

Rey confronted her, and she admitted what we'd already been piecing together. It was still a hard pill to swallow. She was practically Henry's family, someone we all respected. Seeing her fall that far...

[He sighs.]

We forced her out of the Guard. She and Hux both vanished soon after. Sent home. Wasn't exactly a better option, considering she's dead back there. All that remained of them in the city was the damage they'd done, and... well.

[The god killer.]

Yeah.

[Nate confirms without detail, because words aren't necessary when they both know the score. There's too much crap twisted up in godkillers, Hux and Maketh, Curufin and Yukari: the sooner these things get thrown into a very deep pit, the better.

For a long moment Nate is silent, weighing the likelihood of ol' Armitage remembering his time here - and if he does, whether he might conveniently decide to pretend that he doesn't. Ingratiating himself to someone Maketh apparently respected and feared isn't going to be a cakewalk no matter how handsome Nate's smiles are.

He has a way of pissing people off incidentally.]

...how do you know he's here? You run into him, or something?

When you don't have to eat or sleep, you have a lot of time to just watch the network and see what names show up. Helps know who we're suddenly missing and what patrols need to be picked up.

[Helps him keep track of who suddenly reappears, too.]

Like I said, maybe he doesn't remember his time here, but even if he doesn't, I want eyes on him. Maketh isn't the only one who comes from a background like that, and I don't want anyone falling in with him if I can help it. We're not the cops, but...

[Nick might be all gears and cold metal, but his voice is like fire the longer he goes on, the tension in his artificial musculature wrought with tension. He finally trails off, stifling his ire, pushing a breath through him as he tries again.]

I'm not about to let him get his claws into someone else. I made that mistake with Maketh, thinking she'd do the right thing when it came right down to it. I can't stand by and let innocent people — children die because I didn't do a damn thing to protect them from someone like him.

[Nick tries to be fairly professional with the Guard and his position within the city, always doing what he feels in his mechanical heart to be right and just, but there's one thing that's evident here: it's personal.]

[It isn't that Nick is typically a cryptic sort of person - he's honest, but usually not terribly verbose - and because of that it feels odd that he seems to be gaining steam, that this is grinding his (perhaps literal) gears so much that he finds it hard to balance himself.

Nate can relate, and he's appreciative of the fact that Nick's lack of need for rest has made him the premier expert on the kind of stuff that goes down when everyone else is asleep - or in Nate's case, just not checking the network.

The Guard is not the cops, they both know, but it has enough authoritative connotation to come across that way or neither of them would be here after hours. He moves in, unsure if they're at this point but willing to convey his sincerity regardless when he briefly rests a hand on Nick's shoulder.]

I get it.

[He doesn't consider himself impervious to manipulation, but impervious to corruption? Nate's moral compass is steady, no matter how skewed.]

But it's not all you, y'know. Team effort.

[Nick lets Nate rest his hand on his shoulder, inwardly grateful for the relief of camaraderie. The tension eases out of his metal frame, but as his brow remains knitted, his eyes flicking from Nate to the ground, it's apparent that a weight remains around his neck, his inner burdens continuing to hold him down.

He's right, though -- it doesn't have to be all him. The Guard can be more than just him at the helm and the rest under him -- that might have been Henry and Maketh's way, but it doesn't sit right with Nick. Never has, and frankly, it probably never will. It's just one more thing to get to on his long list, and the hardest part is opening up to folks, trusting they'll do the right thing when given the chance. He used to believe they would, but hell, maybe Maketh left him more burned than he thought.]

I know, Nate.

[He pushes another sigh out of him, his eyes still affixed on the ground. One step at a time.]

There are some things I just can't share with the class, though... with anyone.

[And when he says anyone, he means it.]

[Whatever albatross Nick is carrying, it's substantial enough that he can allude to it comfortably while not disclosing it at all. The delivery is so dry and pragmatic Nate might have said the same thing himself - and has, in the past - about specific subjects he never intended to broach.]

Preaching to the choir, Father Nick.

[Nate says with a sympathetic twist of his mouth. Saying that it is "difficult" to reach out is a vast understatement; it took about a year for Nate and Lance to share a frank, candid conversation about themselves, and even then that's pushing it. Circumstances changed priorities.

The loss of Sam stained Nate for a long, long time. Made it hard to extend a hand, or to believe that someone would do the same without retracting it in the same breath.]

It's not exactly easy to...trust. Puts you out there to get burned. [When you do, it's all the more reason not to trust again. Once bitten, twice shy.] But, uh- I hear confession's nice.

[It might be one of the few things he misses about being inundated with Catholicism as a child: impartial, anonymous listening.]

Now I'm...not a priest, but. Sometimes just saying crap out loud by yourself helps.

[Saying it out loud by himself helps, but Nick's done enough noir-like monologues in his years as a detective to know it only does so much for getting his thoughts in order. Back home, he liked being able to talk to Ellie; in Hadriel, he usually talks to Rey or Oscar.

And when it's something he feels he can't tell either of them for whatever reason, he just bottles it up. It'd be enough to give a regular human a constant stress headache, and he's pretty sure he's been feeling the synthetic equivalent of those for a while now. Maybe that's one reason he has memory problems, he thinks. That's something else he has to look into, as well, something he also isn't sharing. The Guard should know their leader is faulty -- that he's not fit for this job even if he wanted it.

He has to stop himself from going down those mental tracks again. One thing at a time, he reiterates inwardly.]

You remember all that talk about the god killers at the meeting about Name?

[He doesn't even think too long on if he can trust Nate with this or not before he speaks again -- he knows well enough.]

I ended up with one about a week later.

[Nate doesn't see himself as a particularly good person to confide in - there are plenty of actual professionals in the art of client privilege, like doctors, or lawyers - but he also isn't about to look a gift detective in the mouth. Being trusted is hard enough without trusting in return, but that kind of thing is a two-way street and Nick seems tired of manning the driver's seat.

The news is shocking, but Nate manages to temper the expression on his face into something a little less "deer in headlights."]

Uh...yeah, I can see how that's not something you'd want to share with the class.

[Was it the one Alphys mentioned, he wonders? Was it another one entirely? How many godkillers do they have just lying around this place, like buried treasure with immense homicidal power?

He nods to himself, shifting, folding his arms over his chest. It's a lot to process.]

Can I ask if that was happenstance, or a gift from somebody...?

A little of both. It was Maketh's.

[Not exactly the kind of gift one wants to find under the Christmas tree.]

I'd been trying to figure out what happened to them, wanting to keep tabs on the ones that didn't get destroyed. Someone had hidden it for her, and it got passed down to me. That damn weapon and all that happened to get it, right there in my hands. It made me sick.

[Or as sick as it could make a guy who doesn't actually have intestines and whatnot, but he's sure Nate gets the idea.]

[Nate doesn't need to say anything to communicate that he is perennially astonished by every word that comes out of Nick's mouth, because the idea that Maketh's godkiller somehow made its way back here, after everything, seems unlikely. Not impossible, just weird in a coincidental kind of way.

Someone had hidden it for her, but Nick doesn't say who. He either doesn't know, or is protecting the identity of the person in question. Either way the burden is pretty fucking heavy.]

So you-

[Nate can't keep still, so he paces, unsure of how to use his hands before resorting to moving them around a little too much while he talks.]

So you have it now. A godkiller. [He pauses, turning.] How many - that we know of - aren't accounted for?

Edited 2018-12-07 17:33 (UTC)

Just one now, though the fella who was asking for it has been long gone. Far as I could tell, he didn't have a lot of contacts in the city, least of all ones that are still around today.

[That's the unaccounted for god killers. His gaze finally makes its way back to Nate, but his expression remains of stone, hardened as he tries to reel in his disgust.]

As for Maketh's, I couldn't keep it. I didn't want it, Henry sure as hell didn't want it... so I took it to Sorrow.

[Nate doesn't blame Nick for not wanting to hold onto it with all the baggage it carried. Were he in the detective's stead, he isn't sure what decision he would have made - pack-rat tendencies have always run strong with him, and he doesn't know if he would have held onto it in the event it was needed later.

Maybe Nick just wanted that weight off his shoulders; blood money is still blood money. He's certainly unburdening himself.

That said, the problem is taken care of now that the godkiller is in Sorrow's possession. Nate isn't insincere, but curiosity edges into a very serious question.]

...why are you telling me this?

Talking to myself hasn't gotten me anywhere. The thoughts just keep rattling around in my head, clogging up my memory. The damn thing's got enough to process without this, too.

[And it's all one big reminder of just how inhuman he is. No matter how real he feels some days, he's not. How many years has he been around, and he still struggles with this? How many times has he dealt with it, and just forgotten, like DiMA says?

His fingers tighten again, that rusted one not budging.]

Henry's gone, and no one else even knew I ended up with that weapon. Not even Rey. I guess I just... wanted someone else to know. To make sure I've got my head on straight, and that I'm doing the right thing.

[He doesn't like to question his own judgment, but there's a lot about himself he's questioning these days, and the precedent of Guard leadership set before him doesn't help.]

Edited 2018-12-29 09:22 (UTC)

[Sometimes, having one other person know your secret is enough. Enough to unburden the mind and ease the sharp edge of guilt that would otherwise winnow its way under your skin, dulling the ache. Times like these, that someone might become the arbiter of forgiveness for exercising restraint, for keeping secrets.

Nate hates being in that position but understands the stress and effort that goes into keeping shit tucked away; not to mention the trust extended to him by someone he genuinely likes.

Hands on his hips Nate nods slowly, worrying his lip with his teeth.]

Sometimes you're never gonna know if you are. [He says with unprecedented sagacity, feeling the words as though they were a palpable weight.] But I- ...I'm glad you said something. We've got a lot of problems here, but miscommunication's the easiest one to avoid.

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