hadriel { ic inbox }

[nonscriptum]

This is Nate, you know what to do. I'll...probably get back to you.

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[nonscriptum]

[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?

[synthedick]

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.

[nonscriptum]

[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?

[synthedick]

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.]

[nonscriptum]

[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.