But he knows that isn't what Quentin means. So there is quiet again. The irregular stutter of a new-forming heart, not yet possessed of all parts needed to keep him alive. The close-clutch of his consciousness, drawing nearer to Quentin as he imparts an answer: ]
Intimate.
[ Does not banish painful as an answer. Or complicated, because it was. It is. ]
[ His consciousness lays open to Nikolai almost entirely, weighs back on him fully, each the other's life support while they're remade--or while they peek over the edge of here (awake, alive, alight) down into there (the dark, the dark, the dark). Intimate and it's many uncomfortable little twists fit perfectly along the way Quentin understands death here.
[ The brush of Cesare's mouth over his ear, the slowing beat of Danny's pulse in his hand--the impressions etch around Alina, around the memory of his lips in the hollow of Nikolai's throat. Intimate. ]
[ A breath. A tremor, shuddering through their connection. A shade of humor, recollecting Alina's right hook and the bruise that had swelled up afterwards. ]
I would let you.
[ There is Alina, yes. There is Tamar and Tolya, who are safe in Ravka.
And there is Quentin, here with him in the dark. These are the names that feel right, even for such a hard task. ]
[ There is no way to move when his body is all apart, disconnected, a heart not yet sewn into place. But he wants to. It shudders all through him, through the places their minds touch in response to that urgency, the overwhelming strength of that reaction. ]
I know, [ softly, overlapping. ] I know, Quentin. I would give it to you.
[ It, this. His beating heart. His bare throat.
All the soft parts of himself, so suited to accommodating a knife. ]
[ Affection balloons so fast and so massive into the space that it keeps pace with the ache. It creaks with anxiety. He makes no effort to damp it now; the next time they see each other, he doesn't know if he'll have the boldness to be as bare and honest as he must be when they're woven so tightly together.
[ Quentin lets Nikolai feel it. Harder still, he lets himself feel it. Fully, for the duration, till the pain of resurrection overwhelms the pain of being seen. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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But he knows that isn't what Quentin means. So there is quiet again. The irregular stutter of a new-forming heart, not yet possessed of all parts needed to keep him alive. The close-clutch of his consciousness, drawing nearer to Quentin as he imparts an answer: ]
Intimate.
[ Does not banish painful as an answer. Or complicated, because it was. It is. ]
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[ The brush of Cesare's mouth over his ear, the slowing beat of Danny's pulse in his hand--the impressions etch around Alina, around the memory of his lips in the hollow of Nikolai's throat. Intimate. ]
Yeah.
Do you think she's waiting for you?
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[ But he doesn't presume. Maybe that is telling, but Quentin has earned that from him, this vulnerability. ]
Do you think I was wrong to ask this of her?
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[ Wincingly: ] Then again, I don't know her well. Let me know if you get slapped when you see her.
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I would let you.
[ There is Alina, yes. There is Tamar and Tolya, who are safe in Ravka.
And there is Quentin, here with him in the dark. These are the names that feel right, even for such a hard task. ]
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[ Light, bright blue, and heat and a swelling pain and swelling tears. The feeling comes on too strong, edging on frantic. ]
I would do it. I would do it for you. I would for you, I'd do it for you i'd do it i would do it i'd
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I know, [ softly, overlapping. ] I know, Quentin. I would give it to you.
[ It, this. His beating heart. His bare throat.
All the soft parts of himself, so suited to accommodating a knife. ]
🎀
[ Quentin lets Nikolai feel it. Harder still, he lets himself feel it. Fully, for the duration, till the pain of resurrection overwhelms the pain of being seen. ]