paradisalogs | The soul is healed

Who: Felix, his son Ryuga, and ANYBODY
What: Watching after his child
When: Today
Where: The play room at the resort
Rating: PG for kids

Years ago he might have worried what people would think if they saw him now - the people he once knew in the Mirador certainly would be laughing themselves silly - as he sat at a comically tiny set of table and chairs. Considering everything else that had happened, it was now the least of his concerns. One of them was Ashura, who he'd left in their room to rest after quite a bit of goading, while he took their fussy impossible progeny out to play. He watched with a tired but gentle smile as his son rolled a tiny plastic truck across the floor to his feet.

His son. He could never quite get over that.

Felix rolled the toy back with his foot, but Ryuga simply frowned and tossed it away, evidently unsatisfied with this.

"You don't like that one?"

Ryuga shook his head, obviously pouting.

"Well, what do you want?"

The boy only whined louder, and Felix rubbed at his temple. The boy had been much easier to entertain when he was smaller, and not quite to the age where he could articulate it effectively. But he'd have to think of something soon, before this turned into a tantrum.

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Gideon smiles at the witchlights, watching them just as Ryuga does for a moment or two. He hadn't thought of using them to entertain Zipporah; perhaps he'll try it next time she looks like she's going to cry. Zipporah herself seems transfixed by Felix's, watching them move through the air with a peculiar clarity of focus Gideon has never seen in an adult.

Decency is a learned thing, he writes, looking up at Felix's wan smile with some consideration. Gideon, of all people, has no place lecturing on goodness--it's an active effort for him just to live as a man he might begin to consider 'decent'--but it is a thought he's pondered before. Ryuga is fortunate that he's learning so at a young age.

"I'm not sure where you imagine I learned it from," he says softly, though the trace of humor in it does nothing to cover the fact that it was not at all a joke. Many people had told him, since arriving in Paradisa, that he was a decent person, and part of him still cannot believe it. It feels more like a coat he's gotten used to wearing, but the fact of the matter remained that it still was not who he was under the surface. That monster of Malkar's crafting. Just because it was well hidden now, did not mean it was gone.

Gideon regards Felix with a smile that, like Felix's comment, has a tinge of ruefulness to it. He's tempted to reach out for the man's hand and curl his fingers around it in silent reassurance. It's a desire he has to resist, though; he balls his hand into a fist beneath his tablet and squeezes until the moment passes.

Sometimes we must be our own teachers. And sometimes they must discover teachers long dead, their thoughts and philosophies left behind in dusty old books, to aid them. Felix's son is not the only child present in a more fortunate position than his parent was.

Part of it is the fact that was aware of that divergence of generations. The tiny chance that he could ensure that another child did not have to go through the horrors that he had experienced, was what served as a constant motivation to be that better person consciously. If only just for Ryuga.

"I have done what I only term as 'my best' in that regard."

Admittedly, that had been easier when his efforts were unseen by anyone who knew the difference. Who knew exactly what kind of cruelty he was capable of. Even if they had not intended it, he feels under far more scrutiny now.

Gideon has been quietly coming to similar conclusions. When Zipporah falls mercifully asleep, he's found himself more than once regarding her and wondering whether her future will include the same miseries he suffered. Were she in his care permanently, he'd see to it she wouldn't--nearly anything would be better than tithing an innocent child to the Bastion's cruel hands--but, of course, she isn't.

He's not certain where these children come from, or where they will return to, but he hopes her true parents have the sense to keep her safe from harm.

What more can any of us do? Gideon shakes his head, staring down at his half of their conversation. Felix, you -

But he thinks better of it, turning his stylus around and using the wide, thick end to erase those words.

He gave Gideon a questioning look, wondering what the rest of it might have been, but uncommonly afraid to ask.

"In that regard," he began hesitantly, "I am sorry for what happened the other day. I would not thrush company on you which you do not care for, but I find it rather difficult to ignore you."

Gideon wasn't some undesirable like Robert or Agnes or even Shannon, whom he could easily pass by and not acknowledge or even actively avoid. This was a man who he had not seen for years, and every time he did now brought on a tiny ache of loneliness, no matter who he might be with at the moment.

Those words would have been followed by dangerous comments, affectionate and goading in equal measure. Felix is hardly incorrigible. He has the capacity for kindness, even tenderness, whatever he might believe of himself; Gideon has seen it often enough.

And it increasingly seems he has the ability to apologize. Gideon still can't quite believe it when he hears it, despite the sincerity with which it's offered. He recognizes the careful, tentative cadence of Felix's words, but the words themselves still feel surprising.

The fault is mine, he writes. With a wry smile, he adds, I can't blame you for a flaw I possess in equal measure.

He looks up at Felix as he moves the tablet over so it might be read, knowing full well that he's never been able to hide his affection as well as he might like--and for that moment, not caring.

Even after all this time it's hard not to miss that look in Gideon's eyes, and it does not fill him with the dread he was expecting. The mutual apology has a lot to do with that, given that Gideon used to be just as disposed towards intransigence as he was.

"None of us are perfect," he said, reaching across the small table to place a place his hand other the one Gideon had on the tablet. It was a startling reminder of the first time they been together in that tiny Kekropian hotel, and the memory itself springs rather vividly to mind along with the impulse to duplicate it further by leaning over for a kiss. He stops short, but the desire is easy enough to recognize.

Gideon's breath catches at the way Felix looks so intently at him. He thinks he can see the selfsame yearning he feels when he's in Felix's presence--when they aren't rising to each others' bait, at least (and even then, he knows, it's there). That same desire to pull him up from the table, go away to a private room, and relearn with eager hands and mouths the things they've lost.

After a moment of staring transfixed at the curve of Felix's lips, Gideon tears his gaze away and shakes his head. He has to draw his hand back from the warmth of Felix's, little as he wants to; they're treading on treacherous ground when they watch each other so. But he still can't resist turning his hand beneath Felix's and clasping it, squeezing for one brief moment before letting go entirely.

He moves his tablet so he can write a reply. No. We aren't.

Felix stares down at his own hand a moment before retracting it, feeling briefly bereft of that familiar touch. It wasn't just the intimacy, but the recollection that Gideon had once been his confidant and protector before he was a lover. Felix had of course left plenty of lovers in his time, but none had been much more than that.

"All we can do is try. I realized that some time ago," he said, a neutrally as he could manage. It was best that part of that realization came as a result of his relationship with Ashura, and wanting to prevent the mistakes he'd made with Gideon in the past.

The soul is healed

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