#cfdiggorys

Ajax’s accusation is quiet, said with an air of kindness, of i-can’t-seem-to-understand-you-but-let-me-help-ness, which may as well be a condemnation at the top of his lungs from the way Selene stumbles back from him. Her hand comes up to cradle Zephyr’s soft, fragile head as he squirms in the baby carrier strapped to her chest. Selene has never attended a religious service (save from trips to the local Hare Krishna temple for an occasional photo-op and a few hours spent in a swarm of people at a Sunday Service during Coachella), but she feels like a child being scolded by a priest. 

“I don’t know anything else,” Selene confesses. They could be referring to anything — her marriage, her career, the thick layer of artifice lacquered over every part of her personality for public consumption. It’s a thin sliver of truth that does nothing to address Ajax’s concern but will hopefully placate him long enough for her to find an excuse to get away. 

Shame colors her cheeks but she looks otherwise nonplussed as she looks Ajax (a maddeningly insightful man) straight in the eye: “We’re late for our Mommy-and-Me Paper Making class. But this was fun! We should do this again.” 

a puff of air leaves her lips in a mocking scoff, sending wisps of grey smoke curling out into the night. eden is perched on the roof of this townhouse with her back so straight, she could be sitting on a throne instead of sloped tiles sticky with tar. she’s never been good at recieving criticism — her best and longest friend is her own ego. paris is poking at it with sharp words that make her want to rear back and strike the younger woman across the face. but for now: restraint. frustration burns deep in her belly; eden has no patience for the likes of paris moody — she can respect a healthy dose of self-preservation, but the girl’s teetering neutrality is boresome. she has no idea why her grandfather sent her combing through scummy house party after house party looking for this person who clearly has no intention of swearing fealty to anyone or anything. “fuck you,” she replies, finally. she gestures up and down at paris with her cigarette. “at least i am doing something with it. do you think you’re doing any better? you can only play both sides until one of them loses, love.” and where will you be, then? “remember that, when you have no allies left.”

He’d thought he’d felt cold after quitting St. Mungo’s, about losing healing to care about. It was worse with Archie and Dani and the others gone. There was no one left to ever, ever, left his guard down around and he felt himself growing more like ice, immovable. But there was only one person who he thought had as hard a time as he did concealing sympathy for the traitors. The shake of his head was quick and instinctive. "You’re not a monster, Z. Look what you did for Dani. I didn’t even notice she was unhappy at home. After that, she was better. Because of you.” He had to cling to that, remember, there’s good left, in him, maybe in me too. Rahim shook his head again. There was no point in him trying to convince Z of anything - coming from him, what did it mean? They were both too far in this now to back out. “I know she’s not a monster. And ... and Archie isn’t. And they all deserve to get away.” Maybe we don’t, was the other part of that, but Rahim didn’t want to say it. “I swear to keep you alive. You swear to keep me alive?” Maybe he could get through, maybe, if he just had one person, one, on his side. If they could just save someone. “And we both do ... whatever we can do protect the others. Maybe that just has to be enough...”

“No, fucking hell, Z –– that’s not what I want.” Her voice is laced with something desperate, and she reaches for him, slipping in front of him to block the door. Eyes boring into him, watery and furious all at once. She stands against the wood as if this will stop him from leaving, and something terrible burns in her stomach.  A truth that’s dangerous, for people like them. And still, she says it. “I need you.” Her voice forceful, her eyes as honest as they can be. It’s a confession that has been waiting to be spoken for a long time now, months at least, maybe even years. Maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it just is. Because she does need him, that’s the truth of it, and she thinks that maybe he needs her too. And maybe they’re not build for needing people, but the thought of him leaving and not coming back? She can’t deal with it. “Go, if you need to, but come back, you have to come back.” A pause. She steps aside. “Please.”

"I’m not looking at you like you’re a hero,” Arthur replied, shaking his head. “I just want you to be sure you’re doing what you think is best. If you do, then it’s your conscience you battle with, and your conscience alone.”