#dilf!morpheus

If he had applied a little more sense to his reasoning at the time, he might have understood more clearly how ridiculous he was being then. To what end might she have orchestrated such a thing? What would she gain by having his child? As more and more of the dire circumstances surrounding her life outside the peace of the Dreaming are revealed to him, he's very quickly coming to the realization that by being pregnant, she is instead losing a great deal. Not gaining. No. Not anything so kind as that. 

Prior to learning of her part in crafting spells for the grimoire, Morpheus would not have even imagined her capable of something so deceptive. Simply put, he had thought differently of her then. In his eyes, she had never been the type to engage in manipulation nor the type to approach him with anything other than her usual straightforward bluntness. But now the knowledge of her betrayal tends to color his perception of her, leaving him to regard her in suspicion as he wonders what other secrets she might be keeping from him. 

And in hearing her thoughts, he had learned many of them, though none of her hidden truths had been what he might have guessed them to be. May is stricken with fear, overwhelmed and near hopeless with the way that it is consuming her. She's terrified at the prospect of having a baby given the current chaos of her life, terrified of bringing a child into a world where it will know wariness and struggle and running from those that would harm it, terrified of…

Terrified of him. 

The understanding that she views him as dangerous, as a threat, as nothing more than yet another enemy she must make herself safe from, stuns him. But then he wonders how he can blame her for such a belief given that while she carries his child, while she struggles under the weight of it, he offers her nothing more in return for this sacrifice than to heap the burden of his animosity atop her. He has driven her further and further into the throes of her anxiety when he thinks that he should instead be… assisting her in some way. That he has not been doing so is a failure on his part, a sorry dereliction that he knows he must address.

As he stands in the kitchen of the siblings' shared house, however, he attempts to rein in his wayward musings, focusing instead on the task at hand. 

That task being Viego's possible rescue. 

Granted, his concern at this moment is not for the maker. He had wanted to return immediately to the physician's office and wreak vengeance upon that loathsome creature, Viktor, who had so arrogantly dared to attack May. Morpheus would have gladly ended him during their confrontation, would have relished tearing him apart atom by atom, but May's sudden disappearance had forced him to follow her. In all honesty, he had assuredly panicked, more so when that strange hum had started up along the edges of his awareness, the one that he has come to associate with May drowning in the waters of the dreamscapes. 

He remains unsure as to how she had survived the shift and doubly unsure as to how she had broken through the surface of his sea, an aspect of his own being that she should not have been able to emerge from.  

Still, he cannot think of this now. Viego could be in danger. Not that Morpheus would typically care overly much whether or not the maker was in peril, but he had promised May to see to this, had promised even to save Viego if the situation called for it. 

And so Morpheus is intent on doing just that. 

The residence is empty, and as he glances around, he takes note of the usual orderliness of the place. Every chair, curtain, picture, and mundane knick knack is where it should be. As such, it certainly does not appear as if a struggle occurred here. He stretches his senses out, feeling past Viego's many magical shields and wards until he at last detects the signature of his power. Once that is found, it is less than nothing for Morpheus to locate him. Without wasting a moment, he shifts to an abandoned building on the outskirts of this town, and what he sees when he arrives utterly shocks him. 

There are a group of makers here, their clothes little more than tattered rags, their eyes shining with a terror that speaks of being hunted and hurt. Several of them are injured in various ways, from burns to bruises to weeping wounds that are scattered along the visible parts of their bodies. Viego is crouched before a small girl, and as Morpheus watches, he stretches one hand out towards her face as he wipes at the tears streaming down along her cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

"You're safe now, kid," the maker murmurs, his tone soothing in a way that Morpheus has never heard from him. It's odd to hear, this gentle attentiveness from one he thinks of as a monster.

"Mithrate," the child sobs before she shoves a fist against her mouth, presumably in an effort to silence herself. Mithrate is the maker word for mother, Morpheus knows, as May had taught it to him many years ago when they'd come across a whole family of her kind in the Waking. Has this child lost her mother? Has her parents died or been left behind? He cannot say. Normally, he has no difficulty feeling out through an individual's mind and parsing out at least some details of their life, but makers are different. Their mindscapes are vast, oftentimes unruly spaces where even the freshest, most traumatic events of their existence can be nearly impossible to find.

"I know, sweetling. I know." Viego's voice is low and smooth, and as the girl trembles with her sadness, he gathers her up into his arms before shushing her softly. His hand cups the back of her head as she buries her face into his shoulder, the fabric of the shirt there muffling her pitiful cries. 

The sorrowful moment is broken when Viego glances up and seems to notice at last that Morpheus is standing mere feet from him. In an instant, his previously sympathetic expression hardens into the impassiveness that Morpheus has come to expect from him. It doesn't stop the maker from carefully pulling away from the girl, from offering her a comforting smile as he takes her hand and walks her to another woman in the small group. Leaning closer to her, he relays something in hushed tones, and Morpheus thinks he hears the phrase watch over her, but he cannot be certain. 

It occurs to Morpheus then that Viego has helped these individuals escape from somewhere horrid, and in any other situation he might find such a thing commendable. In this one, however, he finds himself seething with rage. Is this how they found May? Had Viego's well-intentioned but careless actions here been responsible for the attack? 

Viego's manner when he stalks to where Morpheus waits is decidedly less pleasant than it had just been with the mourning child. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking weary and worn even as he levels an irritated glare at Morpheus. 

"What are you doing here, Dream?"

Morpheus' hands clench at his side in an effort to avoid visiting violence on the maker. Even the possibility that he might have been responsible for the risk May was put in is rage inducing to him. "Your sister," he begins roughly, "is in the Dreaming."

Viego's eyes narrow, all of him visibly tensing as if he's preparing for a fight before he walks past Morpheus.

"Not here," he relays brusquely as he gestures with two of his fingers that Morpheus should follow him, and Morpheus does as he's requested. From the fidgety state of the makers assembled here, he imagines it is not too large a leap to assume that Viego does not wish to expose them to their soon-to-be argument.  

After they've both made their way to a secluded spot between a stack of crates and a single wall of this building, Viego turns to him, worry writ plainly on his features. "What do you mean by that? What's happened? Is she okay?"

Morpheus cannot help his derisive scoff. "That is singularly amusing coming from you, given that your actions could very well have been what put her in danger this day."

Viego's jaw tightens. "My actions? My actions? The only reason she's even in harm's way at all right now is because you knocked her up and threw her out of your realm. And what the hell do you mean about her being in danger today? What happened?"

Morpheus feels that shame from earlier grow considerably, becoming more vitriolic inside of himself. Viego is… not entirely wrong. Had he not cast May from him, she would still be content to stay in the safety of the Dreaming throughout her pregnancy. But she had betrayed him, and so in this matter he knows that she is as least as responsible for their separation as he is. "Who is Viktor?"

The maker goes rigid, his shoulders bunching up as if he is readying for a physical blow. "Where did you hear that name?" he asks, his voice deepening to nothing more an emotional rasp, and it occurs to Morpheus that he sounds… frightened almost. "You need to tell me what the fuck has happened right this goddamned minute."

"Viktor is the name given to me by her would-be abductor only an hour or so ago. She is physically unharmed, but I cannot help the feeling that this utterly shortsighted undertaking of yours is what led them to her."

"It's not shortsighted, Dream. For fuck's sake, they're innocent people."

The anger that overwhelms Morpheus at that statement is nearly staggering, rising up within him so quickly that he worries he might retch with the suddenness of it. In a flash, he grabs hold of Viego's shirt, shoving him back into the wall of the warehouse behind him with so much force that cracks appear there. 

"And your sister? Our child?" he snarls. "Are they not innocent in all of this? And yet you might have condemned them to discovery by-"

Viego grasps at Morpheus' hands on him, no doubt trying to free himself from the ironclad restraint he's in. "Yeah. Let fuckin' go of me. You can stow that shit right now. I've been doing this for thousands of years, and they've never tracked us this way. Never."

"Tell me of Viktor, Viego. Who is he? What does he want with your sister?" At Viego's infuriatingly stubborn silence, Morpheus tightens his grip. "Speak. Or I will be forced to put my questions to her."

It's an empty threat, one that he would never follow through with due to the other devastatingly horrible thing he had learned from May's thoughts earlier. 

Namely that someone had cursed her by way of a memory spell. 

He's known for some time that something was affecting her remembrance of certain events, the curious dungeon nightmare having been an all too alarming testament to that, though he had not understood then why she should dream of her past and not remember anything of it in her waking hours. Today when that light had flared in her thoughts as she tried to recall who Viktor was, when her own mind had gone blank afterwards, he had understood the cause of her very specific forgetfulness in a revelatory second. And as he had, he had felt sickened to his core. 

Memory spells are intricate, malevolent things. They get inside of a victim and twine about their mind like some poisonous, invasive weed. And like a deadly weed, they have the ability to choke out anything near them, to render their host's thoughts into naught but a mess of nothingness. Sometimes even permanently, leading to an eternity of their sufferers being left as little more than a hollowed out shell.

Which is why that while Morpheus indeed requires answers as to what has happened to her, he would not press her for them. He will not risk her. He cannot risk her. And he is painfully aware that however he might wish to deny it, that sentiment is not due to the child she now carries. 

"She… doesn't know about… about him."

"By which you mean she does not remember him," Morpheus corrects in a growl. He'll have no half-answers from the maker concerning something as important as this.

Viego stops struggling, glancing away with so much heartbroken sorrow on his face that Morpheus finds his own hold of him slackening slightly. Viego does not discount his accusation, does not deny that her memories are compromised, and the implications of this render Morpheus nearly stricken. It's true. It's.... true. "Viego… What has happened to her memory?"

Mulishly, Viego's jaw clenches anew, and as he turns his attention back to Morpheus, his eyes are burning with fury. "It's none of your business. You gave up any right to that when you fucking banished her."

Morpheus' anger swells to match the maker's. "Need I remind you that she carries my child?" he hisses. "And you dare to say that I have no right to know who might bring harm to her? I will ask you only one last time, Viego. Who. Is. Viktor?"

"He's… He's the being who… assumed kingship of the Bloodless Lands," Viego supplies at last, "after… after our father was killed."

Morpheus huffs out a bitter, caustic laugh at this dissembling. Everyone in the supernatural community knows that it was Viego himself who ended Hadrius King, his own sire. "Am I to gather that you were unable to take the throne due to your part in murdering him?"

The guilt in Viego's expression is rather expected, but Morpheus still can't help the feeling that something seems... off about it.

"I was kicked out of the realm, okay? May… was left behind with… with him."

Morpheus feels as if the core of him, as if his very power itself, is twisting fearfully in response to this information. "For what purpose does he seek her now? Does he wish for her to fight in his-"

"No," Viego cuts in quickly. "It's… It's not that."

"Then explain all of this that I might better understand," he orders, the material clenched in his fist nearly disintegrating from both his power and his strength. "Elaborate, Viego."

The maker looks away again as if he cannot bear to meet Morpheus' eyes, as if he is ashamed, and an insidious wave of alarm skitters over the edges of Morpheus' awareness. What could be so horrendous that Viego is obviously troubled to even speak it aloud?

"I only know what… what I've heard as rumors. He… The… I've been told that he was trying to force a bond with her, to marry her so that his rule would be seen as more… legitimate."

Morpheus recoils, finally releasing Viego as he takes a step back from him. That vile creature seeks to… wed her? To force her into such a union? And all to solidify a claim to a throne? "Forced bonds… are impossible," he murmurs, the words tumbling from his mouth before he even has a chance to think on them. 

Viego straightens. "That didn't stop the crazy fucker from trying anyway."

Morpheus thinks he might retch, his imagination supplying him a disgusting batch of possibilities for how one might go about trying to accomplish something so heinous as forcing the twining of power, awareness, and very essences of two entities when one is unwilling. He knows, as appalling of a realization as it is, that such a thing would amount to little better than enslavement. 

"And what did these attempts… entail?" he asks in a harsh voice that he scarcely recognizes for all the panic within it, unsure as to whether or not he truly wants to hear what Viego might soon tell him. 

"That is actually none of your business. You found out what you needed to know. I gave you the who, why, and when. I abso-fucking-lutely refuse to go into the how with you."

It does not take a great leap of logic to understand in that moment that Viego likely knows exactly what was done to her, exactly what abuse was visited on her for the simple crime of who she was, and that he will share none of these details with Morpheus. "Her memory? Did he… Did he take that from her?"

"All I can tell you is that she was… really messed up afterwards, Dream."

That is a wholly unsurprising admission to Morpheus. That she had been messed up afterwards is not a fact he has any difficulty believing. She had apparently been through something horrific, through an ordeal that altered the very workings of her mind, and so Morpheus can very easily imagine that she had indeed been overwrought then. How has he never heard of this, never caught so much as a whisper of this catastrophe. Could she have even told him of it? Did she have any remembrance of these events at all? Would she have breathed a word of it to him were she able? Not for the first time that day, he feels as if he's failed her in some vague way that he doesn't understand, as if he should have done more for her despite that he hasn't the first clue of how to approach this. 

"How do we keep her safe?" Morpheus demands. This must be his concern now. His own maudlin musings aside, May is in very real peril, the kind that could see her taken or killed, and Morpheus knows that no matter what has happened in their past, he can never allow such a thing to come about in their present. 

"The same way I've always kept her safe. We'll go to ground." Viego glances towards the direction where the survivors are. "I'll get these guys to the next checkpoint and start setting up new identities for us. Our old ones are obviously compromised."

"Perhaps while you manage this, it might be prudent for her to stay with me in the Dreaming."

Viego seems to study him then, his brow furrowing as he blatantly scrutinizes Morpheus. "She's… really not going to like that."

"Have you a better suggestion?"

A look of pure defeat crosses the maker's face before he sighs. "No. I don't."

"It would be safer for her to remain there permanently. If you could persuade her to make her home in my-"

Viego holds up a hand, palm out as if to urge him to stop. "You and I both know she's not going to do that, Dream. Not anymore."

"No.... I suppose she will not." Resignation churns inside Morpheus' mind at that bleak acceptance. He knows all too well that May distrusts him, that she might always distrust him, but he knows not how to change her views regarding this belief of hers. 

"Not unless the two of you patch things up," is Viego's hesitant response, and Morpheus fixes him with a wary stare despite how shocking the words are. 

"Viego-"

"Just listen. Things are bad between you guys, but they're not so far gone that they can't be fixed."

As much as Morpheus might dislike Viego (loathe if he's being less generous) the sound of hope in the maker's voice is still bittersweet. That he thinks there is anything remaining to fix in the aftermath of the blazing inferno that destroyed May and Morpheus' relationship is strangely and foolishly optimistic of him.  After all, it matters not that Morpheus loves her still. She has betrayed him, deceived him, and in doing so set fire to what they had. Everything between them has burned away to ashes so that there is nothing left of their relationship to save. Resolutely, Morpheus tells him, "Your sister and I are finished."

Viego snorts out a laugh as if what Morpheus has spoken is an absurdly humorous lie. "Says the entity that slips into her room every night to watch her sleep."

Which… Yes, he is not incorrect regarding that. Morpheus does regularly observe her as she rests, but he has a valid reasoning for doing such a thing. "She is suffering from nightmares, and I merely wish to-"

"Yeah. I don't buy that for a second. And I don't think you do either. You loved her. You loved her more fiercely than I think anyone ever has."

"An irrelevant conclusion given that I love her no longer." The second it is out of his mouth, Morpheus knows it to be false. In truth, he worries at times that he will never free himself of the love he has for her, that he is cursed to always feel this crushing wave of sentiment for a woman that had hurt him so gravely. 

"Really? That's… You know what? Just never mind. Tell yourself whatever you want."

He does not address that, feeling incapable of even putting to words the complicated knot of emotions he has concerning May and how fervently he still cares for her. "After your task here is complete, you might come to the Dreaming. She will likely take the news of her necessary stay there more readily were it to come from you."

"Of course."

Morpheus feels himself falter. The concession he is soon to give is a difficult thing to come to terms with, one that he is regardless driven to make. He tells himself that he does not do this out of love but more out of practicality. May is quite obviously ill, worn down both emotionally and physically from the toll of the recent upsets in her life. All of which, he's painfully aware, stem from her pregnancy, a condition she neither sought out nor seems to want much to do with now. He owes her more help than the nothing he has currently supplied to her, and while this gesture will not mend things between them, it might reduce some of the strain of what she's grappling with. 

 "If you should like to visit while she resides with… in my realm, then I would not be opposed to you doing so. It would… likely lessen her fears to maintain contact with you, to know that you are hale and whole. I am aware that she worries when the two of you are separated."

"And you're… cool with that?" Viego questions in audible disbelief. It is  a fair reaction, Morpheus thinks, since he has never been exactly welcoming where Viego's occasional appearances in the realm were concerned.

"I would not have offered otherwise. I… do not wish for her to be anxious during her time in the Dreaming."

Though the truth is slightly more complex than that. In all honesty, he does not wish for her to be anxious in any place she might be, but given that Viego is staring at him as if to say see, you love her still, Morpheus is unwilling to confess this to him. Thankfully, the maker does not draw attention anew to the matter of Morpheus' feelings for May or how much this reluctant invitation smacks of the selflessness inherent in love. 

"Then… yeah. I'll, uh… I'll try and stop by every day if that's okay."

The sound of the little girl crying ratchets up again, drifting across the warehouse to reach them both where they're at, and Morpheus allows Viego a small nod as he prepares to leave. "Very well. I will return to your sister and see you shortly."

On the pier in the Dreaming Sea, May sits and stares out at the water. There's a faint blue-green glow coming from the sky here, the galaxies and stars above shining where they spin slowly, lazily amidst the darkness above her. Thick plumes of fog roll in from the sea all around, and May watches the way that the wisps of it rise and roll and undulate against the surface as she tries to muddle through her own wildly unsettled thoughts. 

She had known upon first discovering her pregnancy that she had completely and irrevocably fucked up, but the events of the day have only driven that point home to her with all the force of a goddamned sledgehammer being wielded by the Hulk. Comfortable as she tends to be with owning up to her mistakes (and she has had lots of practice with those in her very long life), the realization that the baby growing inside of her could actually be one is a bitter pill to swallow. What kind of mother can she even be given that she can glance down at where her child is growing and think: Oops, probably shouldn't have done that?

The truth is that she's always wanted kids, always wanted little ones of her own to raise with all the love she never got as a youth herself, but faced with the possibility of actually having a baby in the near future, she can't help but to wonder if maybe that was… selfish of her. It doesn't feel like a particularly good or even acceptable reason to bring a kid into this world, especially given how royally fucked everything in her life is at the moment. 

The air gets heavy behind her, the atoms there swelling with the telltale energy of a shift, and May turns back just as Morpheus materializes there. 

"Is Viego-"

"He is well," Morpheus cuts in as he walks to where she is and sits gracefully beside her, mere inches of space between them. To be completely fair, though, the pier is on the smallish side in terms of width, so she guesses she can understand the lack of distance now. He draws his knees up and rests his wrists on them, staring out at the sea just like she'd been doing only minutes before. "He will arrive soon to speak with you concerning your temporary living arrangements."

Temporary living arrangements. May's stomach twists so violently that she has to swallow down bile. Though she might occasionally do idiotic things, she is, in fact, not an idiot. And she knows all too well what Viego's probably going to tell her. "What are you talking about," she asks anyway. 

Morpheus hesitates, as if he doesn't want to say whatever he's about to, and that alarm she's feeling kicks up to eleven billion on a scale of one to ten. His voice softens fractionally as he answers, "You will need to remain in this realm for a time while your brother establishes a new residence for you both."

Tears gather in her eyes as she glances away, unwilling for him to see how truly terrified by that prospect she is. Staying here? In this place? It's not that May hates the Dreaming. Not at all. It's actually quite the opposite. Once, she had loved it here, had known peace and happiness and safety for the first time in her life within the walls surrounding this realm. But that's really the problem with being thrust back into it, isn't it? Her emotions already feel like they're being held together with the thinnest thread imaginable, and she's afraid that having this memory of what almost was, this stupid dream of hers, taken away again might just tear through that thread like the fragile, delicate thing it is.

"I… see," she murmurs just to fill the sudden awkward silence. She tries to keep her voice even, tries to force herself calm though the slight wobble she can hear in her voice is probably a dead giveaway to him of how she actually feels about this. 

"I am sorry if this is… disagreeable to you." He sounds so genuine, so soothing, that her tears start to well up faster and then fall down her face. Hastily, she wipes at them. 

"Yeah, well it's not your fault that there are makers after me," May offers with a sniff. She keeps her gaze focused on the distance in an effort to avoid him, embarrassed that he might catch sight of her crying. It's not so bad, right? It's just for a little while, and shacking up with her ex isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to her. Not that she can honestly remember what that worst thing is, but she's sure there was something. It's more like she just knows she's been through a very terrible ordeal at some point in her existence. 

"Yes… Viktor is assuredly a threat."

Confused, May looks over at him. "Who?"

Morpheus goes still, guilty like a kid that's been caught with a can of spray paint in their hands next to their parents' spray painted car. "I… No one. It is nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Viktor. Viktor, he had said. She turns the name over and over in her mind. It seems so… familiar for some reason, like she ought to know instantly who that is. 

A memory flashes in her head, something painful and violent that rips through her thoughts with all the lethal ferocity of a serrated blade coming down hard onto her. 

(Blood coating her thighs. The bite of too-tight shackles about her wrist. Her screams muffled in the suffocating fabric of the gag shoved into her mouth. A man's voice taunting her as she cries. The thought that she would gladly accept death over what was being done to her in that moment.)

"Vik… Viktor," she breathes out, a feeling of desolation taking root in her stomach and wrenching it savagely. 

A white light creeps into her thoughts, slow and steady until it flares brightly, washing away everything in its brilliant shine. She hears Morpheus inhale sharply, and when she glances at him, he seems… wrecked. There's a suspicious shine to his soft blue eyes, and he's regarding her like he wants nothing more than to reach out and embrace her. 

What the hell had they been discussing that's got him this worked up? They'd been talking about… about…. It's hard to concentrate for some reason, and it takes her several long minutes of intense focusing before she eventually remembers that they'd been on the subject of her stay here. 

May frowns, thinking that he's probably just as nervous about the idea of all this as she is, that for all his repeated invitations to come and live here, he might actually be just as put off by the idea of sharing a roof with an ex as she is. His hand twitches, and May has the strangest feeling that he wants to touch her, that he wants to take her into his arms and comfort her even. It must be instinct for him, something he's actively fighting against. It had been his habit to do that in the past, to gather her up and console her when she got too overwhelmed, and she is definitely overwhelmed right now. 

Despite that the thought of an embrace is all too tempting, May's glad that he doesn't try to offer her that kind of solace then. 

After all, she doesn't really know how she'd handle that. Hell, she doesn't even know if she could handle that in this moment. All of her feels brittle, like she's a vase made of the shoddiest, most breakable glass, sitting on the edge of a counter as the ground shakes from a fucking massive earthquake. One more tremor, and she's going to topple over, probably just to shatter into a million pieces when she hits the floor. 

"Right. I…" She scrambles for the words in her mind, for the correct thing to say that might somehow make this whole shitty situation less horrible. "Thank you for opening your home to me."

He tenses visibly. "It is not only… my home, May. We will share a child, and as such you will always have a place here."

It's only with a gargantuan effort that she doesn't scoff at him for this. He'd offered her this realm once before. When he'd proposed, he'd gotten down on one knee in front of her and promised he would love her for eternity, that he would make her his queen and that this… this splendid world would be her kingdom as well as his. That was before he'd changed his mind and thrown her out of it like trash, of course, before he'd judged her past actions and found her wanting. 

"Don't say that. Don't ever say anything like that again," she snaps, her heart beating faster and faster in a furious staccato as anger rises within her. How dare he. How dare him place that possibility in front of her like it's just the most plausible thing in any world. Doesn't he understand how pathetically hopeful it makes her? Does he really not get that it reminds her of things she's trying desperately to never ever think of? She had his love, and they were content. Her future had been beautiful, and now they're apart despite the fact that she can't even remember why that is most days. 

"It is merely the truth of the matter."

"No. The truth of the matter is that this isn't my home. I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere, Morpheus."

And that, she thinks, is much closer to honesty than whatever bullshit he'd just been trying to sell her. He'd cast her out, had flung her away from his life and this realm like she was just a speck of filthy mud on the bottom of his boots, and there's no coming back from that. For either of them.

"I understand that-"

"You don't understand anything," May interrupts, unwilling to listen to his serene calm while he lies to her about how things are now. Her body trembles with the blazing inferno of everything going on in her head. She's fucking heartbroken, heartbroken and afraid. There are literally people trying to kill her, and he's dangling the prospect of being able to leave that behind forever over her like it's the universe's juiciest steak and she's just a starved dog. 

"You are frightened," he goes on, studying her as if he's trying to figure her out, as if the idea that she's scared shitless is surprising to him or something. 

May feels the air rush out of her lungs when she recoils slightly.  "Of course I'm frightened, Morpheus. I'm powerless right now and… and I'm at your mercy. You. The same entity that cast me out like I was nothing and very clearly hates me. Add that into the fact that there are insane makers trying to fucking enslave me, and I'm…. It's not exactly an ideal spot to be in, okay?"

A normal man might leave it, might wander off and give her a minute to process the enormity of how terrifying a turn everything in her life has taken, but not Morpheus. Oh, no. The universe, in its infinite wisdom and all around assholishness, can't even allow her to have that. 

"I have told you before as I will reiterate anew: I do not hate you. It would perhaps be for the best if you disabuse yourself of that notion immediately." There's an edge of frustration to his tone, like she's being annoying by thinking his actions couldn't spell out hatred any more plainly than they do.

"Yeah, sure."

"As you well know, I do not often bother with lies."

May scoffs, and it's a bitter, hollow sound. "You're saying that to me? Me? When you've lied to me more times than I can count?"

"Of what do you speak?" His voice is low enough that it's practically little more than a growl.

"You don't do to someone that you love what you did to me. So, I know now every time you said that, every time you confessed your love for me, you were really just bullshitting."

He rears back as if she's smacked him. "You… cannot truly believe this."

"I don't just believe it, Morpheus. I know it."

Magic starts to filter in on the pier behind them, the molecules growing denser and denser as it does. Morpheus, however, does not turn his attention towards the disturbance, instead keeping his intent gaze on her, his eyes burning with some emotion that she can't name. It almost looks like regret or longing or sorrow or maybe just a mishmash of all those things together. 

And May just resolutely ignores it, getting to her feet as the blanket tumbles from her shoulders to land in a heap on the wood planks beneath her. Not far from her stands Viego, and she doesn't waste a second in going to him, in wrapping her arms around his neck so that she can cling. Viego is safe. Viego has always been safe, and the relief she has at knowing he's okay is the best thing ever amidst all the contradictory feelings currently threatening to overtake her. 

He gathers her up in one of his big bear hugs, dropping a kiss in the tangled mess of her hair. "I'm fine, sis. Dream told me what happened, though. Are you all right?"

No, she's not all right. Why does everyone seem to think she should be? Why the hell do they all keep asking her that? May disentangles from him. "Of course I am," she lies anyway. 

His answering grin is a wide one for all that she can see how fake it is, like he's putting on a mask of playfulness for her benefit. "Fibber," is his teasing accusation. 

It surprises a small laugh out of her, and she's so caught up in her happiness at the small win of Viego not being dead, in seeing that he's well, that she almost doesn't notice as Morpheus stalks past the two of them. 

"Viego," he starts, his voice rough, "I will see you on the morrow," he throws out over his shoulder, the energy of a shift amassing around him.

May frowns at Morpheus in complete confusion. "Wait… What?"

"I have invited your brother to visit you here. I thought this compromise might lessen your anxiety concerning this situation."

He had…. He had invited Viego? He hadn't even liked to do that when they were happy and in love. And now he's offering it just because... because she's stressed? It doesn't make any sense. "I… Do you mean that?"

Finally, he turns back, his eyes meeting hers, softening somehow in a gentleness that makes her breath catch. She's taken aback by how haunted his expression seems, by how much sorrow is coming off of him in great shuddering waves of sheer melancholy. 

"I would not have spoken it had I not meant it, May." 

And then he's gone, leaving her behind to stare at where he had just been, a sharp pain radiating out through her heart as if something between them has been sundered anew. She tells herself that it's not her fault, though, and that it really doesn't matter. After all, things are already broken between them beyond repair. What's one more crack in the demolished foundation that their relationship had been built on? Maybe he had loved her in the past, but right now… Right now they are very much in the present, and she has way bigger things to worry about than upsetting him. 

For some reason, however, none of her attempts to convince herself otherwise actually do much about that dull, throbbing ache in her chest, the one that reminds her curiously enough of heartbreak.

Tag list: @julesandro @cozystorynook

He feels her, obviously alarmed by the storm, as she reaches out through the fabric of the Dreaming to find him, and he does not block her despite that some part of him insists he should stop her attempts at locating him, that he should not greet her when he is this savagely enraged. When she appears, she looks inexplicably worried. She knows, as he'd told her, that things with some of his siblings are fraught with hateful words and deeds, and he's been gone for such a short length of time that it occurs to him that she must assume it's his family that's brought this on.

She catches sight of him, coming to his side immediately, inspecting him like she is looking for signs of injury or hurt. As if she cares. As if she is not a treacherous deceiver who has lied to him.

“Are you okay? Has something happened?” She sounds so frantic in her panic, loving and afraid, and he wonders what of that is simply more of her act, more of her deception towards him. He thinks it reminds him of Desire's false concern, and his eyes burn black in wrath.

He glances away, his jaw clenching in anger, and May reaches out a hand to run along his face, her fingers trailing over his cheek as she urges him to calm with her touch.

"My love, what is it?"

"Love?" he bites out, his voice a low rumble like the thunder rolling through the kingdom now.

"Morpheus?"

He strikes out to grab her, snatching her up against him, his hands squeezing the tops of her arms so firmly that he’s sure he is bruising her. She inhales sharply, clearly startled, and he finds that in his rage he doesn't care. Let her feel pain. Let her feel even a mere drop of the agony that she's caused him with her betrayal. It is no less than she deserves for this cruel deed.

“Morpheus,” she cries, trying to free herself from his grasp, but he only tautens his hold to keep her there. “That…. That hurts.”

“Is it true?” he demands in a hiss, and her forehead creases in confusion, her eyes narrowing in worry. 

“Are you okay? What's happened? Are you injured or-”

He shakes her hard enough that her breath catches, and she gasps in shock. “Do not,” he warns, iciness in his tone “You will answer the question at once. Is it true?”

May’s eyes widen and then well with tears, the saline droplets rising over her lower eyelid to stream down her cheeks, making trails there. She either doesn't understand what he's asking or she's incredibly proficient at pretending. He knows not which. He cares not which. “Is what true, beloved?” 

His hold tightens, and she draws in a tremulous inhale at the pressure of it. “Do not refer to me thusly. Do not ever think to call me so intimate a blandishment again, May Westin. Or whatever you are truly named, given that I'm sure you would have felt the need to change such a thing after your authorship of the grimoire.”

The way that the color drains from her face tells him everything he needs to know. His heart wrenches, his grief rising up to overwhelm him. “Morpheus-”

He had hoped she would deny it, that she could deny it, but to see the proof of her complicity, the guilt, in her expression is nothing less than devastating.

In an instant, that grief turns back into anger, and fury grips him viciously while he trembles with the violence he feels capable of leveling at her in that moment. He releases her with a great effort, aware of his sudden uncontrollable anger, aware of the way his shadows are rising from inside of him in anticipation. She pulls into herself, appearing small and scared.

“It is true,” he breathes out, the remorsefulness with which she's carrying herself all the proof he needs of her betrayal. 

“It’s not at all what you think. I was-”

“Did you compose the spell that trapped me?”

Her eyes shining, their depths sparkling with tears, she nods shakily. “Please, let me-”

“What? Lie to me? Deceive me further?" He loses his battle with restraint and snatches her up again. "What was your aim? What did you seek to have from myself or my realm after the bonding?”

May pulls back as much as she's able, clearly stunned by the accusation, but he doesn't believe this dishonest innocence coming from her, won't ever believe anything that comes from her again. “You think that I would…. that I was playing you?”

“What else could there possibly be?” 

“I love you, Morpheus,” she offers him, heartbreak heavy in her tone, and he has a moment where he realizes that he still thinks she's beautiful, even now in her deceptive distress. It would be all too easy to gentle towards her, to comfort her as some foolish part of him longs to do. The siren's song of his love for her is dangerous, he knows, and so he leans into his rage to protect himself from it. “You are…. You are my home, and I love-”

He can only bark out a bitter, derisive laugh at this. “What does a creature such as yourself know of love?” He yanks her closer so that she’s pressed against him, a hateful mimicry of all the times he'd done so before in sweet affection, in a prelude to a lover's kiss or a tender embrace. Never again will he fall victim to such wiles, he decides as he uses his height to stare down his nose at her, to intimidate her. “And as for being your home, I formally relinquish that ignominious dishonor.”

With his power he shifts them, and May’s seemingly surprised to see her modest house in the waking, still well-kept even after all these decades, as if she knew she would return to it one day. Likely, he imagines, she had planned to do so after she'd accomplished whatever she set out to do to him and the Dreaming.

“What….. no. No,” she pleads, sounding oddly panicked. This time when he lets her go, it’s her reaching back out for him, her trying to stop the distance from growing between them, but it's far too late for that. He will make as much distance as possible from her this night. “Morpheus, no. Please just listen.”

She gets a hand on him, grasping in its desperation, and in enraged instinct his shadows lash out, snapping towards her before he realizes exactly what he's doing. 

Her own magic comes up to hastily shield her at the last moment, the killing blow of his power fizzling out against her golden light and falling to sand in front of her. A dreadful, pregnant silence fills the air between them. Wide-eyed and uncomprehending, she stares at him. "You would…. You would end me? Without even letting me explain?" 

"As if I care for any more of your lies," he growls out menacingly, though he thinks he can feel a faintest hint of shame bleeding into his awareness, and he finds that he is disgusted with himself for it. He's condemned lovers to Hell for more minor crimes, visited eternities of torment on his enemies for lesser offenses, and he is... sorry to have committed such a minor offense against her? It's sickening to even entertain such an emotion in light of her offense, which is assuredly worse, and he cannot help but to feel even more foolish than he already does at this weakness on his part. 

"But, I-"

“You are banished from The Dreaming, May Westin, henceforth prohibited from entering it even in your sleep,” he snarls, cutting off her feeble attempt at what he's sure is another falsehood. As if she's particularly revolting to him, he rakes his eyes over her one last time, letting his disgust shine out through his gaze before he shifts himself away. 

Unbidden, he lands on her beach in his realm, on the place that reminds him so strongly of her, of their relationship, that it makes him feel physically ill. His stomach twists, nausea roiling up inside of him in an instant as his fury fades in the aftermath of horror he feels. His heart breaks, shatters into a handful of pieces like it's made of glass. He had loved her. He had...   His face is wet with tears when he collapses to his knees on the sand, loss ripping through him with more fervor than even his anger had. Despair creeps into the edges of his being, and he fights the urge to fall prey to his sister's realm. He had almost killed her, hadn't he? He tells himself to get up, to go back, to apologize, but he thinks indignantly that he is unable to do such a thing. She had betrayed him, and he cannot allow such a deceiver into his realm or into his heart ever again. Universes know what havoc she would have wrought if he'd bound himself with her wholly. She might have taken over the Dreaming, might have meddled with the dreamers, might have unleashed his nightmares on the waking world. What a fool he had been to entertain the fickleness of hope, to entertain the possibility of twining his power and his essence with another. She could have brought him low with such a poisonous union, could have weakened him irrevocably through it. He had loved her, yes, but no more. This new budding seed of anger and hatred he has towards her is planted in the decay of their ruined relationship, and it quickly takes root and grows, unfurling itself in his heart as he convinces himself that his reasoning is sound. 

And if there is a part of him, one small lingering remnant of his love for her, that tries to tell him he is in the wrong, Morpheus ruthlessly resolves to ignore it for as long as it might survive in the blazing inferno of his loathing.

PRESENT DAY...

At first, there was only air and potential, the denseness of very being in a seed. Orchid doesn't know when that changed, but they remember the beginning, the cool press of soil against them as a seedling, the freshest water in existence quenching their thirst, the calm, warm voice that sparked something within them, that would sometimes sing to them all while she tended them with her moonlight pale leaves that would delight and stroke the flowers they made for her.

Then something had changed. That warm voice left, and the family of orchids knew loss. Her spark lived in them all, still thriving and thrumming, but her pale leaves and her voice were no more. She had understood them and had loved them, and she was gone.  

And then, one warm afternoon, they are gripped tight and severed, and Orchid knows no more. For a time at least. They come back to awareness a little, the spark that the warm voice gave them attempting to maintain their life in fits and starts. Orchid hasn't been able to communicate with anyone since she had gone, but they hear new voices, and they understand them.

"Ah, isn't this something you should be askin' May about?" They recognize that voice. He had labored over them too, but not as kindly as the warm voice had.

"She is not to know, Mervyn." This voice is new. It should be familiar, Orchid thinks, and they don't understand why. It makes them think of the cool of night, of the shade from the sunlight. Of shadows.

"But the orchids were kinda her thing. She don't like nobody touchin' 'em. I gotta couple bats that might have an idea about 'em."

"Please pull it up, root and all, and re-situate it in a pot with soil. Be careful with it." The shadow voice is stern.

"It's a dead flower, boss."

"Mervyn," the shadow voice warns.

"Okay. Okay. Sheesh."

When Orchid awakens again, the air is different. It's cold here, and they cannot hear their family, cannot feel the comfort of their roots entwined with theirs. The shadow voice is speaking again, apprising them with cool leaves, moonlight pale and long like hers. 

“I know not how to mend you, little orchid,” the shadow voice admits, and he sounds sad. Orchid would sing for him if they could, just to see him not be sad. 

Orchid wants to ask where the warm voice is, the one that sings too. She could make them whole again. Light is suddenly washing over Orchid, and it’s his, the shadow voice, that’s giving it. He must be like her then, someone that can create. Orchid needs their own spark to be steady, to stop going out, because Orchid wants the sun and the wind and the moon and most of all, their family.

The light, darker than hers, fades away into Orchid. It tingles a bit, but it does nothing for their original spark. 

Orchid wants to tell Shadow voice that he’s bad at this, that his light is like more rain when their roots are already too wet. He can't hear, though. Not like her. Shadow voice tries again, and it's as useless as before. 

Orchid only wishes that he'd let them stay with their family, let their life fade in the comfort of their family's embracing roots. Orchid doesn't think they will ever get to see them again, their family, that they will ever hear their happy songs in the sun, and for the first time since they were sparked into existence, Orchid is sad. 

Viego, his arms crossed over his chest, watches from a window in the palace as his sister tends to the orchids, Aurora kicking and babbling on the ground beside her atop a blanket. May looks sickly again if he's being honest, as if she's been hollowed out so that only a shell of herself remains. Her now long hair, typically pulled up these days because she can't be bothered to have it cut, is hanging in loose waves near to the ground where she kneels. Her eyes are bloodshot and red with dark smudges beneath them, and her face has about as much life in it as a corpse's might.

"Flowers? Really?" he asks in confusion. 

"They have sentience. She claims to still hear them." Morpheus, at his side, tells him resignedly. 

"What happened to them?" 

"A visiting woman picked one of them."

"A visiting woman?" Viego clarifies with a single raised eyebrow, impressed not at all by his answer. "That's nice and classy of you."

"Thessaly was assisting me with a task," Dream bites out irritably, and Viego has a sneaking suspicion from his tone that he might have already gotten an earful from someone about it. Probably Lucienne if he had to guess. Not for the first time, Viego muses on his admiration of the librarian and her stern practicality in the face of Morpheus' unending bullshit. 

"Does my sister know that?"

"Perhaps she might if she would simply speak to me," the Endless retorts sharply, and by his tone Viego susses out pretty quickly that a certain Endless someone is obviously upset about May giving him the silent treatment.    

"Oookay. Touchy subject, I guess." Viego draws in a deep fortifying breath and tries to levelly evaluate this clusterfuck of a situation. "So…. let me get this straight. Your… paramour-" "I am not sleeping with Thessaly."  

"Picked a flower-" Viego continues on, uncaring of his denial. In his opinion, Dream is free to fuck whoever he wants as long as he's more discreet about it in the future. Whether they're broken up or not, flaunting a new bed buddy in front of the old one is never okay, but it's especially unacceptable when May's the one getting hurt by his stupidity.

"An orchid," Morpheus interjects.

"Pedantic, but okay." Viego shrugs. "She picked an orchid that was sentient, and May could sense-"

"Hear."

"Hear them crying out?" he finishes. 

"Yes," Dream affirms. "She has been… distraught since."

Distraught? This looks way worse than just distraught. Viego's not going to quibble over words with him though, because it would likely be counterproductive, and it's not really important to the matter at hand. "Yeah. I'm actually getting that from her song. I've never heard it so… jarring."

The Endless makes a face, clearly puzzled by this. "You can hear a… song from her?"

Viego almost sighs in frustration. How is Dream so clueless about May's power, about her senses? They were together for actual decades , and sometimes Viego thinks that they must have just spent all those years screwing each other's brains out, because they absolutely were not using the time to practice the communication thing that they both still apparently suck at.

"Yep. It's most of what we hear, actually. Everything has the sound of creation in it, and everything is constantly thrumming with its own music. It's fun for about five minutes at a time…. And then it just gives you a hell of a headache." Viego exhales heavily. "Her's sounds like hell right now. She's obviously in a bad place…. How long has she been like this?"

"Nine days," Morpheus informs him, his expression darkening. "I summoned you nearly a week past."

"Believe it or not, I was in the middle of something important. I couldn't just drop everything and run here. Next time let me know it's an emergency , though, and I'll get to her quicker." He's not going to tell him that the something had been a literal meeting in hell with a demon who claimed to have information on the grimoire. It's really nobody's business but his own if he intends to find that damned book and burn it to ash.

The Endless looks like he wants to snark back waspishly, but he visibly stops himself, clenching his hands into fists at his side as he tries to presumably tamp down on his irritation. It seems far too humbled an action to Viego, as if he's close to desperate, and if that panicked curbing of his pride isn't one of the strangest things he's ever seen the pale bastard do then Viego will eat his boots.

"Can you help her?" Dream settles on at last, sounding suddenly so very very tired. 

"Hopefully." He glances back out at the garden, studying his sister. “Why haven’t you just remade the damn thing, though? It seems the easiest fix for all this.”

“I cannot. She created it and sparked it into being.”

Ah. Well, that explains that. Even for makers it can be difficult to exactly recreate another's magic in any meaningful way. “You could at least try. I mean…. that would probably be the right thing to do. Try as hard as you can?” 

Morpheus' face goes impassively blank, and he's quiet for several moments until he asks with an air of practiced nonchalance. "And if I were to attempt such a thing, do you know how I might manage such a task?"

He has been getting desperate, then. It's ridiculously obvious that the Endless has either thought about or has actually tried to repair the orchid that's caused this whole mess. Viego narrows his eyes at the Dream Lord. "Have you attempted it?"

Morpheus glares at him, and oh yeah, he definitely has. And failed miserably if that wet-cat look he's wearing is any indication. Viego has to stop himself from ribbing the Endless for it. As much as he might hate this melancholic asshole, he seems very invested in seeing May healthy and happy again, and Viego supports that goal enough to stow the teasing so that the testy jerk doesn't change his mind.

“Just because we’re both makers doesn’t mean our magic works the same, but... if May sparked life into that thing, then there’s probably some of her power hanging around in it.”

“How so?” Dream's brow furrows in puzzlement.

“Her magic is… was…. strong and hella stubborn. It tends to stick wherever she puts it waaaay longer than it should.” He grins in fond memory as he relays, "We once had a dog that lived to be 127 years old. I thought that little guy was actually going to go on forever." 

Morpheus frowns, probably considering what Viego's said about May’s magic as he pointedly ignores the bit about the dog, and Viego really does wonder again what his sister ever saw in this jerk. Who the hell doesn't like a good dog story? Then again, Viego muses, he's probably more of a cat person. He's definitely got that eat-your-eyeballs-if-you-die kind of aloof vibe about him.

“You believe her spark might still be there?” Morpheus asks, still presumably perplexed at the idea.

Viego nods. “It's probably flickering out, though. Going on and off? Find her magic, power her spark up with your own power. Don’t attempt to fill in gaps or recreate anything, just boost and stabilize what she’s already put in there."

The Endless inclines his head slowly, and he seems... grateful, a totally unexpected thing to see on him. "Thank you, Viego Westin. That is surprisingly very helpful." With that, he turns his attention back out at May, something indecipherable in his eyes, something that Viego would almost call care if he didn't know how stupid the possibility of that was. "Do you think you can settle her?" 

"I don't know, but…. has it crossed your mind that this isn't just about the orchid? That maybe she's finally-" Had her breakdown is what he means to finish that question with, but Dream cuts him off.

"Yes," he bites out, the odd thorniness in his tone speaking more of self-loathing than anything. "It has occurred to me."

Viego feels himself soften in the slightest bit towards this entity. He's not given to pity, not really, but this has to be hard for Dream too. Granted, the bastard might very well deserve to have to go through this after what he'd done to May, but Viego imagines the Endless has never had to navigate the fallout of a relationship gone wrong when there was a young kid in the picture. Viego himself thinks it's a complicated situation, and he's not even the one in the eye of its storm. "Look, I get that you two are doing this careful avoidance thing, and I know you don't want to get involved with her-"

"She would not find my presence helpful." Morpheus interrupts him as if he's had this argument before and does not wish to retread it. Lucienne again probably, if Viego had to guess. He thinks he needs to take her out for a drink some time for all the crap she has to deal with and the proficiency with which she admirably handles it.  

Viego scoffs at his inflexible reasoning. "Or maybe she would. You were bound in the same kind of circle and cut off from your power for decades. Hell, your captors were even related. Maybe…. Maybe you'd be the best to talk to her about some of this stuff. It's recent for you." He rubs a tired hand over his face, suddenly bone weary. His little sojourn to hell had wiped him out, and he really just wants to sleep for a week or two. "Listen, I'm just saying what we're doing isn't working. It might be time to change tactics."

Morpheus scrutinizes him, and that he even seems to be considering it surprises Viego for the third time that day. He's never been especially close to the personification of dreams, but he knows all too well about how supremely obstinate this particular Endless can be. "You truly think it might help?"

"Can it hurt at this point?" Viego questions. "I know that you're pouring power into her just to keep her alive. I don't know how long that's sustainable for one of your kind…."

"I can sustain her for as long as she requires," Morpheus supplies determinedly, but Viego isn't an idiot. The Endless looks incredibly worn out too, which is no small thing for an anthropomorphic idea made flesh. 

"I’ll talk to her. About the flowers, mind you. The mysterious woman stuff is your own business with her, and….  hey, I know you're stubborn as fuck, but seriously think about the other thing. Can't really hurt her any more than she already is, and it might even help.”

The Dream King looks like he might flare up in annoyance for a moment before he calms himself again, as if he’s trying to keep from losing his temper, as if he needs Viego's assistance enough that he doesn't want to piss him off. Stiltedly, he nods instead. "I will do so."

Viego's not sure what Morpheus means by that, whether he's saying that he will consider it or if he's saying that he's going to actually talk to her, but either way the maker thinks that it's a start in a different direction. And right now, as he listens to his sister's mournful, heart wrenching song, he knows that any change is better than none. 

Morpheus is certain that the visit from her brother helps marginally. Of course, May still seems to be avoiding him, and Morpheus finds that he… he cannot fault her for that. When Lucienne had explained things to him (and he uses that term loosely ), he had been appalled that she might have thought him capable of such callousness. To take a mistress while May herself resides in his realm with his child? It's cruelty that he didn't realize May even thought possible of him, and he hates the way that it makes him burn with guilt, with contrition. And with fear, he realizes, fear for what blame he bears in this current mess with her orchid and whether or not she's capable of mending from it. Had his behavior contributed to her nervous collapse? Had the misunderstanding helped cause it? Had he… hurt her anew?

And he hates to think of what happened following the orchid’s death, to remember May finally breaking down. She had looked so lost, so very crushed under the weight of what she'd suffered, so…. so heartbroken. It had wrenched his own heart, seeing her grief stricken and sobbing over yet another calamity he had allowed to be inflicted on her, a tragedy that he had been responsible for. Again. 

As he stands outside of her door two nights later, he listens to her cry, soft and nearly silent, and he feels as if each muffled sob is a barbed lance driven through his manifested heart. His entire essence feels as though it's shredding itself at the sound, and he leans his forehead to the door, fighting against the urge to twist the handle and go in, to comfort her, to try and alleviate her fears and pain. She needs this soothing, he is certain, given that she is not eating, barely sleeping, and crying so frequently that he wonders how she could possibly continue to produce tears at all. 

May is broken by this final blow, and he is nothing less than the reprehensible monster who'd delivered it.

His hand hovers over the handle still as he tries to resist his desire to enter her sanctuary uninvited, to hold her, to offer all the comfort he is capable of giving. But that, he knows, she would not permit, much less accept. And so he finds himself continuing to lean his forehead on the door here, listening to the sounds of her pitiful sorrow even as he longs to tend to her in whatever way she might allow.

He owes her this, after all.

Aurora lets out a plaintive whine, and in mere seconds there's shuffling from within while May murmurs sweet words to their daughter, soothing the girl. "It's okay, starshine. Don't be sad. Shh."

She begins to hum a tune, and his eyes drift closed at the melody. He's heard it many times over by now, this song she sings to calm their child, but it's weaker in this instance, like May is pulling up what little reserves she has from the bottom of her heart to sing it. It makes everything more terrible, somehow, listening to her attempt this obviously fake happiness for Aurora. It's nothing but false coin when compared to the radiant gold of her joy as it once was, a pale imitation of the brilliant effulgence she'd had before things had gone so terribly dark in their relationship. That strange need to wrap his arms around her, to hold her, increases to an almost fever pitch. 

He shakes his head, stepping back while he wonders what's come over him. She is no longer his to embrace, and he knows that. He's aware that he doesn't have that right anymore. He gave that up when he gave her up, and not for the first time, he wishes that things could be different.

The following morning, he finds her in front of the orchids again, alone this time. Aurora, he knows, is with Minnie, who's likely fawning over his daughter as she usually does, and Morpheus thinks that it's better the girl is with someone else while her parents have this no doubt difficult exchange. When he comes close to May, she does not acknowledge his presence, even as he kneels at her side, close enough that he can feel the faint heat coming off of her as if she's fevered.

"Hello," he tries gently, but other than the clench of her jaw, she ignores him. He had expected such a thing, truthfully, but it does not make the hurt of it any less. And this hurt he feels is... curious. She had deceived him, had betrayed him, and yet he still worries for her. He's well aware that he has a duty to her now, that he is driven to see her mended from the damage done by his own neglect, but this feels different from that, like something more, like something his consciousness refuses to name. "Will you not look at me?"

She apparently will not, and he isn't surprised by this either. With a resigned sigh, he sets his gift before her. Inside the pot that Mervyn had transferred the little flower to, the broken stem is healed, the bud of a flower burgeoning on its end, and Morpheus waits patiently for her to relent enough to take note of it.

After a few minutes of pretending he’s not there, May's curiosity must get the better of her because she finally glances down at his offering, going still and inhaling sharply at the sight of the restored orchid there.

“I do not have your skill in these things," he tells her quietly, "but I believe that I’ve managed to stabilize your magic inside of it.”

May stares at the potted plant as if she cannot comprehend what this might be, as if she cannot comprehend why this might be. "What?"

"Your brother gave me an idea on how to manage the task of fixing your orchid, as you…. as you requested." Is this nervousness he feels? Why in any universe would he feel nervous? He owes her a debt, and this is nothing more than payment towards it.

"You asked Viego for help?"

His attempt at a smile is surely grim, even by his own low standards concerning the gesture. "In a manner of speaking, I did."

She's silent for several minutes while she likely tries to process this.

"Why would you ... Why would you do that?" She seems as if she is honestly struggling to understand, and Morpheus knows that he must just be honest with her, despite that his cursed pride is lashing out against his usually volatile temper. She needs the truth from him, and he's been told several times at this point by Lucienne that he should simply give it to clear up some of these issues between them.

"I…. owe you much, May. The very least of which is to refrain from causing you any more pain."

Her eyes narrow at him, as if she doesn't quite believe it. Which is fair, he supposes. No more than he deserves for his part in this ugly mess. She turns her attention away from him and back to his offering, running a hand over the stem as if she's transfixed. He's oddly relieved at the possibility of having done something right, at having made her less sorrowful, though why he is rendered so, he cannot say.

"They're all there. Whole. Oh…. they're happy." Her breath catches in a sudden, tremulous smile. "Hold on, sweetling. I'll get you back with your family."

"They… speak?"

"A little. It's very… rudimentary. Mostly emotion," she answers distractedly as she uses her hands to start digging out the fresh dirt in the ground that Mervyn had covered the hole with, her trembling fingers marking a stark contrast with the rich darkness of soil beneath them.

"Your spark lingered in it. Your brother said that your magic was stubborn," he tries, and hates how much more he wants to hear her voice. As if he craves it. As if he desires the sound of it more than anything he's ever wanted in his long life. He cannot fathom why that should be.

"It was." Her face goes taut with loss, and he fears he's misstepped again.

Something in him softens. He has much to mend where she is concerned, and he might as well start here. This current chasm between them is all his fault after all. "I apologize for how Thessaly’s visit to this realm might have appeared. I did not mean for it to upset you."

"Your relationships are entirely your business," she says, her words as faint and barely there as the rest of her, like the mere wispy spectres of dying mortals that linger in those shadowy places between life and death.

"She was merely assisting me in a task. There is nothing more."

"Again, that's your business. I'm sorry if I-" The carefulness in her tone cuts at him. It's all too much as if she fears him still, as if she thinks he might aim his power her way again if she dares to displease him, and that, he knows, he must address. However uneasy a prospect it might prove.

"You need not apologize. She was helping me with something rather important, and I was uncomfortable being impolite to her." He gives a rueful smirk. "For the peal that Lucienne rung over my head, going forward I will maintain much more distance between Thessaly and I at all times."

He thinks of Lucienne the morning following Thessaly's visit, her lips thinned in upset and judgement that she had been trying to conceal in a barely-there veneer of respect as she'd delicately (rudely, if he's being honest) explained how atrocious Thessaly's visit had looked the day before, and that yes, the gossip tends to get back to the mother of your child even if she didn't have eyes with which to see it herself. He'd argued his innocence, but Lucienne had been immovable, suggesting (ordering really) in no uncertain terms that he should clear up the damage he had done by apologizing. 

May lets out a weak laugh, a feeble, half-dead sound that mournfully brings to mind how lively her laughs had been before her capture, how vital and full of creation. "Lucienne is terrifying sometimes."

"And even more so when it comes to your care. She loves you a great deal." His hands twitch with the urge to reach out to her, to embrace her, both of which he resolutely ignores.

May nods, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "As I do her. She was my first friend here, you know."

"I do. One day, perhaps you might tell me all that transpired between the two of you before my rescue," he invites, his tone gentle. The friendship between May and Lucienne had been set long before his actual return, and he's wondered about it many times. Save for May's rescue of the librarian and their efforts to hold the realm together, he knows nothing more really.

May seems taken aback at his interest. "I... Perhaps."

He gestures down at the flowers in an effort to keep her talking to him. He's been nearly twelve days without hearing her voice, and the absence of it has grated more than he thought it ever could in this new dismal dynamic of theirs. "Do they have names?"

"Orchid."

"This one?" he questions, pointing at a lovely pink bloom.

"All of them. They're all Orchid, and they hold tight to one another in the dirt…. and comfort each other in the wind and sing together in the sun and laugh in the rain. They're... family."

She sounds so wistful while she explains this that he can only watch her, enthralled as he is by the happiness and joy that she had woven into her little orchids, that she relishes in them even now. Not for the first time, he wants to ask her about the grimoire, about what would make her assist in such a hateful book, because he has a difficult time reconciling that deceptive transgression to this creature before him of utter kindness. He won't ask, though. The grimoire is too tense a topic for them in their current circumstances, and he has the strangest feeling that something delicate and easily breakable is forming between them, something precious that he swears to himself not to rend with his own carelessness. He must tread carefully. He will not destroy it by bringing up old hurts. He simply wants to see her healed, simply needs to see her healthy and content. He thinks that if he could just get her settled, her magic might regrow, might blossom anew as this little orchid has. Her brother had said that it was stubborn, that it tended to stick more inflexibly than was normal. And while he can't imagine where it's went now, he knows how devastating the loss must feel to her. Perhaps, he considers, Viego had not been incorrect, had spoken sense when he’d instructed Morpheus to offer his own experience as consolation to her trauma. After all, Morpheus probably has a closer understanding of what she's been through than any other in the Dreaming.

He steels himself. "May," he starts gently, "you need not do this alone."

"I'm almost finished," she tells him while she arranges the orchid's roots in the ground.

"Not replanting your orchid. I mean, your emotional... struggle . I… know what it is to be cut off from one's power. I know much of that aching, hollowed hole that it leaves within. And while I did not suffer even a fraction as horribly as you did, I know the terror of being bound and at another's mercy. I know a little of what it is to starve and fear what might happen next." He inhales deeply, forging ahead with this particularly difficult olive branch. "I am aware that things have been strained between us, but I should like it to be otherwise…. if you are willing, that is. We might…. speak, if you need…. or want. I would listen."

She's gone unnaturally still, her fingers stationary in the soil. "You…. want us on better terms? Why would you… care?"

Because the sight of you like this breaks my heart, he thinks, because once I loved you so fiercely I knew I would willingly die for you without hesitation, because you're important to me no matter your betrayal, because the mess of feelings that I have for you still confounds and overwhelms and terrifies me.

"We have a daughter together, you and I…. and we must give her better than to see us always stilted with one another….. and… I wish to help you. I believe…. I can help. Please, allow me to do so," he settles on instead, thinking it the safest admission of all the jumbled thoughts he has about her and him, about them.

Moisture wells in her eyes again, but she doesn’t wipe these tears away. For a few minutes, she's completely static, unmoving as a prey animal before a large predator, a field mouse in the path of a venomous snake, until at last she pipes up.

“I just... I'm afraid. For me and for Aurora, like I'm still there and... and I can't escape, can't keep her safe. Like I never even got free in the first place."

She doesn't need to elaborate on where there is. He thinks of his own time in the binding circle and how much worse it might have been if he’d had to protect a child while in it, if he'd been tortured and starved while he struggled under the weight of growing an infant. There aren't words for the torment he had wanted to visit on her captor, and that darkness rises in him now even as he ruthlessly pushes it back down. She needs solace at the moment, not the energy of his violent fury.

“You did keep her safe, May. You are both safe now. You will remain so,” he reassures firmly, and he finally gathers the courage to put a hand over hers where it rests on the ground, to touch her in comfort as he's longed to do for far too many weeks. Beneath his palm, he can feel the chill in her fingers, the way she flinches slightly, but he tries not to focus on that. He would promise her protection, would swear it to her, but he knows how little she values his promises now, and so he bites his tongue on the urge to give her one at present.

May’s breath shudders out of her as she visibly attempts to rein in her emotions. A tear splashes on his knuckle, but he does not move regardless, intent on maintaining this contact.

"All right," she breathes out, her voice slight and shaky. "If you…. If you say so."

She doesn't believe him that they're safe. Eventually, though, he knows she might, if he reminds her often enough and shows her that it is true, that he will make it reality with all the fierce will inside of him if he must.

He pulls his hand back reluctantly, trying to give her as much space as he can while remaining close. "I do. You... need not be afraid.” He glances away, his throat working on a swallow. "Even of me." 

When he chances a look back at her, he's unsurprised to see her taken aback, her eyes blown wide in shock. "I... Okay."

"I am... aware that I've acted in ways that might... make you fearful of me, but... I vow I will never banish you a-"

"Don't," she cuts him off hoarsely, peering down at the ground as if she cannot bear to meet his eyes. "I don't... I don't want to talk about... that."

It is silent for a few minutes, the words sticking in his throat as he tries to stop from speaking them. "Very... Very well." 

May nods like she's willing herself back together with the movement, like she's a broken thing attempting to gather up all the pieces of herself and hold them tight. She sniffs and tries to busy herself, going back to patting down the soil atop the orchid even as the tears continue to leak from the corners of her eyes. The other flowers titter before them, and he doesn't need her magic sense to feel their happiness.

He smiles at them, but its a tight, worn expression. "I will make sure they remain unharmed going forward," he promises. 

May finally lifts her gaze, staring at him intently like his kindness is suspicious. "Thank you."

"It is but a small matter to ensure that they are never pulled up again."

"No….. Not just… Not just the orchid. I mean, thank you for that. Really, thank you for fixing them, but…. also thank you for…. for talking."

He stiffens at her gratefulness. Unbidden, he sees the memory of her sickly, bloodlessly pale form dying in that circle after being starved and tortured for months, and he knows he doesn't deserve her gratitude, that he'll never deserve it. He gestures anew towards the flowers, because that topic at least is safe. "Are they singing?"

May's smile is wan, as if this worn facsimile of optimism is all she's capable of conjuring. "Yes. They're complete again. They're… happy."

He holds out his hand, palm up. "Might I listen?"

She hesitates for but a moment before sliding her hand in his, and he hears immediately. It's beautiful enough to make his breath catch, and not for the first time he marvels at the artistry of her creation, of the splendor she had once been capable of with her magic. He will help her get it back if he can, he vows fervently to himself, as together they listen to the sweet music of the dream orchids singing joyful and relaxed in the rays of the realm's sun. It occurs to Morpheus that while their old path is gone from them, they might forge this new trail, crafting it with respect and consideration and care, and be at peace with one another. For the first time since their terrible fight those many moons ago on the beach, he feels hope unfurl before them, perhaps not as resplendent with promise as it had been before, but there all the same.