The offer is something of a surprise to him, in the way an entirely new sentence sometimes catches you off guard, and Watson is startled enough to give a puff of laughter, and then pauses as it occurs to him that laughter alone could seem insulting. "I daresay that's an offer no one's made me before. Not at the moment, my friend."
He had been very close, for a moment. He wipes at his eyes.
"And yes, he absolved me and let me go and I'm still sitting here with the guilt. I suppose I always will. Damn it." The last comes out in a sort of gasp, and he takes a drink of his port.
Cerrit doesn’t push, but he doesn’t know what to do, either. Emotionally constipated cop is emotionally constipated, but he knows he needs to stay here, if for no other reason to make sure Watson makes it home safely.
“His final cruelty, really, leaving you to hold onto that sort of pain.”
"Oh, no." Watson shakes his head. "No, Holmes was never -- not cruel, no. I... think sometimes he might have seen it as being noble, as keeping me out of danger. We'd already fought about whether or not I ought to leave him and go back to London and be safe with Mary," another painful thought to wince at, and his voice catches a moment, "but I'd refused. I'm very angry with him, and I miss him terribly. These are both true statements."
“It’s very clear that you miss him.” Cerrit squeezes Watson’s hand, and then let’s go, picking up his beer pitcher to drink from it. Y’know, dunking the whole beak and all.
“But to deny you the choice to be there was still a dick move.”
... oh. They are no longer holding hands. This is unfortunate and yet he is not yet sure how to make it happen again without revealing that he is a lovesick fool.
Silently, Watson curses himself.
"And yet, one does not like to speak ill of the dead," he says. He watches Cerrit drink idly, wondering when that became so normal to him. "On the other hand, I suppose I'm dead too now. So they tell me. There are a few symptoms that seem to contradict that theory, if you ask me." He shakes his head, and has another drink.
"No," he says. "I've been trying to remember, but I have a rather vivid imagination and it's far too easy for me to invent something. It's all rather a blur. Perhaps I was run down by a carriage in the street and I never saw it coming. Perhaps I had a sudden and severe aneurysm, or an assassin came for me in the night when I was sleeping."
Cerrit feels that hand against his and gives Watson a long, quiet look. If his expression is normally hard to read, right now it's even worse, because he's trying to keep from showing everything that's on his mind on his face. Not a muscle moves, and he doesn't seem to blink for a very long moment.
Watson is equally still; he's not sure what he's waiting for, but there is nevertheless a sense of waiting for something. He is used to inscrutable men, perhaps, but he can't help thinking that here, at least, he's overstepped, that he's misread something. That this maybe is not welcome.
He gives Cerrit's hand a gentle squeeze, and pulls his hand back.
And if that comes out with a slight huff, it's because Cerrit's mad at himself, for not knowing how to communicate what he wants, what he needs. Not knowing how to use his words--he's usually so good with words!--to get everything in his head out in the open.
There's a moment, as he reclaims Watson's hand, where just the back of a talon brushes the pad of a fingertip, before he settles with the same care as ever.
Watson takes a sip of his port, his eyes on Cerrit as he considers his words.
"I confess that I find you difficult to read," he says. His tone lacks an accusation; this is just a fact. The sky is blue, the sea is wet, bird beaks do not emote in a way he is familiar with. He speaks softly, in a tone that would not be overhead easily. "I could easily believe that we may not share all the same customs. At any rate, at times I am not sure whether you are aiming to be my friend or... something more."
“I…imagine it would be hard for you to discern, when I don’t even know what I want myself. But, you’re human and you’re grieving and drinking and so it doesn’t really matter, in the end, what I want. Besides wanting to make sure you make it home safely at the end of the night.”
Watson grunts. "I don't seem to be the only one drinking," he says. He also suspects he's not the only one grieving but he has enough sense to know better than to say that. That would be unkind. "And yes, I am human, and I don't -- look, you do realise it's only humans where I am from? You say that like I'm meant to understand what you mean. I could guess, but I would hate to be wrong."
“Most humans prefer to pursue those of species more…um. Anatomically compatible.” If he were capable of blushing in the standard manner, he absolutely would be. Instead he conveys bashfulness through body language, but it’s a somewhat deliberate display.
"Has it occurred to you, Agrupnin, that I do not even know how 'incompatible' we might be?"
He leans his head back, letting out a breath of relief; it comes out as a soft laugh. He runs his finger gently over one of Cerrit's. "Where I am from, it is written into law that romantic liaisons between men are a criminal act, and many consider such things... unseemly. Men who are inclined that way must be very careful of who they approach, of course, and under what circumstances. I realise things are different here, and things may be different where you are from as well."
A pause. "If I have not been... explicit about my own interest, then perhaps you can understand why."
"Criminal? Unseemly? I had no idea." He fluffs visibly at the very idea. "It's nothing like that in my world. Two of my best friends were both men raising a son together." Y'know, until Evandrin became the victim of mad magic experiments done by an ambitious, hubristic wizard.
"Both of them were respected; they each held the title of First Knight of Avalir."
He has to think about this extraordinary idea for a moment; he shakes his head.
"It would never do in the world I know," Watson says. "More's the pity." He falls silent, his fingers still idly stroking Cerrit's hand. "It does leave the question of what we are going to do from this point."
“That’s a nice, large question. I don’t know.” All the tools he has for courting an eisfurra don’t apply here. Watson doesn’t even know what giving a pretty bird one of your feathers means.
"Well, I am willing to try. I may very much not know the entirety of what I am getting into, but..." Watson shakes his head again. "Well, I daresay that's never stopped me before."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-01-07 04:36 am (UTC)He had been very close, for a moment. He wipes at his eyes.
"And yes, he absolved me and let me go and I'm still sitting here with the guilt. I suppose I always will. Damn it." The last comes out in a sort of gasp, and he takes a drink of his port.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 04:39 am (UTC)“His final cruelty, really, leaving you to hold onto that sort of pain.”
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 05:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 05:22 am (UTC)“But to deny you the choice to be there was still a dick move.”
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 06:26 am (UTC)Silently, Watson curses himself.
"And yet, one does not like to speak ill of the dead," he says. He watches Cerrit drink idly, wondering when that became so normal to him. "On the other hand, I suppose I'm dead too now. So they tell me. There are a few symptoms that seem to contradict that theory, if you ask me." He shakes his head, and has another drink.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 06:29 am (UTC)He does. Intimately, like it’s been seared on the inside of his eyelids. That entire night weighs heavy in his heart, and might always do so.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 07:56 pm (UTC)"No," he says. "I've been trying to remember, but I have a rather vivid imagination and it's far too easy for me to invent something. It's all rather a blur. Perhaps I was run down by a carriage in the street and I never saw it coming. Perhaps I had a sudden and severe aneurysm, or an assassin came for me in the night when I was sleeping."
The last is unlikely, but not impossible.
"Do you?"
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 07:58 pm (UTC)His feathers droop visibly and he dunks his face into his beer again, this time taking longer to drink.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 08:39 pm (UTC)"I'm sorry," he says, and does not press.
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Date: 2024-01-08 06:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 01:14 am (UTC)He gives Cerrit's hand a gentle squeeze, and pulls his hand back.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 01:17 am (UTC)"I'm sorry." He doesn't know what he's apologizing for, specifically, but he ruined it, that moment. That sliver of peace and warmth.
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Date: 2024-01-09 01:54 am (UTC)But he aches, because for a moment -- no, there's no point in torturing himself about what he thought he had seen there.
"I'm the one who's sorry."
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Date: 2024-01-09 01:57 am (UTC)"...well, if you're sorry, then give me your hand back. And I'll be more careful not to scare you off again. I promise."
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Date: 2024-01-09 02:08 am (UTC)"I though it was unwelcome," he says, and reaches for his drink with his spare hand.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 02:18 am (UTC)And if that comes out with a slight huff, it's because Cerrit's mad at himself, for not knowing how to communicate what he wants, what he needs. Not knowing how to use his words--he's usually so good with words!--to get everything in his head out in the open.
There's a moment, as he reclaims Watson's hand, where just the back of a talon brushes the pad of a fingertip, before he settles with the same care as ever.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 03:35 am (UTC)"I confess that I find you difficult to read," he says. His tone lacks an accusation; this is just a fact. The sky is blue, the sea is wet, bird beaks do not emote in a way he is familiar with. He speaks softly, in a tone that would not be overhead easily. "I could easily believe that we may not share all the same customs. At any rate, at times I am not sure whether you are aiming to be my friend or... something more."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 03:41 am (UTC)“I…imagine it would be hard for you to discern, when I don’t even know what I want myself. But, you’re human and you’re grieving and drinking and so it doesn’t really matter, in the end, what I want. Besides wanting to make sure you make it home safely at the end of the night.”
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 04:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 04:32 am (UTC)cw: homophobia mention
Date: 2024-01-09 05:20 am (UTC)He leans his head back, letting out a breath of relief; it comes out as a soft laugh. He runs his finger gently over one of Cerrit's. "Where I am from, it is written into law that romantic liaisons between men are a criminal act, and many consider such things... unseemly. Men who are inclined that way must be very careful of who they approach, of course, and under what circumstances. I realise things are different here, and things may be different where you are from as well."
A pause. "If I have not been... explicit about my own interest, then perhaps you can understand why."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 05:29 am (UTC)"Both of them were respected; they each held the title of First Knight of Avalir."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 06:25 am (UTC)"It would never do in the world I know," Watson says. "More's the pity." He falls silent, his fingers still idly stroking Cerrit's hand. "It does leave the question of what we are going to do from this point."
no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-01-09 06:57 am (UTC)"Well, I am willing to try. I may very much not know the entirety of what I am getting into, but..." Watson shakes his head again. "Well, I daresay that's never stopped me before."
It's a decision, and sounds like it.
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