He can only look her in the eyes for a moment, then he's looking to one side, at the ground, down the hall, anywhere else.
"I didn't do anything to him. I didn't touch him. Getting him something to shield him from the King was my idea. I told Hunter he should get him a compass, too, one that pointed in my direction so he could stay completely away if he wanted to. I didn't do anything."
He starts quiet, but by the time he's done it's risen to not quite a shout.
She knows a lot more than she should know at this point, but she also isn't about to share the fact that she went snooping and besides, it's so far beyond the point. Instead, she's going to step forward and reach up to gently cup his cheek and look him in the eyes.
"I never thought you would intentionally hurt anyone without being forced," she says firmly, her voice soft, "but with the flood, I wasn't sure if you were who was there ten seconds ago. I told you before, Edwin."
And her hand slips down to his shoulder, gives him a little pat, and steps back.
"I trust you. I know what I see in you. Now. Did you want to come in and talk?"
It's not fair, is what he means. Am I the King or am I not, is what he means. He still wants to punch Charlie and he can't and there's nowhere to put it all.
"He attacked me," is what Edwin says first, quieter, scowling at the ground again. "I didn't even know who it was."
He doesn't know why he's being stubborn about going inside, except that he's waiting for something or looking for something or wary of something he can't pin down.
Her hand is going back to his arm, giving it a squeeze, leaning in a little. He's taller than her, but that's not hard. It doesn't matter. She's keeping her eyes on his as best she can.
His throat is doing the squeezed thing and his eyes are burning and blurry and he wishes he could stop himself from crying without it turning into blood and happening anyway. He does too much of it.
Edwin wads up a bit of his sleeve and wipes his face, voice dropping more.
"I'm mad at him for making you feel like you can't walk around and live your life," she says firmly. "I'm mad at him for thinking you'd just hurt a child without any other reason but that you happen to be in the same place. I'm mad that he didn't use his words. I'm mad that you're hurting right now."
She has such deep deep sympathy for him, absolutely. But that doesn't mean she can't also be frustrated about those things, and angry on Edwin's behalf. She can See Him. Whatever he was, whatever potential he has, who he chooses to be is something else. And she has the utmost understanding for Charlie as a person in mourning, as a person who's been hurt by the supernatural, as someone who's lost and lost and lost. That doesn't mean she can't hurt for Edwin too. And when he's the one in front of her, prioritize him. The King Charlie talked about wasn't Edwin. She knows it isn't.
She shakes her head and she wraps her arm around him and she breathes in deep. Breathes out slow. She'll do it a couple of times, give him a good rhythm to emulate to steady out. Then, rubbing his back-
"There's lots of stories out there." Because maybe his Edwin didn't. Maybe his Edwin was cruel. "But even if you did. This place is about redemption. It's about helping people to see why their story ended how it did... and a better way for them to continue it. His pain doesn't make attacking you okay. If he can't accept that you aren't who he thinks you are, at least as far as not attacking you, then I don't know what he expects to do here."
She shakes her head.
"No one gets a free pass to hurt people because of their pain. Not inmates. And certainly not wardens."
He hunches a little as shame creeps in around the edges. Edwin still mimics her breaths without thinking about it.
"I hurt Arthur when I came here. I killed him. I thought he was the one who hurt me and I didn't believe him when he said he wasn't. I didn't understand."
It's a confession rather than any statement of sympathy with Charlie. He doesn't want Saga to find out later and think Edwin is a hypocrite, even if he is.
Edwin hunches a little more, seems for a moment to actually be shrinking in on himself, and then there's a sugar glider climbing Saga's shirt to try and hide under her ponytail.
She'll jump just a little, just from the lack of weight against her, before she smiles and puts a hand up to gently stroke down his furry back as she steps back inside and closes the door. She'll head to the table to sit.
"And when you did that, you had to learn that what you did was wrong. You also had to heal the wounds that made you do that and learn alternatives to taking out your pain on others."
She'll pick up her coffee again.
"You're welcome to just stay here for a little bit and spend some time with me. Or we can go into my mind place if you want to vent your spleen a little, as they say. I'm okay to listen."
"Oh no," she says with a little huff of her own, "he has to. Because he's my coworker. And how the hell are you going to help someone redeem themselves if you think this process isn't real?"
She doesn't shake her head but there's the feeling that she'd like to.
"He doesn't have to like you, but he does have to give you the basic respect of a co-worker and a person he's living with on this ship. Non-negotiable."
Edwin doesn't answer, though the quality of his silence is unmistakable doubt. Charlie started out an actual person, with an actual person's pain. That takes precedence over the King in Yellow, who he is not, but also is. He doesn't even know how to begin making sense of it all any more.
She considers that silence. Then she holds her hand at the back of her neck, under her ponytail, in a request that he hop on so he can come settle at the front where she can see him.
And pet him, yes. He's very cute.
"I want to tell you a story. But I need you to promise me something before I do."
"That you won't get too mad at the person who's in the story," she says quietly, still a little unsure if this is the right path. It's not often that she's unsure, but it shakes her when it happens. This isn't something she thought she'd tell anyone else, especially now that Alan is here. But she thinks Edwin needs it, and she trusts him.
"I know you won't hurt them. But I also don't want them to lose out on the chance for good people in their life here. They deserve a chance to move forward. And I don't want to mess with that. Can you promise that?"
"That's fine. I just..." she pauses and yeah, okay, she'll admit it. "I worry about them. And maybe I shouldn't, given everything but... I do. I want them to be okay."
And maybe part of that is feeling safer if they know what a fucked up thing they did. But most of it isn't. It feels like it should be.
He doesn't exactly mean to, but he's felt John do it enough times that it isn't hard. He reaches out with a brush of affection, a marrow-deep emotional reassurance, something that shows a glimpse of the Old Thing he was underneath the young thing he is now.
You're a good person. I can be a good person for them.
And she reaches back, accepts it for what it is, lets him comfort her before she leans down to kiss his little furry head.
"Good people can be angry too. In fact, a lot of time, being good means being angry."
She breathes in deep.
"I'm an FBI agent back home. That means, when there's a crime where the local police need our help, they call for us. And we go help them. My partner and I came to a place called Bright Falls in Washington state. And everything was as it should be as we started our investigation."
And out.
"Then, impossible things started happening. Corpses got up and attacked people. I had to do a ritual using a man's heart to walk through a portal in a tree. Shadows took the shape of people and were trying to kill us. It was... wild, but I still found it fascinating. It felt like the world was opening up so I could see the parts I'd never seen."
An FBI agent. He's heard the term before, in movies, seen it in books, but never took a particular interest in the acronym beyond what he needed to know for the story he was seeing.
One part of that does stick out to him--a portal in a tree. He can't help thinking of the tree in the common room on the eighth deck, the way it felt like it could go somewhere else entirely given the right circumstances. Regardless, his small black eyes are fixed on Saga while she talks. It makes sense to him, being fascinated by the world becoming an impossible thing.
"We found Alan on the shore of a lake," she says quietly, because now the story is taking a turn for the less pleasant, "but even before that there was another change that was happening: people knowing who I was in this town I'd never been to before. People telling me that they were sorry about what happened to my daughter."
She looks over at Edwin.
"I have a little girl named Logan. She's about fourteen. Her picture is over there on the mantel if you're curious. She gave me that mug I'm always drinking my coffee from."
The one that says 'Not the Worst Mom'.
"And as far as I knew, she was back at home, just fine, with my husband."
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Re: post-flood by A Bit
"Hey, Edwin. How's it going? Something I can do for you?"
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"I didn't do anything to him. I didn't touch him. Getting him something to shield him from the King was my idea. I told Hunter he should get him a compass, too, one that pointed in my direction so he could stay completely away if he wanted to. I didn't do anything."
He starts quiet, but by the time he's done it's risen to not quite a shout.
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"I never thought you would intentionally hurt anyone without being forced," she says firmly, her voice soft, "but with the flood, I wasn't sure if you were who was there ten seconds ago. I told you before, Edwin."
And her hand slips down to his shoulder, gives him a little pat, and steps back.
"I trust you. I know what I see in you. Now. Did you want to come in and talk?"
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It's not fair, is what he means. Am I the King or am I not, is what he means. He still wants to punch Charlie and he can't and there's nowhere to put it all.
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"I know," she says very very gently, "but that's not hallway conversation. You deserve a closed door."
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He doesn't know why he's being stubborn about going inside, except that he's waiting for something or looking for something or wary of something he can't pin down.
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"And that's awful. I'm so sorry, Edwin."
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Edwin wads up a bit of his sleeve and wipes his face, voice dropping more.
"I want someone to be mad at him other than me."
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She has such deep deep sympathy for him, absolutely. But that doesn't mean she can't also be frustrated about those things, and angry on Edwin's behalf. She can See Him. Whatever he was, whatever potential he has, who he chooses to be is something else. And she has the utmost understanding for Charlie as a person in mourning, as a person who's been hurt by the supernatural, as someone who's lost and lost and lost. That doesn't mean she can't hurt for Edwin too. And when he's the one in front of her, prioritize him. The King Charlie talked about wasn't Edwin. She knows it isn't.
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He leans forward until his forehead rests on Saga's shoulder, still helplessly angry and wishing it would go away.
"I didn't do anything to him. Not even the version I met. I tried to help."
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"There's lots of stories out there." Because maybe his Edwin didn't. Maybe his Edwin was cruel. "But even if you did. This place is about redemption. It's about helping people to see why their story ended how it did... and a better way for them to continue it. His pain doesn't make attacking you okay. If he can't accept that you aren't who he thinks you are, at least as far as not attacking you, then I don't know what he expects to do here."
She shakes her head.
"No one gets a free pass to hurt people because of their pain. Not inmates. And certainly not wardens."
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"I hurt Arthur when I came here. I killed him. I thought he was the one who hurt me and I didn't believe him when he said he wasn't. I didn't understand."
It's a confession rather than any statement of sympathy with Charlie. He doesn't want Saga to find out later and think Edwin is a hypocrite, even if he is.
Edwin hunches a little more, seems for a moment to actually be shrinking in on himself, and then there's a sugar glider climbing Saga's shirt to try and hide under her ponytail.
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"And when you did that, you had to learn that what you did was wrong. You also had to heal the wounds that made you do that and learn alternatives to taking out your pain on others."
She'll pick up her coffee again.
"You're welcome to just stay here for a little bit and spend some time with me. Or we can go into my mind place if you want to vent your spleen a little, as they say. I'm okay to listen."
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I had to because I was an inmate. He doesn't because he's a warden.
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She doesn't shake her head but there's the feeling that she'd like to.
"He doesn't have to like you, but he does have to give you the basic respect of a co-worker and a person he's living with on this ship. Non-negotiable."
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And pet him, yes. He's very cute.
"I want to tell you a story. But I need you to promise me something before I do."
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...What kind of promise?
Normally his answer would just be okay, but he's still shaken and angry and it makes trust even harder than usual.
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"I know you won't hurt them. But I also don't want them to lose out on the chance for good people in their life here. They deserve a chance to move forward. And I don't want to mess with that. Can you promise that?"
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I don't think I can promise not to get mad. I can promise not to stay mad?
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"That's fine. I just..." she pauses and yeah, okay, she'll admit it. "I worry about them. And maybe I shouldn't, given everything but... I do. I want them to be okay."
And maybe part of that is feeling safer if they know what a fucked up thing they did. But most of it isn't. It feels like it should be.
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You're a good person. I can be a good person for them.
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"Good people can be angry too. In fact, a lot of time, being good means being angry."
She breathes in deep.
"I'm an FBI agent back home. That means, when there's a crime where the local police need our help, they call for us. And we go help them. My partner and I came to a place called Bright Falls in Washington state. And everything was as it should be as we started our investigation."
And out.
"Then, impossible things started happening. Corpses got up and attacked people. I had to do a ritual using a man's heart to walk through a portal in a tree. Shadows took the shape of people and were trying to kill us. It was... wild, but I still found it fascinating. It felt like the world was opening up so I could see the parts I'd never seen."
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One part of that does stick out to him--a portal in a tree. He can't help thinking of the tree in the common room on the eighth deck, the way it felt like it could go somewhere else entirely given the right circumstances. Regardless, his small black eyes are fixed on Saga while she talks. It makes sense to him, being fascinated by the world becoming an impossible thing.
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She looks over at Edwin.
"I have a little girl named Logan. She's about fourteen. Her picture is over there on the mantel if you're curious. She gave me that mug I'm always drinking my coffee from."
The one that says 'Not the Worst Mom'.
"And as far as I knew, she was back at home, just fine, with my husband."
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