[Trying to lift his head is all the proof that Bene needs, and he lays it back again with a wince, pressing a hand over his abdomen. Being held thus is strange, but it's nice, especially when one is feeling as weak as he is, and another long sigh is indication enough that he has no intention of going anywhere.]
When did I fall asleep, [he murmurs, not entirely bothered by whatever the answer is.]
[ That is acceptable as far as Hanzo is concerned. He holds onto Benedict because he sees no reason to let go - the embrace is nice and he’s dozy, half-asleep and prepared in case the other man decides to run. It’s odd, considering, to feel this comfortable, but he simply hums against him before he replies. ]
Not long after. The effect of the dragons can be exhausting. [ Hanzo does have some regrets. He knows Benedict wished to be hurt, but in his anger... ] It will take time.
[Hanzo's arm over him puts pressure where he wishes it wouldn't, so Benedict puts his hand over it, gently guiding it upward to lay over his sternum instead of his middle.]
My mother wrote to me at last, [he murmurs, perhaps on the edge of explaining his strange outburst.]
[Here arises a series of complicated feelings, accompanied by thoughts he'd simply rather not have. Resting his hand loosely over his mouth, Benedict scowls at the ceiling and contemplates for several moments before answering.]
I think... [haltingly,] ...Mother is angry with me.
[Benedict has to think on it for a moment. He can't recall his mother ever being openly angry with him, just as he can't recall her ever being openly pleased with him-- fond of him, interested in him at all. To be treated like an associate who has displeased her is the logical explanation, but that only makes things harder.]
...I don't know why. [He knits his brow unhappily.] I don't know what I can do about it.
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When did I fall asleep, [he murmurs, not entirely bothered by whatever the answer is.]
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Not long after. The effect of the dragons can be exhausting. [ Hanzo does have some regrets. He knows Benedict wished to be hurt, but in his anger... ] It will take time.
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[Hanzo's arm over him puts pressure where he wishes it wouldn't, so Benedict puts his hand over it, gently guiding it upward to lay over his sternum instead of his middle.]
My mother wrote to me at last, [he murmurs, perhaps on the edge of explaining his strange outburst.]
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I knew something happened. [ He remembers Benedict's mother. ] You do not have to tell me.
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[A long pause, and then,] they've sold my... [it sounds stupid for a grown man to say 'nanny'] ...the woman who raised me.
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ah. He can appreciate that, at least; he saw less and less of his father and more of servants as he grew older. ]
Do you blame yourself?
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[Here arises a series of complicated feelings, accompanied by thoughts he'd simply rather not have. Resting his hand loosely over his mouth, Benedict scowls at the ceiling and contemplates for several moments before answering.]
I think... [haltingly,] ...Mother is angry with me.
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[ Hanzo reaches up, absently, covering Benedict's hand with his own lightly. ]
Mothers are often irritated with their children. I remember mine being much the same.
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...I don't know why. [He knits his brow unhappily.] I don't know what I can do about it.
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What would you like to do about it?
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...I... have to get her back.
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