Marco's back from the Nexus, with a man who's much better dressed than he is in tow. As they make their way from the pretty-nice park where the Nexus spits them out to the pretty-not-nice side of town where the apartment is, Marco fills the Archbishop in on the basics - Mom drowned two years ago, Dad never got over it, they're about one more late
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"It lets me sleep and keeps me from crying all day, mostly. I don't want Marco to see me like that again." But that's not entirely true. Part of it's just habit, because he's afraid to stop using it. Not that he likes Marco seeing him like this either. "We don't have health insurance anymore. The only reason we can still get the pills is because the pharmacist likes Marco and keeps giving us the member discount even though we're off the list."
The memory brings uncontrollable tears. He tries to keep his voice steady as he says "she told me she was going out to the marina, and it was storming, and I didn't tell her to be careful, I just asked her to pick something up from the store. I don't even remember what it was."
He covers his face as his shoulders shake, as he tries not to sob too loudly in front of the man reopening the wounds.
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"It wasn't your fault," he says, quietly, simply. "What happened to her was not your fault. I saw this as a man who wouldn't necessarily mind kicking your arse up between your ears. You could not have known what was going to happen. You did not make it happen. Of course one regrets what was not said. And it's easy to pick at all the little what ifs, but down that road, one must just as easily take into account the fire that might have swept through the house a week after that. Possibilities are for the future."
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He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and lights one, still sobbing and gasping. "How would you know, Father? Have you ever failed someone so badly they died?"
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Archbishop Timothy has been consciously -- never mind the time in stasis -- alive for more than four centuries. And right now, the eyes staring directly at Peter's rather look it.
"I am not new at this conversation, if that's what you're asking."
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Finally, he asks, "how do you get up in the morning?"
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"The phrase 'never should have' is not going to do anyone any good, Peter. The decision of what you are going to do now could do a great deal."
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He surveys the dirty, cramped, broken-down apartment. "What do I do? Where do I even start?"
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"There are plenty of options. Can you see a doctor about changing the medication? It's quite out of my field, I admit."
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