(Untitled)

[adesertsong]

Characters: Egypt and anyone interested.
Status: Open.
Summary: Well, once he realized what was going on with the tombstones, Egypt apparently became a masochist and went in search of his mother and others. But now that he's found her, he's not sure he's willing to relive her death.
Location: Out amongst the tombstones. .. Morbid. :|
Warnings:

Comments

[adesertsong]

"'Men hide, the gods fly away

[lessthanvestal]

Raising his hand was too close to shaking that fragile, rare affection away, and Rome only craned his head, kissing Egypt's hair softly. Soft and chaste, forever chaste, even . . . even if Egypt was not his natus. The boy was still his son. That had been what Kemet had wanted him to be, and he wouldn't dishonor her by denying that.

Words stuck in his throat, too far back for him to even know what they might have been. It was eerie to hear Egypt talk about his mother like that. He'd seen her not so very long ago, maybe a little thinner but still very alive, nowhere near the bedridden shade that had last slid from the surface of his mind's eye like a bead of water.

"Glad you think so," he finally managed, no hidden resentments or meanings at all in the word. He took as given that Kemet would expect him to honor her, but Egypt's recognition . . . that was a rare bird.

[adesertsong]

"I resented you," the smaller man murmured after a moment, a little reluctantly (he didn't talk about this, had never talked about it-- especially not with Rome). "I still do, sometimes, for taking her attention. I hated you because you were strange and noisy and you changed things. But--" His fingers tightened slightly. "--You made her happy."

A pause, and he glanced up at the other man, expression showing nothing of what he might've felt, gold eyes unreadable. "I know that it was not your fault that she died." He glanced away again, then, mouth thinning into a faint line. ".. I apologize for-- what I said when I was not myself. I would not have chosen to hurt you that way."

He tried not to hurt people, generally-- even Rome. He could hardly believe his own behaviour.

[lessthanvestal]

At that, Rome did not stop the way his arm curled into a light touch, then a hold, and finally an embrace that was so wonderfully warm and solid after the clamminess of fog and secondhand memories. That Kemet had - would? - die . . . he told himself firmly that it wasn't anyone's fault. Not his own. Not Aegyptus'. No-one's