Chapter Text
in the form he takes, he can all but be the child he once was, just short of cut-and-pasting himself into the fabric of spacetime itself. his eye certainly takes some explaining, but add plays it off as a side effect unexplainable of asker’s experimentation – the man can’t think of a reason for its existence, and that fact gives add – no, here, he is edward – ample time beside her.
the only reason for his repeated attempts. the only reason for his form as it stands.
she seems more tired than she is in his memories, constantly happy and welcoming – was that always just an act for his sake, he wonders? when his father stopped his experiments on his son, did he then take his frustrations out on–?
no. the thought makes his blood boil, and grace notices his discomfort, easily detectable; he always has had a habit of fidgeting when his mind was preoccupied with thoughts he would rather have, and of course she would know. of course she would notice.
“edward?” he closes his eyes, stills, when he hears her voice. it took much time to find a way in which to interact; she isn’t his grace, he knows that much, but...
this, at least, is a needed solace.
“yes, mother?” he glances up at her a moment later, and just as easily as he relaxes can he forget that he is no longer ten, and that this time is no longer his – that no time truly is, his existence tied to the flow of time itself more than any individual point.
“you seem distracted, dear. is something bothering you?” she reaches a hand over to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear with a smile, and he closes his eyes with a soft smile, leans his cheek against her hand, relishes in the pleased hum she gives in response.
“i’ll be alright. i’m... just thinking, that’s all.” is it right to lie to her? this universe’s edward is no longer, and he plays along as though he was meant to be here all along; how will she react in the morning where her son is no longer there? would asker take that out on her, as well?
he tenses, and she frowns.
“edward...” she moves to gently pick him up, place him in her lap, hold him to her chest. “you can speak to me about anything.”
anything? the concept as it is almost mocks him, the offer is not one meant for him nor is it one he should accept. that kind of understanding and acceptance...
he’s long since passed the threshold for that to be allowed for him. with as many timelines as he has personally seen to the destruction of...
how many times has he killed her?
he shudders.
“i don’t know if you would like what i would say, mother.” an honest response, for once, and surely one that is cryptic; she will not know the meaning, and she will never know it. as it is meant to be. “please don’t worry.”
“you know very well i can’t not worry about you. it’s a mother’s responsibility.” she presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he feels tears prick the corners of his eyes. why?
“i know.” he wills away the waver in his voice, leans his head against her shoulder. may she not notice his eyes as wet as they are, may she not notice the way his voice strains.
“... are you going to cry?” she curls protectively around him, slightly, and he sighs; he doesn’t want her to worry, doesn’t want her to hurt for him, but...
her voice is gentle. “please, edward, cry if you need to. it’s alright.”
and he accepts, allows himself to cry in her arms; the first time he allows himself to truly cry, and it’s in the arms of a mother that isn’t truly his.
he’s disgusted with himself and content at the same time. what a strange kind of emotion.
he sobs, and he’s an ugly crier, truly.
he allows himself to fall asleep in her arms like this, as though he were a child and she truly were his mother. perhaps he’ll spend more than just this time in this timeline.