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The single window in the library of Fort Icebreaker is showing just enough sunlight to frame Gur Sevraq when Valence arrives. Gur doesn’t notice; he’s going through piles of reports on desks, sharp, knife-like fingers flipping pages a bit too rapidly. There’s a jolt to every movement. Under his robes Valence can see his shoulders held tight, even with his back to them.
Valence hates the sight instantly.
By now Valence knows how Gur moves when there’s too much on their mind. Where Gur to their followers and the average agent of Millenium Break moves seamlessly, careful, fabric hypnotising, there’s a shortness to the way they are in private. Movements become quick, like their personality itself is at an angle, as if there’s too much in their brain to keep themself in control.
When the two of them are having the conversations that Valence records- the ones where they know they’ll need some way to chart every stray thought- this is charming. Intoxicating in a different way than Gur’s sermons are, though Valence themself churns in their frame at the idea of using the word openly. Gur had been their friend instantly but Valence had idolized him, still, just enough that signs of political cunning (the failed radicalization of the Princess, for one) had created a temporary anger. Once that settled, Gur had seemed, well, a little less divine. Prone to pretension, weak to his own high standards.
That’s the problem now. Valence knows their flock; it’s Millennium Break, and more than that the people of Partizan as a whole, who they will mark in any way Autonomy Itself guides them to. But as for Gur’s mission to gather the Exemplar- the results of that are gathered in enemy hands, showcased in the jungle sprouting in Kesh territory.
It makes Valence sick enough. They don’t need to reach into Gur’s mind to see it’s split them open.
They rap on the side of a bookcase, as if to knock. Gur must know the sound well enough by now; he turns slowly, only halfway, as if barely able to pry himself away from work. “Valence, I’m- if we had a meeting, I can’t do it. Not right now.”
“We didn’t,” Valence says, trying to pretend the tone of Gur’s voice doesn’t sting. “I just...hadn’t seen you in a while. Do you need help?”
“It’s nothing for you. And I ought to be getting something done, it’s fine.”
Gur puts down a packet of marked-up mission briefings and sets a hand on the table next to it. It’s more of a jab into the wood, Valence realizes, when they squint. Gur’s sharp fingertips are pushing into it.
Valence knows this is an invitation to leave. But turning around seems too harsh. They know how they’d usually handle this: move in anyway, but keep a warm and full sort of distance. That’s what had worked with Broun just this morning, when Valence had shown them their ship and Broun’s eyes had gone big and wet and their voice had wavered. Valence had quietly brought them the requested tools, checked over the areas Broun worried about, and stayed yards away even when their mind kept giving them the image of their fingers sweeping tears from Broun’s face. If Broun wants my touch, they’d thought, they’ll come for it; but they want to leave Partizan, not come closer to me.
There’s a similar image in Valence’s mind now: take Gur’s hand and cup it in between both of theirs. But they’re not pursuing the idea.
They take too long to respond, putting all this together. It’s just as they nod and prepare a careful message of support in their mind that Gur sighs, a little mechanical noise like a switch flipping, and puts their head in their hands.
“So,” he says, “it’s that obvious how much of a mess I am, then.”
“Maybe just to me,” Valence responds. They want that to sound reassuring, and immediately process it actually sounds ridiculous. “I know you don’t want people...noticing and talking to everyone about it, is what I mean.”
Gur nearly laughs. Then they shake their head. “I understood you. It’s just-” They turn away, as if looking back out of the window, though they are clearly not really looking through it at all. “I spend all my time working on a revolutionary movement- a movement of action- and then I do not take action myself. It feels...like the easiest trap not to fall into.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Valence says, quickly. They take a few steps forward, finally, because at the very least they need to make this point clear. “I should have been thinking about this stuff, too. It’s not something that a person can do alone.”
“Valence,” Gur sighs, “you are the only person who would ever try to comfort anyone that way, you realize.” It rends at Valence that he sounds a little more like himself at the prospect of having the smallest upper hand in the conversation. “You can’t simply remove someone’s...culpability in inaction by taking it on yourself.”
Valence lets their first honest thought be their response. “I would if I could, I guess.”
Gur puts the flat part of their palm against their forehead. They tightly close their many eyes for a moment, but their expression is more exhausted than angry. “If your solution to my worries was to get me to worry for you instead...you realize that will only compound the feeling.”
“No,” Valence says, guilt blossoming in them. They want to tunnel into new places in their body to dull the feeling, the spots they haven’t explored enough yet. “I don’t want you to worry about me at all. I just want...I want this to be easier for you.” They stop for a second, knowing what Gur’s response will be before they say anything. “And I know it won’t be. And that it’s not supposed to be easy. I just don’t like seeing you like this.”
Gur grips their pointed elbows, dozens of folds in their robes pointing to where their fingertips grasp their skinny arms. “You know well enough I’m simply reaping what I’ve sowed.”
But then Gur pauses, and reaches an arm up to his face, touching the side.
Valence pauses, confused, and feels silly when- as Gur nearly starts to speak- they realize it’s a motion they’re meant to mimic. They reach a hand up to where bits of scrap metal meet on their face, a collage of different shades of gray. “What is it?”
“It’s-” The sides of Gur’s eyes thin in a way Valence knows is a comfortable, tired expression. They move forward a few steps, and reach a hand up, as if asking permission.
It’s a surprise. They can’t remember touching Gur, they realize. They can’t remember touching many people at all; it’s a strange thing, still, and stranger now with a new and in some ways less responsive body. Touch had been such a different thing, back home, beyond anything they can see here in the Principality. They’ve let Broun open them up and build them a new form, but even then there was something technical and practiced about their contact, a barrier between them they haven’t quite crossed, no matter how much Valence longs to.
What do hands feel like on their new face- anyone’s hands? They’re not sure. None of this causes them to hesitate. They lean forward a little and Gur reaches up to brush something off the side of their jaw. They can feel something viscous between the metal of their face and Gur’s hand.
“Someday you’re going to have to learn there’s a limit to what you can take on, Valence,” Gur says, with a weary tone, before taking their hand away.
“You’re not going to like it if I say the same thing to you, right?,” Valence asks.
“Well- it’s a different situation, first of all,” Gur grumbles defensively, just as Valence expected he would. He flicks his hand, and Valence sees what was on their face- a glob of nearly-dried propulsion fluid, from their visit to Broun’s ship earlier.
But then Gur stops themself. “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”, they ask, after a moment.
“It’s fine,” Valence says, suddenly feeling the need to keep their voice level. “It’s more than fine.”
Gur pauses once more. Valence nearly speaks, says I don’t like that either; most of the time, when the two of them are alone and talking, it’s an effort to get Gur to stop any train of thought, and the opposite occurring is its own worrying sign.
Instead Valence says, “listen- I know you’ll tell me you know this already, but...I’ll do anything you need me to do to help.”
“I do know that,” Gur says, and he sounds sincere, but distracted. Valence expects him to turn away, dismiss them with a wave of his hand, and return to the tense posture he’d had just minutes before. Instead he asks, “If it’s not too much- would you mind...indulging me in something foolish for a bit?”
“Not at all,” Valence answers, curious. Gur’s requests are usually intriguing- a look into a side of research Valence hasn’t yet encountered, a peek into a piece of history they ought to know.
Instead Gur nods toward an armchair in the back of the area they’re working in. “Come here,” they say, holding out a hand.
Valence is first surprised by the gesture, and then by their continued lack of hesitancy in responding to every odd action Gur is taking right now. They put their hand in Gur’s and instantly realize they are so much more familiar with the touch of flesh than with another metal body. Their hands are one of the only places in this frame with temperature sensors installed, and they can feel how cold Gur’s fingers are. And they’re sharp; their endpoints could fit in the tiny gaps between plates in Valence’s palm.
Gur guides them toward the armchair, then lets go of their hand to sit down. He makes no effort to make the motion look fluid, legs taking a moment under his robes to bend and relax. He smooths out the fabric in his lap and then pauses. “God help me,” he says, and it sounds as much like an expression as it is a plea. “Promise me you’ll talk some sense into me, I’m- I’m too distracted right now to do anything. You’d think I’d know how to handle something like this by now.”
“Of course,” Valence responds, but they’re distracted themself, by the vulnerability in Gur’s voice, the exhaustion in their movements. They come closer and lean down a little, moving slowly in case they are to be stopped, and they realize only as they do it that they’re creating the image they had in their mind minutes ago, to take Gur’s hand into both of theirs. “Just...tell me what I need to do.”
Gur makes a harsh noise that Valence takes a moment to process as a stilted chuckle. “Please- don’t make it seem so dramatic. Sit with me.”
Valence pauses. It’s a sizable chair, but not that large of one. “Um- you don’t want me to get another chair?”
“You can, if you’d like,” Gur says, “but right now I...truly don’t care.”
Something in their tone betrays their actual desire, and Valence knows it. They’d never have it be necessary, but Valence can feel Gur’s hand curl into theirs on their lap, as if involuntarily putting their hopes into the motion. Maybe if they were both in better moods, Valence would tease them; they could say so much, write sermons and lectures, and not request this? But that’s for a better time.
Valence, trying to look assured, sits down on the right side of the chair. They alter their position a bit, trying not to accidentally find themself in Gur’s lap, thinking that may be going a step too far. They keep one hand on Gur’s and, once they’ve settled, return the other to Gur’s lap, too. Gur is observing them quietly, chin perched on his other hand, that arm on the armrest. He’s not smiling, but it’s something close.
“Is that alright?”, Valence asks, finally. They only realize then that they’re, quite literally, all over the place internally; they feel like they’re fizzing in nervousness, as if Gur’s the mysterious prophet they first saw them as and not one of the people on this moon they’re closest to.
Unfortunately, that’s when Gur notices the same thing, betrayed by Valence’s choice to show just enough of their true form through the transparent parts of their new frame. They gently poke Valence’s exposed chest with their free hand. “It seems I’m the one who should be asking that.”
Valence had contemplated showing more of themself, mentally, to Gur before. It was something they kept mostly to Broun, and had saved for Gur when they were far apart and in need of contact. But now they feel a little lucky to have kept that a secret, because if they hadn’t, they suspect Gur would feel embarrassment radiating from them. “It’s okay, I’m just- I’m not really used to this, still. Being close to someone, in a body.”
Gur eases his posture a little, sitting up straight. “Is it the new frame? Or...having a body, in general?”
“More of the second one? But...this one feels different. It’s more efficient, Broun made sure of that part, but...”
They didn’t expect to feel an ache at the thought of their old body, the one that seemed too easy to give up when they saw nearly everything they cared for on Partizan in danger. But they’d taken that body with them across space, from that distant planet they tried to tell themself it might be better to stop thinking of as home. It’d been more sensitive than this one; they knew that even without much experience with another’s touch. The care and ingenuity Broun had put into this body had bowled them over, but it is a different body, one made for a revolutionary rather than the academic they’d been in their past.
Gaining a body had been overwhelming in and of itself. Losing one, missing one, hadn’t hit them until now.
“I- I don’t regret how I lost it, but I wish I’d had more time. With the first one.” they stammer out, eventually. “It came with me from my home world, and...it was one of the only things I could bring.”
They’re not looking at Gur when they say it, because it feels selfish. Gur had requested their help, and here they are, immediately sensitive. Instead they focus on their hands around Gur’s, tightening their grip.
“You’re already...this is what I meant, you know. About you talking some sense into me,” Gur says, quietly, after a moment.
“What?”
As they speak, Valence feels Gur’s touch on the side of their jaw again. Their fingers hit a point between the curved metal, where it breaks into ridges of scrap bits meant to resemble fur, and something about the feeling is so uniquely satisfying that Valence leans their head towards the motion. They hear Gur make a small hm noise in response, keeping their hand there.
“My wallowing is meaningless compared to the scale of the galaxy- of the scale you had to travel. That is the vastness of the stakes we’re dealing with,” Gur says, firm. Valence feels his hand move under their jaw, and they follow the implicit request and look up, finally, to see Gur’s expression: eyes thinned in worry. “I’m sorry, Valence.”
“It’s nothing I’m not used to,” Valence replies, still embarrassed. “I know there’s a reason I’m here, and that it’s more important than...anything. So that’s what I focus on.”
“Is there anything else you avoid thinking about?” Gur asks, not moving their hand.
“What do you mean?”, Valence asks, but they think they know exactly what Gur means. They don’t talk about Valence’s travels, or their home, often, beyond the differences between worship here and there. Of course Gur has noticed.
“You have a habit of...throwing yourself into things. Such as making a likely permanent trip across the galaxy, or...literally throwing your entire body into a fight with a divine.”
“I told you I don’t regret it,” Valence says, bristling somewhat.
“It’s that I wish I didn’t have to fish that out of you,” Gur says, putting his hand away. The absence of it makes Valence regretful; they feel themself twirling in their body around where it was. “And don’t turn this one back on me, Wolf. I already know you think I have too much on my mind.”
“You always do,” Valence responds, softly. They want it to sound affectionate, and it is. They want to be a few weeks ago, recording thoughts on Courage or Past and listening to Gur go off on such an enthusiastic tangent that they’d never figured out how to draw it back to relevance.
“You know nothing other than to be...idealistic,” Gur says. Valence can tell they’re holding back another word. “I almost wish you’d get mad at me.”
“Even right now?”
“At least then I’d know you care for your own well-being.”
“I came here because I care about yours,” Valence says, and they can tell a grin is growing on their face as their next sentences come to mind. “I’m starting to think you’ve twisted this to be about me...which means you’ve copied something I do that you keep saying you don’t like.” They run a finger over the joints where Gur’s knuckles would be, if they had them.
“I- fine, fine. I’ve fallen into that trap too, then. You’ve made your point,” Gur says, glaring. Valence can’t find it in themself to be hurt by it. Gur reaches back to Valence’s face, tucking his sharp fingers into the ridges in the side again, easily enough that Valence knows he must have registered the comforting feeling Valence had previously gotten from the motion. “This isn’t too much, is it?”
“No. It’s new, but- it’s really nice.”
Gur gently pulls Valence closer, and reaches up their other hand to one of Valence’s ears. There’s an odd, detached feeling to the touch. Valence remembers their ears on their first body would move and react to even a breeze easily, and they miss the sensation. But this is still interesting, in its own way.
“That’s okay, too,” they mumble.
But Gur cuts them off. “Valence. Do you think you’ve succeeded in the mission you were given?”
At least Gur is finally saying what they mean, but it’s something Valence doesn’t have a response for instantly. They need to focus their mind on something other than the tingling feeling on their ear, but delving deeply into this topic would be tense even without that context.
“I think...I think I wanted to be a part of all of this because I thought that was something I needed to do for it. I don’t want to pick who lives,” they say, and they can’t hide a bit of fear in their voice at the idea of being asked to make such a choice. “I wanted to build something that could prove everyone is worth saving. That this planet is full of people who would fight if they had the chance. Even with everything that’s happened...this is it.”
“And do you think it’ll work?”, Gur asks, voice quiet.
“We need it to,” Valence responds, and they realize a moment too late that their hands are tensing and bunching up the fabric in Gur’s lap and not in their own, but Gur makes no move to stop them. “Even if I was asked to...I’d never choose to do anything else.”
“...You’ve made that clear,” Gur says wearily. Valence doesn’t want to have another conversation about who deserves progression and who doesn’t, and thankfully, Gur doesn’t seem interested either, not with their hands going still on the sides of Valence’s face. “And you’ve made it clear you’re unsure about putting the Exemplar together. But this- this thing that’s sprung up in Kesh’s territory, it’s- it’s proof I haven’t acted quickly enough, Valence. I know you’ll tell me I’m needed here, that I’m cared for here. But what does that matter if our enemies make our God into something that would destroy us? If it was in my hands to stop this and I did nothing? Because they would wash away every part of this work in an instant, they would find a way to leave no trace of it if they could-”
Valence pulls themself away from Gur’s touch. It’s a necessary action if they’re going to quell this train of thought. They are so used to doing that with Gur now, but it’s usually a subtle act, a way of moving bits of ideas into place the way Gur can so easily do to pieces on a chessboard. But what they are hearing now feels like a warping of the excitement in Gur’s tone when they record: it’s an anxious type of self-doubt, a small step from complete panic.
Valence hates it, more than they thought they could hate something. And they hate the anger it makes them feel, hate what anger tends to turn them into.
Most of all they hate that it makes them bitter toward their own God. A feeling they have to suppress, to atone for.
“All that makes me sure of,” they say, forcing neutrality into their voice, “is that you didn’t deserve to have all of that be given to you alone.”
They move quick, because they know they will hesitate if they do not, and they tug Gur into a hug. The movement makes it inevitable that Gur is going to be pulled into their lap, unless he rejects it; Valence realizes this as they move and in the moment of stillness after, anxiety hits them badly enough that they almost think this body can’t contain it.
Then they feel the awkward settling of Gur’s skinny legs into their lap, and a slow movement where Gur tucks their head into Valence’s shoulder, turning his body to fit. He places a hand on Valence’s exposed chest and makes a short, inquisitive noise.
“Does this body...always run this hot?”, Gur asks, almost playful.
“Maybe,” Valence says, but they know the real answer is no. That’s not the body, they’re not strong enough to admit. Their true form, inside, is moving around too much, spinning in dazed circles.
Maybe Gur’s figured that out. They laugh, genuinely, and Valence feels their hand settle on a place where a collarbone would be, where their transparent coating meets silver metal. It only occurs to them then that Gur may be toying with these plates not just because Valence likes it but because Gur themself does, and Valence decides they are not allowed to think about that too deeply.
“You know that isn’t an answer I’ll accept. You’re...far too kind to me, really,” Gur mutters. “Far too kind. Me asking you to do this, it’s pathetic, is what it is.”
“Stop. Please? It’s okay, I mean it,” Valence says, trying to sound like they can’t be argued with. They feel like they should move their hands, but they’re too worried about figuring out where their hands should go to do anything other than keep them still on Gur’s back. Gur doesn’t respond instantly, but Valence feels him slow the movement of his fingers where they trace against their chest.
“You’re going to have to let me go when someone else walks in here, you know,” Gur tells them, a little teasingly again, after another quiet minute. It feels good to hear any pleasure in their voice.
Valence means it when they respond: “I don’t mind.”
“You’ll mind when there are rumors.”
Valence huffs. “Well, it’s- I- okay. I don’t want you to deal with them, I guess.”
Gur laughs again.
Valence processes that they are finally feeling relief; at not being rejected, at being able to help. And at having something to hold, maybe. They hadn’t noticed how deeply they wanted that until now, how having a body had manifested that desire for them. Caring about someone- no, loving them, really, if they’re being honest with themself- has been about distance, for them, so far. They don’t regret cultivating that gap; they don’t regret being able to be a pillar of support, rather than drag those they love down. They can’t bear the idea of spreading their pain, not to the ones they feel the most deeply for.
But if this is the opposite of that distance, then, well- it’s nice. They let themself get comfortable, to press the side of their jaw against the side of Gur’s head, even as they tilt an ear to be warned of noise. They ought not to ruin this, after all; they don’t suspect they’ll get to experience it very often.