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Only Gale would be polite enough to knock before entering the room in which the Praetorians have locked a murderer. January had been staring uninterrupted at the opposite wall for some time, the world seeming far away, the chaos of Songshu muffled through the walls, and with phone and glasses confiscated he had no idea what had been happening since he'd been dragged away from the crowd, just as shocked at what he'd done as they were.
Gale was the last person he’d expected to see—why would they want to, after what he'd done? Still, his eyes were drawn to them, still looking somehow impeccable, expression lightly concerned but not anxious. Their roles were reversed from earlier, January realised distantly. The difference was that they, and everyone on Mars, knew that January had unequivocally killed Aubrey.
“Are you okay?” they asked him softly. “Do you need anything?”
Suffering Christ. Neither world had ever known a person as gracious and considerate as River Gale.
January knew what he needed to do. He slid from his chair to his knees, folded forward at the waist until his forehead reached the floor. “I'm sorry,” he told them, truthfully, voice trembling. I’m so sorry. January couldn't go beyond that, couldn't even think of asking for forgiveness he definitely didn't deserve. He’d said it in Mandarin, but Gale replied in English.
“No, no, January, it's okay. There's no need for that.” There was a hush of silk as Gale knelt, too, and hooked their hands under his elbows, trying to coax him upright.
“Everything’s ruined,” he whispered to the floor, skin crawling with disgust at himself. They shouldn't even be here. Why were they here?
“Come, up you get.” Gale's hands under his arms were stronger than expected, and he complied, suddenly unable to stand them touching him any longer, sitting upright with his head bowed. But Gale's touch didn't disappear, only smoothing down the outside of the cage until they held his hands in theirs. It was unbearable. He snatched them back.
January didn't look up, but knew that they were examining him, and they didn't ask their questions again. Instead they only said, “may I clean your face?”
When he only frowned in confusion, they elaborated tentatively, “there's a little blood.”
Oh, God. He shuddered as the memory repeated again, screwed his eyes shut as though it would help, nausea sweeping through him. When he recovered enough to open his eyes, breath heaving, they were a little closer, a handkerchief or perhaps a cloth in their hand.
“It’s alright. You did well,” Gale said, gentle but sure, and brought the cloth to his cheek, wiping gently.
It was so unexpected he was startled into saying, “what?”
“You did well. When the Praetorians opened fire you got everybody out, and Yuan and all the workers are safe. And now, Aubrey can't hurt me or anybody else any longer.” The cloth wiped clean his forehead, the bridge of his nose. “You did well.”
He tipped his head back, but it didn't help to stop the first hot tears from brimming over. he was both grateful and excruciated that Gale was there to catch them. When he could speak again, he murmured, “But none of it would have happened if I didn't call the Consul. If I'd just trusted you.”
All the chaos of the past twenty-four hours would never have taken place if January had just gone back inside and told Gale about the body, or Mx Martinez, even. He'd been so concerned about protecting his own sorry hide that he'd ended up endangering everyone. People had died for his stupid, selfish–
“I think you made the right decision,” Gale said, unknowingly interrupting his thoughts. His head was still tipped back, so they took the opportunity to clean his chin, and the hidden, tender place beneath it. “Because although I would do everything in my power to avoid causing you harm, you didn't know that.” The cloth was becoming increasingly scarlet. January had to close his eyes because every time he saw it, he heard the thud Aubrey had made when they hit the ground, the snapping of bone, the shouts and screams. “And though I've never killed anybody, you didn't know that either. What you did know was that you'd found Max’s body out there in the pines, and I must have been lying to you.”
“Still. There was probably some better way I could have gone about it.”
“It often seems that way in hindsight, when we have all the facts and can analyse things from the other side. But what's done is done, and you and I and House Gale are still here.” Their voice moved away, so he opened his eyes and found them sitting back on their heels, folding the cloth neatly into smaller and smaller perfect rectangles. “Despite everything, I'm grateful for that. So thank you.”
His head jerked aside of its own accord. “Don't–don't thank me. I didn't want to kill them. I never wanted to kill anybody.”
“I know.”
“I'm dangerous.”
“Not to me.”
He was too weary to put up much of a fight, and was still struggling against the urge to just lie on the floor and ignore everything. “You can't argue with this. Stop trying.”
“I can argue it, but if you want me to stop, I will; I don’t think it will change anything, regardless.”
Right. It’s not as if he expected or wanted them to try and prevent him from being taken to prison anyway. “You probably shouldn't even be here.”
The cloth was too small to continue folding, so Gale had hidden it in their sleeve and was looking down at their hands in their lap instead. “Probably. But I wanted to see if you were alright. You've been through a lot, and things are only going to get more complicated and difficult. Just know that whatever happens, we will fight your corner.”
He shook his head. “You have to focus on the election.”
“You're important too.”
Another shake of his head. No. And he didn’t know what Gale saw on his face, then, but they shifted closer and folded their arms around him, long sleeves draping over him and enfolding him in their scent and warmth, rich and clean. The soft weight of their chin on the top of his head felt like reassurance, and the undeserved comfort ached sweetly.
“I won’t let you end up on a hulk. You acted to protect me; that counts for something.” Their voice reverberated through him, surrounded him. Even still, they were almost drowned out by his own trembling breaths, tumbling out of control. He could do nothing but blink through the blur of tears and let them hold him, just for a moment, a brief snatch of sunlight before the long years of prison, a shining memory to hoard with all his others of Gale.
“I’m proud of you.”
The words echoed through him, all the way back to the young January who craved attention and praise, who lived for the admiration his dancing earned him, except for the people he wanted it from most: his father, who despised it, and his mother, who supported him even though he knew she quietly wished he could stay to help out on the vineyards instead. But they weren’t earned. He’d brought shame and chaos and ruin upon House Gale, had most likely tanked the election, and Aubrey, who not long ago had knotted a twig of willow for River, was dead.
It was too much, suddenly: he couldn’t bear River’s kindness a moment longer, even knowing he would soon lose it forever. Mutely he nudged their arms away from him, so gently he barely touched them, but they were paying attention as always and caught his meaning, leaning backwards and releasing him.
Surely by now it was almost time to go. He thought about telling Gale he loved them, but baulked at the idea. Then he thought about asking them to make sure someone looked after Yuan, but knew he wouldn’t need to. They were good like that. Perhaps they’d make things work out eventually, in the future, once they’d divorced their murderous idiot of an Earthstronger spouse and put the whole sorry mess behind them.
Bare moments later, his own future came for him: Praetorians at the door. They ordered January to his feet and handcuffed him with brisk efficiency. When he looked up at Gale for the last time, the expression on their face was hard and yet cracked open, an attempt at masking their hurt gone dreadfully awry, revealing the charred darkness of cold betrayal beneath where there once had been warmth, perhaps even affection. January had done that to them, and now it was time to pay his penance.
Like everything fragile and beautiful, his time with Gale had never been meant to last.