Work Text:
Claire.
Was that too flat of a way to open a letter? Liam scratched it out.
To Claire,
He didn't need to address it like that. The outside of the envelope would have her name on it. There was no confusion as to who Liam would be giving this letter to.
Were they even close enough, to justify him calling her Claire? Would she have preferred Ms. Morning? No, no, certainly Claire was right. It felt like overstepping a boundary, like disrespect, but nothing else felt correct. Claire. Claire was the little girl he'd known in Quill, the little girl he'd watched die, the woman who was not dead and who did not forgive him.
Liam scratched that out, too.
Claire.
I'm sorry.
An empty apology. He scratched that out. At this point, he was better off just getting a new piece of paper, but he was fascinated by the way the graphite tip of the pencil snapped and broke and ground down to a jagged end. He went to gently wipe away the broken pieces and simply succeeded in smudging them across the paper. He'd need a fresh start, for sure.
Perhaps he'd continue writing on this page. He could clean it all up in a second copy. Claire didn't need to see the scratched-out proof of his thoughts, didn't need to read him rambling on and on.
She just needed to read something. She deserved that much.
The broken tip of the pencil made his letters streaky and difficult to read, even moreso than his poor handwriting usually made them. He'd clean it up.
I know an apology means little from me.
So why was Liam writing this? What, in the end, would this do? Reopen the wound?
Perhaps it was better to pretend like nothing had ever occurred between them. It was impossible, Liam knew, but maybe if he simply made himself scarce— No, that wouldn't work. There was no making himself scarce in a land as small as Artimé, and he certainly couldn't go back to Quill. They were guaranteed to run into each other again, for the rest of time, unless one of them dropped dead.
I know an apology means little from me, but you deserve one. I hurt you. I hurt you over and over because that is what Quill taught me to do.
Liam paused, then scratched out the part about Quill. It was true enough, but he'd done it all willingly. That was the core of this. He could've rebelled; he knew that now. Maybe it would've meant nothing to Quill as a whole, but at least it would have been one less person helping make things worse. There was no point in pinning the blame on Quill.
Besides, if Claire had died, then it was only fair that he, too, would have died for that rebellion.
I hurt you. I wish I hadn't, but I can't take it back. I regret it every day.
There. That sounded about right. It was the truth, after all.
I know you think Quill was
Was? Is? He'd stopped living there—they both had—but the place itself remained, with all its opinions and hatred and rules. He paused, and then continued.
I know you think Quill was wrong for making me forget about my parents, and you, and everybody else that they killed. I have learned, now, that it is okay to have different opinions on things.
She'd appreciate knowing that, wouldn't she? Maybe evidence was necessary.
Eva Fathom taught me that before she died. I tried my best not to listen to Aaron. I asked him, once, if he wanted to be Unwanted. I bribed the drivers. I doubted. I thought for myself. I did not listen to Gondoleery when she told me to die.
Thank you for convincing me not to follow that command. Thank you for letting me stay here. I know I don't deserve it.
Certainly not after failing to stop Gondoleery from taking over. He felt sick to his stomach, looking back on his time as Aaron's governor. Simply allowing Gondoleery into the palace, inviting her in, even. How stupid had he been, to turn a blind eye to her madness?
He pushed it out of his mind, as he'd been trained to do. He would help take her down if he could, just like how he would help Claire heal if he could. He tried to keep his hand steady as he continued, pushing through the ache beginning to build in his wrist.
What I did in the name of Quill—especially for Aaron—was horrific. I knew it even as I did it, which makes it worse. Seeing you tied up in that pantry made me regret every choice I had ever made. When I was in the Ancients Sector, there was never a doubt in my mind that I belonged there. All I could think about was you. Alive, starved, and tied up.
Now I can look back and acknowledge how much that hurt emotionally. At the time, all I could see was the physical aspect of it. Quill had so little food, but nobody deserves to starve. Nobody deserves to sit still until their muscles ache. I tried to help you in that regard.
Now I wish I could have done more. I should have stood up to Aaron. I have learned how to do that now.
I can never know how much this has hurt you, but I am starting to learn.
He hoped that counted for something, but Liam wasn't typically one to hope for much of anything. He hoped she would read this. He hoped they would defeat Gondoleery. Three things that seemed unlikely. He was better off cutting his losses, at this point.
I know we don't know each other anymore, but I would like to, again. I have learned how to miss you, and now it's more than I can bear. If not, that's okay, too.
I want the best for you.
Liam also wasn't typically one to want for much of anything, but this felt like something worth wanting. He hoped for forgiveness, but he wanted happiness for Claire, more than anything else in the world.
He put the pencil down, rolling his wrist back and forth, wincing at the tightness of the muscles in his hand and arm. Who knew writing would hurt this badly? And make him sad? No wonder why Justine had outlawed this.
What more could he say? He read it over, his handwriting making the letters jumbled and near-unintelligible. He sighed and grabbed another piece of paper. Time for the second draft.
Claire found the letter a few days later, slid under the door to her classroom sometime overnight. It was lazily sealed with a piece of ribbon tied in a bow, crinkling the folded paper around the middle.
She kept the ribbon buried in her bedside table.