It's not always the case. Occasionally, someone is born who is uncommonly selfish, destructive and cruel, but in ways that just happen to result in being a net gain for other people, who will call him "hero."
I don't think he deserves to be called that any more than the man who quietly does what's less dramatic, but more difficult, resulting in radical preservation over radical change.
[Paul could tell himself the dampness around his eyes was steam, but who would he be telling himself that for, while he sits here alone and not-alone? Sophia nuzzles under his jaw, soft and gentle.]
I don't think I can do this without you.
So you have to stay. You have to tell me you'll stay. You won't go anywhere I can't bring you back from.
[Paul thinks of all the times he's given Lazarus reason to doubt him, all the times that the distance between them had seemed insurmountable. He presses his forehead to his knees with a deep, wounded relief, and the fire behind his closed eyes recedes.
[How can he explain that he would settle for nothing from the man who once was his Teacher? That he had settled for it, for the sake of this world and the people in it, and that he now feels the unsettling in him like the low groan of a burning house about to collapse?]
I would. I will.
[He can't explain. Not like this. But he can settle, settle, into the security of Lazarus' sureness, this man who so often seems like he might be glass while always, when he needs to be, found to be steel.]
[It's pressure Paul exerts knowingly, willing in his desperation to pull the levers he has within reach. It clouds the otherwise heady relief of reassurance.]
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I don't think he deserves to be called that any more than the man who quietly does what's less dramatic, but more difficult, resulting in radical preservation over radical change.
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In which case, someone else is certainly acting, for him.
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I don't think I can do this without you.
So you have to stay. You have to tell me you'll stay. You won't go anywhere I can't bring you back from.
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Something has been done, already.
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What did you do?
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He'll stop celebrating soon, turn in early, and have great difficulty sleeping, if he can at all.
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What is that meant to do for her?
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Men make mistakes. Men can be broken. Can you not see that he's cracking?
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Is that what we want? To break him?
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I would settle for taking him down a peg or two.
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I trust you. You've been more right about all of this than I've ever been.
Don't forget that I trust you.
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Sometimes, it's the truest thing I know.
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Paul believes him.]
Good.
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I would. I will.
[He can't explain. Not like this. But he can settle, settle, into the security of Lazarus' sureness, this man who so often seems like he might be glass while always, when he needs to be, found to be steel.]
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I know it's a lot to ask for.
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I am sure about you. You're one of the only things I'm sure of.
That's because of you. Don't discount yourself like that. Not to me.
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I won't, then, if it's like that.
[Deserving this level of trust is, however, its own kind of pressure.]
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It's like that.
I should let you get back to work.
/wrap
Not more important, and I won't stop saying that.