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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After Blue Squad's adventures, Colson returns home with Mordecai to Telaar, where Colson has Mail! 6k words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Morson
Shattrath's infirmary is not terribly crowded today, but it is being run by a skeleton crew. Mordecai's usual superior, Dr. Mildred Fletcher, is absent, and Mordecai seems to be running around at the beck and call of a white-haired draenei woman, Sha'nir.
A gnome orderly in an Argent Dawn tabard with her pink hair pulled back into a long ponytail sits on one of the carpets, sorting through a pile of personal effects.
Colson enters the infirmary the way he always does — with that certain stride and body language that suggests that he is exactly where he is supposed to be, there is nothing strange here, don't worry about it. It takes him a moment to locate Mordecai, as he strips off his gauntlets. There's more than a little blood on the Paladin, though none of it seems to be his. At least he isn't dripping on the floor, though.
Mordecai is speaking to one of his patients in a low voice, focused on his work.
It's actually Cheep, the gnome, who notices Colson first. "Pssst. Mordecai," she says, "your paladin's here."
Mordecai looks up, directly at Colson, and smiles.
The moment Colson sees Mordecai looking at him the faint smile on his face grows into a broader, more obvious one. He seems fine, not particularly tired. How accurate that is, however, is hard to say.
Mordecai gives Colson a tiny little wave and returns to the conversation he was having with his patient.
Colson seems perfectly content to wait, as he sets his gauntlets in his bag and steps to the side, crossing his arms. It’s only then that it seems to occur to him how much blood there is on his armor. He makes a faint ‘hm’ sound, as he adjusts the tabard.
Cheep gets up. "Hi, Mr. Aspenwood!" she says, smiling. She fetches a bowl of water and a cloth and marches over to him. "You're a mess!" she says, bluntly but cheerfully, holding the water up.
Colson inclines his head as he reaches down for the water and cloth. "Thank you, Cheep." He doesn't correct the 'Mr. Aspenwood.' He starts wiping at the worst of it with clear experience at doing so. "I hope you have been well?"
Cheep shrugs. "I've been staying healthy!" she says, which apparently is what counts.
Mordecai finishes up his current task, says goodbye to Sha'nir, and heads over to Colson, removing his gloves and tucking them into his belt. "All done."
Colson nods to Cheep, and his face brightens into a warm smile as Mordecai gets closer. He finishes another general wiping of his face, and offers the cloth back to Cheep.
Cheep takes it back. On her way back to her work, she tugs on Mordecai's sleeve. Mordecai leans way down so Cheep can whisper something to him, and whatever it is she says makes him smile.
"Good work today," Mordecai says to her in a normal volume as he straightens up. He holds a hand out to Colson.
Colson takes it, bringing it closer to him for a brief kiss. "How was it today?"
"It wasn't bad." Mordecai steps closer. "Where are we going now?"
Colson makes a 'hm' sound, as he glances once more at the infirmary before turning to leave it. "Wherever you would prefer to be. I would not want to march another three hours, but one or two would not be difficult."
"Telaar, then," Mordecai decides, heading down the ramp with Colson in tow without another look back.
Cheep waves as they leave.
Colson still does not seem tired in the lobby of the inn as he politely greets Isel, offering a small talk 'how are you today,' although it's clear it's meant more as an exchange of pleasantries rather than a true inquisitive probing of how Isel is actually doing.
"Are you hungry?" Mordecai asks Colson, quietly. "We could order something to be sent up later?"
"I should be able to make dinner," Colson says with calm confidence in his energy level as he walks to the mailbox. "Some bread might be nice though." He seems to be deliberately not looking at the mailbox like maybe if he doesn't examine it too hard then this time it will have a letter in it. Observing mailbox might frighten away mail.
Mordecai nods and releases Colson's hand, letting him head out to the mailbox while he returns to Isel to place an order for bread.
The mailbox contains several letters, but this is not unusual. Most are formal or business — Colson's necessary correspondence and financial records and so on. But there, at the bottom of the pile, with spiky, almost aggressive looking writing a letter with the simple return address of R - Acherus. Colson's breathing picks up significantly, as he stares at the mail, unmoving.
It isn't even a full minute before Mordecai exits the inn, heading directly for Colson. He's carrying a little basket of fresh bread.
Colson hasn't moved and he hasn't opened the letter. He's looking at the letter as though he's not even seeing it anymore, as if Colson's gone somewhere else and his body is just holding the place.
"Colson," Mordecai says, reaching out to touch his arm.
Colson almost startles, blinking once as he looks immediately to Mordecai, moving the hand with the letter down and away from him in a way that seems almost guilty. "Yes?"
"What was that?" Mordecai asks, looking like he was trying to catch the name on the envelope but didn't quite have a chance.
Colson looks down at it again and turns it over so Mordecai can see the front of the envelope. "It would seem that Roper is in Acherus, and that the mail is functioning there." Colson's sounds stiff, and oddly formal.
"Ah." Mordecai takes a quick look at the envelope, nods, and begins to dig through his bag for his inn key. "Let's go inside?"
Colson nods once, starting for the ramp.
Mordecai leads Colson quickly up to their room and lets them in, holding the key correctly up to the panel. His grip on the basket handle is very tight. He steps inside and immediately starts setting his things down on the side table by the door - basket of bread, his usual bag, and his inn key.
Colson looks as though he's forgotten the order to things. He enters the inn room a step behind Mordecai, taking the letters to the kitchen table, still in his full armor.
Mordecai shuts the door and locks up. He stares after Colson for a moment before he begins to just take his boots off by the door, giving Colson time to perhaps read his mail if he so chooses.
Colson sets the rest of the normal mail to one side, taking the one personal letter and staring at it for a long moment. He opens it slowly, as though afraid he could tear it and render it completely illegible. It does not take him long to read the contents, but when he does there's a sharp, painful sounding inhale.
Mordecai hesitates by the door, twisting his hands together anxiously. After a moment, he moves over to the kitchen sink and washes his hands, head bowed over the sink as he spends longer scrubbing his hands clean than he normally would.
Colson closes his eyes, exhaling very slowly, before he refolds the letter. "Roper has agreed to assist Mourn." He pauses for a moment that stretches long enough to seem as though he's either hesitating or choosing his words very carefully. "He has a condition for doing so."
"He remembers you," Mordecai says, and he sounds resigned and not particularly happy about this. "Mm. What's the condition?" Mordecai dries his hands off on the dish towel, not looking at Colson.
"He has my gauntlets," Colson says, and his voice has gone quieter. He looks over at Mordecai and there is pain and grief on his face. "The silver ones I could not find." Colson brushes a hand over his eyes. "I thought I was…it was chaos, and the frost in my eyes blurred my vision. I thought I saw him touch the ground, but I could not be sure. I did not truly think he took them." Colson swallows hard. "His condition is that I…come get them."
"He has your—" Mordecai turns to stare, and whatever he sees in Colson's expression causes him to move closer. "May I, your armor? Please?"
"My armor?" Colson asks, turning his head to look towards his bags, as though Mordecai must have meant his silver armor, and not the still blood spattered orange rock one he's still wearing.
"Would you like me to help you with your armor?" Mordecai asks, gesturing vaguely at the armor that Colson's still wearing. He sounds far more uncertain the second time he asks.
Colson looks down at his armor. "Oh," he says, and he looks at the letter in his hand again before setting it down carefully on the table, as though it were something fragile that could break if he dropped it. "Please. Yes." He moves closer to Mordecai, both hands reaching for his face.
Mordecai attempts a smile, which comes out a little shaky. He starts to reach for one of the straps, but as soon as Colson touches his face, he inhales sharply and covers both of Colson's hands with his, holding them there.
Colson leans forward for a kiss, his hands very warm, and something very soft in his eyes, despite the tightly coiled tension of his body language only partially obscured by the plate armor.
Mordecai doesn't seem to have it in him to multitask today. He abandons any attempt to get Colson's armor off entirely in favor of kissing Colson back with an unusual sort of desperation.
Colson sinks into it with a long, soft sigh, the tension in him leaving in slow increments the longer the kiss goes on. He murmurs Mordecai's name once, but moves immediately back in for another kiss. If Colson is concerned at all about the delay in his armor removal, there is absolutely no indication of it.
The robes Mordecai chose to wear today are some of Mordecai's nicer robes - teal and white, with gold accents. Mordecai is potentially about to add red to the mix as he presses in closer, heedless of possible stains.
Colson moves his right hand down to Mordecai's chest, holding a small distance between them. Colson has already started attempting to slow the kiss down, a sure sign of his interest in escalating, despite the hand keeping Mordecai from closing the distance any further.
Mordecai glances down and seems to realize that he didn't do the thing he said he was going to do. He pulls back a little to begin removing Colson's armor, the process slowed down significantly by the fact that he keeps moving back in to kiss Colson again in between each of the pieces.
"Welcome home," Colson says, in a moment between kisses, brushing his thumb gently along Mordecai's cheek.
Mordecai opens his mouth to say something and no sound comes out. He just nods. All of the armor has been set fairly neatly down on the kitchen table, which is not where it usually belongs, but none of it is in any danger of touching the letters. He does a quick assessment of how bloody Colson's under armor clothing looks today.
There is absolutely none. Colson took, apparently, no wounds himself. At least none that left any blood behind. There is no way to detect the healed bones that fractured earlier. Colson seems more relaxed, and if the grief is still there, the pain seems to be gone, his attention fully on Mordecai as though he's done something wonderful.
Mordecai wraps both arms around Colson, presses his face into Colson's shoulder, and holds on tight.
Colson makes a soft contented noise as he presses a kiss to Mordecai's shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asks, both arms wrapping around Mordecai's waist, holding on with a gentle grip.
"Don't know," Mordecai mumbles. "Anxiety spiked very suddenly, earlier. It should pass soon. I hope. This helps."
Colson makes a soothing sound. He doesn't seem to be in any hurry to move. "Do you know what brought it on?"
Mordecai half-shrugs. "The letter," he says, still speaking into Colson's shoulder.
"There is no threat in it. Roper was always…direct, when he intended something to be so," Colson says, as though that might be the concern.
"Could've sent your gauntlets back in the mail," Mordecai mutters. "He didn't. He wants to see you in person."
"Yes," Colson agrees. "I…don't know why he took them. He broke one of them. On the battlefield. I…he used to mend his own gear. Perhaps…" Colson trails off.
"I imagine he took them because they were yours, and you were familiar." Mordecai doesn't look up.
"It is possible. He…the letter mentions the signal that we used, when I was his handler in the army. Maybe he remembers…more than Mourn did," Colson says, and there's a tight pain in his voice, as though that kind of hope is painful.
"What's the signal? Where does he want to meet you?" Mordecai looks up, frowning.
"I shall choose the place, and I suppose…I shall send it by mail. Before…it was a simple note — 'submit your requisitions before X time.' The times, however, were coordinates. The stamp at the bottom were the colors of the tent we were to meet in. Black with white meant the black tent with the white poles. Blue and red meant the blue tent with the red opening. And so on." Colson recites the information with that military precision, his cadence going formal and slightly stilted.
"Oh." Mordecai's expression is doing things, moving in quick little flickers. "And you plan on… you want to see him again?"
Colson looks at Mordecai's expression like he's attempting to read something blurry and smudged, but critically important to his survival. "I want his assistance with Mondragon. If he is even half the man he was before, he will be invaluable as an asset." None of that is really the question asked and Colson exhales slowly. "And…I want to see him again. To know if he is…anything of who he was before."
Mordecai makes eye contact, listening, and nods. "I understand." He gestures briefly at his own face. "This is… I feel jealous, and frustrated with myself for not being able to suppress that, and I'm worried. I'm very worried about what Lord Morningdew said about the Hunger, and what that means." Mordecai touches Colson's cheek. "I don't want him to hurt you."
Colson leans into the touch, turning his head slightly to kiss the inside of Mordecai's wrist. "I do not intend to treat him as though he were not altered. I do not trust him. I will not let my guard down for a memory of a man who died years ago," Colson says softly.
A faint tremor goes through Mordecai at the gesture, and his heart rate picks up. "I believe you. Even so, I would… I would prefer it if you weren't alone with this man. If I could be there, or… or maybe Cressidha, if you don't think I should be…"
"Do you think you should not be there?" Colson asks, his voice gentle, his eyes going warmer as his left arm flexes slightly, pulling Mordecai fractionally closer. "I would rather have my Shield with me, but if you believe it would be…better if not, I will take another." Another person? Another shield? Difficult to say which Colson means.
Mordecai looks visibly relieved, and most of the tension goes out of him. "I'd rather be there with you. I somehow doubt he'll appreciate my presence, but I would like to be there."
Colson makes eye contact. "Then that is settled," Colson says definitively. "I want to make sure it is in a neutral location. The Plaguelands are likely to be simplest, for being close to Acherus, but…it can be dangerous there all on its own. Still. It is less so for servants of the Light."
Mordecai nods and seems to relax. "I love you. Would you like me to wash your hair…? Whose blood is that?"
"Yes," Colson says immediately, and drops his gaze to Mordecai's robe. "We were sent to disrupt the operations of the Demon Hunters that Illidan had training the forces at the Black Temple. We were successful in reducing their forces significantly, and eliminating the leaders." There it is again — that reporting cadence to his voice, as though he is only just barely restraining himself from adding 'sir' at the end.
"Demon hunter blood, then?" Mordecai guesses. He kisses Colson's forehead and pulls back a little, nodding in the direction of the washroom. "Incredible. Let's get you cleaned up, mm?"
"Yes," Colson says, possibly to both. "We destroyed the Book of Fel Names. I saw to it personally." Colson's tone is conversational, but he moves a hand to Mordecai's face as he speaks. There is very little being done to move to the washroom.
"I'm glad to hear that," Mordecai says, and leans in for another kiss. This is not the best way to successfully move from location A to location B at all. He hasn't even started walking anywhere yet.
"The other will be destroyed as well, the Lexicon," Colson murmurs against Mordecai's lips, which is not ordinarily the best way to ensure Mordecai retains the information, but Colson seems less concerned about that than usual.
Mordecai goes, "Hm?" Did he catch that? Absolutely not.
"The other book," Colson repeats in a low voice, kissing a trail along Mordecai's jaw, which is likely to be very helpful in communicating this information. "It will be destroyed, after it has been used for the stated purpose. The Lexicon."
"Oh. R-right." Mordecai nudges Colson and finally begins moving in a direction. "Shower, Colson."
Colson makes a sound of agreement, pulling back to look at Mordecai with a soft smile, his right hand brushing against the robe. His gaze moves slowly down the robe and back up to Mordecai's face in appreciation, and it is definitely not the first time he's done this today. "May I?" Colson asks, his fingers tracing one of the lines of the robe. "I like this one, in particular."
"Oh, of-of course." Mordecai smiles and makes no effort to help in any way. Colson has volunteered for the job.
Colson's smile flashes into a brief answering grin, as he closes the distance, both hands moving to Mordecai's hips to gather the robe to lift it off. "Light, Mordecai," Colson says, and there's something low and warm in his voice. "You're so beautiful. It makes my chest ache with it sometimes."
Mordecai flushes, pressing his hands to his cheeks, and smiles shyly at Colson. "You're beautiful."
Colson laughs, a very brief, bright sound, a faint blush blooming on the peaks of his cheekbones as he pulls up the robe.
Mordecai ducks, pulling his arms out through the sleeves, and straightens up once the robe is off. "You are," Mordecai insists. "Even when you've got blood in your hair. Which you do, by the way."
"I know," Colson says, his face and voice sobering with the reminder. He drops his eyes to his hands, holding the robe over his left arm. "It was not…" He exhales as he steps away from Mordecai, moving to the wardrobe. "We made it as clean as we could."
"I know." Mordecai follows after him, close enough to reach out and touch.
Colson hangs up the robe with something akin to reverence, brushing his fingers along the shoulders of it on the hanger before he turns back to face Mordecai. "I have…unfortunate news as well. Perhaps that can wait until I am less…" Colson shrugs his right shoulder to convey the state of him.
Mordecai immediately looks worried again. "News about… what?" He reaches for Colson's hand.
Colson takes Mordecai's hand with his left, his right hand moving to remove his shirt. "I did not intend to worry you, love. It is in regards to Dane and Miss Barlowe's family. Miss Barlowe and Dane are safe and alive." There are small stresses on the names, as though to suggest that is all Colson can attest to.
"Oh." Mordecai appears to be reassured by this. He brushes a finger over the last few words of Colson's tattoo and then lets go so he can also finish undressing. "You can tell me later, it's all right."
==Time Passes==
His hair still drying, but now clean, Colson sorts through his clothing bag for pants. A moment's hesitation, and what he pulls out are actually his blue silk pajama pants. It's barely dinner time, but apparently it's pajamas time already. He makes a faint 'hm' sound at his armor on the kitchen table, but doesn't immediately move to gather his cleaning supplies.
Mordecai, who forgot to get out clothes to wear after the shower ahead of time, is bundled up in towels, staring blankly at the wardrobe, flipping through options. He eventually glances over at Colson to check what Colson has chosen. Pajama pants it is. He gets on undergarments, pants, and socks, and then it's back to blankly staring at the wardrobe, one towel still wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
Pants on, and therefore potentially full access to a wide variety of conversation available, Colson crosses the room to where Mordecai stands. "Should I make something now, or later?" Colson asks, moving to stand next to the wardrobe so he can see Mordecai's expression.
Mordecai's expression is particularly blank as he stares at the shirts he has hanging up next to the robes. He blinks and goes, "Hm?" as he glances over at Colson, and immediately his expression softens into a faint smile. "What did you say?"
"Should I make something now, or later, for dinner," Colson repeats, reaching out a hand to Mordecai's arm, brushing his knuckles against the skin almost as though checking his temperature. "Were you somewhere else, love?"
Mordecai puts a hand over Colson's. "I was trying to figure out what to wear, and I think I got too far into my head about it. Are you hungry? I'm not."
Colson shrugs his right shoulder. "I would not mind having something to do with my hands," he admits. "Dinner seems as reasonable a choice as any. Soup, perhaps." He leans in to press a kiss to Mordecai's cheek. "Something warm."
Mordecai starts to say, "I could," and he can't seem to get the rest of the sentence out. He turns red and busies himself with folding the towel up, visibly flustered and avoiding eye contact. "Soup sounds nice."
Colson's brows raise, as he traces the blush with his eyes, a faint smile on his face. "You could what, darling?" Colson asks.
"Mm-nn." Mordecai tosses the towel over the door of the wardrobe, shaking his head with a faint smile, and turns to Colson. "Soup sounds nice… later?" he tries, peeking up through his lashes at Colson.
Colson's brows raise slightly, as he tilts his head, searching Mordecai's expression like he's looking at a map and wondering if he's reading it correctly. After a moment, his smile warms and grows as he reaches both hands for Mordecai's face to pull him forward for a kiss. "Later," he agrees.
==Time Passes==
Colson fusses again with the soup tureen. Maybe if he sets it closer to the middle of the table with the ladle facing the other way, it will change the fact that he didn't quite nail the exact intended texture of the vegetables and it's a little saltier than it should be from missing the mark for the ideal amount. Despite the obvious nerves over dinner, Colson seems relaxed, and possibly allergic to shirts. The kitchen table shows no signs of the bloodied armor from earlier, and the letter is also gone somewhere.
Mordecai isn't wearing a shirt either, because there wasn't one within reach when he got out of bed earlier. He finishes setting the table and takes a seat, looking over at Colson with a fond smile.
Colson sits down, placing some of the bread next to his soup bowl on the little plate there, and serves himself a large portion. "The revisions were helpful," Colson remarks. "Although, I confess, I was not expecting the moment between 'crisp tender' and 'excessively tender' to be quite so…narrow a window."
"Cooking isn't easy." Mordecai says fondly. He serves himself soup as well.
"Miss Barlowe is an accomplished cook, but I wonder if it would be appropriate to send her something," Colson says as he takes a bite and doesn't quite repress the faint disappointment on his face. "She has lost most of her family to the Plague — her parents and two of her brothers, along with their families as I understand it. Dane said she feels the loss keenly, and that sending our condolences would be very welcome."
"She… oh, Light. Most of her family. That's awful." Mordecai sighs. He hasn't tried his soup yet.
Colson sets his left hand on Mordecai's knee. "I hope you do not mind that I offered your expertise with grief, should she wish for it. Dane seemed to think it might be worth trying, given her current state."
Mordecai shakes his head. "I don't mind. Um, I don't know Miss Barlowe very well though." He tries the soup and immediately makes a face. "Still a little on the 'too salty' side," he says, and transfers his spoon to his left hand so he can rest a hand on Colson's left shoulder. He tries another spoonful. "The green beans are the right texture this time, though."
"I expect that few do know her well these days," Colson says gently. "We could attempt to visit when we are next in Stormwind."
Mordecai makes a noncommittal sort of noise. "I'm… not opposed." He continues to eat his soup left-handed so that he can keep his right hand on Colson's shoulder.
"How do you feel about traveling to Teldrassil in the next few weeks?" Colson asks, seemingly apropos of nothing. He leans slightly to press a kiss to Mordecai's hand on his shoulder.
Mordecai blinks. "I'm not opposed to that either. What for?"
"It seems as though Velrin is uncomfortable in Outland, and yet…" Colson moves his hand on Mordecai's knee in a slight hand-shrug of palm up, palm down. "I did not wish to presume that she was quiet by preference or focus in the field. Yet, the others, Dane in particular, also seemed to think it is more than that. She rebuffed an attempt of mine for Nagrand, but…I would not wish her to think that we were only offering what was convenient to do so, and that the comradeship was not genuinely meant."
"You want to… visit Velrin in Teldrassil?" Mordecai asks. He seems vaguely puzzled by the suggestion.
"It is where she said she would be. Dolanaar. Have you ever had a chance to see it?"
There's a faint trace of recognition at the name, but Mordecai shakes his head no.
Colson smiles faintly. "It is a lovely little place, tucked into the forest of Teldrassil. I could show you where I once made the mistake of lingering near what I thought was a fountain but was, in fact, a very small moonwell, and I was asked no fewer than seven times to please fill up a vial of the water. I believe I was assumed to be some sort of assistant. In truth, I had no idea what was happening, but I had agreed to aid and dipping a vial into water was, well. Aiding."
Mordecai laughs, delighted, at the story. His focus is mostly on Colson, now, and he nearly spills a spoonful of soup before catching himself. Reluctantly, he switches back to eating right-handed.
Colson smiles, glancing over at Mordecai with a soft, happy expression, before returning his attention to his soup to not Stare While Eating. "Cressidha could portal us to Darnassus, and the three of us could attempt to make a day of it, should Velrin not be opposed to it. I wonder if Cressidha could be tempted into learning some Sentinel Weapons Training." The capital letters are audible.
"All right. If you'd like." Mordecai doesn't sound terribly excited about the prospect, but he seems content enough to agree to it nonetheless. "This really is getting better, I think," Mordecai says, gesturing at the soup. "It's come a long way already."
Colson flushes slightly, making a soft sound as he gently squeezes Mordecai's knee. "Would you wish to learn how to use that polearm from our wedding gifts? I may be assuming overmuch of Velrin's training, but I could also demonstrate the basics for you. Cressidha would be a willing stand-in for a beginner." Colson chuckles at something. "I would only have to ask her. No need for goading with the promise of a challenge, as Velrin might have needed to. Not that I think Velrin likely to do so. She does not seem the type."
"Oh, um. I could try." Mordecai scoots a little closer to Colson on the bench. "You're warm," Mordecai says happily, and stops eating to put his head down on Colson's shoulder for a minute. "I'd rather learn from you than from a stranger, but… um. I'm willing to try."
Colson kisses the top of Mordecai's head. "In either case, I would like to see if Velrin could witness another side of Cressidha, as more than a simple battlemage. It was easier for her, when we were children, even when she had her odd little brother in tow. Now…I fear all they see is her power and her control, and forget that there is a person behind the blizzard who would very much enjoy a day out with friends." Colson smiles gently. "It would be worth the attempt to try, at least."
Mordecai makes a content little humming noise. "You're a good brother."
Colson smiles faintly as he maneuvers an arm around Mordecai's waist. Colson is still radiating his usual heat, and he makes a contemplative noise at the difference in their temperatures. "You're a little cold," Colson says. "Let me get you something." He's already starting to move to a stand as he speaks.
"Oh." Mordecai blushes, nods, and once Colson is no longer providing as much warmth, wraps his arms around himself, hunching down a little in a way that seems due to the cold rather than anything else.
Colson moves gracefully and easily across the room to where he's left his bags. The wardrobe with Mordecai's clothes is clearly not the intended target. He gets to the desk, and starts to sort through the bag for one of the possibly endless supply of mageweave undershirts. He pulls one out, and then…seems to stop.
The moment stretches on.
After a short while, when Mordecai doesn't hear Colson returning, he looks back over his shoulder. He waits several seconds to confirm that Colson has frozen, and then gets up, starting to cross the room. "Colson?"
It's immediate, the turn of his head to look back at Mordecai. But it's clear that the paladin's mind is still catching up to the motion, some thought holding him with stretchy sticky fingers to a notebook with a letter tucked inside. A few heartbeats pass as Colson tears free, and he looks down at the shirt in his hands. "Ah." He turns fully, attention on Mordecai, moving through the room back to him.
Mordecai still has a good amount of soup left that he has abandoned. "Did you go somewhere?" Mordecai asks, in much the same way that Colson sometimes does. He meets Colson in the center of the room.
Colson's expression flickers, as he moves to wrap the shirt around Mordecai. He doesn't say anything for a long moment as he adjusts the shirt's drape on Mordecai in a completely unnecessary way. No amount of adjusting will ever change the fact that these shirts are far too big for Mordecai. "Yes."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mordecai asks in a very soft voice as he buttons up the shirt.
"I do not wish to make it worse," Colson says, brushing his left hand's knuckles against Mordecai's cheek. "For you."
"Make it worse? Make what worse?" Mordecai holds his arms out in case maybe Colson would like a hug.
Colson moves into the embrace without hesitation, setting his chin on Mordecai's right shoulder. "The letter."
Mordecai pulls Colson in close like he's trying to melt into Colson's warmth and says in the most Chaplain Mordecai voice he has, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, love. That was a private letter. But if it would help to talk about it, I'm always willing to listen to you."
"I do not have anything I wish to keep from you," Colson says. "You could read it, if you wish to. It is only…" Colson hesitates long enough for the pause to grow into a silence.
"Colson?" Mordecai prompts. "What is it?"
"There was nothing ambiguous about his rejection," Colson says, and it's obvious from the tone in his voice that it's something he's repeated more than once, even if only in his own mind. "Avah's…conclusion weighed against that feels as though it is nothing but another bet that she would lose with proof. Except." He gestures behind him with a hand, not letting go of Mordecai, presumably in the direction of the letter. "Now I am doubting my own recollection."
Mordecai remains perfectly calm. "There was something in the letter that caused you to doubt it? Do you want me to read it?"
"You may read it. It's nothing that he…" An exhale. "He addressed it to 'Colson,'" Colson says, and shakes his head slightly. "He never called me by first name. Not once, not ever. I was 'Aspenwood' or in writing, 'A.' I do not know why he would…change that now. And…at the battle, I thought I heard someone call my name. Not 'Aspenwood.' 'Colson.' When I turned, he was there, but I…I assumed it could not have been him."
Mordecai makes a thoughtful humming noise and then says, "Colson," except it doesn't seem to be the prelude to a question or a statement, just Mordecai saying the name out loud to see how it sounds.
Colson brushes his lips against Mordecai's shoulder in immediate response. "Yes?"
There's a pause. "Hm? Oh." Mordecai leans his head against Colson's. "Nothing. Just thinking about when you asked me to call you 'Colson.' I would certainly never have dreamed of doing so otherwise."
Colson flushes slightly. "It's…what civilians call each other. Peers. I was 'Aspenwood' for seven years, and…returning to being 'Colson' was…well. A way to remember I was not a soldier, or a commanding officer, any longer." Colson's voice goes quieter. "It means something to me, when the others call me simply 'Colson.'"
Mordecai nods. "It meant something to me, too, when you asked." He takes a step back towards the kitchen table, trying to bring Colson with him.
Colson is easily led. He still has at least half a dinner to finish.
The main problem with finishing dinner is that it requires Mordecai to let go of Colson. He makes it over to the table and stalls out, holding on a little longer. "I love you, Colson."
Colson's face brightens immediately, his eyes going soft and warm as he leans in to brush a kiss against Mordecai's cheek. "I know," he says, with happiness in his voice. "I love you, my Mordecai."
Mordecai smiles back. He spends a couple of moments just staring at Colson like Colson has done something wonderful before finally snapping out of it and letting go, taking his place on the bench to finish eating.
"Maybe I could read the letter after dinner," Mordecai decides.
"As you'd like," Colson says, sitting gracefully back down. "It is in the back of my notebook."
The same place Colson keeps things that are precious to him.
Mordecai nods and turns back to his soup, his smile flickering away.