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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After Blue Squad's adventures, Mordecai and Colson return to their room to weight the potential benefits of information against setting off what could become a diplomatic incident by asking a death knight about a death knight. 10k-ish words. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Mordecai holds the dinner tray carefully in both hands as he follows Colson upstairs. He is carrying breakable objects and he is not going to trip. He's fine.
Colson opens the door to their terrible room, pausing to look at the space, eyes lingering in the shadows, before stepping through to hold the door for Mordecai.
Mordecai moves on inside, setting the tray very carefully down on the dresser for the time being. He keeps his head bowed as he turns on the lights, mostly so that he doesn't hit his head on the ceiling. "Are you all right?"
Colson closes the door to their room quietly, and the pause before he speaks is probably an answer all in its own. "I am fine." Meaningless. "It was simply a difficult day, and I am left with both concerns and questions I am considering how to allay or answer sufficiently."
"Difficult in what way?" Mordecai asks, peering at Colson like he's trying to determine how tired he looks. He sets his bag down in the corner and toes off his boots without undoing the laces first, which will be a problem for Future Mordecai. His gloves come off. "Physical or emotional?"
Colson considers that one as he reaches up a hand to remove the pauldrons. He either isn't tired at all, or despite the fact that they are in their own room, Colson has not yet relaxed. "Both, and perhaps additionally philosophically." There's a touch of dryness to his voice.
Mordecai makes a faint 'hm' of amusement and smiles sympathetically, moving over to help with the armor. "May I?"
"Yes, please," Colson answers, and there's a touch of something in his face that looks like exhaustion, before it's swept back under a neutral expression.
Mordecai is quick to assist, as far as Mordecai's assistance ever goes, which means he is clearly making a deliberate effort to help remove Colson's armor quickly and it's still not remotely as quick as it would be if Colson were doing it on his own.
Colson is aiding, here and there, but he seems to be spending more of his attention simply looking at Mordecai.
Mordecai stacks the last piece with the rest and immediately gathers Colson into a hug. "All done."
Colson wraps himself around Mordecai, pulling him close enough that you'd think Colson was cold, except he's probably not. The under armor Colson wears feels warm, compared to the cold of the metal armor that had been over it.
"I'm here," Mordecai says quietly into Colson's hair. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"This." Colson inhales deeply as though attempting to get another chocolate chip cookie just from the scent of Mordecai's hair. "Do you recall that we were attempting to locate a brother of a woman here, whose point of contact we were unfortunately too late to meet with before he was killed? A brother who was supposedly deceased, and yet who had somehow enlisted."
Mordecai nods. For the first time since before the trip to Northrend, Mordecai finally smells like baked goods again. "I remember."
"I had wondered if perhaps, given what has occurred before of such circumstances, that more than one who died while in the service of the former Prince Arthas has been found to be re-animated, that it could be so in this case as well." Colson exhales in a genuine, quiet sigh. "I fear I was correct. Her brother is a Death Knight, and the situation has become far more complicated than the simple location of an errant sibling."
Mordecai sighs. "I suspected as much. Does he remember her…?"
"I believe so, yes. He recognized her name, and expressed interest in keeping her safe. I do not believe it was disingenuous."
"That's good. That's good." Mordecai begins to run his fingers through Colson's hair. "What's the complication, exactly?"
"It seems that the Alliance was the one to sanction this mission — send a single Death Knight along with no more than a dozen footmen, some of whom had never seen combat, to dismantle an entire ziggurat and floating necropolis." Colson leans more into the hair pets, his eyes drifting closed. "We spoke to two that remain, and Thassarian alone holds the last of the line with a lich, who may hold the answer to taking it. The worst of it, is that it has the sense of a mission structured intentionally to fail, and only by the rather extraordinary ability of this knight has it succeeded as far as it has. As it stands, if we do not aid him, it will fail. However, there is some question among us if we should lend that aid, and help him succeed."
Mordecai frowns. "A mission intended to fail seems like it could be the work of the Cult of the Damned to me. Why shouldn't you help him? Who thinks you shouldn't?"
"Caspis believes it to be imperative to inform the captain before we assist a Death Knight, and he is not incorrect that should Captain Jocoza not wish to have Cobalt Company acting in such capacity, she has that right. Dane preferred to quit the field for now, rather than make such a decision for her. I cannot fault them for it, but I know that neither of them would have suggested such if it had been any other member of the Alliance standing there. Any other squad commander who had been sent to do an impossible task and now, on the cusp of possible success, asking for aid, and I cannot imagine either of them would have turned away. But for one, single detail."
Mordecai sighs. "Ah. I see. What do you think Jo will say?"
"I do not know. I am not certain how the information shall be presented to her to make such a decision, and I have been considering whether I have any right to offer another perspective," Colson says quietly. "Particularly since it is possible that I may have a resource who knows more of this specific Death Knight, perhaps enough to speak of him not in cold generalities, but specifics that make him seem more of a person. Or, it is possible that he is one of the Cult of the Damned, a follower still of the former prince, and we must take that information to the Alliance immediately."
"You think Roper might know him?" Mordecai hums thoughtfully.
"For many reasons, yes," Colson says, and there's some mixed tone in his voice of almost-fondness and something like exasperation. "I expect that Roper could very likely provide a near comprehensive list of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, by this point. Possibly with notations and organized by their favorite colors and closest living kin."
Ha ha joke's on Colson, all of their favorite colors are BLACK.
"Is there any harm in writing to him, then?" Mordecai asks, pulling back to look at Colson's face. "Or are you concerned he'll start requesting favors, or something?"
"I believe the harm is that I may not be able to speak to him, and there is no way to write to him at the moment, that would not need to be hand delivered," Colson says gently. Colson's expression holds little of the tone of his voice. There's that drift of neutrality that is unlikely to be real.
"I can deliver it for you, then." Mordecai kisses Colson's forehead. "You just write out your questions, and I'll get them to him. Would you like to eat dinner first? I helped. A little. With the stew." There's a shy, nervous little smile on Mordecai's face.
Colson smiles faintly, as he reaches out a hand to cup Mordecai's cheek. "I am looking forward to it." He looks around the terrible, way too small room. "Let us eat first, and then I shall write a letter. I may have something that should function well enough for a black circle."
Mordecai smiles back, tilting his head into the touch. "All right. D-don't expect anything to be different about it, or anything. It's her recipe, the same one. But I did help a little."
Colson brushes his thumb gently across Mordecai's cheek with a soft smile. He does have to let go of Mordecai to get to this food. He's not doing that.
Mordecai leans in for his welcome home kiss first.
Colson closes the distance for it, lingering for a moment, although it's a soft kiss. As he withdraws, the exhaustion is more obvious, settling into the way he holds himself. He is obviously operating much more on momentum at this point. "Welcome home," Colson says quietly.
Mordecai smiles. "Welcome home. Light, this room is terrible." He releases Colson to go fetch the tray, setting it out on the floor. He removes his frost resistance cloak and hangs it up by the door before sitting down.
Colson chuckles faintly, moving to a bag to pull out a cut section of black mageweave. It seems more appropriate for jewelry, and calling it a 'circle' is likely stretching the boundaries of geometry; it's clearly an oval. Still, if you had to stick it somewhere as a signal, what would possibly be the odds that it was not intended as the specified shape?
"Hm." Colson regards it. "It is less circular than I recall."
"I have scissors?" Mordecai offers, waiting for Colson to sit down next to him. He hasn't started eating yet.
"I could also perhaps ask Cressidha for something more exacting," Colson says as he moves around Mordecai and the tray for the window, ducking his head. "However, I am not certain how long it will take for him to notice."
"Please cut it," Mordecai says, and there's a note of something anxious in his voice. "I don't want him to tease me about not knowing the difference between shapes."
"It would be my fault, not yours," Colson says gently. "If you would prefer, however, I can attempt to do so." He waits at the edge of the sloped ceiling for scissors.
"Please. Um, I can cut it myself, if you want?" Mordecai drags his bag closer and digs out his scissors.
Colson glances at the sharp object, and then back to Mordecai. "If you would prefer."
Mordecai nods and holds his hand out for the fabric, still seated by the tray.
Colson hands it over. It is not particularly large — it doesn't cover much more than Colson's palm.
Mordecai cuts the oval into a circle with steady hands. It's actually surprisingly well done, considering he didn't trace anything, he just eyeballed it. It looks pretty circular. He hands the cloth back, along with the fabric scraps, and puts his scissors away.
Colson accepts it, and moves to the little window. He opens the curtain, and places the circle against the glass. After a few moments, it seems to be stable enough to remain visible. Colson draws the curtain closed once more, keeping his head carefully bowed, as he returns to Mordecai's side, sitting with less grace than usual. That might have been a faint sound on an exhale when he sat down.
"I hope it's all right," Mordecai says shyly. "I mean, it's her recipe, there weren't any changes, so it should taste the same. I hope."
Colson smiles faintly, and sets a hand gently on Mordecai's knee for a moment before he reaches for his dinner. "I am certain it is very fine."
Mordecai smiles nervously back and waits for Colson to try it first.
Colson eats the first bite, and nods to Mordecai with that same slight smile more in his eyes than his lips.
Mordecai relaxes and reaches for his stew. "It's all right? It tastes normal?" He tries his.
There is zero difference since Ivri's last fish stew. It tastes exactly the same as usual.
"Yes," Colson says, after he's finished chewing and swallowing.
Mordecai smiles and ducks his head. He doesn't talk much as he eats, but he seems hungry.
Colson eats mechanically, with evenly spaced and timed bites as though he is performing this necessary action automatically, but without any particular feeling. There's a faint frown of thought on his face.
Mordecai sets his spoon down and leans against Colson's shoulder when he's done.
Colson finishes his stew only a few minutes later, setting the bowl down gently enough that it is almost soundless.
Mordecai stands, patting Colson's shoulder as he does, before he moves the tray to the dresser, the only real surface in the room for it. He moves back towards his bags in the corner. "Do you want to borrow my clipboard? To write on?"
"If I may, yes," Colson answers, as he remains where he is.
"Of course." Mordecai fetches it for him and attaches a clean sheet of stationery paper on top of whatever else is still attached before offering it over.
"Thank you," Colson says, as he accepts it, and frowns at it as though maybe if he looks at the paper, the correct words he needs will appear magically.
"You don't need to worry about looking at anything on there," Mordecai says quietly. "I left all of that at home. I didn't want it to get lost at sea if something happened."
Colson smiles faintly at Mordecai, abandoning the attempt at making words appear on a blank piece of paper. "I see."
Mordecai smiles back and sits down cross-legged on the floor next to Colson. "Would you like me to sit with you while you write?" he asks after he's already sat down.
"Yes," Colson says immediately. He exhales in something very close to a sigh. "I am not certain how to phrase what I wish to know, or how much information to reveal to attempt to ensure that I can trust his information is as unbiased as possible. It is…" Colson's brows raise slightly. "Difficult to know how much I should trust him."
"You might be overthinking it a little. If it were me, I would probably say something like, 'Roper, today I encountered a Death Knight named…'" Mordecai pauses, looking at Colson to fill in the blank.
"Thassarian," Colson says, repeating the death knight's name. He shakes his head. "It is not that simple with him. He always hears more than you say. Every single thing I write shall be interpreted, and I am not certain enough of his loyalties to know what he will do with the information. I may yet set off a chain of events that lead to a clash of the Ebon Blade and the Alliance, simply by a single misworded sentence." Colson sounds resigned to it. "It is not possible to be over-cautious with a former agent of SI:7 of his caliber."
"Never mind," Mordecai says, looking down. He folds his hands in his lap.
Colson sets his right hand on Mordecai's hands gently. "I appreciate what you are trying to do, love. I am simply all too familiar with the risks."
Mordecai keeps looking down. "I misunderstood. I thought you wanted my advice. It's fine."
"I value your advice highly, darling," Colson says, sincerity in his voice. "In this case, it only that I must make decisions, difficult as they are. It is always easier when I am speaking to him directly. I can proceed cautiously, but in a letter I must say nearly all of it at once, or you shall have to ferry back over a dozen or more letters."
"I don't mind. Ferrying the letters." Mordecai says to his lap. "It would be good exercise, going up and down all those stairs."
"I could wait downstairs," Colson says softly. "You would need to travel through the tavern each way." He hesitates. "Each time would bring with it a possibility of encountering any of the Alliance soldiers stationed here."
"I don't mind, if it's for you." Mordecai says softly. He shrugs.
"I —" Is as far as Colson gets before there's a faint plink against their window, the sound of a copper coin hitting the glass. Colson presses his hand gently against Mordecai's, as a consecration blooms around them, filling the entire small attic room. "Shit."
Mordecai startles and grabs Colson's hand at the noise.
Colson exhales slowly, and sets his other hand against Mordecai. "A moment," he says, as he moves to stand up.
Mordecai nods and reaches for his boots, starting to unlace them so he can put them back on.
Colson stands and crosses — ducking his head carefully — to the window, opening the curtain.
Down below is a man in dark leathers, his hood drawn over his face, looking up at the window. From this far away, the glow of his eyes is almost faint enough to not be noticeable. As soon as he sees Colson in the window, he opens his arms in a broad gesture as if to say, "Yeah? What?"
Colson exhales slowly. "It's him." He nods once to the death knight down below, and closes the curtain once more, as he curses quietly. "I expected it would take longer."
Mordecai gets his boots on during this exchange. "Do you trust me not to accidentally cause a diplomatic incident between the Ebon Blade and the Alliance?" Mordecai asks, getting up. There's a fragile note in his voice. He reaches for his cloak.
Colson moves to Mordecai's side, his hair brushing against the ceiling, as he reaches for Mordecai's hands. "Oh, love. The fault would be mine, not yours. I trust that you will use your best judgment, and I trust in that significantly."
Mordecai takes Colson's hands and squeezes once. "Do you want me to go down and speak to him while you write something?"
"No. Give me a moment. He can wait," Colson says, squeezing back once, and not letting go.
Mordecai nods. "Do you want me to ward you? That might help with the stress, the suddenness of it, when you thought you had more time."
Colson leans forward to press a kiss to Mordecai's cheek. "I am, unfortunately, rather accustomed to such. Situations such as these were not unusual as a commander. I shall keep it brief, and I am afraid you shall need to make at least a second trip."
Mordecai nods. "Colson, I truly meant it when I said I'll make as many trips as it takes, for you, and it won't bother me. I can do this. I don't mind. I'm happy to, if it's for you."
Colson nods once. "I would rather wait downstairs, to shorten the trip." He inhales deeply, and steps away to reach for the clipboard.
"All right." Mordecai puts his cloak back on over his white and gold robes and leans back against the door, waiting.
Colson takes out a pen, and it's the fastest Mordecai's likely ever seen him write a letter that wasn't a report. It doesn't take long at all, and Colson starts to move away to grab a bag when a flash of some emotion crosses his expression. He presses his lips together for a moment before he dashes another, quick line, and then sets the clipboard aside. He pulls a sheet of paper from the bag to carefully blot the drying ink, and removes the note from the clipboard, blowing on it.
"May I see?" Mordecai asks.
"Of course," Colson says immediately, handing the paper to Mordecai, as he pulls out boots from his clothing bag.
Mordecai takes it and reads it over.
Roper,
In recent weeks Cobalt Company was asked to locate a brother of a woman who was concerned about recent news of him. To her knowledge, he was declared deceased many years ago, yet had been noted as having arrived in Valiance Keep with the Alliance army. We have learned that the reason for this seeming discrepancy is that he is a death knight.
His name is Thassarian. We encountered him in such circumstances that lead me to ask that if you have any information on him, and his likely alliances, such would be most appreciated.
I hope you are well.
-Colson
Mordecai nods. He holds the note carefully, letting the ink dry. "Will you bring the dinner tray down?"
"Yes," Colson says, pulling his boots on. He's not rushing, but he's moving quickly. He doesn't bother to dress more warmly, or add anything to the under armor, as he moves to collect the tray.
"I hate keeping people waiting." Mordecai pulls the door open and holds it for Colson.
"As do I," Colson agrees. He moves to the door, smiling faintly at Mordecai.
Mordecai smiles. He grabs his bag quickly, remembering it at the very last minute, and slips out the door after Colson. "I'll meet you downstairs with his response," Mordecai promises, and moves past Colson on the stairs to hurry down.
Colson holds onto the tray carefully. "As you wish," he says gently.
Mordecai runs down the stairs, note held to his chest under the cloak. He isn't wearing his gloves, and his hood is down. He weaves through the crowd on the first floor without actually looking at anyone and exits the building as quickly as possible.
Perched on one of the fences around the inn is a familiar figure, his left hand tapping out a rapid beat against the wood of the fence, his hood down low. He looks over at Mordecai, and he opens his arms out in the same gesture of 'yeah, what?' What he actually says is, "Hey, Mordecai."
Mordecai locates him quickly and hurries over to the fence. "Hello, Roper. Thank you for waiting. Colson didn't think you'd see it so quickly, and I thought we might have time to eat dinner first. How are you?"
"Fine," Roper says, and the hood tips up slightly, some of Roper's jaw coming into view as he looks at Mordecai. It's hard to tell if that's just the shadows of his hood or if his skin looks different from the last time Mordecai saw it months ago. "What's going on." It doesn't sound like a question, but it probably is.
"Colson has a question," Mordecai says, and holds the note out to him.
There's just a single, short beat of a pause before Roper reaches out a hand and takes it. "A question." His voice sounds darker, the rasp fading fully. He moves the paper with a twist of his wrist, making it difficult to read the words on the paper, if someone was watching, and holds it carefully to angle it as he brings it closer to the hood. His head tilts in a quick gesture as he does.
Mordecai digs his gloves out of his bag and pulls them on while he waits.
"What does he want me to do? Am I telling you, or what?" Roper asks, as he reaches into a deathweave bag at his waist. He removes a gold, gnomish looking lighter that's seen better days.
Mordecai hesitates. "I think it might be better if you wrote it down, just for ease of…" He waves vaguely back at the inn. "Is that all right? Do you need me to find you writing materials?"
"No. I got it." Roper flicks his wrist and the lighter disappears. He takes Colson's note and folds it rapidly into the shape of a butterfly, before tucking it into a deathweave bag. He pulls out a small piece of paper and a pencil, balancing his right leg up on the fence to set the paper against his thigh. He starts writing fast enough that it might be slightly disconcerting — it is almost as though his hand is just vibrating along. "So you didn't have dinner?" Roper asks as he writes.
"I thought we might have time to eat dinner before he wrote to you," Mordecai clarifies. "We'd just finished eating."
"Your assassin cook should seriously think about adding fish sauce to her stew," Roper says. "There's a soldier in the keep, name of Patton something who has some with him that he's not even fucking using right, because he's a fucking amateur and it's a voids damned crime watching it go to waste." He says it idly, like it's normal conversation. He lifts his head slightly, the pencil vanishing in a sleight of hand before he folds the paper into a star, and holds it out to Mordecai.
Mordecai stares at the folding process. He takes the paper, holding it to his chest. "Do you ever want to eat regular food again?"
Roper lifts his hood up slightly more, and there's the slight impression of the glow of his eyes visible in the deep gloom. "Let me ask you this. If you couldn't have Colson, would just any blond paladin do it for you? Or would you know that it was just a fucking shadow of what it used to be."
Mordecai freezes, looking shocked, as if Roper has said something entirely unexpected. It takes him a moment to regain his composure and close his mouth, and another moment to speak again: "I wasn't trying to poke at a sore spot, I'm sorry," Mordecai says softly. "I was just going to offer you something if you said you did. Never mind."
"I used to love cooking," Roper says, and there's something that sounds amused in his voice, but the air around him feels colder. "I still remember what it should be like. It's not like that anymore. I can eat. It's not the fucking same, and it's never going to be. I've got better things to do with my time than try to get something I used to want. I got what I want now, as what I am now."
There might be more than one layer in that. He lowers his head, before crossing his arms over his chest.
"I understand," Mordecai says quietly. "Please excuse me. He'll probably have a reply to this, if you don't mind waiting a little while longer."
Roper spreads his hands briefly before folding them back again. "Here to help," he drawls.
"Thank you, Roper," Mordecai says, entirely sincere, and returns to the inn, star-shaped paper held in one hand. He opens the door only as much as he needs to slip inside, pulling it shut behind him, and looks for Colson.
Colson has managed to find a table relatively close to the fire. At the moment he's engaged in what looks to be very polite, very social small talk with an older man dressed in an Alliance uniform, both of them standing by the table as though the soldier caught Colson before he could sit down. At the sound of the door opening, Colson looks over, and there's a softening of his features.
The soldier ignores this and continues speaking to the paladin.
Mordecai takes a deep breath and makes his way past the tables by the entrance and around the corner, inching closer.
"— until you get to my age," the soldier says with a chuckle. His voice sounds as though he's spent most of his life shouting. "Ever since the frost of 26, I swear I've —."
"Ah, pardon me for interrupting, but I see my husband. It was good to see you again, Corporal. Please do send my regards to your family when you next write to them," Colson says politely.
"Oh. Oh, yeah, of course, 'course. I'll be sure to tell Elias where you ended up," the soldier says as he turns to where Colson's looking. He might be a vaguely familiar face, as someone who was stationed in Theramore for at least a year, Corporal Qadir Manzi. He doesn't seem to recognize Mordecai. "Hello, there."
Mordecai bows his head. "Good evening," he says politely, and goes to sit down at the table in the spot across from where Colson was about to sit down.
"Excuse us," Colson says, politely but with a firmness to his voice as he sits down. "Light be with you."
"And with you, Kni — ah, Colson," Corporal Manzi says and chuckles as though he's said something funny. "That's going to take some getting used to. 'Evening to you both." He nods politely, recognizing a dismissal when he's been given one.
Colson inclines his head politely back in acknowledgment, but his eyes are on Mordecai, his hand reaching across the table.
Mordecai reaches out with the hand holding the star-shaped paper, passing it over. His own expression is somewhat blank.
Colson's face has an odd flicker of something at the shape, before it's tucked back behind a neutral expression. "Ah." He clears his throat, and unfolds the paper.
Mordecai pulls his hand back, folding his hands together on the table, and waits.
Colson reads quickly, that neutral expression holding. "Hm."
Mordecai sits as still as a statue, waiting, watching Colson.
Colson frowns faintly, before he holds out the paper to Mordecai in offer.
Mordecai takes it, pulling it closer to himself to read, leaning over it a bit to block people from reading over his shoulder.
[In Roper's usual, spiked handwriting]
Colson –
Yeah. I know of Thassarian. He’s one of the old guard, from before. Far as I know he’s been around for awhile, one of Arthas’ soldiers turned knight. Powerful as fuck, and the word is that he came back more himself than most of us. Had to prove his loyalty levels of holding onto honor, and from the rumors, it was fucked up.
I can tell you that if you’re asking about his alliances, you’re asking about the first of the Ebon Blade who went directly to King Varian to offer to join the Alliance again. The rest of us were still getting our fucking boots back on after getting Acherus back, and that was his first stop. And importantly, Varian accepted him back. He’s Ebon Blade technically, but if you wanted to put a finer point on it, word is that he’s Alliance first.
Thassarian also has ties to the Horde, but more like the way I do – a particular knight he gives a fuck about, who technically owes me and a few others a favor for saving his ass. Thassarian sent us in to rescue the guy, and that was while under the fucking Lich King.
You want more than that, I’m going to need to know what you actually want to know, Colson.
-R
PS - I’m fine.
Mordecai frowns thoughtfully as he reads it, then passes it back across the table, face-down, to Colson.
Colson accepts it, moving to place it in his bag, before he pulls out a piece of paper and one of his pens. "I shall need to be more specific, but I believe I know what I need to ask," Colson says quietly, uncapping his pen as he looks at the paper.
Mordecai nods. "Take your time," he says, quietly enough that it might be difficult to hear over the ambient noise of the common room.
Colson does not seem to be taking much of it, as he writes quickly, the faint frown on his face deepening. At one point he pauses and his mouth moves silently as though he's trying out a sentence before he writes it.
Mordecai watches him, hands folded again, waiting.
It's not long before Colson makes a decision, and signs his name. He carefully blots at the ink.
Roper,
As far as we know, he arrived here with the Alliance, and was given the charge of a squad of a dozen soldiers, many of whom believed the endeavor to be impossible: to destroy a ziggurat and a necropolis with this small force of a dozen footmen. There was an implication by this low number that the expectation was, for some, that it would not succeed. Few remain of the squad now. However, Thassarian himself has met with at least partial success. Do you have reason to believe that he would have been entrusted with such and they had reason to believe he would succeed, or do you have reason to believe that there has been something done to try to ensure its failure?
Additionally, if you have any reason to suspect that his loyalty could have been turned, or if he is cooperating with the Cult of the Damned in particular, even unsubstantiated with concrete evidence as far as you are aware, such information would be crucial. Most importantly, if we were to act on any information of his that we cannot verify for ourselves, should we trust it? Is he the sort of man who you believe would genuinely be assisting the Alliance, as a matter of honor, no matter if they may have sent him out with the intent to see him fail, regardless of the level of proof of such?
-Colson
While the ink finishes drying Colson looks at Mordecai. "Are you alright?" he asks quietly, and there's a look of some soft concern in his eyes.
Mordecai nods and taps the table once, very lightly.
Colson's lips flicker in a faint smile, as he blows on the ink to make it dry faster. The moment the ink is dry enough to not transfer, Colson hesitates before he much, much slower than Roper did, folds the note up into a star shape.
Mordecai does not ask to read this one. He just waits.
Colson hands it over.
Mordecai takes it, holding it close to his chest, and moves around the table towards Colson. There's a hesitation before he sets a hand on Colson's shoulder. "Be back soon," he says in almost a whisper.
Colson puts his hand over Mordecai's, looking up at him with a faint smile. "I shall be right here."
Mordecai doesn't smile back. He looks sad, maybe, and a little distant. His hand is cold. He rubs his thumb against Colson's hand for a moment before pulling away, weaving through the crowd for the door again. He slips outside without looking back, the little star-shaped paper held close to his chest.
Colson watches him go. As soon as Mordecai's out of sight, he exhales slowly, and sets his hands on the table, staring at him with a neutral expression.
Roper is standing on the fence, balanced on the edge of it, his left hand tapping a rapid beat out against his right arm. His head turns as Mordecai comes into view.
"Thank you for waiting," Mordecai says politely, approaching Roper and holding the star-shaped paper up high enough for Roper to take it easily.
There are faint prickles of frost over Roper's leathers, and it takes him longer to reach out for the paper than before. When he does, he holds it gingerly in a way that makes it seem like he expects it to bite. "Sure." He unfolds it slowly. "You hate it here, or what?" He asks as he reads.
"Oh. Um…" Mordecai actually takes a second to think about that. "No, I don't hate it here."
"So you hate the inn in particular?" Roper asks as he refolds the paper and it disappears in a movement of his wrist. He pulls out a piece of paper and rotates his wrist to get a pencil out from somewhere.
Mordecai grimaces a little. "I don't hate it. But I'm not very comfortable there."
"Smell or just aren't comfortable around decor that says 'I got a special on a buy one get five identical paintings and no one can stop me from hanging them all up in one place?'" Roper drawls, as he sets the paper on his arm and starts writing, balancing on the balls of his feet on the fence.
"What are you trying to figure out about me?" Mordecai asks instead of answering that particular question.
"What's making you look like you're girding your fucking loins every time you walk into the place," Roper says, his voice sounding amused as he writes rapidly.
"Oh, I see." Mordecai shrugs his right shoulder. "That would probably be my tragic past?" he offers, his voice light.
"The usual reasons, then. You need any candles to burn to contemplate it, let me know," Roper drawls. "I've got extra. Can't fucking contemplate a tragic past by electric light bulb. Doesn't hit the same way."
Mordecai laughs, and seems almost surprised, like he wasn't expecting the sound to be audible. "Thank you. I'll let you know if I need any."
"You know how to get in touch," Roper says, and he pauses, holding the pencil onto the note on his arm. "That tragic past with the inn got anything to do with that Marshal you were running from the other day?"
Mordecai shakes his head. He doesn't seem surprised by that. "No. That was just me trying to dodge an awkward social encounter."
"Sure. Potential angry mob, spitting llama farmers, undying Scourge monstrosities are one thing. Awkward social encounters on the other hand, and it's all wondering what pocket you left your vanishing powder in," Roper drawls, but his hood tilts as he looks at Mordecai, and his eyes are unblinking, glowing faintly in his hood as he looks at the priest. His expression is impossible to read in the shadows of his hood, but the stare feels like he's trying to peer through Mordecai's skin into his thoughts.
Mordecai tilts his head, looking innocently up at Roper. "Yes, exactly."
Roper snorts, and he writes something on the note, before he rolls his wrist, the pencil vanishing. He plucks the note off his arm and folds it rapidly into a tiny frog shape before he holds it out.
Mordecai takes it carefully, staring. "Is that a frog? Cute."
"Colson likes cute things," Roper says, and there's a touch of a husky note in his voice. "I'll wait here."
"He does," Mordecai agrees, smiling a little. "All right. Thank you." Holding the paper frog carefully, Mordecai returns to the inn. He doesn't hesitate at the door this time, but he does slip in the same way - opening the door just enough to make space for his body, moving in sideways, and pulling it shut behind him.
Colson looks up immediately at the sound. His hands are clasped in front of him in a way that looks like he might have been praying. His shoulders relax fractionally when he sees Mordecai.
Mordecai attempts a small smile as he hurries through the crowd across the room to Colson. He doesn't sit down across from Colson at the table this time, just stops next to him, holding out the folded paper frog.
Colson accepts the frog automatically, his eyes on Mordecai's face rather than the paper, and there's a faint smile of relief in his expression.
Mordecai sets a gloved hand on Colson's shoulder and leans down to whisper, "I'm all right."
Colson sets his hand over Mordecai's, and nods. He looks down at the frog in his hand. "Oh," he says quietly. There's a strange flicker of something, almost pain, almost a smile, on his face before that calm look replaces it as he opens the note.
"'Colson likes cute things,' he said," Mordecai whispers, and reads the note over his shoulder.
Colson's hands tighten on the note and he swallows hard as he nods slightly.
Colson –
That’s the kind of shit we were made to be able to do. Each one of us is a small army. I can clear a hundred nerubians and not even slow down. So, could he have done it? Depends on if he can get to the ones in charge of it, and I’d say probably. He wouldn’t need an army. He is the fucking army. But. you and I both know though that some people might have wanted to make this look as bad as it possibly fucking could.
Thassarian is a stubborn son of a bitch, not easily intimidated, and if it’s coming down to honor, I’d bet on his fucking honor before I’d bet on him turning back to the Lickass King.
But you know me. I’m not a betting man.
If you can’t verify what he’s saying, I’d say make sure you’ve got the ability to survive whatever he’s asking you to do. He may still be Alliance, but that doesn’t mean he’s not above sacrificing a few mercenaries to suit his mission parameters.
-R
PS - The Marshal is in one of the officer’s quarters, southwestern side. Three by four window, partial visibility from the stables, never seen it open. Still not an assassin, but if there’s a problem, you can ask.
As Colson gets to the end of the note, his hands clench hard on the paper and he blinks several times.
"He's still waiting outside," Mordecai says softly, squeezing Colson's shoulder.
"I…yes. Of course." Colson looks up at Mordecai and there's a question in his eyes that he doesn't seem able to ask. He drops his gaze. "Of course. Ah." He looks back down at the paper. "That answers what I needed most to know." He hesitates. "Please tell him that as far as I am concerned, there is no problem. I have nothing I need to ask of him."
Mordecai nods. "I'll be right back, love. And then we can go back upstairs." He lets go and hurries outside once more.
Colson nods, standing up from the table as he watches Mordecai leave.
Roper is walking back and forth along the fence as though it was just a regular road, his left hand tapping a rapid beat against his left thigh hard enough that the leather makes an audible sound.
"Roper," Mordecai says, walking up to the fence. "Colson says that as far as he's concerned, there is no problem, and that he has nothing he needs to ask of you. Um, I think that's it. Thank you very much."
Roper halts in place, hood tilted slightly to the side as he looks at Mordecai. He flips to the side off the fence, landing silently on the ground. "Sure. No problem," he drawls back. He starts walking away as though that's a normal way to end a conversation, and then halts, looking over his right shoulder. "Oh, and Mordecai?"
"Yes?" Mordecai asks, tilting his head.
"The training yard behind the inn gets lousy with awkward social encounters around 11am for a good hour or two, at least on Saturdays and Sundays," Roper says. "You let me know if you want to know where else they tend to crop up. Or if you just want the candles to burn." He doesn't wait for a response as he starts walking away, his body language deceptively relaxed seeming for how fast he's moving.
"Oh," Mordecai says, blinking as he parses that one. "Thank you. I'm all right. Have a good evening, Roper." He waves, even though Roper might not be watching, and ducks back inside the inn.
Colson is standing, not by the table, but by the stairs, watching the door. His body language seems tense until he sees it's Mordecai.
Mordecai smiles and does a tiny little finger-wave in Colson's direction before weaving through the crowd, already peeling off his gloves as he moves. He holds his right hand out to Colson.
Colson smiles faintly back, taking Mordecai's with his left, squeezing it once gently.
Mordecai squeezes back once. His hand is a little cold, even though he was wearing the gloves. He starts up the stairs quickly, pulling Colson along.
Colson is easily towed along as a paladin tug boat.
On the final flight of stairs as they approach their attic room, Mordecai whispers, "Do you know how to fold all the shapes?"
"No. I learned only the one." Colson says quietly back. There's a pause. "It was after, that I learned from a book over a few months. I could never follow along with how he did them. The frog was…" Colson exhales very slowly. "New."
"Oh." Mordecai opens the door, holding it for Colson.
Colson steps through into the room, pausing as he rapidly searches the room, lingering much longer on the shadows before he finally moves another step into the room.
Mordecai follows him in, pulling the door shut behind them. They left the lights on earlier, and Mordecai's clipboard has been left behind. Mordecai sets his bag down in the usual corner and leans back against the door. "How are you feeling?"
Colson begins removing his boots, a faint frown on his face. "Complicated," Colson says, a little ruefully, as he offers a faint half-smile to Mordecai. "Though that was expected. I shall have to think on what I wish to pass along to the Captain, if anything at all."
"I don't think I caused any major diplomatic incidents," Mordecai says with a small smile. It's definitely a joke this time. He toes his boots off by the door without undoing the laces, hangs his cloak up where it goes, and, moving on autopilot, yanks the robe up and over his head. Only once it's off does he look at the robe in his hands and go, "Oh. I forgot."
"I may have," Colson says, more seriously, before he raises his brows in inquiry.
"Really?" Mordecai moves to the bunk bed and uses it as a flat surface to make it easier for him to fold the robe up neatly.
"I have implied, to a knight of the Ebon Blade, that it is possible that the Alliance has attempted to deliberately sabotage a mission of one of theirs, and that there may be evidence of such," Colson says calmly. "Information this knight would not have but for me giving it to him, which he now holds in writing, with my signature. I did as much as I could to ensure I did not state anything directly, but the implication alone, leveraged in a certain way, by the Ebon Blade, could be enough to call for action. Cobalt could be called to testify." Colson sets his boots aside. No big deal. Just a possible major diplomatic incident. "What did you forget?"
Mordecai blinks. It takes him a moment to parse that. "Hm? Oh. I just forgot to ask if you wanted to help. With the robe." He ducks his head as he crosses to the dresser and puts the robe away in its drawer.
Colson smiles faintly, as he takes the very few steps necessary to stand next to Mordecai, his hands moving for Mordecai's face.
Mordecai straightens up and bonks his head on the ceiling.
Colson inhales at the same time as he sends out a [Holy Shock].
"Ow," Mordecai says, and laughs. "I'm all right. Thank you, love. Can we just." He steps around Colson towards the door, where he can stand up straight again.
Colson steps back with Mordecai.
Mordecai pulls Colson in closer. "I miss our house," he says wistfully.
"As do I," Colson says, and there's a depth of feeling in the words. If he were anyone else, there might even be a slight edge of a whine in the tone. "I confess, I have not been so homesick for a place in almost ten years."
"I know exactly how you feel." Mordecai kisses Colson's forehead. "I miss our dine-in kitchen, and being able to stand up straight without the ceiling being so close, and the window…"
"The blanket intended specifically for a couple, an actual armor stand, my collection of love draft letters," Colson adds in a soft voice. "A bed where I am not constantly wondering if I am about to cause a head wound on one or both of us."
Mordecai rests his hands on Colson's shoulders, smiling. "Floor space to dance. Running water. A closet to hang my robes up. Fewer concussion risks in general, really."
"Truly, the unspoken peak of luxury," Colson says in that extremely serious sounding voice of his, his eyes bright with humor.
Mordecai hums in agreement and leans in for a kiss.
Colson moves in part way and then stops. "Oh, I did forget though," he says, and there's a smile moving his lips in such a way that it is so obvious what he's about to say.
Mordecai grins and asks anyway, "What did you forget?"
"I love you," Colson says, smiling back as he closes the distance between them.
Mordecai kisses him back, soft and full of affection. His hand on Colson's left shoulder has begun absently tracing the line of the scar through his shirt. "I love you too, Colson."
Colson relaxes into the touch, and the weight of the day is starting to look obvious on the paladin. He closes his eyes for a moment before he inhales deeply. "Did you ask Roper about Marshal Collins?" There's no accusation in the words, only that curiosity, free of judgment.
"No, I didn't. Roper just saw us, ah, leaving very quickly from the forge the other day." Mordecai shrugs. "And apparently was curious enough to start tracking his schedule and his whereabouts?"
Colson exhales, and there's that resignation in his face. "Ah. Of course." The paladin looks drained, as he wraps his arms around Mordecai's waist.
Mordecai rubs Colson's back idly. "I still can't tell if he hates me."
Colson considers it. "I do not think he hates you. I am not certain I can…tell much at all beyond a point. He always seems to be himself, even among the others, and if that is true, and he still holds himself to what he did, then he is not acting. However, Roper's view of people was always…complicated. He did not have many he called friends in life."
"Hmm." Mordecai tugs on the sleeve of Colson's under armor shirt. "Do you want to change? You seem exhausted."
"I would very much like to stop marching," Colson agrees. "I should change." A pause. "Another thing I miss. A shower, even if the taps are on entirely the wrong sides for hot and cold."
Mordecai lets him go. "I need to do laundry soon. I've been wearing the same robe for…" For a while, apparently. Mordecai trails off, staring into space.
"Eight days," Colson says lightly. He's clearly not judging. But he knows.
Mordecai sighs. "Eight days. I don't know if that's bad for the enchantments." He moves past Colson, touching his arm on the way, to climb into bed.
"You could ask Cressidha," Colson suggests, as he strips out of his under armor clothing, placing them in his laundry bag. "I wear my armor continuously, but it is metal. I am afraid I cannot speak for the difference with cloth."
Mordecai crawls under the covers where it's warm, rests his head on his arm, and watches Colson change with a faint smile.
Colson looks over at Mordecai watching him, and there's no mistaking the pleased look on his face as he seems to deliberately slow down pulling on a pair of dark navy silk pajamas. "How was your day?" Colson asks, his eyes on Mordecai's.
"Hm? What?" Mordecai is busy staring, please repeat your question.
"How was your day?" Colson repeats, with a smile that on just about anyone else might be almost a smirk, except it's too warm, and too gentle to quite make it there.
"Oh! G-good. It was really nice of her to invite me. And I think the cookies came out well."
"They were wonderful," Colson says in a low voice, buttoning his pajama shirt slowly up from the bottom.
Mordecai's smile brightens. "I'm glad you liked them." He seems to be fixated on the movement of Colson's hands.
"Well, of course. After all, they were made by my favorite baker," Colson says, as he steps closer to the bed. He's still got four buttons to go, but he seems to have stopped, as he reaches up to brush a hand through his hair. He sets a hand on the top bunk as he bends at the waist, his eyes a dark blue in the light of the room. "My rather singular preference above all others for his desserts remains true."
Mordecai peels back the covers and holds the edge up, creating the Colson Spot next to him. "Come here, beautiful."
Colson moves gracefully into the Colson Spot, although he sighs deeply as he finally stretches out next to Mordecai. His eyes flutter closed while he sinks into the mattress, even as he smiles in Mordecai's direction. "Hi."
Mordecai settles the blanket over Colson and pulls his free arm back under it, wrapping around Colson's waist. "Hi. Rest or sleep?"
"Rest." Colson moves in closer.
Mordecai smiles at him. "Rest, then. Tell me about your day? What else happened?"
"We met with some of the tuskarr, in the east, and assisted them with those creatures — the Kvaldir."
"Another tuskarr settlement, and they're also fighting off the fog-walkers?" Mordecai sounds worried, and his smile fades a little.
"Yes. These seem to be raiders, attempting to destroy the settlement. They have been experiencing regular attacks on their village, Kaskala."
"Mmmm…" Mordecai sighs. "You saw the kvaldir too, then. They were… odd, when I fought them. My undead shackles almost worked on them, but not quite."
"I agree. Clearly something unusual, but I could not sense them as undead. When force was used, all that was left behind was seawater and the seaweed they wear. I saw no ghost or apparition. And though it reminded me rather of an elemental, it did not quite seem to be so. Something akin, perhaps, or of that nature. If they are something summoned, it may bode particularly ill for the tuskarr, as it would mean their forces shall not diminish so long as they can still be summoned." Colson leans forward closer to Mordecai, his eyes still closed. He's just resting.
"Oh. I hope not." Mordecai sighs. "I'd like to go by, some time this week, and see how they're doing. Would you like to come with me?"
"Yes." Colson makes a soft sound. "I admit I am curious to know how they are faring with their wounded, and if they require assistance or have their own methods. We were there to speak with one of the tuskarr who had secured passage for the squad of soldiers we were attempting to locate, and did not linger long enough to know more."
"What mission was that squad sent on, exactly?" Mordecai asks. "You mentioned another necropolis. Which one, and where?"
"Naxxanar, above a city of the Scourge in the far east. It is, perhaps, an eighth the size of Acherus. I would have never sent so small a force to take it. If Roper is to be believed, however, it is possible that Thassarian along with a small squad may have indeed been capable of doing so. I cannot say for certain. I felt…" Colson pauses, inhaling slowly, his eyes opening to look at Mordecai. His expression is grave, and he shakes his head slightly. "I could not pick them out enough to count with any degree of accuracy, there were so many undead around us. Over fifty, but the sense did not change no matter where we moved throughout. Hundreds, at the least. Why the Alliance would have risked failure when success might have been within their reach with such an ally is what concerns me deeply. It speaks of deliberate sabotage, and that, as you say, suggests involvement of the Cult of the Damned within the ranks of the Alliance."
Mordecai meets Colson's eyes. "If you five help him retake Naxxanar, will you be careful?"
Colson smiles faintly, reaching his right hand over to brush at Mordecai's curls on his forehead. "Always. I shall, as Roper suggested, make certain that we have reason to believe that we will survive the attempt. At the moment, there is no immediate impending threat that would require us to take a risk of such extreme measures." He looks briefly more tired. "I do not think we can ask for assistance from the Alliance. I fear that if our suspicions are correct, and this was deliberately undermined, bringing attention to Thassarian's survival and partial success may lead to someone taking other measures to ensure he cannot succeed."
Mordecai nods slightly. "Pace yourselves. They're absurdly strong, physically, and they don't get tired. But you five will."
"Yes. If Roper speaks truly, then Thassarian shall not. Dane is decisive in the field, but he is not reckless. He will order a retreat if he believes we cannot sustain the pace, and I shall readily support it." Colson traces a line along Mordecai's brow. "Cressidha is perhaps our greatest asset for such an assault against superior numbers. Limited as it may be, I shall also be of some use as a paladin against the Scourge." There's a flicker of something on his face, a touch of grief in his eyes. "There is reason the Lich King seems to take particular interest in corrupting those of our order. I shall not let him take another."
Mordecai, who has been resting his head on his right arm, has to shift to get that arm free. "Not you. Never you." He rests his right hand on Colson's chest over his heart, conveniently accessible due to the open buttons of his pajama shirt. "I have faith in you."
Colson presses into the touch, his eyes closing with that same look of soft relief as though Mordecai had cast the Fear Ward.
Mordecai blinks at Colson's expression. There's a faint spark of Light as he traces and casts the Fear Ward itself, directly over the tattoo.
There's no significant change, although his eyelids flicker as Colson makes a soft sound in his throat, and some tension he's been holding onto still since he returned from Blue Squad's mission finally leaves him. His heart rate slows, and his breathing evens out, and it would be entirely reasonable to assume he's fallen immediately to sleep.
Mordecai traces the line of the scar up to Colson's shoulder. "Better, love?"
"You always make it better," Colson says softly.
Mordecai traces the scar back down and rests his palm over Colson's heart again. "You've been so tired lately, out in Northrend. Is that from using Retribution?"
"I expect so, yes."
Mordecai hums thoughtfully and goes quiet for a long moment, watching Colson's face. He looks very content just resting there.
Colson seems content to rest as they are, his eyes closed. It's difficult to say if he's fallen asleep or not. His aura is still [Warm Cozy], but he's been managing to keep it on through the night now.
Several minutes go by before Mordecai whispers, "Are you awake?"
"Yes," Colson says, a faint smile curling his lips. He opens his eyes in demonstration of this fact. There's still a slightly dreamy look to his expression.
"You look so peaceful," Mordecai says, keeping his voice low. "My Colson. Can I ask you something about earlier?"
"Of course."
"When you saw Roper's postscript on that last letter. What were you thinking?"
"I wondered, for a moment, if you had perhaps asked him for assistance, or spoken to him of Marshal Collins." Colson brushes his hand along Mordecai's cheek. "Which is why I asked. I could not fault you for it, if you had. You have every right to do so."
Mordecai nuzzles into the touch. "I didn't expect him to start stalking a man on my behalf just because I ran away from him one time. Is he always like that?"
Colson makes a soft sound of amusement that seems to carry an edge of exasperation with it. "Yes. Catching his interest comes with a risk. It can be very beneficial, when it is something you wish to have or know. It can be very dangerous, when you do not. I had not expected him to take such an interest in Syarra, or Aszera. It was surprising, and thus I did not predict how far he would investigate it."
"I caught his interest?" Mordecai seems baffled by this. "How? Why?"
Colson's brows raise. "I can think of any number of reasons," he says gently. "Not the least of which is that you are interesting, and Roper has always been drawn to collect information on interesting people." Colson is not remotely biased in this assessment, of course. Ignore the extremely sappy looking smile growing on his face that shows how deeply in love he is.
"I'm not that interesting," Mordecai protests, blinking. "Why would he think I'm interesting?"
"I suppose you could ask him," Colson offers. "I knew him well many years ago, but I do not know the man he is now well enough to speak for him."
Mordecai sighs. "I suppose so." There's a soft look on his face as he watches Colson. "The Marshal isn't… a danger, or a problem. It would just be awkward."
Colson nods. "I understand." Colson runs his hand over Mordecai's shoulder, lingering in it, as he traces something on Mordecai's upper arm. It might be a word, or a shape.
Mordecai sighs. "The Marshal never outright stated how he felt about me in a way that required a response. He… asked me for advice on whether or not he should approach someone at all, and I thought he was talking about someone else."
Colson frowns faintly. "He asked for your advice to approach another he was interested in?"
"Hypothetically. It was all hypothetical. I didn't realize he was talking about me until the very end of the conversation." Mordecai blushes slightly.
"Oh." Colson frowns harder, and there's that colder look in his expression. "I see. It was an attempt to not speak directly." That somehow manages to come out sounding like a deep condemnation, although there's no anger in his voice. Just disappointment.
"Mmhm." Mordecai looks rather flustered. "I-I didn't expect… that is, I wasn't accustomed to…"
Colson's brows raise faintly.
"Anyone expressing interest in me for more than, well, the most superficial of reasons," Mordecai says awkwardly. "It was a very big surprise."
Colson makes a soft sound. "I cannot fault his interest, only the incredibly inappropriate manner in which he pursued it."
Mordecai nods slightly. "It was. Incredibly inappropriate. But I forgave him. And I don't think anyone else is at risk. So." He sighs. "I don't want to report him. It was just awkward. That's all."
"Perhaps it served as a lesson, painfully learned," Colson says softly. "However, it is not a lesson that should have fallen to you to teach him. He was not new to command. The burden was his to understand his position, not to rely on you to set it. If you think that he has learned so, I shall trust in your judgment."
"I do believe so," Mordecai confirms. "Light, it was embarrassing, though. Has anyone ever confessed to you before? Not necessarily back in the army, but, just, in general?"
"Ah. Yes," Colson says. "There was often, ah, interest in pursuing a…" Colson clears his throat. "Physical intimacy." He moves his hand along Mordecai's arm. "Interest beyond that, or stated as such for myself as I am, no. There was the occasional clarification, rather, that they would be interested only in a physical relationship, as they did not particularly find me appealing in any other way." If this bothers him, or if it ever did, he doesn't sound like it. The report is matter-of-fact, with no particular feeling behind it.
Mordecai's arm tightens a little around Colson's waist, and then relaxes again, as if this particular movement was involuntary. "Their loss is my gain, I suppose," Mordecai mutters, making a bit of a face that quickly smooths out into a smile. "You're so sweet. I have no idea how everyone doesn't see it."
Colson smiles back faintly, more in his eyes than lips.
"As soon as I got to have an actual conversation with you, I-I knew that much."
Colson brushes his fingers along Mordecai's arm. "I am glad you felt so."
Mordecai smiles. "I truly didn't think you felt the same. Not after that proposal."
Colson winces silently, dropping his gaze. "Ah. Yes."
Mordecai pats Colson's chest sympathetically. "I believe you told me I would be free to pursue my own interests, and that you 'would not mind' my companionship," he says, his voice very fond.
"It remains true," Colson says, and there's a self-deprecating half-smile on his face. "If a rather vast understatement."
"Well, I don't mind your companionship either, Colson," Mordecai says, teasing, and then immediately adds, more seriously, "I treasure it."
Colson chuckles, before his expression goes softer. "Yours is more precious to me than I can possibly express." There's a strange, almost sorrow in his eyes as he inhales deeply, leaning in closer. "Few things in this world could persuade me to ever give it up."
Mordecai stares at Colson's expression like he's trying to decipher a puzzle and says, fervently, "You are irreplaceable to me, Colson."
Colson smiles gently. "As you are to me."
Mordecai smiles back. He opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, and closes it.
Colson makes a faint 'hm?' sound.
Mordecai shakes his head a little and moves in for a kiss instead.
Colson closes the distance with a soft sound.
Mordecai kisses Colson almost lazily, brushing his fingers along the scar. "Irreplaceable," he repeats in a low whisper.