"Jedao, hey, Jedao --" Holden scrambles to his feet. He has no idea what to say, or how to make this better, and he's not so sure that it wouldn't just be better to let Jedao get out of here.
Ah, god damn it.
"I just want to help!" This is basically a yell, frustration pouring out. "But I can't do this shit! I can't watch you getting tortured like it's a memory puzzle, I can't keep you safe, I can't even save one --"
He should have found this earlier. He should have... gone about it differently? He shouldn't have assumed that the repeated conversations were some kind of game, he should have realized, he shouldn't have been fooled, and, damn it, these are all familiar thoughts, and he's right back on Ganymede, hunting down something already too out of control to stop.
He doesn't look at Jedao. He turns to go to the door, to just leave Jedao to it. There's not room in there for two broken people, and Jedao was there first.
He twists in, as Holden moves to pass him, and for his feet it's a fencing move, fluid and automatic. He catches both of Holden's wrists in each of his hands, gripping tight enough to hurt, although pain isn't the point. He needs something grounding, something certain he can at least pretend he's in control of, even as it's something that stops him doing anything else.
He doesn't know what else he wants, except that James does not get to be the one who walks away. He's quite sure he can't take that.
"If you could just watch," he says slowly, like gravel grinding, "You wouldn't have anything new for me, would you?" They're all trained to watch, in the Heptarchate. They all learn, one way or another, to live with it.
It's not, he doesn't think, a question that needs an answer.
"I called you," he growls, and it feels like glass in his throat, "Because I need help. I'm sorry I'm a cuckoo knotted mess of a fox but I don't fucking know how to trust you more than that."
Of course you know! he wants to shout, and his hands twitch in Jedao's too-firm grip. If it were anyone else, Holden would have made a very sincere effort to punch them in the face. -- Of course Jedao knows; everyone is born knowing how to trust blind, they just forget.
And Jedao's first statement leaks into Holden's focus. That might be actually really fucking insightful -- because if there's one thing Holden can't do, it's just watching.
So he, teeth-grit and hating it more than a little, offers another compromise: "I'll tell you how I figured it out," he says. "Okay?" How, not when. He'll give partway, he'll swallow the anger, just give him something to show that he's not pissing in the wind, here, that there's hope for this idiotic warden-inmate thing.
"Why don't you want to tell me?" Jedao asks, a counter-offer of a question laced with genuine bewilderment, even if he's - intrigued, by the idea of process. "I know you don't think you did the wrong thing, I don't think you did the wrong thing, you're just - seizing on this and I don't -"
He gives his wrists another little tug, to see if Jedao is done with the fingers-digging-in thing. Ow. Apparently not. Someone's gonna think he had kinky sex, at this rate.
It's a hard question to answer, because Holden doesn't really know, himself. "Well, you know me," he says, "I can't keep a secret, but when someone tells me what to do, I get real stubborn." It's not the truth, or at least not the whole truth, and he doesn't like how that tastes. "I just want you to trust me, okay?" he says. "On something stupid, fine. It's dumb. I want it anyway."
Jedao occasionally embraces his own arbitrary bullshit. Maybe Holden can do the same.
"I trust you not to lie to me," Jedao says, quietly, eyes downcast, like it's a confession of weakness.
He grits his teeth abruptly. No pity, he said, but Holden is even less capable of subtlety than usual, and Jedao isn't capable of the kind of pointed vulnerability it would take to yank him around, not now, not as raw as he is. Probably he should let Holden go, like he'd meant to. But he needs someone, and there's no one else he could bear to call, to see him this scared, this confused and barely controlled.
"You gonna let go of me any time soon?" asks Holden, pointedly. Too bad this hilltop has a notable lack of things that Holden can punch (while pretending that they're Kujen).
"If I don't let go I can't run off and start killing," he says, like this makes perfect sense. But he eases his grip a little, strokes between the bones of Holden's forearms with his thumbs.
"That's idiotic," he says. "Of course you're not gonna do that."
But could they at least just stop standing here holding hands like they're about to start some weird religious ritual? He's going to try and drag Jedao to something seated, position-wise.
"So, I've been going through your file as thoroughly as I can," he says. "It's kind of slow going."
"Don't know if you've noticed," he says, "but you're kind of bad at being impulsive. You have to have like twenty reasons for everything."
No, okay, focus on the story.
"I really don't like watching the parts with... you know. Kujen. It's not just about how creepy he is." He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't want to talk to Jedao about what it's like to see Jedao like that. "But I do. And in with all that, there are these conversations between you and hexarchs. They tend to be a little repetitive, because they all say the same stupid things, but some of them were more than just coincidence. And then I thought you might just be manipulating them, or that it was some weird game. So I didn't get it at first."
"Oh, I have a list." People to kill first if he ends up at the conjunction of a chance and a reason to kill, a deep buried half-plan to run off on autopilot. It's a lot shorter than last time, but some of the members would be particular challenges, so maybe that evens out.
He nods to the rest. He even remembers them being repetitive. "I was, sometimes." Sometimes he just jabbered. Playing empty games - anything to extend a conversation. Repetition was better than darkness.
"Yeah, well, then I stumbled on a conversation between you and Mikodez there. And I know you told me you hadn't met him before, and I didn't think you were lying." He doesn't have anything to base this off of, really, besides Gut Instinct, something that has a tendency to get him into trouble. "And I asked the Roci to queue up the repeat conversations. Some of them were a lot more repeat than I remembered. So, when I had a chance, I talked about it to Mikodez, and I also told the Roci to analyze some of the brain data floating around in that mess."
His thumb is rubbing along Jedao's hand.
"I have no idea what the brain data showed," he says. "It couldn't dumb it down enough for me. But I think it might show the molding that he did on your personality. Sometimes your symbols changed, to a kind of cup?"
"Chalice," he says softly, but he sounds - a little more present. If he was really the prototype for formation instinct - he doesn't know enough about signifiers to guess which. Chains maybe? Rose? It doesn't matter. He knows what it makes in the end.
"It's not that obvious," says Holden, defensively. "It could be, I don't know, victory?" Chalices are victory symbols. Trophies. "Uh. Anyway. The conclusions went from there, and then Mikodez confirmed it, and I sat here trying to decide when I would have to conclude that Mikodez wouldn't tell you and when I should step up and do it."
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"Jedao, hey, Jedao --" Holden scrambles to his feet. He has no idea what to say, or how to make this better, and he's not so sure that it wouldn't just be better to let Jedao get out of here.
Ah, god damn it.
"I just want to help!" This is basically a yell, frustration pouring out. "But I can't do this shit! I can't watch you getting tortured like it's a memory puzzle, I can't keep you safe, I can't even save one --"
He should have found this earlier. He should have... gone about it differently? He shouldn't have assumed that the repeated conversations were some kind of game, he should have realized, he shouldn't have been fooled, and, damn it, these are all familiar thoughts, and he's right back on Ganymede, hunting down something already too out of control to stop.
He doesn't look at Jedao. He turns to go to the door, to just leave Jedao to it. There's not room in there for two broken people, and Jedao was there first.
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He doesn't know what else he wants, except that James does not get to be the one who walks away. He's quite sure he can't take that.
"If you could just watch," he says slowly, like gravel grinding, "You wouldn't have anything new for me, would you?" They're all trained to watch, in the Heptarchate. They all learn, one way or another, to live with it.
It's not, he doesn't think, a question that needs an answer.
"I called you," he growls, and it feels like glass in his throat, "Because I need help. I'm sorry I'm a cuckoo knotted mess of a fox but I don't fucking know how to trust you more than that."
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And Jedao's first statement leaks into Holden's focus. That might be actually really fucking insightful -- because if there's one thing Holden can't do, it's just watching.
So he, teeth-grit and hating it more than a little, offers another compromise: "I'll tell you how I figured it out," he says. "Okay?" How, not when. He'll give partway, he'll swallow the anger, just give him something to show that he's not pissing in the wind, here, that there's hope for this idiotic warden-inmate thing.
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Get it.
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It's a hard question to answer, because Holden doesn't really know, himself. "Well, you know me," he says, "I can't keep a secret, but when someone tells me what to do, I get real stubborn." It's not the truth, or at least not the whole truth, and he doesn't like how that tastes. "I just want you to trust me, okay?" he says. "On something stupid, fine. It's dumb. I want it anyway."
Jedao occasionally embraces his own arbitrary bullshit. Maybe Holden can do the same.
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He grits his teeth abruptly. No pity, he said, but Holden is even less capable of subtlety than usual, and Jedao isn't capable of the kind of pointed vulnerability it would take to yank him around, not now, not as raw as he is. Probably he should let Holden go, like he'd meant to. But he needs someone, and there's no one else he could bear to call, to see him this scared, this confused and barely controlled.
"Fine. Fine. How."
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But could they at least just stop standing here holding hands like they're about to start some weird religious ritual? He's going to try and drag Jedao to something seated, position-wise.
"So, I've been going through your file as thoroughly as I can," he says. "It's kind of slow going."
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Which would be really nice right now, even if he'd regret it later. He lets himself be tugged, docile despite his insistent grip.
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No, okay, focus on the story.
"I really don't like watching the parts with... you know. Kujen. It's not just about how creepy he is." He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't want to talk to Jedao about what it's like to see Jedao like that. "But I do. And in with all that, there are these conversations between you and hexarchs. They tend to be a little repetitive, because they all say the same stupid things, but some of them were more than just coincidence. And then I thought you might just be manipulating them, or that it was some weird game. So I didn't get it at first."
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He nods to the rest. He even remembers them being repetitive. "I was, sometimes." Sometimes he just jabbered. Playing empty games - anything to extend a conversation. Repetition was better than darkness.
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His thumb is rubbing along Jedao's hand.
"I have no idea what the brain data showed," he says. "It couldn't dumb it down enough for me. But I think it might show the molding that he did on your personality. Sometimes your symbols changed, to a kind of cup?"
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"But you decided to nudge him."