Fletch didn't smile. He didn't reply to Theo's quip. Nevertheless, the weight visibly eased from his face and shoulders. He hadn't realized how much of a relief it would be. How warm it would sound coming from Theo, even as his father's name rolled off the man's tongue. "You know...I haven't heard that from someone else in so long. But I think I like it when you say it."

He offered a sad half smile and nodded his head. "I'm sorry I don't know how to banish ghosts. If you figure it out though I wouldn't say no to learning."

His eyes dropped to follow Fletcher's gaze. He'd noticed the bracelet before but had honestly not paid it much mind. He had his own jewelry but there was something about the way his bodyguard looked at it now that made Theo suspect at its significance. It reminded the man of his husband. A gift perhaps? Or something that had once belonged to him? Either way it was important to Fletcher and so Theo wisely dared not ask. Nor, he resolved, would he ever ask the man to remove it for Theo's sake. 

"Anything," he uttered earnestly. Then his look of hopefulness turned to genuine, gentle joy. "My Devlin Fletcher."

Theo's smile broke out into a soft giggle as a thought struck him. "Peas in a pod. Archer and Fletcher."

"Theo, there's nothing to forgive," Fletch said aloud. "There never is. You don't need to fix anything or make anything right. You've done nothing wrong. He's just haunting me. That's all. Stubborn bastard that he is. I..."

Fletch brushed his fingers over the bracelet without even thinking. He looked down at it: that weightless manacle. How long would he wear it? How long would he hold onto this? He hated it more and more each day, but it still didn't feel like it was time to let it go. Not quite yet. But there was something else that he could be free from. Something to reclaim.

"There is one thing," he said as his eye returned to Theo. "Call me my name. My real name."

"Oh, my Jack," he sighed softly in deep sympathy and concern. "No, my love. You're not hurting me. We're alright if you can forgive me and I'm not hurting you either. All I need is this. I need to know when I hurt you so that I can stop and not do it again. And I hear you. You need me to back off when you say back off like now. But, how do I make this right and fix this for you? How do I put you more at ease? Should we slow down?"

"And it's not forced now," Fletch said. "I'm saying it because I need you to know it after what I've done today. I need you to see it."

He leaned forward, burying his creased face in his hands and rubbing away the anguish. He ran his fingers back across his head. "I don't know what to do anymore," he said to the floor. "I don't know where to go from here." Theo's words echoed in his mind: that Fletch was hurting him. That he needed to stop. Could he stop? Was this enough, or would he just keep making the same mistake?

He straightened and then fell back and slumped against the chair. His signing came slowly and haltingly. "Am I still hurting you? I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to make it right. Tell me how to make it right."

He sighed. "We're hurting men trying to survive in a world that doesn't allow much for healing. What I deserve and what you are, are the same: a good man. Being good and being broke are different things. So...instead of us saying we'll be better...maybe we can...maybe we can work on healing."

Theo allowed the other man his peace as he sat and held his book open in his lap. The words were a blur and once more he sat unreading. The difference this time though was that he wasn't staring at Fletcher but very much at the page. The book was no longer the excuse to stare but the excuse not to until the other man moved.

"I love you too," he replied immediately and without any hesitation. "We're going to be okay. We're okay. You don't have to say it again until you're ready. I know it was forced out of you and I'm sorry."

Fletch let his hand slide from his face and fall to his lap. He gazed mournfully over at his friend. His love. "Thank you," he choked through a throat tight with grief. "I'm sorry too. I am. You see what you're getting yourself into, now, don't you? The full of it. Why I wasn't ready. It's not good, Theo. You're a decent man. You deserve better. No — don't...don't argue with me on that. It's true."

He shut his eye tight as another wave washed over him and threatened to pull him under. When he opened it again, he'd clawed some of his calm back. He tried to say something else and stopped. Hurt flashed across his features again. But he pushed past it and signed it nonetheless. "I love you. I really do."

He nodded, sad but not hurt that his offer had been rejected. "Thank you for sharing your wishes," he replied instead. Theo collected a cloth square and placed it on the table beside Fletcher's chair to wipe his face with before retreating back to the other side of the fire.

"We both made mistakes and I'm sorry for my part in them. Take the time you need. I'll sit quiet and let you do what you need to."

Fletch glanced back at Theo, still very much a hurting mess. He shook his head sadly and slowly. "No. If you do me one kindness, please. Just. Let me breathe. I can't take this right now. I'll...I'll stop being such a colossal arse, but...I can't have you pulling me in and then digging the way that you do. And the closer we get, the more I have to...to face that this is what it's supposed to be. And that he never..."

He swallowed, face contorting, and bent to hold a hand over his eye. It was as much as he could bear to say aloud.

He awoke, pain seizing and writhing within. He choked on his scream, scrambling as he fell from his bed in a tangle of sweat and sheets to the floor. He clutched at his gut, groaning as he felt his insides pull and twist and BURN.

The pain always came like this, as inevitable as the ticking hands of a clock. Ever since that day in the forests, when he lay in a pool of his own blood and tears burned his vision. The day Arthund De'lawnuwe died.

The pain was a reminder of what he had lost, of what that wretched creature had taken from him- his parents, his brother, his niece, and his lover. And although it had only been a few months since the slaughter- those words haunted him now as he gripped his gut in pain- feeling his very inside rip apart and flesh turn solid, rock hard.. to stone.

'You will kill them for me,' it hissed in reply when he howled in anguish at what had been done. He protested the accusations, startled that he, of all men, were accused of such atrocities.  The being was livid he'd refuted, pushing back against his charge before forcing Arthund back in a howl of pain as its gnarled claws touched his flesh, sinking inside and ripping out his heart.

Arthund remained on one knee for a time, too stunned to do much else but look at the bloodied hand that held his pulsing heart.

"Interesting.." the creature hissed. "Your heart still beats.." it turned towards Arthund as the man clutched at his chest- a new knot of pain all but consuming him- the sensations indescribable as organs and muscles and blood were pinched and ripped off as a hole sunk in and melted into stone.

He could barely see, barely breath as the world swirled around him...

"You will prove your worth, prove my mistake, stone of heart.." the being hissed. "Slay those who are deserving and prove your hearts defiance of me and I will give up my life to restore yours."




He lay there, swallowing back the pain that turned into a wheezing whimper as he managed to get onto his knees. And as the cloud of pain subsided, he lifted his hand- which was wet, and frowned. He had vomitted again- vomit mixed with blood.

Picking himself off the floor, he took him time to clean himself up. Each morning it was a similar routine, where he'd awaken, a lurch of pain gripping his insides and he'd scream through the painful transformation of skin to stone, organs being stifled.. changed.. and his body pumping what remained of his blood.

He paused beside an old, dusty mirror, catching sight of the grey skin and sunken hole of his chest as his fingers tenses on the laces of his open shirt. It was a horrible and ugly thing.. HE was a horrible abd ugly thing, something unnatural, inhuman... a walking curse.

And the only way around it was to prove to the ruthless being who did this to him that he was even worthy of being saved.

Did he even want to be saved? A part of him felt he died that day in the slaughter- a beast of black and darkness, tearing out from the shadows and tearing apart his world. A faint, dusty light caught the ring of his finger- and be touched it, grimacing at rhe memory of her dying face. She had been so beautiful, even in death.. his light.. his love.. his world...

Gone.

His whole family was now gone. From the jovial jokester he had as a brother, to his patient mother and his wonderfully smart and naive, niece.

Laney.. she had been just a child- and had been so excited to travel with her father and family. They had lost their mother a few years ago and it seemed they were all finally recovering....

And now they too, were laid to rest in the ground.  He visited the graves only when he dared, for most the world knew not he was still alive. There was a grave for him, no body was buried, but most presumes the worst- the rumors had spread his body must have suffered the worst of all- or had been lost to the river near where the carnage was found.

It was weird to see his own gravestone when he visited- although it was fitting in its own way. Arthund was no longer than man he had been before- now scarred by the creature who had stolen his heart.

He turned away from the mirror and finished lacing up the front of his shirt. He was unable to look at the hole any longer and didn't want to dwell on his lost. But the pain... it still felt too fresh and for it, he still mourned.

But today was another day. He had to get up, despite the pain, despite the agony, and try to survive. That's all he was doing anymore- surviving. He felt so ill.. so numb so often. He was no killer- and infact, never killed outside of the battle field. But this creature, this merciless beast who desires blood...

He requires blood for vengeance..
And for proof of why Arthund defied the curse that his own heart fought.

A part of him wished to simply die and join the rest of his family, but that would be too easy- and although he wanted just to reunite with the dead...
Who he was could not allow him to take his own life. It was even difficult for him to take the life of another, so cut throat and cold.

After the first killing, he wept. Over the second, he was sick for days. By the third one he was growing angry, agitated. The creature had told him he would lift the curse if he proved his heart.. honored the beings vengeance...

But as he looked towards the wall, where a pinned list of names was hung...

How many more would he need to add to the list to appease this being? Was he tricked into this? Could this creature be sated?

He approached his list on the wall, staring at rhe names to the point he wasn't seeing anything. He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. He needed to steel himself. He needed to remind himself.. he needed to reassure that these men.. these women.. these people had been corrupt.. these people were hurting others, being a detriment to their society and while they lived.. so many others suffered.

Sometimes it took him weeks to find a name.. justify the means...
It was easier at first- the obvious ones most if the city knew. But as he continued to suffer under his condition, he began to grow desperate. What was he missing? How could he be sure he killed those this creature desired?

What made HIM the executioner? What have HIM the right to take a life?

It ate away at him.. day by day.. night after night...
He was surprised the blood didn't stain his hands as it did his soul.

He turned away from the list and looked over at the opened envelopes and piles of papers on a desk in the corner. The room wasn't large, he lived in a small shack in the woods, so a few strides had him looking down at his notes... his research.

He lifted up the piece of paper..
His next target.
The Saronieth family.

He was working on this one for a while. He needed justification . He needed answers..

When he found some solid evidence of rhe trash this family had done...
Next all he needed was to find the time to strike.

He crumpled the paper, staring off towards the list on the wall.


Today was the day.