Carlisle's eyes fall again, but he nods, his silent way of saying he will try. That is the best he can do, isn't it? To just try to understand his partner, someone with whom he has been more open, more intimate than any other.
And yet, Emily was better at this than he is. Emily was better at glyphcrafting, too. She was talented beyond reason, and now she's gone, and Glacius is left with no one to help but a man who can't seem to understand just why it is he hurts so, who gets so wrapped up in his own anxieties that he can't see beyond his glasses. Carlisle knows he'd be utterly destroyed if Glacius vanished -- his behavior this entire day is testament enough to that -- and he aches thinking of how Emily is no longer among them, but... it isn't the same as what Glacius is feeling. Somehow, it lacks the depth and breadth of emotion the alien is looking for. Is it because of his work? Or is he so desensitized to losing others and the misfortune he would bring upon those around him that he cannot comprehend just what it is Glacius is going through?
Worse possibilities come to mind. How can he redeem himself if he lacks the capacity to empathize with another's injury? Has he always been this way, or was it behavior he developed slowly, imperceptibly over time? Perhaps he is something less than human, as Armand had implied -- that he's already dead.
This isn't about him, Carlisle reminds himself, leaning back on the couch and inviting Glacius to recline with him, as they have done in the past. This is about Glacius and what he's feeling. He cannot voice such concerns right now. Sighing, he instead tries to focus on the disappointment he feels for Emily's loss rather than the unbridled relief that it wasn't Glacius who—
Ah. His fingers tighten -- that was a terrible thought, something so utterly selfish that he can't help the twitch of repugnance that crosses him. It's there and gone in a flash, but he can still feel the disgust, as though he's goddess might have heard and judged him immediately based upon an idle thought. He tries to stifle it further with words. "I am sorry, Glacius," he says, taking in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for your loss -- our loss, I suppose -- and I am here as long as you need me... and beyond that."
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And yet, Emily was better at this than he is. Emily was better at glyphcrafting, too. She was talented beyond reason, and now she's gone, and Glacius is left with no one to help but a man who can't seem to understand just why it is he hurts so, who gets so wrapped up in his own anxieties that he can't see beyond his glasses. Carlisle knows he'd be utterly destroyed if Glacius vanished -- his behavior this entire day is testament enough to that -- and he aches thinking of how Emily is no longer among them, but... it isn't the same as what Glacius is feeling. Somehow, it lacks the depth and breadth of emotion the alien is looking for. Is it because of his work? Or is he so desensitized to losing others and the misfortune he would bring upon those around him that he cannot comprehend just what it is Glacius is going through?
Worse possibilities come to mind. How can he redeem himself if he lacks the capacity to empathize with another's injury? Has he always been this way, or was it behavior he developed slowly, imperceptibly over time? Perhaps he is something less than human, as Armand had implied -- that he's already dead.
This isn't about him, Carlisle reminds himself, leaning back on the couch and inviting Glacius to recline with him, as they have done in the past. This is about Glacius and what he's feeling. He cannot voice such concerns right now. Sighing, he instead tries to focus on the disappointment he feels for Emily's loss rather than the unbridled relief that it wasn't Glacius who—
Ah. His fingers tighten -- that was a terrible thought, something so utterly selfish that he can't help the twitch of repugnance that crosses him. It's there and gone in a flash, but he can still feel the disgust, as though he's goddess might have heard and judged him immediately based upon an idle thought. He tries to stifle it further with words. "I am sorry, Glacius," he says, taking in a deep breath. "I'm sorry for your loss -- our loss, I suppose -- and I am here as long as you need me... and beyond that."