TIMING: November 29 PARTIES: Oliver @oliver--fox and Cleo @echoingmuse LOCATION: At Cleo's house SUMMARY: After the surge, Oliver and Cleo discuss his dying issues. CONTENT WARNING: Terminal illness (metaphorical, fae kind).
Oliver stared up at Cleo’s apartment, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He inhaled deeply before he exhaled slowly, watching as his breath caught the cold air, turning into white wisps that reminded Oliver of smoke. God, what he wouldn’t do for a cigarette right now. It had been decades since he smoked, but periods of high stress always made him wish for one. He had stared at the selection at one of the nearby gas stations a few days ago when he was paying, mentally going through the many reasons why getting one would be a bad idea, while the bored teenager stared at him as they popped the gum they were chewing. “Anything else, sir?” She had asked, snapping Oliver out of his train of thought. He had shaken his head quickly and paid before scampering back out to his car.
He turned his phone over in his hand a few times, Cleo’s contact shining back up at him. Oliver had thought about texting her or even calling her. It had been a week since the blackouts, 6 days since Izzy stormed out of his home. Cleo knew one of his secrets. She hadn’t mentioned it, but Oliver still knew that she knew. It felt futile to continue dancing around the subject, but calling or texting didn’t feel right. So he had shown up in person but hadn’t called ahead because, if she wasn’t there, well… he had tried. He could try again another day.
There’s movement in one of the windows, and a blanket of tension is placed on Oliver’s shoulders. He didn’t even get the chance to walk up to the door, knock, and have a few moments of peace where maybe it went unanswered. Oliver sighed before he trudged up the stairs and knocked. Upon its opening, he smiled; a tinge of sadness was evident on his lips. “Hey, could I come in?”
—
Cleo had not known that her friend was standing outside the building that housed both her shop and small apartment, but once she saw him standing on the sidewalk outside she felt no surprise. Just a hint of relief that came with something inevitable happening. She had known that Oliver and her needed to talk, but she had not pushed nor shoved. Through Isidore she’d heard that Oliver had not been happy about her knowing, but she did not consider a responsibility for her to carry. She had simply hoped that her friend would come to her.
Patience was easy when you lived long. She had assumed that he knew that her door was open for him, and that she would not barge down his for now. Secrets were not a thing that lasted long among fae. Lying through omission was not durable. Eventually they’d have to face whatever it was that was wrong with Oliver. Truth be told? She was scared, too. Of the conversation, of the reality laid out on the table. Loss was not a stranger to her, but it was because of that, that she feared it.
She was already at her door when he knocked on it, moving it open gently. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside and letting Oliver in. She moved through to the kitchen, which she figured the best place to discuss such things. The place was quite lacking — Cleo didn’t cook, but she did enjoy a few good drinks. “What do you want to drink? Tea, coffee, something stronger?” She had it all. She was not sure whether Oliver wanted something to comfort or to numb him.
—-
Oliver’s mouth quirked upwards when she mentioned drinks. “Let’s start with tea, but don’t put the harder stuff away quite yet.” He might end up needing it later in the night, depending on how the rest of the conversation went. Oliver followed her towards the kitchen, gaze traveling from where Cleo was standing to the rest of the apartment. A silence fell between the two of them. It’s not heavy, and there isn’t a sense of awkwardness, but Oliver still felt uncomfortable. There’s a reason he came here tonight, and the longer he sits with the knowledge that they both know why he’s here, the more he wants to flee.
He clears his throat, fingers tapping on his thigh. “So..Izzy had mentioned that he had spoken to you the night of the blackout.” Oliver starts, wetting his lips. “That you know what happens to me when they happen. How I…die.” Best to just say it, right? Rather than dance around the subject. Oliver feels like he is on a stage, with a spotlight directly pointed at him. So exposed with nowhere to hide.
“It-It’s true.” Oliver said quietly. He doesn’t think Cleo would have any reason not believe Izzy, but he still wants to make it clear that the other was being truthful. He takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “And…that’s not all. Izzy didn’t say he mentioned it, but...” It didn’t feel right to only give Cleo a half-truth and keep the rest of his secret hidden away. “My trees are disappearing. I don’t have many left. Once they all disappear, I’ll die with them.” Oliver says in a rush. Words tumbling out before he has a moment to try and find a better way to explain it. The script that he had mentally plotted out wasn’t touched. “So-I just-” Oliver takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I have a lot going on.” He lands on, smiling weakly.
—
“Sounds good,” she confirmed, getting the kettle full of water before igniting a flame on the stove and placing it on there. Like many things in her life, that too was analogue. The tea would take a while, so she turned to Oliver and all the unspoken things hanging in the air between them. Cleo was patient, had not taken it upon herself to confront Oliver with the things he had omitted, even if they were quite striking things. But the worry was showing on her face.
She did not have to ask Oliver to talk about it. She did not have to pry or carefully dance around it, and she was glad for it. She was not one for such difficult conversations — she preferred to hit emotional beats by talking about art that was evocative. Grief as a leitmotif, for example, or happiness as a change in key. “Yes,” she said, “He told me.” She wondered if it was a point of contention between the two, though she did not ask after it. She was not quite sure how their friendship worked yet, but was happy to know that their friendship existed.
She pulled out a chair, gestured at Oliver to sit. Though her kitchen was greatly non functional, there was still a table to sit at. It was something she had come to appreciate — a kitchen table to talk at. Cleo watched her friend with a creased brow. At the way he stumbled over his words and then came to a conclusion. Not only did he die, temporarily – something she had yet to grasp – but he was dying too. “Oh, Oliver,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. But … I am glad you’re telling me now, that we can – that I can help. Or listen, or hold your hand — whatever it is you need.” Her gut ached. She had gone years without seeing Oliver, but he had always been there. A presence to return to. An address to send letters to. “Your trees … can we protect them? Plant more? I’m sure … you’ve thought of this, but still.” She did not voice her most prominent thought: that she did not want to lose him.
—-
Oliver sat in the chair that she offered, linking his fingers together. “T-There’s nothing you can do.” He said quietly, feeling his eyes well up. Blinking quickly to try and have them dissipate, Oliver glanced upward. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to think I was hiding this from you for any…specific reason. It’s just…a lot.” If Oliver had his way, he would simply disappear one day, allowing others to believe that he had simply moved on. Have it so people aren’t able to worry until it’s been months without a new letter coming with a new address for correspondence. It might have been something he could have done if he had spent less time in the area, but in building connections, he had made it impossible to disappear completely. A double-edged sword, he supposed.
“The trees are safe, for now. They are technically a protected species in Maine; my dad helped set up that law.” He laughed wetly. “But if they get sick? Or if they get struck by lightning, or someone decides to break a law.” He held his hands up, palms facing upwards. “I can’t use my abilities on my own trees, and I haven’t run into any other tree nymphs in decades,” Oliver said with a sigh.
He ran a hand through his hair. “The bigger concern right now is these blackouts, you know? I think I’m dying during them because I have so few trees left. When the trees all disappear, so do I, which means if the magic goes out from them, since I don’t have any outside of Wicked, my life source goes out with them.” Oliver chewed on his bottom lip. “But no one knows what’s causing them, which means there isn’t a known solution, and they keep getting longer and…”
—
Powerlessness was a feeling Cleo was familiar with. It went hand in hand with grief, after all. But Oliver was still alive, and anticipatory grief was not something she could add to the list of her woes (even if she would end up doing so all the same). “I can be there for you,” she protested quietly. Then, with a shake of her head, she waved away his attempt at an excuse. “Don’t worry. I understand keeping things close to ones chest. I am guilty of this too, of course. I’m not offended.” Just … frustrated, perhaps, that something like this had gone on unknown to her. But it wasn’t like she was telling Oliver about how she could not feed any more, either.
“That is good. Human laws only have so much influence, but it is something. We do not have to fear building projects or whatnot, then. But other humans…” She bristled. They were such a frustrating species at times, even if she loved them also. “Mindless fools. Can we help protect them? From the humans, at the very least.” She racked her brain. “I don’t know any either, besides you.”
Cleo was silent for a moment. Where anticipatory grief had been on her mind before, and disregarded through a poor attempt, it came back swinging now. Oliver was dying and coming back. It was a worrying thing. “I wish I knew what to do. I can … be there, when they happen. Safeguard your body from all that is running around wild in town.” Because the idea that Oliver might be mauled by a feral vampire or shifter was laughable, yet realistic. “And we will have to see if we can figure out what is amiss. It is a magic issue, no? But not just one type, it seems. All kinds are affected from what I can gather, which make this a large problem — which hopefully means others are onto this, too.”
—
With every person that Oliver let in on his secret, there was a sense of relief, as well as a building sense of dread. The two feelings warred against each other, the idea that there were people whom he could lean on, but that he knew this was causing others pain as well. “...thank you.” Oliver said softly when the other waved off his apologies.
Oliver gave a small nod. “There’s a…bugbear. Someone I met a few months ago said they would protect my trees.” It wasn’t as if Joel would be able to always be around, but it was at least something. “Plus, uh, I get notified if any of them get hurt.” He motioned to his own body. “So I can always get over there, or contact you or-” He clamps his teeth together with a ‘click’ before Izzy’s name leaves his mouth. “Or someone else if I’m not able to.”
Oliver sighed at her wishes. “That’s really all I can ask for. Honestly, I hope that another one won’t happen.” If there is, and it lasts longer than this last one…well…Oliver would rather not go down that rabbit hole. “I’ve tried to ask around, but no one seems to know what might be going on. You’re right, though. This is impacting everyone. All supernatural types are getting affected.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So I’m hoping whatever is causing the issues gets fixed, and quickly.”
—
The kettle was starting to make that sound that promised a whistle was coming soon, and Cleo got up to turn off the heat. She did not much like the softness of Oliver’s voice, the way he seemed diminished by it all. Did it take something from him, every time he died? Did it eat away at his soul or his organic make up? She looked him over and saw something like fatigue, but not decomposition.
She wondered what a banshee might make of Oliver. But there was no bone within that wanted to ask Siobhan for her expertise.
“That’s good,” she said, sounding somewhat relieved. She busied herself with pouring the water in a teapot, placing it under its cosy before putting it on the table. Two mugs and a box of different teas was provided next before she sat down across from Oliver. “A bear will scare the humans more than either of us ever could. And I can come at a moment’s notice, truly.”
She shared Oliver’s hope, but it felt like a futile one. Hope was traitorous and dangerous, and she did not want to cling to it too much. There seemed to be a rhythm to these black outs, from what she had learned. They came, they went, and came again. “I’m not much of an investigator,” Cleo admitted, “But I’ll try to see if I can ask around. Maybe someone knows if another will happen. We should be prepared for that possible reality, even if I too hope none will happen again. And I’m sure there are those proactive types in town getting to the bottom of this already.” Because she knew, deep down, that neither Oliver or her were those types.
—
Oliver nodded at the mug placed in front of him, “Thanks.” He said quietly as he looked through the teas, picking out the chamomile blend and placing it in his cup to steep. “Yeah, definitely.” He cracked a smile at the idea of the two of them competing with Joel on scaring people. “It means a lot for you to say that, so thank you.” He cupped his hands around the mug, relishing in the heat soaking into his hands. Allowing the tea bag to steep for another minute, Oliver took it out, placing it on the napkin next to him.
He brought the mug up to his lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. The silence between them is calm, though Oliver can’t ignore the heavy sadness that clings to the edges. A relationship built over decades of never talking about the hard things, suddenly being forced to do exactly that. “I’ve been looking into it a little, but haven’t found anything helpful.” Oliver explained, gaze shifting from the mug back up to Cleo. “Don’t feel too bad if you aren’t able to find anything major. I’ve asked around, and no one has been able to give me a clear answer.” He sighed, “It seems that for now, everyone is just as lost, which is incredibly unhelpful.”
Oliver laughed at her idea that maybe they wouldn’t happen again. “That would be great, honestly. It’s my hope.” However, he had hoped that the first time the blackouts happened, then the second, and then the third. At this point, it didn’t seem like they would be stopping anytime soon. With them increasing in frequency and length, Oliver wasn’t sure if he could continue to hope they would just go away. “Unfortunately…” He trailed off, tapping his finger against the mug. “I just-I don’t know how likely that is. The fact that there’s never any warning is really the worst part.”
—
Loyalty was a thing mostly lost upon Cleo these days. She moved through the world untethered, her ties with her family and community undone and forcibly forgotten. She had a few contacts she tended to, but she did not tie herself to people. Or so she thought. She had come to Wicked’s Rest in part because Oliver was here, because Isidore was. And now one of them was dying and Cleo was finding that there was a ribbon tying her to him. “Of course.” But it wasn’t that natural to her. Still, there was no walking away from this. At least not until it was done.
She swallowed her pessimism about Oliver’s situation with a sip of her tea, the water burning its way down her throat. It was too hot. Her eyes burned slightly. She cleared her throat as if that would alleviate the heat and the part of her that wanted to ask Oliver if he wanted to fight, or if he wanted to lie down and accept this? It was a wrong way to go about it, but Cleo knew how she might feel, if the roles were reversed. “I will try not to. It’s … an ugly thing, guilt. I’m not as good as avoiding that feeling as I once was. But I have your blessing now. Not that it … matters. You do, now.”
Some people spoke of leaving town due to the blackouts. Cleo considered it too, but she knew for Oliver and his trees it wasn’t an option. For her it wasn’t even so bad. As long as she was somewhere she could hide, there was no true danger, no true lack of control. Cleo swallowed. She smiled ruefully. “Knowing how nature works, how the world loves its cruelty … it will happen again. It’s easier to ignore an issue but … I won’t, not this time.” Avoidance in the face of struggle was her preferred approach, but she would fight as long as Oliver would. “I can’t help predict, but I can help when it occurs next. And until then … we’ll ask around, we’ll wrack our brains. We’ll keep your trees safe. And we can sit here, and drink. Hm?”
—
Oliver’s eyes softened at Cleo’s statement about trying not feel guilty. “It truly is.” Guilt could cling to you, whisper in your ear how you hadn’t done enough; that it was all your fault for not trying harder. He had experienced guilt time and time again in his life, and it never got better. It made him vaguely nauseous to know that his friends would likely feel guilty about not being able to do more. Oliver didn’t know how to lessen the blow other than to repeatedly state that this didn’t fall to their shoulders. He took another sip of his drink. “Avoiding it just means you’re running from it until it corners you in the middle of the night.” He said quietly, grip tightening on his cup.
He sighed when she mentioned the cruelty of the world. “No…you’re probably right. That would be too easy.” It scared him to think about what could happen if it went on for longer than this last one. Especially if he had to go through it alone. Oliver knew, realistically, that just because he and Izzy weren’t speaking; that there could be other people who could come and be with him during one if needed. However, it still made him feel antsy.
“That sounds like a good plan.” Oliver whispered, closing his eyes for a moment to keep the tears at bay. In this moment, there was a certain amount of calmness that he felt; perhaps for the first time since the blackouts had started. He felt safe. They had a plan. Eventually, he would have to leave and walk back out to the cold. Oliver would have to deal with the ever-present situation and be engulfed by the fear that it encompassed. But for now, all of that was outside the window. For the moment, he could sit in the warmth of the moment.
