dcwnhardin:
The first thing he does after Robyn finishes with him and moves onto Twig is make tea. They don’t have time for things like that, and his hands are shaking, his thoughts racing, but he knows that he needs to be here once Robyn is finished talking with Twig and Ivory, that both of them, in their own ways, are going to be ready to make decisions without their own safety in mind, to try to help others, because that’s who they both are. There are dozens of things to do before the time comes, his body keeps telling him to run to Slate, but Seven needs to be his first priority, making sure they both know that they don’t have to be martyrs to help make this happen. So he’s drinking his tea, pacing, when Twig does reappear, and it’s clear that he’s thinking exactly the way Dawn expected.
Dawn crosses over to him, and puts a hand on his arm, grounding. “I know, it feels impossible. But there’s still time, we’ll do as much as we can, before doing anything else,” he says, frown deep. “But, Twig, we can’t wait too long, you know that.” He lowers his voice to barely a whisper, hopes that it’s quiet enough no one who could be listening can hear. “What’s it all for if when they get him––because we’ll make sure they do, we’ll do everything we can to set him up to survive, just like we have been––if you’re not there, too?”
--
Dawn’s drinking tea. If Twig was thinking about anything at all besides this harebrained scheme unfolding in front of them, he might have guessed that. Dawn was a creature of habit, always comforting in his familiarity. He probably could have guessed what Dawn would say next, too: there are probably those, in the Tower, who would make the trade of Twig for Harbor with barely a twinge, but not Dawn. Dawn’s always been on Twig’s side. Dawn’s always been Twig’s person.
He listens to Dawn. Leans into the weight of his hand and stills, for a moment. But—his first reunion with Harbor was nothing like he might have dreamed it would be. There was no forgiveness. There was no recognition. There’s no reason to think that a second reunion would go any differently. If they reunited once again. But his guilt goes deeper than that. “He was the one who wanted all of this. Who wanted to fight for it. And I—I didn’t believe it was possible.” And he left Harbor over it. Robbed himself—robbed them both—of time they could have had together. Time they’ll never get back, not now. Time that he mourns, but doesn’t think that Harbor does. “How is it fair that my way out is guaranteed, but his—we’ll just have to put it someone else’s hands and wait and see.”
