Marco's stomach drops. But not as hard as when he slowly pieced together that Fiddleford was the one behind that post on the network, nor do his innards feel as cold. It really does help that he's telling Marco instead of letting him find out on his own, even if it still feels deeply unpleasant.
It takes a few seconds for him to say anything. Fiddleford isn't the only one being careful with his words.
"What for?"
The smile on his face is unnecessary, and wooden, and only there for the sake of politeness, but Marco wouldn't feel right if he didn't even make the effort.
"I've been wantin' to for a real long time. Before I quit the Fourth, even. I wanted to know what kind of man would do what he did to his own son. You know I don't like Elias but I still don't think what was done to him was right."
That's all true. Pretty much from the day he and Marco became priests and they saw what Elias's body really looked like, Fiddleford has wanted to talk to Dr. Liewen and ask him why. Why would anyone ever, ever do that to their child.
"He, uh. He told me about a way to fix it. To take the Fog God's power back out of Elias. And I'm going to do it."
i'm v sleepy but i refuse to let this sit for any longer
That's fair. For a long time now, probably just as long as Fiddleford has wanted to do this, Marco has had some words he wishes he could send to Dr. Liewen. He can only hope Fiddleford conveyed some of them, since this is one of those rare points where they can still agree on something about Elias.
It's the rest that's the problem.
"And where are you going to put it? Her power. What are you going to do with it?"
His gills flare, fruitlessly trying to make up for the shallow movements of his lungs. There is one wrong answer.
i apologize for IMMEDIATELY tagging it back but. yknow
There is one wrong answer and it's the answer Fiddleford knows he has to give. To do anything else would make him a massive hypocrite, more of one than he already always feels like, and he can't do it. He knows he physically cannot look at his husband and lie.
"I want to give it back to her. I thought about puttin' it right into that way out I've been toolin' around with, but it's nowhere near ready and I think... I don't think she'd like that. I think we should work with her, not against her, because if she's the one that brings us here then she's the one who can send us back. We can't fight her in a way that sticks. If we kill her maybe a way out of here dies with her, too. Maybe it's time to hope she really means it when she says she wants to do right by us, because I think the problem isn't that she won't do it, it's that no one's ever really got through to her why she should."
Marco's face goes stony, the way it always does when he is trying very hard to conceal something (rather than the way it often is, when he just neglects to compensate for his face's strange refusal to accurately reflect what he's feeling).
As usual, he can't say Fiddleford's rationale doesn't make sense. As usual, that doesn't stop a part of him from panicking, from wanting to cut contact and stop this because he's the only one who can because he's the envoy. He has that part of him under control, for now. Suddenly, he's more afraid he may not be able to keep that up for long than he has been in a while.
"You're not going to tell me what Liewen told you, are you?"
His tone isn't accusatory. It's awfully flat, yes, but not because he thinks Fiddleford should tell him. That wouldn't be a very smart thing to do, in his own opinion.
"If I did, what would you do? Try and work out some kind of firewall to keep me out? Do it before I can?"
He pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes, partly because he suddenly feels very tired and partly because he cant hold Marco's gaze right now when his face is doing that carefully-blank thing it does. He'd almost prefer Marco were angry.
"I'm warnin' you because there's a chance this goes badly, because there's always a chance these things go badly. And I'll make you a deal: once it's done either way I'll tell you. How's that?"
He lets his hand fall back into what passes for his lap. He knows it's not a great concession but it's something. Regardless of how this pans out, he gets a feeling it's something that's only going to happen once. Either it will work and only need to happen once or Elias, made aware of the back door in his programming, will lock that door as tight as possible for the future.
That's fair. That's incredibly fair. Marco only wishes he could quiet down the part of him that insists it isn't, that there's no good reason for this to happen.
"Okay." He clasps his hands together, squeezes and repeats: "Okay." He'll tell him either way... That, at least, makes a crack in Marco's mask, in the form of a lopsided smile. How very White Hat of Fiddleford.
After taking another moment to shut his eyes hard - because he can't shut his ears, and even if he could he knows it wouldn't help - he continues:
"And... In return," he starts, and it sounds like he very much intended to continue, but the pause lasts so long that it wouldn't be difficult to assume he changed his mind -
"In return, I won't warn him." He squeezes his hands together again, perhaps for lack of a better way to redirect what he's feeling. "I won't tell Elias."
He doesn't know how much of a difference it would make. Who knows how aware Elias is of his own coding. But any advantage is one he'll take and be grateful for.
He reaches out and, after a moment, puts one of his hands over Marco's and squeezes.
"I don't know if this is right. I can't ever totally trust myself with this sort of thing. I'm not goin' to pretend I'm sure. And I think that means maybe I've given it some real thought, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't be so worried. Does that make sense?"
Marco lets out a shaky breath at Fiddleford's touch. It's grounding, as usual, and therefore appreciated.
"I know that. You wouldn't do something like this without thinking." His smile evens out, although it still betrays his exhaustion. "I trust you. I trust you."
But he's reassuring Fiddleford just as much as he's reminding himself. Does that count for something, making an effort to stamp down his awful, persistent paranoia? He wants to think it does, but he can't allow himself to.
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no subject
It takes a few seconds for him to say anything. Fiddleford isn't the only one being careful with his words.
"What for?"
The smile on his face is unnecessary, and wooden, and only there for the sake of politeness, but Marco wouldn't feel right if he didn't even make the effort.
no subject
That's all true. Pretty much from the day he and Marco became priests and they saw what Elias's body really looked like, Fiddleford has wanted to talk to Dr. Liewen and ask him why. Why would anyone ever, ever do that to their child.
"He, uh. He told me about a way to fix it. To take the Fog God's power back out of Elias. And I'm going to do it."
i'm v sleepy but i refuse to let this sit for any longer
It's the rest that's the problem.
"And where are you going to put it? Her power. What are you going to do with it?"
His gills flare, fruitlessly trying to make up for the shallow movements of his lungs. There is one wrong answer.
i apologize for IMMEDIATELY tagging it back but. yknow
"I want to give it back to her. I thought about puttin' it right into that way out I've been toolin' around with, but it's nowhere near ready and I think... I don't think she'd like that. I think we should work with her, not against her, because if she's the one that brings us here then she's the one who can send us back. We can't fight her in a way that sticks. If we kill her maybe a way out of here dies with her, too. Maybe it's time to hope she really means it when she says she wants to do right by us, because I think the problem isn't that she won't do it, it's that no one's ever really got through to her why she should."
I UNDERSTAND
As usual, he can't say Fiddleford's rationale doesn't make sense. As usual, that doesn't stop a part of him from panicking, from wanting to cut contact and stop this because he's the only one who can because he's the envoy. He has that part of him under control, for now. Suddenly, he's more afraid he may not be able to keep that up for long than he has been in a while.
"You're not going to tell me what Liewen told you, are you?"
His tone isn't accusatory. It's awfully flat, yes, but not because he thinks Fiddleford should tell him. That wouldn't be a very smart thing to do, in his own opinion.
no subject
He pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes, partly because he suddenly feels very tired and partly because he cant hold Marco's gaze right now when his face is doing that carefully-blank thing it does. He'd almost prefer Marco were angry.
"I'm warnin' you because there's a chance this goes badly, because there's always a chance these things go badly. And I'll make you a deal: once it's done either way I'll tell you. How's that?"
He lets his hand fall back into what passes for his lap. He knows it's not a great concession but it's something. Regardless of how this pans out, he gets a feeling it's something that's only going to happen once. Either it will work and only need to happen once or Elias, made aware of the back door in his programming, will lock that door as tight as possible for the future.
no subject
"Okay." He clasps his hands together, squeezes and repeats: "Okay." He'll tell him either way... That, at least, makes a crack in Marco's mask, in the form of a lopsided smile. How very White Hat of Fiddleford.
After taking another moment to shut his eyes hard - because he can't shut his ears, and even if he could he knows it wouldn't help - he continues:
"And... In return," he starts, and it sounds like he very much intended to continue, but the pause lasts so long that it wouldn't be difficult to assume he changed his mind -
"In return, I won't warn him." He squeezes his hands together again, perhaps for lack of a better way to redirect what he's feeling. "I won't tell Elias."
no subject
He doesn't know how much of a difference it would make. Who knows how aware Elias is of his own coding. But any advantage is one he'll take and be grateful for.
He reaches out and, after a moment, puts one of his hands over Marco's and squeezes.
"I don't know if this is right. I can't ever totally trust myself with this sort of thing. I'm not goin' to pretend I'm sure. And I think that means maybe I've given it some real thought, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't be so worried. Does that make sense?"
no subject
"I know that. You wouldn't do something like this without thinking." His smile evens out, although it still betrays his exhaustion. "I trust you. I trust you."
But he's reassuring Fiddleford just as much as he's reminding himself. Does that count for something, making an effort to stamp down his awful, persistent paranoia? He wants to think it does, but he can't allow himself to.