exsiliumlogs | [closed]

It wasn't danger, not a call to drive him outside of his body, but it was a kind of chime – a buzzing in Martin's head that stirred him from his daze. Whatever had been floating around in his mind scattered like kicked-up sand and left him with a strong stirring in his chest, like something forgotten suddenly and urgently remembered.

The rustling sounds he heard not far away impressed the matter, made his heart drum loudly as he hopped over dense overgrowth and swiped low-hanging, half-naked branches and caught his breath short to see Bariyan there. Martin's eyes were big, mouth hung open in unspoken surprise, and the drumming seemed to stop outright.

What was the right word for the feeling, even? If it was just one to describe at all. Nauseous, maybe...that might've been one.

Bariyan tilted his head slowly at this new arrival, dropping the medallion back into his shirt as if he'd been caught thieving it. But this one had a quicker, sharper memory than the other, and the connection between Martin now and Martin then was clear, even taking into account the difference of light versus flesh.

But... gods, this was just a child. There was no sense of otherworldliness about him. Perhaps Bariyan was mistaken, after all.

"I'm sorry!" He put his hands up, speaking before any of the above thoughts even cleared, reacting immediately to the surprised look on Martin's face. "I only wanted to look around. I can leave, if I'm not allowed."

He had embraced this altered Bariyan before – that whole, freed aspect of himself held no resentments, doubts, or anger over what had happened, simply accepting it as Time's course and their role in it ever-changing. But it was different, there in the flesh, a boy. A boy who felt the way other humans did – a boy who opened his eyes with life again and felt tears stinging in them right away.

This Bariyan forgot– His head did a bit of a quiver, like shaking a buzzing insect away from his ear. No, never knew me. It wasn't something to resent, by no means, but...but it still left him very far from happy. How everyone had been changing, and him hardly...

And now hastened apologies, not an unfamiliar thing between them, but certainly not in the voice it came from. Things were changing too much. Martin had to be quick to speak in turn – not something he was ever very good at.

"No–" He felt his voice crack and winced a little, swallowing, exhaling loudly to clear his throat. "No, it's all right." It's all right, child. "You can stay. You can look. I was just surprised..."

Bariyan relaxed, having been legitimately fearful that he'd trespassed -- and he'd hardly been here for a full day yet.

"This isn't where you live, is it?" he asked. It certainly didn't look like any place for a young boy to live, or anyone else, for that matter. Though Bariyan liked it just fine. He'd barely seen any plants yet, and now, all of a sudden: an entire dome of them.

But his eyes kept coming back to Martin. Was this the one who'd come to him, just yesterday? But he was obviously nervous. Unassuming. Very human, and very different from the overwhelming presence that had been Martin in spirit.

"No." His mouth twitched a moment. "No, I...I stay where everyone else does."

Bariyan's own room, until then. But Martin had the key to the room he shared with Alistair and Anora, and it had been put to use; no more fleeing in terror, sleeping in basements and alleys. If Bariyan ever did know or remember, it would've killed him (and anyway, it was a lot colder than Martin remembered it ever being, so it was definitely out on multiple levels).

He may not have been the best at bodily and facial cues, but he was certain he understood the returning stare. It gave him pause, holding his breath again. He's fine. Safe. And...I can protect him, even if he doesn't know why. It's alright. He knew that. But still.

I want to be known.

"You remember me?" he asked, a little quiet, his shoulders starting to shrug up. "When you woke up here, right?"

"Ah." Bariyan relaxed, smiling, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. He wore his smile as defense these days -- not against the outside world, but against the misery that still lived within him. "I thought so. I just was not sure."

There was a name, too. It would probably be nice if he could remember it. So Bariyan raked through his memories until he found it.

"Martin, yes?" He was certain that was it. Bariyan gave Martin a slight nod. "Thank you. Thank you for being there. Though I was not in my right mind."

He quieted, thinking about that. Not in his right mind indeed.

With a sigh, Bariyan brushed his shirt off, then adjusted the medallion around his neck before looking to Martin again.

"Will you walk with me? I have many questions."

He had opened his mouth to quickly dismiss that notion – right minds and all – but stopped at hearing the sigh, anticipating more. With breath held again, he watched Bariyan fiddle with that medallion – theirs. Was it a nuisance? Did he want it off? He didn't know anything about it, did he? Otherwise...

Martin had forgotten he was waiting for words and startled a little at them, blinking and looking at him, rather than the medal. It took a couple seconds to understand and react.

"Alright," he said quickly, trying to make up for that beat. Questions, though...it made his stomach churn anxiously. He stepped around a shrub and to Bariyan's side, fingers curling at the hems of his coat to keep from reaching out on impulse.

Which questions? How could he explain...much of it? Would it make him sad? Wasn't it better if he could be a little bit happy about being here instead? I can take care of him even if he doesn't know.

"Yes," Bariyan said, as he began to walk. He didn't reach out to take Martin's hand; but he did pull out the medallion again. "Mostly. About this. This is... yours, isn't it?"

It'd been the first thing that Martin had gone for, when Bariyan had arrived. Bariyan remembered that clear enough. And it certainly wasn't Bariyan's; he didn't wear any sort of jewelry, as a rule. Bariyan already wasn't very good at fighting. He didn't need to give his opponents an easy target to grab him by.

Martin's eyes were already locked on it, his eyebrows pinched seeing it tugged, watching to see if it was meant to be pulled right off. Not possible, he knew, but the gesture...

"It was made for me," he said, his tone at first something more distracted, but once his eyes lifted away from the medal he seemed much more present. His mouth twitched a little before he looked ahead to better avoid tripping over something. "One of my baby teeth was melted into it when I was little. And then..."

And then...a lot. A great deal, some more confusing than most, but none of it simple. He let out a breath slowly, with a bit of sound, dragging it out to give himself time. Hardly time enough; he didn't know what was best to say of it. The truth, obviously, but that was so complex.

"Then I gave it to you. Or...Or I will." It was a Bariyan a time before, right? He squinted with a frown at the ground ahead of him before looking back up. "Did you...know that? That you're here – will be here.

"It's strange like that," he added quickly, trying to hasten some better explanation and keep unpleasant feelings at bay. "Time, here. A lot of people..." He swallowed, let out the breath. "A lot of people have changed, too. It's strange, but not...new. Not very new."

Melted baby teeth? Well, that was... slightly disturbing. Bariyan thought about asking if Martin wanted it back, but that truly didn't seem like an option, anyway. There was no clasp, and the chain too tight to get off his neck. Besides, if Martin had given to him -- he supposed he ought to keep it.

Bariyan shook his head.

"I was going to ask about that, too." He smiled off into the distance. "I suspected that... you and that Koltira fellow, both of you, I suspected that you knew me already. But I don't remember, and I didn't know."

But... it made no sense to him. He knew, now. He knew that if he ever returned home, he would have all of half a second to realize before the end came for him. So how could he have come here, again, afterwards? If anything, it had to be a past version of himself... which made even less sense, really.

Not that any of this had ever made sense to begin with.

Martin stopped walking as he listened, feeling cold. Well, colder. It hadn't bothered him so much, the bite at his skin – ears, especially – but. He felt colder listening.

Bariyan had been hurt, unhappy and lost, barely bandaged up and made safe from harm – Koltira's work, not his. And a dozen other questions, no doubt...Hadn't he felt the same way before? Back before everything. Martin faintly knew, but didn't entirely understand what he felt was not so dissimilar to his Darkov time.

He does understand, though, that it should be about Bariyan, not himself. He should do everything he can to help him, however he wants. It was as simple as that, being in his presence at first, untethered, but now...Now, Martin was frightened of what would happen if he said anything at all. Frightened, too, of what it would be like if this state persisted, and...if he was actually wrong to want it to change back.

He smiled, too, consciously pressing it on himself despite a quiver at his brow.

"Did you want me to tell you?" he asked, almost deadpan. Keeping his tone as solid a tone as he could helped a little, but it broke quickly for fear of how it sounded. "I'll do my best to answer what you want." If that's going to make you happy.

That thought, at least, softened his features for a turn. It was good if it he was doing something that pleased Bariyan, wasn't it? He always wanted that.

Bariyan was silent for a while. When he spoke again, it was in a murmur.

"No, that's all that I wanted to know about me," he said. Still smiling. "I thought about it, but..."

But he knew that he would be dead soon. It was a fact that he had to remind himself of, now. Being here and knowing that he was or would be here, earlier or later or again, all that was enough to make him wonder -- make him hope, falsely, that he might yet survive whatever was happening back home.

Futile to think that way. He turned memories over in his head, words said and unsaid, turned, looked at all the bridges burned, and knew that he was at his end. Even if it had been delayed by this place.

He would die. He didn't need the heartache of knowing what sort of life he might have led here to occupy his thoughts in the meanwhile. There was no more room in his heart for any sort of hurt.

"You, though...." Bariyan stopped briefly to look around, to decide where he wanted to turn next. "You were... important, weren't you?"

A strange impulse was there. Martin didn't want to say yes. It was strange, wasn't it? He thought so, realizing it. It tugged at his smile on one side, the rest of himself standing a little stiffer.

"Yes," he said, despite himself. Clearing that hurdle seemed to start a gradual ease in tension. "I put you through a great deal of trouble. But you wouldn't give up on me. You've been very good to me."

Bittersweet was the word he didn't have for it, that moment. Perceiving it to be more painful than it turned out to be...It's not so hard, is it? It'll be alright.

He made his decision and took them left, dodging under a broken archway overgrown with vines. He brushed his hand over the vines as he went, disturbing leaves and little curls of stems.

He smiled at Martin, warmly, blue eyes light and clear.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. And he meant it. But he did not inquire any further; did not ask what sort of trouble, did not ask what giving up meant. It was good enough to know that he'd done right by this child.

If... Martin was a child, at all.

"Can you tell me about yourself, then?" Bariyan asked. "I don't mean to be rude, but... what are you?"

His head ducked, hiding the uncomfortable smile that stretched on one side. It was as strange as it was exciting to see such warmth so plainly – so unasked for. This is Bariyan, too? He knew he was kind – always – but seldom saw it light up outside. It had been in words, in reassuring touch (cold, without pulse), but very rarely in his eyes or face.

Strange and exciting. It was alright because it was him, truly, wasn't it? Maybe that would be enough to quell his mounting, nagging uncertainties. It seemed to validate the part of him that knew best, after all.

But humans seldom followed what was best, no matter how glaring.

"It's not rude," he said, ducking a branch as he followed along, falling behind a couple steps. "It's just hard to explain. For me, I mean. I'm not very good at explaining..."

But he would, because he asked.

"But I'm...a new person. This body is months old, made here. I used to have a different existence before then. I was raised believing I was...like a broken thing. That I was made to be a weapon, but I hadn't ever been good at it. And I let...awful things determine what I was.

"You didn't let me get away with it so easily."

Bariyan slowed to a gradual halt to look at Martin more closely. He quirked an eyebrow.

"You look quite a bit older than a few months," he said, but this, too, was accompanied by a smile. It faded as he took the rest of Martin's words into consideration.

Of course he didn't understand fully -- he didn't know the details, and he wouldn't ask. He didn't feel like it was his place. And it would have been strange, for both of them; for one to inquire intensely for details of something that the other might have expected him to know. But it seemed, at least, that something here had been fixed.

Saved, perhaps? Bariyan's smile returned, faded, distant.

"Was that a good thing?"

Martin had to watch Bariyan's expression for a while to find his bearing, somehow guess at what his explanation was even doing for him. He was nervous – almost giddily so – and the feeling kept him teetering in a confusing tightrope walk between fear and excitement, a hope for...for what? For some light to click? For the Bariyan who recognized him, cared for him to suddenly be there, just as alive? As though talking about himself as Darkov was enough to reverse whatever circumstance caused this change.

A boy's imagination, perhaps.

It was the question that rattled that imagined end. No revelation, just one more question and one more flutter in Martin's stomach. He couldn't read Bariyan's expression well enough anymore – it was too animated, too influenced by things the boy had little claim to or...or none, if it were all from that other world.

"It was," he said, a little weakly. It was a tone he quickly corrected, speaking up, insistent, earnest. "It was the best thing. I'm here because of it."

He couldn't stop himself from reaching, grabbing at Bariyan's arm to stop him, no longer minding a stranger's manners.

"You gave me a whole new life," he said, his mouth breaking into a smile, quickly twitching with a shade of fear when he realized he had overstepped. He let go, holding his breath, feeling his face heat up.

"But please don't...Don't think you owe me anything! It's the other way around...Did I say so before?" He was faintly certain he did. "I promised..."

"Oh," Bariyan said, weakly, as Martin reached for him. He recoiled a bit -- mostly out of surprise -- but not enough to avoid the grip entirely. And he stayed, when he felt those fingers close around his arm. But he did not do anything when Martin drew away afterwards.

It was strange, listening to Martin, hearing the obvious adoration in the boy's voice... adoration for another man with Bariyan's name, Bariyan's face, Bariyan's character. Strange. Strange to see how obviously loved this Bariyan was. But here was Bariyan now, lost, confused, distant, feeling rather like a uninvited stranger.

This wasn't his life. This wasn't his place.

But nevertheless, he was here.

"You don't owe me anything," Bariyan said, gently. He picked up walking again, at a slower pace, looking up to the dome above them as he went. He laughed. "Please don't worry about me. I'm just glad that I-- or, someone like me-- I'm just glad that your life is good now."

He raised a hand to rub at the left side of his neck. "Everyone deserves to be happy. We've all only one life to be happy in, after all."

He didn't understand because it wasn't time to understand. That was the truth of the matter, but even with Truth whispering deep within, Martin the boy, a breathing figure in Time, couldn't hear it well enough to understand himself. Instead, it was another unhappy Why? Another pulse of hurt, of feeling slighted by some mystery circumstance.

It wasn't supposed to be that way. He had to have been doing something wrong to feel as he did, he thought; he was supposed to have a happier life. Being a human was different. He didn't need to be remembered to do the right thing.

Only one life? Was that the way of it? The way Bariyan thought of it – at least, in this moment. He had to believe otherwise – the "he" who knew him. Who lived on after "life." This Bariyan didn't know yet.

So it's alright, isn't it? he thought, trying to comfort himself as he fell further behind in step, feeling a sharper, sharper tightness in his throat. It kept him from saying anything, so all he could offer was a closed-lipped sound, neither approval nor disapproval.

It's alright, he repeated again and again, coaxing himself off a rattled, nervous edge in his mind. He could catch up again, then, with a blank, mild smile etched on his face. Eyes forward. It's alright.

Bariyan paused when he noticed Martin falling behind, calling the boy's name out once before falling silent to let Martin catch up himself. Bariyan knew it had to be hard for the boy, too; here he was, a relative stranger, a poor substitute for whoever it was that Martin held so dear in his heart. And no guarantee that the other would come back.

If it'd been as sudden for the other Bariyan as it'd been for him, then there wouldn't even have been time for a proper goodbye. Bariyan thought about that, and swallowed.

"I'm sorry," Bariyan said, as Martin came forwards again. He reached out, placed a hand on Martin's shoulder, light and uncertain and ready to pull back should Martin show any sign of discomfort. "I'll try to be as good to you as he was."

It's alright.

Martin stared up at him, slow to understand what he said, what he meant. Slow to react. It sounded like something he, himself, would say, actually. Strange. He was sorry to not remember, right? To not understand. But it wasn't his fault, even if it hurt.

"It's alright," he said, echoing his thoughts, and pushed ahead, out of reach. "You can just be you, and that's good."

A few paces ahead, he turned around, pushing a better expression. "I can protect you either way. So you should just do what you like best."

This time Bariyan lingered behind, watching carefully, a little sadly. He didn't understand, probably never would; didn't understand why he had to be protected, what he'd done to deserve this. Any of this. But all the questioning in the world wouldn't help him. He was too far away. Had missed out on too much.

He followed after Martin, silent for a while, eyes wandering through the gardens and taking in the quiet.

Then: "How old are you?" Bariyan wasn't sure if there was an answer to that. Martin was boy in his mind, looked like a child, but it was obvious that there was much more to him.

"I don't know," he said, a flash of pain in his smile. It was hard to answer the big questions, couldn't he have the means of answering the simple ones? "Someone helped me pick a birthday...In September? Do you know about months?"

"That I do," Bariyan said, though birthdays was a bit of a new concept to him. He let that one slip by, though.

He considered Martin carefully, rubbing his chin.

"You don't look very old," he said. "Perhaps... fourteen or so."

Sixteen. Sixteen was Bariyan's reference frame for all children. Sixteen was when Ko had left home. Sixteen was the age that Bariyan remembered and knew best.

"I'm older than I look," he insisted. "I always looked...smaller."

Granted, the shoes were getting more snug and the pantlegs a little shorter, but not by much. Not noticeable yet. "So maybe older than that."

He ducked a branch – a well timed, validating branch. See, he had to duck things, too! But what did it matter, his age? A lot of people seemed to be really intent on knowing...

"How old are you?"

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