In Which Sparron Asks One Last Thing

April 13, 1181

Sparron took the spot on the couch nearest the desk out of sheer politeness and was grateful when Searle chose not to move. The distance helped little, but 'little' beat 'not at all'. "I'm sorry."

"Why? You didn't do anything." Technically, no--he hadn't. He didn't expect Searle to understand that that was precisely the problem. "It might have been nice to hear it from you personally, under better circumstances, but I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep it to yourself."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone else."

"Why do you assume I would?"

Sparron winced. Perhaps that had been bad form. Searle did have a habit of reading too far into things. "I don't. That came out wrong. I know you won't tell."

Searle still looked a little hurt, but Sparron took the silence for satisfaction. It took so little to satisfy Searle, and Sparron didn't doubt he'd had a hand in that. One day, perhaps he'd have the courage to atone for it, if only he could figure out how. Even if he had and even if he could, that day would not be today. "I need to ask you something."

Searle propped his elbow on the desk and held his face toward the couch, brows raised, blue eyes wide and giving as that day in Eilyssa Denvus's old bedroom. He'd say yes without even thinking, the poor boy. The smallest piece of his shredded heart dwarfed Sparron's entire being and he didn't want to think he was taking advantage, but he very well might have been.

But who better to trust than a man with a heart that could hold the world? "Searle, if something happens to me..."

"What?" Searle's elbow slipped, sliding a sheet of parchment forward as he fought to catch himself. "What do you mean, if something happens to you? Do you expect something to happen to you?"

"What? No." That seemed to ease him, at least somewhat. He'd always been so damn gullible. "But just in case something does, I need you to promise me you'll look after my family. Bad things just keep happening to them. They'll need someone to hold them all together."

Searle's lips opened and shut a couple times, no doubt in search of words that may or may not have existed. Trying in vain to relax, Sparron waited. He didn't need any fancy, heartfelt response, not when he only needed one word, but maybe that word sat atop a pile of others. "Sparron..."

"Please." Searle stared. That was one word Sparron himself was hardly liberal with. I'm sorry, Searle. "I swear, I'll never ask anything of you again."

"You don't have to..."

"I want to." His fist grew warm as it tightened, its hollow palm-bound core smaller by the second. Soon there would be nothing but the tense push of flesh on flesh. "I'm tired of asking things of you, but I have to ask this one. Please tell me you'll do it. It's the last thing you can give me."

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