dreadinquisitor | Mask or Menace

It was enough.

He went to the window with a frown, only the trace of green lingering as he finally opened it. He leaned out, looking where it had come from, and then disappeared back into the window. A moment later, he reappeared, carpet and all, gliding down to where Maxwell was.

"Hey, bud, you alright? I saw the arrow."

He'd thought it, of course, what he wanted to say - what he wanted to know - over the weeks, the emotion building and building. He let it carry him, rolling into the words with heat, his tone tight and clipped, the spectral bow hanging from one hand.

"Good. That was the point. I want to talk to you."

He paused, sitting on the carpet, not at all sure where the heat was coming from, but he could hear it.

"... Right."

He didn't need to hear more than that, to know that Maxwell was angry with him. Well. A lot of people had been angry with him, lately. So he slipped off the carpet and let the thing go limp over his arm, looking slightly warily at the bow.

"If you're going to shoot me, though, maybe keep it to a knee?"

The bow, more so than ever, was so much an extension of his arm, he barely felt it. Was hardly aware of the energy it took to keep it conjured. He glanced down with a frown, and then shook his wrist. It disappeared in the same cloud of glittering green smoke as the arrow before it.

"I don't go looking to hurt others. Do you?"

He almost asks 'What did I do', but he has the sinking feeling that he knows. Or has a pretty good guess.

"... You know I don't, Maxwell." His tone has grown quiet, and tired, but he keeps his eyes on Maxwell's.

Maxwell stares back, a sharp, cold blue against Poe's dark eyes. Waiting. Judging.

"I thought I did. But you sat here, and you listened to me talk about Dorian, about-- what happened. You were so sympathetic. While doing the same thing." He pauses on each word, a tense emphasis. "So what does that mean?"

Yeah. He was right. He tried to think back to that conversation, remember the exact details. His shoulders sank and he just looked tired.

"... It's not the same thing, Maxwell." His voice was quiet. "That's not-- it's not like I was sitting there, thinking to myself, I wonder how I can be the most hypocritical about this."

Maxwell's eyes narrow, watching Poe closely, every reaction superimposed over the face he couldn't will himself to forget.

"Then what were you thinking? Tell me." He shifts, almost like he might move closer, almost like he might reach out... but he does neither, hand closing and falling back to his side. "Please."

"Talking to you? I just- wanted to comfort my friend. That was it. That's all. It's not like I'm blind, Maxwell. You were hurting."

He looks miserable.

"And trust me, I'm not blind to the damage I'm managing all on my own, either."

Maxwell waited to see if Poe would anything more, any explanation. Anything that might help him understand. When he didn't, he shook his head.

"You knew it wasn't going to work, he was never what you wanted, but you let him believe. Why? Why do you do that, if not to hurt someone?"

"I wasn't --" He cut off, the flash of defensive bitterness pulling a sour taste into his mouth.

"Maxwell, that's not - It was clear, okay? From the beginning. I know that's not what it looks like, but I was clear. We were friends. That was it. And I - I was trying to make him happy, okay? I fucked up, but that's what I was trying to do. And it was working."

His expression twisted miserably.

"Or at least I thought it was working."

It was Poe, standing there in front of him, with Poe's voice, but all Maxwell could think of was Dorian. All the jokes the man had made; how often he'd told him it would never work, even as he was reaching out again...

How really, he should have known from the start as well.

"Funny how those mixed messages can get lost. Be happy with me, but not too happy. Never forget you're my second choice," he said, more lame than angry, shaking his head again.

Turning, he started to step away.

"It's not the same," he said, lamely, feeling utterly disgusted with himself and basically pathetic. "Maxwell--"

But what could he say? He didn't have a defence. So he just looked angry and miserable as his shoulders slumped.

A hand came up, as if for defense. "Dorian, don't--"

Oh.

He wasn't sure why the name cut threw him quite as badly as it did. After all, he'd never met Dorian. He'd only seen him in that fucked up horror house, breaking Maxwell's heart. Only talked to Maxwell about it, at length.

He wasn't entirely sure what it meant, that Maxwell had slipped, other than that he was having a different conversation than he thought he was. This wasn't really about him.

Or it was, and he was breaking more hearts than he thought.

"... I'm Poe, Maxwell." His voice was quiet.

It was all so close, still undealt with, just under his skin. Pushing through his veins with every beat of his still aching heart.

He didn't mean to do it. Wasn't even aware that he had until Poe's reply made no sense.

He blinked, frowning. He took a breath to speak, and then realized, a blank expression crawling across his face and leaving a broken sadness in the wake of the anger. His hand, still out, dipped, fell, and hung empty at his side.

"Of course," he murmured, little more than a breath. "You just... you're alike. More than I knew."

He's pretty sure Dorian is an asshole, but then - he also feels like a complete asshole, so he can't even really argue the point.

"... If we are, then - I doubt he wanted to hurt you, either, Maxwell. I really doubt that was his intention."

Maxwell looked at him for a moment, then shrugged, a small movement of disconnection.

More words, when it'd been proven again how little they could be trusted.

"Still did though."

"... Right."

He feels the door being shut, but can't bring himself to rise an argument to it.

Honestly, he tries to tell himself, it's better this way. One less person to worry about when he inevitably ends up dead.

It's for the best.

"... Right. Yeah. Sorry."

"Me too."

Dorian wasn't here. There hadn't been time to try and ask him before, and now it was too late. Maybe if Poe could tell him, why he'd done it, he could understand Dorian and maybe, just maybe, let at least some small part of him go.

But there was no answer. None that helped.

"Me too."

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