A moment, a breath.

Air rushing in through seething teeth. Jaws snapping forward, eyes ablaze with ferocity. Within a string snapped. Delicate, slowly unthreading with every passing moment. Near unhinged, there had been no stopping the beast once unleashed. Driven by anger, paranoia, fear, a bundle of nerves poking, prodding, threatening to descend one into the depths of insanity.

Isn't that what they called it? Doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result?

Too many words, not enough actions. A belief stricken with pious ideals. A book of laws created by one and followed by none. So much to say, not enough time. Not anymore.

Pain is a funny thing. One moment paws are digging through the dirt, stretching, lunging forward to slam down upon another when fate intervenes. A different paw, large claws, ungodly strength, sweeping through that heavy, moist air toward that lunging form with purpose. Pain is the body's way of saying "Hey! That hurt! Don't do it again!" Too bad, too late.

It's funny how much it hurts. Bone colliding with rock, body colliding with dirt. Blood seeping, stars swirling, eyelids pressing closed. Shouting, so much shouting, everything fades. Mumbling, rustling, more poking and prodding, but no longer the fury inside, but the exterior tools and materials to save him.

Save him? Why save him?

That contradicting, self-righteous, unpredictable mongrel that calls himself King. At least he has the balls to admit he's terrible. What's terrible is the headache. Radiating across the brain, eyes forced shut, not time to wake up. Slumbering quietly, hoping it would get better. Unfamiliar smells, unfamiliar murmuring, he wants to beg them to stop. He wants to go home. Home...

Familiar voices now, the shifting of his body, bones aching, protesting! No, don't move! A low, rumbling groan, teeth flashing in the filtered light. Weak, unstable, on the brink of leaving it all. A faint, soft, tender light. So bright, so white, so tempting. What if he just headed toward it? It felt so warm, so inviting. Would the light end the pain?

Time. More time passes. He can't keep track. His body is focusing on getting better. A miracle is what he calls it in his mind. In his head, that puny brain of his head, whooping for joy because he can live to breathe another day. Time is still passing though. His eyes open first, fluttering, carefully peering through at that bright light. So it's not the other side, its home. He could nearly cry. They'd come back for him.

Words don't leave. Eyes watching, body still, doing whatever the brown boy says to him. Eat, drink, take this, do that. Body weary, bones creaky, nothing is right. Weak, too weak to stand. Time passes, more and more until he can shakily sit. Trembling, forcing himself to do it. The boy tells him he has to. Must if he wants to see tomorrow. If his body deteriorates, he's better off dead.

Death is on his mind more often than not. Practically ignoring those around him, he finally makes his way outside. It isn't the treehouse, they'd said that would be too dangerous. No, moved into the moor, safer, easier to move. It didn't matter to him. He was home.

Sitting in the field of wilting flowers and mist, he is unmoving. A statue, watching the world around him. Seeing the ravine in the distance, feeling the breeze carry from the south, his mind moves instead. Planning, calculating, thinking. Words were useless. Actions would prove it all.

The Raid King, Gilgamesh

table coding by bunni ♥

Modesty hadn't dared to hope. Life wasn't kind like that, not to the likes of her. Even then Sakana had warned her not to get her hopes up. He might not remember any of it with such extensive injuries, might not remember her. So she guards herself and guards her heart, waiting for what feels like an age. Sakana knew to get her if he asked for her but he hadn't, or if he had the healer hadn't passed it on, besides, it wasn't as if she was particularly mobile at the moment either.

It's Moo that lets her know he's up, and she waddles down the stairs from the treehouse, sides bulging, barely able to breathe. Still, she lengthens her stride, eating up the short distance to the moor. By now she's not sure if Kenway's cattle dogs are actually barking or if it's all in her head. Their goat herd seemed to be expanding by the day, and they'd have spares to slaughter over the winter, if the hunting was scarce so at least there was that, but it hardly seemed important right now.

He's so still, she almost convinces herself he isn't real. Her breath catches in her throat before she tentatively steps next to him and takes a seat alongside. She wants nothing more than to lean into him to throw all her weight at him and lay across his back and tell him not to ever put her through that again... but did he even know who she was? She only held back for the sake of the babies that were about to burst right out of her belly.

"It's good to see you up, you had us worried."

"speech"

Unfortunately for everyone, Gilgamesh had not had his memory wiped away. Unlike sand being swept from a beach by the tide or the wind, it was harder to do that to a brain. The piece of the brain called the hippocampus was nestled safely on the inside, toward the back, and Gilgamesh had well... Landed on the side of his head toward the front. What part of the brain is that you might ask? That would be the frontal lobe, and for Gilgamesh, more specifically the dorsolateral prefrontal area that does all the executive and logical decisions.

Gilgamesh may or may not be a changed man, for the better or worse.

So as he sits, quite statue-like, staring out into the distance, one would not be able to tell from first glance that anything was on his mind. That much was untrue. Everything was on his mind. Racing miles a minute, unstopping, making hard to even sleep. It was the sleep drugs that Sakana fed him in an awful mixture of something that had been the only thing to help.

As Modesty approached, his head swivels just enough to watch her. Belly bulging, looking quite exhausted herself, but just as beautiful as the day they first met. Though his expression stays unchanging, there is a slight glint of something in his eye. A hint of the old Gilgamesh that still loved Modesty more than he even loved himself.

Waiting until she's settled beside him, he finally allows himself a sigh. His body aches, his headache causing his eyes to squint, sleep biting at the edges of his conscious. "Hardly up," he manages to respond. He knows he can trust her unlike everyone else. No damage to his brain could ever force him to forget that, but he did struggle. Gilgamesh understands what's going on in her body and it is his fault, but there's no connection. How was he to love something he's never seen before? Even if they were genetically half of him, his brain struggles to comprehend, but he'll play along anyway.

"How are you managing?" He asks, absent expression revealing quite literally nothing to prove he's actually concerned, but he hopes she knows he's trying. It's difficult, but he tries for her. Slowly, he scoots just a few inches closer, leaning ever so slightly until their shoulders touch and his cheek can rest against her neck. He's still too weak to support both his own body weight and her right now, but he can still try.

The Raid King, Gilgamesh

table coding by bunni ♥

Relief. She drops the mask, her sharp edges softening at that look of recognition, even if it's buried beneath something foreign, different, distant and roiling. She isn't afraid, and with his cheek resting against her neck she sighs and angles her muzzle to lay a kiss along the side of his own before sliding down to recline in the grass, leaving space should he wish to join her on the ground. “It's hard to breathe,” She admitted with a dry chuckle, “but not so hard as it was when I thought you were dead. Kenway saw...” and of course she didn't question her son, not when panic was eating him alive. Something had shifted in him too. There was less playfulness around the edges, something darker creeping into all of them.

She didn't want to dwell on it too long. “Do you think you'll be able to manage stairs, or should I move down here and keep you company?” Truthfully, she should probably have a second den on the ground for birthing... for... both of them. She wasn't sure that was something worth bringing up with Gilgamesh right now, but it wasn't something that could be kept a secret either. “Although, I suppose the ground will be a better option until this lot get their feet beneath them.” Don't push yourself, don't feel obligated, there was no rush. He was home, and that was all that mattered to her.

“Speech.”

Her kiss to his muzzle does not incite any sort of buzz within him. Old Gil would have felt as giddy as child receiving candy. Now? All he felt were the motions. It was what his brain told him to do, what was expected. Something missing, something different. Deep down, Gilgamesh understood that he loved Modesty, was in love with her, but where was... the emotion? Even as she moves to lay down, her dry chuckle filling the foggy air between them, he stays sitting. Yellow eyes turning out to look across the field once more.

Her comment of thinking he was once dead doesn't even startle him. Just a singular blink, brain registering, but not feeling. She had thought he was dead. Had he been? He's still not quite sure. Who else had thought him dead? Did he even care? Of course he did... A sigh escapes him as Modesty continues. She's asking if he can go up and down stairs or if she should move down to the moor to keep him company. Old Gil would have laughed, made a joke, but Gilgamesh doesn't really response. There's something in his expression that gives notion that he's indeed thinking, considering, going through his options.

"No sense in losing a second pup," Gilgamesh finally responds, noting back to when they had lost Jett. Not that it had been their negligence that had given up Jett's life, but it only made logical sense to keep them out of the sky until they could manage walking on their own. "Sakana gives the orders though so if you wish for me to return to the treehouse, you'll need his approval first," finally he turns to look down at her, maybe a hint of his old self trying to shine through, but its gone in an instant. He was serious because after the arguing, the stubbornness, the insisting that he was fine, the youthful healer had told him otherwise.

The Raid King, Gilgamesh

table coding by bunni ♥

Different. Something is different. The recognition is there, the memories, but something has undoubtedly changed in the man she loved. Even his sigh sounds flat, like he's dealing with a stranger... like... like she's done something wrong and it's all her fault. Modesty bites back on her molars as she watches the side of his face, tries to keep the tightness from her lips that threatens to reveal the tips of canines when he mentions... her, so casually, like the loss hadn't almost been the end of Modesty herself. Ears pin back against her skull momentarily punctuated by a flinch, as if Gilgamesh had physically lashed out at her. The words don't get any easier to hear.

if she wished... As if it would ever be a question? Confusion is clear on her face for a moment, that Gil was actually willing to follow doctors' orders, or perhaps he really didn't want to come back to their home? Maybe it was her lack of faith that he might return that had him disinterested. Maybe he really didn't love her anymore?

She allowed her eyes to turn back to the moor, angling her head to cover her rapidly blinking eyes. It wasn't like she was incapable of appearing unaffected. A steadying breath was all it took to school her face back to pleasant neutrality. To relax her shoulders and let the words he had said go. Maybe he didn't mean them that way? Maybe he did... the insidious little voice whispered in the back of her mind.

"Of course we want you home." She pulled some warmth into her voice, her aching heart thrumming in her chest. "But it probably is for the best that we come down. I'll talk to Jael, and we'll find something big enough for all of us." Lord knew she could put Kenway's dogs onto the job to build something for them, and they'd still have energy left to chase the goats back over the fence if they managed to jump it.

But would it be enough? Would having them all back together make things the way they were before? Was this an injury that could be recovered from, or would it be like Siduri's eye, always there, reminding her that she wasn't enough.

"speech"

He watched Modesty almost too closely. The shift of her face, the movement of her facial features, the relaxing of her shoulders. It was apparent to anyone that she was bothered by his words. Gilgamesh doesn’t quite understand why though. What he had said was the truth and nothing more than that. Had it really upset her? 

Gilgamesh’s head tilts slightly to the side, eyes blinking slowly a few times as his brain processes. Silence blankets them, creating a pregnant pause that is sure to make anyone else uncomfortable. Perhaps, maybe, he should try. Would she like that? If he attempted to be… warmer? Comforting? Is that what she wanted?

Pushing his paws outward, Gilgamesh slides down into the dewy grass until his elbows rest on the ground. Tilting his body slightly so that he presses gently against Modesty, he turns so that his chin can rest over her shoulders. Looking out over the moor, he wonders if this was good enough. Would the old Gil have been able to make everything better?

A sigh escapes him as he moves his face to press his nose to her temple, just below her ear. “I do still love you, Modesty,” he whispers, voice uncertain at first. “I’m not sure what is different or wrong or changed as Sakana says, but I know deep down that I’ll never stop loving you,” his voice is soft and gentle, a tender sincerity that he couldn’t fake. “I am trying, but it is hard. I don’t quite know who I am anymore,” Gilgamesh closes his eyes, shifting his face so that they were cheek to cheek instead and his muzzle rested against hers.

She doesn't find the silence uncomfortable in the way one might expect. Not initially, until that little voice in the back of her head sneered See? Modesty pushed it down, shoved it back, barely flicking an eye as Gilgamesh slid down onto his elbows beside her. She couldn't help the way her body tensed as he laid his head across her shoulder, the touch just below her ear. He said the words she needed to hear but the uncertainty in his voice was a knife twisting in her gut, bile burning the back of her throat as she did her best to appear unaffected. Relaxed. She did a poor job of it, pregnancy hormones offering little in the way of assistance.

She'd always been prone to bouts of depression when she was pregnant, when she was trapped looking after them in those vital first few weeks. She didn't enjoy it the way other mothers seemed to, whatever happened to her was the opposite of a pregnant glow. Just another of her shortcomings. Another reason he shouldn't love her. Couldn't possibly.

But he saw her, like she'd been speaking aloud the whole time. Suspicion. Despite the sincerity in his tone, she knew better than to trust the words he said. She wouldn't trust them if they'd come from her own tongue, and then came the guilt. He'd almost died, and here she was, complaining that he wasn't the same. She hadn't been the same after almost drowning, hadn't been the same after being cooped up for months, struggling to breathe. How could she expect more from him? She really was the worst.

Allowing a sigh to escape her she finally leaned back into Gilgamesh gently, mindful of his injuries, tipping her muzzle enough to expose a hint of throat, silent confirmation that she trusted, believed him. She'd keep her traitorous mouth shut and allow herself a moment of reprieve with him.

"speech"