{ Invasive Questions }

The breath seems to huff out of him as though Flint had just slammed his fist directly into his stomach. Perhaps it might have been kinder if the man had, rather than come forth with the worst sort of inquisition imaginable. It was – his own fault, really. In the wake of what he had learned of the other man, he had offered a glimpse of his own past in exchange – mentioning only that he had sons ashore, and that due to similar circumstances he would never know them as men. 

Now, to be faced with a memory he had not confronted in a very long time, he wondered why in the nine hells he had seen fit to offer this in exchange as opposed to something a little less gutting. 

“Imagine if you’d been able to say goodbye to your Thomas,” The response is low, the only way he can conceal the fact he’s still raw from this, “And hold him, knowing it is the last time. Knowing you will never, ever see him again. But then imagine that he has absolutely no idea of that fact. And then do it twice.” Hal huffed, smiling grimly, “And you could say it was a bit like that.”    

He took a steadying breath, leaning back as he cleared the air with the remark, “My course was set for an uncharted sea the moment I let them go. I knew that, with those farewells, I was leaving behind everything I was – with no idea what I was meant to become in its wake. But that was not nearly as terrifying as knowing from that point on, I’d never hear them laugh again, and they’d never know why. That eventually, inevitably, they’d forget me.” His smile was wry now, and he shrugged. “We make our own hells, I suppose.”