The morning comes too soon.
Erich gives up on sleeping when he hears the watch change, crawling out of his bedroll and swiftly changing clothes before Degurechaff can stir. He slips outside and nods a greeting to Serebryakov, then leaves her behind in favor of finding breakfast.
(It’s still strange, to eat and not have his stomach protest.)
(To eat and not be in pain…)
He still picks at his food, forcing it down past the knot in his chest and the anxiety that crawls up his spine.
(Reaper…)
(His soulmate is a Reaper…)
He wants to go back to sleep. Wants to forget the previous day ever happened. Wants to go back to when the thrum of loyalty in his bones was a comfort—
He can’t.
(It still is.)
(It shouldn’t be.)
Erich finishes eating only because he needs to present some form of normalcy to the men. Things are already tense, already strange, and he can tell that Degurechaff’s invocation of the chaperon clause has made the rounds. His soldiers are watching him, their gazes wary-thoughtful-protective, and it feels like an unwelcome weight across his back.
(Hopefully they only believe the man is an enemy deserter.)
(Hopefully…)
He leaves. Slips out of the mess tent and meanders through the camp, greeting and speaking with his NCOs as he comes across them. They’re… concerned. Cautious. Carefully solicitous and watchful and—
He can’t.
He can’t handle being treated like he’s one step away from breaking.
(He’s not, he’s not, he’s not!)
The edge of camp is peaceful. No soldiers, no NCOs, no concern-protection-caution; just himself and trees and the soulmarks on his arms. It’s a stolen fragment of peace, and for a moment he lets himself want.
An end to the war, the safety of his people, a country not on the verge of destruction—
(The soulmate he briefly glimpsed before it all went to hell…)
Erich unbuttons his cuffs and rubs at the roots of the plum tree that are wrapped around his wrist. He still feels reassurance-trust-loyalty through the bond, but… there’s sadness there now. An echo of something that tastes like depression-resignation-defeat and he… he wants—
Familiar, steady steps approach from behind him.
“Sir, this better not be you attempting to call your soulmate to you without anyone else around,” Degurechaff announces, tone edged with annoyance. She comes to stand by his side and tilts her head up to give him a narrow-eyed stare.
“There needs to be a conversation,” Erich tells her with a small frown. “We can know nothing for sure—”
“You can refrain from putting yourself at risk. The conversation can still be had with backup at your side.”
“I assure you, I have no intention of putting myself at risk,” he says, ignoring Degurechaff’s pointed scan of the area. Given the Reaper’s displayed abilities, he’s at no more risk out here than he is in the middle of camp; in that he’s entirely at risk no matter where he is or who’s around him.
No one here is spiritually active, no matter how close Degurechaff now is thanks to his mistake.
If the Reaper wants him dead…
(Reassurance-trust-loyalty…)
She sighs through her nose and shakes her head, one tiny hand rising to tug at the brim of her cap. “Sir…” she pauses, lips thinning as she glances aside and then back. “A question, if I may.”
“Go ahead.”
“Everything I read in the academy indicates that soulmates can sense each other through the marks.”
Erich makes an agreeing noise and lets go of his right wrist, switching to grip his left instead. He focuses on Alexis, his love, his wife, and tugs lightly at her own awareness. She’s concern-love-trust with a hint of determination that sets his teeth on edge; he knows her well enough to know that she’s up to something that he’s probably not going to agree to, which in this instance means she’s probably about to dramatically flaunt her soulmate privileges and hunt him down.
(Degurechaff is going to be exasperated.)
(Why is this his life.)
“If I may ask, what do you sense from his mark?” Degurechaff asks, drawing his attention away from parsing the feelings he’s getting from Alexis.
He wants to shut her down, wants to snap ‘that’s a little private, don’t you think?’ but… maybe if he tells her she’ll be less concerned. “Loyalty, mostly. Some sense of reassurance, a feeling of trust…” he trails off, unable to voice how resigned the man now feels without feeling like he’s betrayed the other. It’s a ridiculous emotion but… that doesn’t keep him from feeling it.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but… emotions felt through the bond are not specifically emotions directed at you, yes? They’re just… what he feels.”
Erich frowns down at her, knowing exactly what she’s getting at. “Yes.”
“Then forgive me, sir, but I am forced to consider you compromised in this matter. Serebryakov has explained to me the influence that soulmates can have on each other, and with him projecting loyalty at you…”
He grits his teeth. Wants to explain to her that yes, he knows what everyone says about it but that being Quincy gives him a finer understanding than most. Wants to explain that he grew up differentiating between Alexis’ emotions and his own, that he knows what general emotions feel like versus emotions aimed at him, that the loyalty is so heady because it’s focused on him and no one else, but—
That doesn’t make it much better.
Because Degurechaff will not — perhaps cannot — understand loyalty to an unknown person. Her loyalty is given to those in front of her, to concepts with concrete focal points like God or the Emperor or the army itself, but not to those she’s never met. Not the way this man has dedicated himself so suddenly.
Silence stretches between them as she stares up at him with a stern, focused gaze, waiting for him to answer. When he doesn’t, when all he can do is look away and clasp his wrists behind his back, she sighs and rubs at her chin.
“General Rerugen, sir, please consider this from my point of view,” she says into the silence, voice sharp and low. “You and I are the highest ranking officers left out here, and we are cut off and without hope of reinforcements any time in the near future.” She pauses with a grimace, then squares her shoulders and forges on, saying, “The manner and ease of your soulmate’s… offerings to you are indicative of someone trained in espionage and assassination as their first method of problem solving. What happens to us if he decides we’re in the way, sir? If we can’t even see him, much less fight back, what’s to stop him from just taking you?”
There’s no good answer to that and Erich knows it; saying ‘he won’t because you’re mine’ has no basis in fact when he doesn’t know a thing about the way the Reaper thinks. Saying ‘he hasn’t yet’ is nothing but optimistic tripe and they both know it. There’s no way to refute her words because neither of them have evidence one way or the other, which means they need to plan for the worst.
“You’re right, of course,” he murmurs, staring off into the trees and straining his senses in a desperate, futile hope that the man is nearby. But whatever made the Reaper physical enough that Degurechaff could see him seems to be blocking him from sensing the other, which is… troubling.
It’s a good thing, since it will prevent the man from being swarmed by Hollows, but it also leaves Erich at a disadvantage.
If he can’t sense the man coming, he can’t defend himself.
If he can’t defend himself, any number of things could happen to him…
He takes a breath. Squares his shoulders. Steels his heart.
He turns away from the forest and strides back into camp.
They have work to do and he cannot waste time mooning over a potential enemy.
(He can’t, he can’t, he can’t…)
(If only he could turn his feelings off…)