[That was far more than Carlisle was expecting; it's far more than he thinks he deserves, and far more than he thinks he's ever deserved. He wants to doubt it immediately, as not only is it in his nature to do so, but this is Qubit, a man who knows better, who has so many secrets of his own —
A man who used to have so many secrets. He's a man who now knows none of those, his own or otherwise. He has no preconceptions of what Carlisle ought to be — only what he's witnessed and experienced in the past weeks. None of what he said is untrue: Carlisle has opened his home to him at all times, dropped everything he was doing to help Qubit in any way. He carries his sorrows and the pains of sins he cannot forget at all times, as though he could find redemption for them at any given moment; he doubts himself, and always has. It's hard not to when one comes from his world, enduring a lifetime of the taboos and superstitions surrounding his affliction. He's watched them tarnish his family's reputation, been rendered incapable of restoring it on his own. As the last of his line, he let them all down. People trusted him in a professional capacity, but never a personal one. After all, why would anyone trust him when he so often didn't trust himself?
He's wondered about that in Anchor, too. Some trust him because they knew another Carlisle, a man from another world and time so divorced from the abomination he is now that it's nigh impossible to think of as having ever been the same person. Others trust him because they know what he is beneath his layers, but they don't know the true extent of the horrors of which he's capable. It must be pity, he assumes. That doubt creeps in about Qubit before him: if Qubit knew, he wouldn't trust him, either. The old Qubit didn't for a reason.
... But he did. Perhaps not in the capacity Carlisle would have liked, but he must have in some way. The only reason this Qubit before him trusted him in the first place, before he even knew his name, was that the old Qubit told Carlisle he'd return within a day. He deliberately made sure Carlisle knew that, and would expect him to call so that if the worst were to happen, someone would know — someone who would care.
No, perhaps they weren't honest-to-goodness friends in the way someone else might think, but that had to mean something. It certainly does to Carlisle. They were friends enough. He doesn't have the heart to think otherwise when such a gesture has come to mean so much to him, much like the friendship of this Qubit he never knew before. This Qubit came to him for help, looks to him not just as clergy or a Longinmouth or as someone who will keep his secrets the way Qubit has kept his, but as someone he undeniably trusts with his very being.
Carlisle removes his glasses, pawing at his eyes. It's a reflexive gesture as he's not crying, but he certainly looks as though he ought to be.]
I— [A laugh escapes him, one uncertain, but genuine, as though he's not sure how to process what he's feeling.] I cannot say I expected all of that. Or any of it.
[He shakes his head, the bitterness that animates him seeping into his veins. Qubit wouldn't think so highly of him if he knew. Qubit wouldn't see him so charitably then. He couldn't possibly—]
I- I honestly don't know if I deserved better from you. Not with what you knew of me. I feel as- I feel as though I've deceived you in some way, that you only believe me strong because you have not seen me at my weakest. Such weaknesses defined my life, what I am now, and I—
[His brow knits, his eyes squeezing shut as a tremor runs through him. Stop that. Qubit doesn't deserve his doubt — he has enough of that for himself to deal with these days. Carlisle lets out another single, rueful laugh as he returns his gaze to his friend.]
Forgive me. That would be the doubt you mentioned. As always, your assessments are accurate.
[He returns his glasses to his face, feeling more human with them on. He's certain for a moment that he feels his heart beat, but that must just be the intensity of emotion riling his energies, pooling in his chest. It's warm against the chill of undeath, and for a moment, he feels alive.]
I know not if I will ever see myself how you see me, but... I will try. To hear such sentiments from you means more to me than I can put into words. Thank you.
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A man who used to have so many secrets. He's a man who now knows none of those, his own or otherwise. He has no preconceptions of what Carlisle ought to be — only what he's witnessed and experienced in the past weeks. None of what he said is untrue: Carlisle has opened his home to him at all times, dropped everything he was doing to help Qubit in any way. He carries his sorrows and the pains of sins he cannot forget at all times, as though he could find redemption for them at any given moment; he doubts himself, and always has. It's hard not to when one comes from his world, enduring a lifetime of the taboos and superstitions surrounding his affliction. He's watched them tarnish his family's reputation, been rendered incapable of restoring it on his own. As the last of his line, he let them all down. People trusted him in a professional capacity, but never a personal one. After all, why would anyone trust him when he so often didn't trust himself?
He's wondered about that in Anchor, too. Some trust him because they knew another Carlisle, a man from another world and time so divorced from the abomination he is now that it's nigh impossible to think of as having ever been the same person. Others trust him because they know what he is beneath his layers, but they don't know the true extent of the horrors of which he's capable. It must be pity, he assumes. That doubt creeps in about Qubit before him: if Qubit knew, he wouldn't trust him, either. The old Qubit didn't for a reason.
... But he did. Perhaps not in the capacity Carlisle would have liked, but he must have in some way. The only reason this Qubit before him trusted him in the first place, before he even knew his name, was that the old Qubit told Carlisle he'd return within a day. He deliberately made sure Carlisle knew that, and would expect him to call so that if the worst were to happen, someone would know — someone who would care.
No, perhaps they weren't honest-to-goodness friends in the way someone else might think, but that had to mean something. It certainly does to Carlisle. They were friends enough. He doesn't have the heart to think otherwise when such a gesture has come to mean so much to him, much like the friendship of this Qubit he never knew before. This Qubit came to him for help, looks to him not just as clergy or a Longinmouth or as someone who will keep his secrets the way Qubit has kept his, but as someone he undeniably trusts with his very being.
Carlisle removes his glasses, pawing at his eyes. It's a reflexive gesture as he's not crying, but he certainly looks as though he ought to be.]
I— [A laugh escapes him, one uncertain, but genuine, as though he's not sure how to process what he's feeling.] I cannot say I expected all of that. Or any of it.
[He shakes his head, the bitterness that animates him seeping into his veins. Qubit wouldn't think so highly of him if he knew. Qubit wouldn't see him so charitably then. He couldn't possibly—]
I- I honestly don't know if I deserved better from you. Not with what you knew of me. I feel as- I feel as though I've deceived you in some way, that you only believe me strong because you have not seen me at my weakest. Such weaknesses defined my life, what I am now, and I—
[His brow knits, his eyes squeezing shut as a tremor runs through him. Stop that. Qubit doesn't deserve his doubt — he has enough of that for himself to deal with these days. Carlisle lets out another single, rueful laugh as he returns his gaze to his friend.]
Forgive me. That would be the doubt you mentioned. As always, your assessments are accurate.
[He returns his glasses to his face, feeling more human with them on. He's certain for a moment that he feels his heart beat, but that must just be the intensity of emotion riling his energies, pooling in his chest. It's warm against the chill of undeath, and for a moment, he feels alive.]
I know not if I will ever see myself how you see me, but... I will try. To hear such sentiments from you means more to me than I can put into words. Thank you.