A breath leaves him.
“I would like that future, Margo. Truly.”
His eyes soften again, though the shadow of Hyde still lingers somewhere behind them.
“I am simply trying to survive long enough to see it.”
collateral in our… difficulties.”
“You deserve it because you are you. Because you argue with me. Because you refuse to let me retreat into my laboratory and pretend the world does not exist..And because, against all sensible advice, you care about us both.”
He lifts his eyes back to hers.
“But if it ever does decide to find me again…” A faint, tentative warmth touches his expression. “I cannot imagine it arriving alone.”
“You deserve a place in it,” he says quietly. “Not as a prize at the end of a battle between Edward and me. Not as
His gaze lowered briefly, thoughtful, almost uncertain — a rare thing for a man so accustomed to certainty in every other aspect of his life.
“Margo… happiness has not been a particularly reliable companion of mine. Not for some time.”
“Evening, Margo!”
Because I confess… I have entirely failed to convince him of that fact myself.”
that I am… remarkably good at ruining the people who try to save me.”
“But I am grateful that you would try.”
His eyes hold hers for a moment.
“And if he does respect you,” he murmured, “then perhaps you are the only person alive who can persuade him that I am not his enemy.
“I suspect you would terrify half of them.”
“Margo…” he says gently.
He shakes his head just a little.
“You must not make promises like that. You cannot stand between Edward and the world forever. And you certainly cannot stand between him and me. If this situation has taught me anything, it is
His gaze drops briefly, as if picturing the scene — Margo dismantling some pompous theory across a lecture table while a room full of very dignified men bristle. The thought draws a small breath of amusement from him, the closest he has come to laughter in some time.
Which, at present, appears to be Edward’s preferred negotiation tactic.”
“If you can reach him, Margo… truly reach him… then you may succeed where I have failed…God knows I have tried.”
Then the smile fades again, the problem returning between them like a third presence.
“As for compromise…” he murmured, running an exhausted hand through his hair.
“I would accept almost any arrangement that did not end with one of us in a grave.
But do not think I would ever bar a door to you for being… unconventional.”
A faint, fragile smile tries to appear, perhaps a hint of someone else, though it never quite settles.
“You would find my colleagues terribly dull, I suspect. But you would be welcomed.”
“But Edward does not merely walk through halls, Margo. He kicks them down. And then he sets the furniture on fire.”
There is no bitterness in it — only tired honesty.
“And you,” he adds after a moment, softer now, “are not him.”
“If the world has been unkind to you, I regret that deeply.
“I know the world is cruel about who it allows through certain doors,” he says quietly.
His gaze drifts somewhere past her for a moment, as though the weight of those doors is something he has long been aware of.
“If you can persuade him to speak plainly,” Henry says at last, voice quieter now, “I would welcome it. Truly. Because I confess… I no longer understand what it is he believes he is fighting for.”
“I do not think he means to destroy me,” he admits after a moment. “Edward rarely means anything so simple. He wants… freedom. Appetite. Indulgence without consequence.” A small pause. “Unfortunately, the consequences are rather attached to me.”
Another silence stretches between them.
“You speak of him as though he were a tenant who has taken rooms in my house. Someone with whom I might negotiate the rent.” His eyes lift back to her, weary but steady. “But Margo… if he burns the place down, I burn with it.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose, exhaustion pulling his shoulders lower.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “It is.”
He looks down at his hands for a moment, flexing his fingers as though they might belong to someone else.
“And that is precisely the problem.”
A faint, humourless breath leaves him.
Oooh. They shall look forward to it.
Because every time I loosen my grip, he tries to strangle me with it.. I do not want to erase him, Margo. I want peace. I want one hour of silence in my own skull. Is that so monstrous?”
A breath. It shakes despite his effort to steady it.
“And I am tired of fighting you, too. Of feeling as though I must defend my own survival in my own laboratory.”
He looks at her then — not angry, just frayed at the edges.
“If he wishes to live, he has a strange way of showing it.
“But I am so tired, Margo. Not the sort of tired that sleep fixes. I am tired in my bones. Tired of negotiating with a man who wears my face and ruins my name. Tired of waking up afraid of what I may have done. Tired of fighting him for every inch of my own mind.”
Henry drags a hand over his face before he speaks, as though even that costs him something.
“I know what you’re saying.”
His voice isn’t sharp — it’s worn thin.
“No.. no! I— I never meant for him to completely take control. That’s all.”
“The experiment. It was never meant to become… this..”
“Not about you.. And him.. And.. Everything. Please, don't go?”
“… I don't know what to think anymore, Margo. I really don't.”
He'd been.. Somewhat preoccupied, shall we say?
“Not particularly.”
He'd been putting it off, if he were entirely honest.
“Perhaps that is wise.”
