Don’t Touch

Nial gaped at Dorian who shook his head, the muscles at the back of his jaw flexing.

"Don't get emotional. It was necessary."

"You saved me."

"I didn't have a choice."

"I think you did."

"No, Nial, I didn't. And trust me, if you do that again, I'll bring you back just so I can kill you myself."

Scar gave Dorian a look but he just met her gaze with a warning in his own. 

Nial was struck again about how much passed between them, how much they knew that they weren't telling him. A niggling thread of doubt snaked down his spine, but then Scar started talking again and he was distracted.

"Look, Nial… you know it's there now. You've found the power. Over time it will come when you call it. But for now… for now just… focus on holding it, not using it."

"I don't even know how—"

Dorian strode towards him, all fire and wrath and Nial instinctively stumbled back when Dorian drew the sword at his hip so that it rang through the room. But just as he was raising his hands to plead with Dorian not to cut him again, Dorian snarled.

"I have a sword, a weapon. I carry it with me, hold it in my hands. But I do not use it. You understand?"

Nial blinked, swallowed hard, then nodded. "I guess. I mean—"

"Don't guess, Nial. Know. You possess a power, a fuel. It is a weapon, a tool, an escape. I can use my sword to kill, or to cut food, or to make a path through vines… It is not the weapon that kills, it is how I choose to use it. Do you understand?"

Nial nodded quickly. "I do. When you put it that way. I do. But that… that power was pulling me. I didn't mean to use it. I was just… following it."

"That was your first mistake. I told you to get to know it, to examine it and understand it–but not to use it. The next time we do this exercise, you keep your distance. You remember who is in control. You make yourself recall that the choice of what happens is yours to make. And you do. Not. Touch it. Got it?"

"Yes. I do. I don't want to stop, Dorian. You said I'm going to do this one day even without you, right?"

Dorian scowled. "Unfortunately. Yes."

Nial nodded. Okay, then... let me try again. I'll do what you said. I'll remember—"

"No," Scar said firmly. "You're tired and that took it out of Dorian. We can't push this—"

"We have to push this," Dorian said. "We have no choice. We're one wrong step from losing everything. He needs to be able to get himself out, even without us."

"That doesn't have to happen in a single day!" Scar argued.

Dorian's eyes flashed. "Someone forced our hand and now we're a day from walking a fucking tightrope between the Nexus'. One wrong step, Scar—"

"That's exactly my point! He needs to rest, to be strong in case it all blows up—"

"He already is strong. If he wasn't, we wouldn't be here," Dorian snapped.

"And if you hadn't pushed when you should have waited, he never would have—"

Dorian flowed towards her, threat painted on every inch of his body as he drew up right at her toes, looming over her. She faced him, hands balled at her sides, her chin high and eyes flashing, but she didn't speak, just stared him down.

Nial's heart was already pumping hard—but it pounded when he realized Dorian had the tip of his sword pointed at her throat and she was still staring him down.

"Don't tempt me," he snarled.

Her brows pinched over her nose. "Why does it always have to be violence, Dorian? Why can't we have a hard conversation that's just… a conversation?"

He leaned right in over her, his nose almost touching hers, and he didn't lower the sword. "Because the day you showed your true colors, you lost any right to hear my thoughts. I do battle with myself every hour, not to simply remove you."

"You know if you do, he's the one who pays."

"Sometimes it seems like it might be worth it," Dorian hissed.

That blow landed. She jerked and her face went tight. Nial was barely breathing, but Scar recovered quickly.

"Okay, fine," she conceded. "I'll stay out of it. But that means whatever happens, it's on you, Dorian. You live or die by your own choices."

"Better than living or dying by yours," he muttered, then finally dropped the sword and turned to Nial. His jaw was still tight, but the flames were dying in his purple eyes. Instead, Nial could feel something pulsing in him as he approached.

 "Lay down again," Dorian said quietly. "We'll try again. But this time, be certain that you will not move or be moved. You are examining, observing, not using the tool that you've been given, understand?"

Nial was stunned, touched by Dorian's confidence in him, but also nervous. But he did as he was told and laid down on the couch again and closed his eyes, following Dorian's instructions, keeping that focus in his mind that this was a time to look at the power, to measure it and understand it, but not to touch it. Not to use it.

And he was successful—he found it even faster this time, and kept it at bay. He watched that sun rise inside himself, but didn't fly too close to it.

And when they were done, he opened his eyes to find Dorian sitting on the couch next to his legs, a little sweaty, but not panting. And the man actually smiled when Nial sat up.

"Well done," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we'll work on communication with it. How to mold it to your will. You'll be traveling before you know it."

Nial wanted to fistpump, but Dorian only got up and stalked over to the fridge to pull out a beer, crack it and throw it back.

It wasn't until he'd drained the whole thing, crushed the can in a fist and thrown it in a basket at the corner of the room, and he turned to reach for the fridge door for another that Nial realized Dorian's hands were trembling.