[Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no, that was probably not the right thing to ask, Carlisle realizes belatedly, his brow knitting with worry as Qubit's impassive mask finally cracks. He doesn't know what to do or what to say—
But sometimes, there's nothing one can say. None of the consolatory platitudes offered to him years ago brought his family back, and it's the same here. And as ashamed as he may be to admit it, there is respite to be found in unadulterated emotion, in allowing the facade to come down and letting oneself feel. Carlisle was once too practiced in that, in holding himself together until he was alone. It was then that he could scream and sob and drink himself into a stupor, but never a moment before; he hid how the weight of his responsibilities wore on him, caging his unfettered emotions until he could suffer in his anguish alone.
That had not ended well for him, given how such behavior gave way to embittered resentment, which in turn gave rise to a true monster wearing his face. He cannot take back what he did or what he became... and he would do just about anything to keep someone else from suffering the same way, particularly someone he considers -- however privately -- a friend.
Qubit is not alone, though perhaps he doesn't realize that, or is unwilling to admit it. Shoulder those burdens, carry that weight, it's all on you -- it's painfully familiar rhetoric in which Carlisle assumes Qubit is unfortunately well-versed. They may be very different men in a lot of ways (and Carlisle is still on the fence about whether or not he even counts as a person anymore), but he cannot bring himself to let Qubit suffer completely and utterly on his own, no matter what may have happened to his teammates. Qubit has genuinely tried to help him, after all, Carlisle is sure of it -- he ought to do the same, if he can.]
I- I'm sorry, Mister Qubit. [He steps a little closer, palms up in a gesture of openness, harmlessness.] I... I know what it is like to have lost everyone you ever cared for. It was long before the Blight Heir that I lost what family I had, and I wonder, even to this day, what part I played in their deaths. Was there another way? S- something I could have done differently that would have changed the outcome?
[Not that Carlisle knows that Qubit is directly responsible for some of the deaths he shoulders, and indirectly responsible for others, as opposed to ends of the Longinmouths due to unfortunate circumstances well beyond Carlisle's control; however, the survivor's guilt, how it eats a person alive, how it can change someone and twist them into a husk of their former selves -- that, he knows. He flicks his wrist, conjuring a small square of cloth akin to a handkerchief, and offers it to Qubit.]
One would think I, of all people, would know how to put the ghosts of the past to rest. I have yet to find a way.
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But sometimes, there's nothing one can say. None of the consolatory platitudes offered to him years ago brought his family back, and it's the same here. And as ashamed as he may be to admit it, there is respite to be found in unadulterated emotion, in allowing the facade to come down and letting oneself feel. Carlisle was once too practiced in that, in holding himself together until he was alone. It was then that he could scream and sob and drink himself into a stupor, but never a moment before; he hid how the weight of his responsibilities wore on him, caging his unfettered emotions until he could suffer in his anguish alone.
That had not ended well for him, given how such behavior gave way to embittered resentment, which in turn gave rise to a true monster wearing his face. He cannot take back what he did or what he became... and he would do just about anything to keep someone else from suffering the same way, particularly someone he considers -- however privately -- a friend.
Qubit is not alone, though perhaps he doesn't realize that, or is unwilling to admit it. Shoulder those burdens, carry that weight, it's all on you -- it's painfully familiar rhetoric in which Carlisle assumes Qubit is unfortunately well-versed. They may be very different men in a lot of ways (and Carlisle is still on the fence about whether or not he even counts as a person anymore), but he cannot bring himself to let Qubit suffer completely and utterly on his own, no matter what may have happened to his teammates. Qubit has genuinely tried to help him, after all, Carlisle is sure of it -- he ought to do the same, if he can.]
I- I'm sorry, Mister Qubit. [He steps a little closer, palms up in a gesture of openness, harmlessness.] I... I know what it is like to have lost everyone you ever cared for. It was long before the Blight Heir that I lost what family I had, and I wonder, even to this day, what part I played in their deaths. Was there another way? S- something I could have done differently that would have changed the outcome?
[Not that Carlisle knows that Qubit is directly responsible for some of the deaths he shoulders, and indirectly responsible for others, as opposed to ends of the Longinmouths due to unfortunate circumstances well beyond Carlisle's control; however, the survivor's guilt, how it eats a person alive, how it can change someone and twist them into a husk of their former selves -- that, he knows. He flicks his wrist, conjuring a small square of cloth akin to a handkerchief, and offers it to Qubit.]
One would think I, of all people, would know how to put the ghosts of the past to rest. I have yet to find a way.