Luther reads over those words, over and over, and he silently shakes his head a little. Automatically doubtful, disbelieving.
Because it doesn't track. Doesn't fit with the other twenty-nine years of his life, the poison he drank even after everyone else had been weaned off it, after the others had taught themselves to leave it behind. He's the leader; he's not supposed to make mistakes. How else can he be worthy? How else do you measure someone's value? How else had he ever been able to draw Sir Reginald's attention and notice and approval?
Only in this: in being rigid and perfect and inhuman, without a single visible crack in the foundations, no quaver in his voice, no weakness, no hesitation in his obedience or duty.
He's aware in a distant sort of way that those considerations don't work anymore; that they fell apart the day he was discarded like so much trash. (like dad didn't just use you like a drill and toss you aside once the battery was dead)
And he's been trying to learn a better way.
But old habits die hard. And their father did such a goddamn number on them.
As he looks away from that hovering text, and back to meet Allison's eye, there's another thought turning itself over and over in his mind. Remembering: I think maybe you're the only person who really knows who I am and still likes me anyway.
He swallows; tries to choose the right words to ask what he wants to ask, finally settles on: "Is that... speaking from personal experience?"
no subject
Because it doesn't track. Doesn't fit with the other twenty-nine years of his life, the poison he drank even after everyone else had been weaned off it, after the others had taught themselves to leave it behind. He's the leader; he's not supposed to make mistakes. How else can he be worthy? How else do you measure someone's value? How else had he ever been able to draw Sir Reginald's attention and notice and approval?
Only in this: in being rigid and perfect and inhuman, without a single visible crack in the foundations, no quaver in his voice, no weakness, no hesitation in his obedience or duty.
He's aware in a distant sort of way that those considerations don't work anymore; that they fell apart the day he was discarded like so much trash. (like dad didn't just use you like a drill and toss you aside once the battery was dead)
And he's been trying to learn a better way.
But old habits die hard. And their father did such a goddamn number on them.
As he looks away from that hovering text, and back to meet Allison's eye, there's another thought turning itself over and over in his mind. Remembering: I think maybe you're the only person who really knows who I am and still likes me anyway.
He swallows; tries to choose the right words to ask what he wants to ask, finally settles on: "Is that... speaking from personal experience?"