What you're about to do is so self-indulgent that the embarrassment almost keeps you from hitting the button, but a gentle scritch behind Fou's ears is enough to calm you down to the point that you manage it in the end. Your communicator has survived intact, thankfully enough, and navigating to Matthew's profile in the database is simple enough—it looks like practically everyone in Chaldea is on it, sorted into specific subgroups and folders to avoid clutter. Medical personnel isn't an enormous list by any means, and right there under 'K' you find him, his professional looking ID photo staring you right in the face as you wait for him to answer.
It only takes him one ring, so you don't even really have time to get all caught up in your own anxieties about it. One moment you're staring at his picture, the next the holographic screen has expanded so you can see his face smiling out at you. The slight blue tinge does nothing to mask the bags under his eyes, but at the very least there's no redness that you can see—you can't let yourself forget that while you've been racing through France, he's been dealing with the loss of his guardian.
"Oh, Ed, hey!" His voice is as chipper as before, and you can't help but smile a little in return, just a bit. "Didn't expect to hear back from you so soon, something up?"
"Oh, uh, not really. I just…" You trail off and let the conversation hang like you'd found it guilty of murder, the words clamming up in your throat as you realise just how bizarre they must sound. Gods, you're bad at this.
"Just wanted to talk?" Matthew, fortunately, is not, and now that he's voiced it and hasn't laughed at the absurdity you feel a little more comfortable. That he's still smiling helps.
"I...yeah." There's an apology dangling on the tip of your tongue, but Matthew's already saved the conversation once, you're not about to strangle it again. "The last two days have been a lot. And I thought...it'd be nice. To talk, I mean."
"I get you. And hey, our job is to monitor your biometrics and verify your existence anyway, so this is totally above board too. No need to worry about getting yelled at for wasting time!" He gives you a grin that you want to return, but what he just said…
"Verify our existence?"
"Oh, right, you missed the briefing, gimme a sec—" He reaches over to the side and takes a sip from a mug of something steaming, before letting out a soft sigh. "God, get Da Vinci to make you a cup of coffee when you get back it's divine, anyway! So, uh, Rayshifting! Can't be in two places or times at once, so when you get into the Klein Coffins you're sorta conceptually unobserved, neither dead nor alive technically, which is what allows you to get unsummoned and projected back into the Singularities, but that also means that if you don't have someone constantly verifying that you exist within the past, you might get, uh...well, they weren't specific, but they emphasized it would probably kill you. So you've got a whole team of people watching your vitals constantly, just in case."
"Right." You really should have expected that something as insane as pseudo-time travel would involve an absolutely deranged process like that, even if you can sort of understand the underlying principles. You'd just never have expected anyone to be batshit crazy enough to try it.
"Yeah, hell of a thing, huh? I'm jealous though! I've never been to France, and you get to see it in the past too! It's pretty, isn't it? Tell me it's pretty."
"Well...yeah, it's pretty." His energy is bleeding off the screen, radiating out like palpable heat, and you smile. You can't help it, even if you know later on you'll feel bad about it, even if you know you'll start thinking about it like you were using him, right now you're smiling. "Except for the forest full of shadow-wolves, the giant bears, the demon skulking around…"
"Ah, that's just what France is like though, right?" Matthew's grin widens as you snort with unexpected laughter, and you turn away to hide your own smile, as useless as it is. "You seem like you're doing better already."
"Doing better?" Matthew gives you a flat look for a moment, before he speaks up again.
"I heard a little of your report, you sounded...well, not great. So I'm glad you're already laughing again, I guess. Do you want to talk about what happened?"
You do, you realise. You really, really do. There's not a single other person in the world who understands exactly why you're reacting the way you're reacting—the only one you ever explained your mistake to died years ago. It's just been you, and you barely realised just what a weight it was to carry alone until you were offered a chance to share it.
"It's a lot." Your voice is strained all of a sudden, and Matthew notices. You can see the shift in his eyes, his bearing—it's most obvious in how his tone goes from comfortable to comforting.
"I'm here as medical personnel, remember? If it'll help, I'm all ears." He doesn't know what he's offering, doesn't know what he's asking to hear, but gods help you the temptation has you by the throat and you just can't stop yourself.
"I...you know what an Origin is?" He gives a little nod, opening his mouth like he's about to explain why that is, but you can't stop yourself from barrelling onwards, like you've pushed your cart down the hill and you're just watching as it speeds up and up with no way to halt it. "Some magi can use theirs to work their craft, some just use it in spells but others make tools, Mystic Codes, and my chains are…"
"...Made with your Origin?" Matthew looks confused, and you don't blame him. It must feel like a swerve to him, even though you know you're circling the point like a bird of prey.
"...Yeah. I didn't—when I left, I didn't want to use anything that I'd been taught before. And I was young and stupid and I thought...I thought my Origin would be a good way to make sure of that. The one thing I knew was me, no influence from my family. So I—I made my chains." You had two ribs torn out and ground to dust so that you could mix it with the molten metal, bled yourself every day for weeks so you'd have enough to quench every link. So clever. So stupid. "Origins can lead to powerful magecraft, but they're dangerous. I didn't realise until it was too late."
"Dangerous?" You glance back at the screen—Matthew's brow is furrowed now. "What do you mean?"
"An Origin is the direction of your soul. The drive that pushes you and influences everything. Ordinarily it's...minor, really minor, but if you become aware of it, if you start dabbling with it, it gets stronger." You're lucky. You're so, so lucky. All you have to deal with is some influence—you could have been utterly, wholly consumed. "That's what happened to me."
"Okay...and this has something to do with what happened in the Singularity?" He doesn't sound scared or judgemental, even if he knows what an Origin is he doesn't have the built-in contempt that you'd get from a magus. It's all that keeps you talking, blurting out words you haven't said in years.
"My Origin is Binding. It—I...bind to people easier. Quicker." You feel lightheaded, momentum all that's keeping you going—like somehow these words are all that have propped you up and now that they're in the air you're about to collapse. "I get too close too fast and I thought, I knew Avenger and I had something in common and that made it worse, and I knew I couldn't trust her and I knew she was going to betray us and—"
You can't help it, you choke up. Archer's looking at you—you forgot she was there, forgot she was listening, but of all your Servants she's the one you mind hearing this the least. She won't tell anyone else, won't get ideas, won't hurt you with it. The hot shame of admitting you have a problem feels like lead in your throat, and you swallow thickly—you can't look at the screen, not now. All that's there is agonizing silence, and if you looked and saw disgust or judgement you don't know how you'd handle it.
"...Oh. Oh, Ed. I'm sorry." His voice is soft and gentle, and even though you're not meeting his eyes you can imagine the concerned look he's giving you.
"It was one day and it still felt…" Like someone had clawed out a piece of your heart. Like it always, always does. Like it always, always will.
You chased after power that didn't come from your family, and you got it. By the gods, did you ever get it.
All you had to do was leave yourself forever changed—forever broken.
You can feel that morass start to take you, the bitter, choking, ever so seductive lure of self-loathing winding up your chest to drown you, and for a terrifying moment you almost think that it'll work—but Matthew hasn't vanished, and his voice is enough to shock you out of that trance.
"It's okay to be hurt by that, Ed." Some part of you knows that this is the doctor in him speaking, that he's slipping into the tone he takes with a patient, but you don't really mind. If the roles were reversed, you'd feel like you'd need help too. "I know that might not help to hear, but you still need to hear it, okay? You're not—it's worse for you, and I'm so sorry that it is, but it's still something anyone would be hurt by, you know?"
You do. You already know this, and it doesn't help, but you know you can't expect him to speak for a minute and just fix it, fix you. That he's trying at all makes it better, just a bit. Moment by moment, inch by inch, you claw your way back into control. Your throat still hurts and you still feel like you're in a daze, but you're not about to break down at least.
It's kind of funny, in a way. It's been years since you've spoken about any of this, and you'd thought that, maybe, just maybe, you'd gotten over it. Gotten better at coping if nothing else. But that's the thing, isn't it? You'd covered up the wound and forgotten about it, and then when you could bring yourself to look at it again it was just as raw and painful as the first day you realised what you'd done to yourself. You're so caught up in everything that's happening that you finally thought you could put it into words, but the world ending didn't suddenly erase what happened, didn't magically turn you into a healthy, well-adjusted human being. But…
You still spoke about it. Someone else in this world knows now, and he didn't turn around and scorn you or chastise you for it. You can't take it back or make him forget, and he doesn't want you to. Even if he couldn't possibly have known what he was asking, he's trying to help you through it. Maybe it's just because of what you are—it can't be comforting knowing that the last Master in Chaldea is a wreck—but he's still trying to help.
That's enough, you think. For now, at least, that's enough.
"Ed? Are you okay?" Matthew's gentle, mildly insistent voice cuts through the silence, and you smile just a little bit. You know, deep down, that this is bad for you. But you can indulge, for now.
"I...yeah. Sorry." You turn and meet his eyes, so full of concern, but when he sees that you're smiling you can practically feel the relief coming off him. "It's been a long time since I've touched...any of that."
"I'm glad you felt like sharing it with me, then." For a moment you think he might pry a little more, but when he speaks again it's not to ask more about it. "Are you feeling a little better after getting it off your chest?"
"...Yeah. I think so." You're not even lying. There's still a weight on your shoulders, there's always going to be one, but it's lighter right now.
"Then it's 'Thanks', not 'Sorry'. I pestered you about it, remember?" The young doctor grins at you and you can't help but smile back in turn. Duty was what brought you to Chaldea, but it was always something ephemeral, ethereal. You knew you were making things better when you got to hunt down the kind of magi you did, but you never really saw the people you helped, never really got to see just what your efforts achieved.
It's a little too early to pat yourself on the back for saving the world, but getting a smile for what you're doing is...nice.
It's nice.
"...Thanks, Matthew. For everything." You'll have to pay him back for this somehow. It can't be easy doing all this for you while he's got his own troubles to work through. For now, you can at least try to carry on the conversation. "You, uh, you handled the whole magus stuff pretty well. I thought it might go over your head."
"Oh, yeah, heh. Da Vinci drilled me on some things and I did a bit of reading myself. Even if I'm not a magus myself, I figured it'd probably be best to know that kind of stuff if I was gonna be treating them. It was weird learning that whole rank system, but the Director insisted, said that it'd be a pain if I was trying to treat someone who got in a huff because I forgot to call them a Brand or whatever." His playful grin returns for a quick flash, but it's replaced just as swiftly with a look of curiosity. "Actually, on the subject, do you mind if I ask a question, Ed?"
"Go ahead." You can't imagine he's going to pry into anything too important, so it should be safe. Hopefully.
"When you said you didn't want to use anything you'd been taught before...I mean, I kind of thought you would have just left the whole thing behind, you know? What kept you?"
"What?" It's not so much a painful question as it is a bizarre one, the confusion plain on your face for him to see. Leave what behind? "I don't really understand what you mean."
"Like...being a magus. It didn't sound like your family was great, so…"
"Oh." Definitely not a magus, you think. The little reminders throw you off now and again. "It's not that simple. You can't just stop being a magus."
"Why not?" You blink as he continues, genuine curiosity written all over his face.
"I…" How are you meant to explain why a bird can't just pick up tools and start building things, or why a fish isn't able to grow legs and walk on land? The thought never occurred to you, and you can't ever imagine why it would. "You just...can't. It doesn't work like that."
"Right." He doesn't seem convinced, but what exactly can you do? It's not like you've given much thought into explaining the obvious. "Well, I'll take your word for it. How're you feeling?"
"Better, I think." Lighter, certainly—your throat's clearing up, and that bitter ache in your chest is a little less sharp. "I...thanks, Matthew. I think I'm good to keep going now."
"Don't mention it. I'm always here to help—literally my job, heh. And hey, you're not nearly as bad to talk to as you think you are." He grabs his mug and takes a sip, but not before you catch the cheerful grin he's wearing. It's a really nice smile. "Call again if you need, alright?"
"Alright. I'll talk to you later, Matthew."
"Take care Ed, bring me back something nice!"
The communicator window winks out of existence, and as soon as it does you slump back and let out a long, loud sigh. You didn't expect to get put through that sort of emotional wringer, but catharsis is one hell of a drug even if it comes out of nowhere. A glance to the side reminds you that Archer is there—closer than she was before, maybe about a foot, but she doesn't say anything or bring up what she overheard. She's just sitting seiza style, head bowed and eyes closed, and it's maybe just a little bit comforting knowing she's there.
The partying outside is still going, whooping and cheering and singing carrying through the night, and even if it's muted a little under the growing stench of flowing alcohol, you can still smell the heady scents of the roasting meats and bubbling stews that were put together. It's enough to make your stomach grumble a bit, especially when you remember Dumas's breakfast. You could go out, if you wanted. You still have some time before you should rest.
[ ] Speak with Niamh. Talking with Matthew calmed you down a little, enough that you probably aren't going to lash out. It's the last thing in the world you want to do, but you do need to talk about what happened.
[ ] Speak with Archer. You didn't intend for her to hear it—or, being more honest, you just forgot she was still there when you blurted out what you did to yourself. Still, she was worried before, and now you can't tell if she's more at ease or just even more concerned. It might be a good idea to set the record straight.
[ ] Speak with Jeanne. It won't be too hard to find her, and after you've had some sort of resolution to the thing that messed you up so badly it seems a little unfair that she go without. You're no Matthew, but you can do your best.
[ ] Find Jeanne's Servants and get some food. History with Sanson and that one conversation with Marie notwithstanding, you don't dislike the group. You're already starving, and it might be nice to try and get some kind of rapport going. It's probably not good for the cohesiveness of the group if you keep on thinking of them as being separate to you and yours.
