digiorno | ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅰ

[He listens. He does. He doesn't require her to be calm, he just requires her to be coherent, so that he can help.]

[What she says shocks him, sparks nausea from the bottom of his belly, but his first instinct is to say You're wrong. Jotaro would have told him; he's told him so much.]

[Instead, he nods.]

Tell me exactly what he said, please, Izabel.

[She can't. So instead, she wordlessly pulls away from Gold Experience to slip the pocketwatch she'd taken to wearing as a necklace over her head and, after trembling fingers find the right conversation, offers it out for him to take. Behind the desperate look of not this, not again, there's a guilt in her eyes, and she prays Giorno can see it and if he should judge her, he'd know she knew it was deserved.]

[It isn't Giorno's idea not to let her pull away entirely; Gold Experience does it all on its own, reaching out as she moves and putting a hand on her shoulder, maintaining touch. He takes the pocketwatch from her, and one of them - himself or his Stand - sees the guilt, and wherever the impulse comes from, it leads to the hand on her shoulder shifting to rub between her shoulderblades.]

[When the conversation's over, he's just as calm as when it started. He looks up at her without judgment.]

I understand why you think it's the same. I do understand. But I think this was a miscommunication. He's told me things about his Stand that no one else has, and he never mentioned this. I believe he would have told me. We . . . he would have told me.

Do you trust me?

You know I do, [she finally manages, and drifts closer to rest against the Stand again. Trusting Jotaro was harder, and everything about him was harder to understand, but Jotaro makes Giorno feel safe.] But he saw his ghost.

You... You know that can't happen. You know that.

I know that neither of us has experienced that. That doesn't mean that it's impossible. I never saw Bruno's ghost, but look what happened anyway. And Jotaro--

Jotaro had the misfortune of not being allowed to follow any of the rules that were laid out before him. The man he was fighting, the man he had to kill to save his family - that man, he didn't follow the rules, not rules of logic or nature or time, and so Jotaro couldn't, either.

[He closes his eyes briefly, takes a shuddering breath. There's no point in hiding that this is difficult for him; he doesn't think he could from Izabel anyway. Remembering the cold at the tips of Bruno's fingers and the sharp familiarity of Dio's smile, the one that looks at him in the mirror every day - it's hard.]

I can't tell you what he told me, because - it's a story that's not mine to tell. I'm sorry for that, I really am. But I can tell you why I know he'd have told me, and why I trust him. If that's what you want. If that will help, I'd do it in a heartbeat, Izabel, you know I will.

[She understands and she tries to convey that in the way she lays her head against Gold Experience, the way her fingers, which had mindlessly pressing too hard at the Stand soften to something more gentle. She swallows hard, but her throat still feels tight and that makes her mumble.]

It freaks me the fuck out. What you guys do, what you go through. [He was just a kid. They were all just kids.] I'm not -- I know I'm not handling this well, fuck, I should be better at this.

[Izabel has to stop, taking another slow breath. A finger drums against Gold Experience's shoulder while she tries to sort it all out, thinks of Abbacchio and how he'd managed to listen to her and give her a task. She should be better than this. She wasn't going to be useless.]

I don't...want help just because you can help, I... I want you to tell me things you want to tell me. I want you to be able to trust me as much as I trust you.

No. You're wrong.

[In this, he feels perfectly confident contradicting her directly - knows instinctively that it's the right thing, because since when has should have ever made anything better for anyone?]

There isn't any should have, there's only what is. However you react to it, whatever's right for you to think and feel about it - that's the correct response. I'm sick and tired of people trying to act as though they're not angry and afraid when they are, Izabel; why do you think you're so important to me? You lie, but not about that. You aren't ashamed of yourself. Don't start that now.

[He takes a deep breath, too, and wishes fruitlessly for a moment that he and Izabel could touch Gold Experience at the same time. At least in that way, they could be a circuit, connected physically through it. He wishes he could hold her now.]

I do want to tell you. I wanted to tell you before. It's just that it's not only my story - it's a tangled mess, and sometimes I hold myself back from telling it because that's a convenient excuse, not sharing someone else's secrets. But--

[Glancing up through his lashes (which were the strangest thing to get used to, when they changed from dark to light; it was easier, much, to make them dark again every morning than to be reminded of the shift from Haruno to Giorno all day, every day), he gives her a smile, weaker than usual, but still all for her.]

Do you want to play a guessing game, commaruccia?

[He talks a lot.

It's the only thing she can think at first, brain sluggish now that the feeling of panic hammering away at her has died down. And he does, but she doesn't mind because he does it well and this time they're being honest with each other and it puts her at ease and...

And a lot of things.

She doesn't really feel like smiling, but she coughs out a laugh at the question anyway and reflects his expression back at him. She doesn't even need an illusion for that, not that she would have used one anyway.]

God, it's going to be stupid. [It almost makes her want to cry a little. Guessing games and promises to do hair, huh? What simple, though no longer exclusively fun, ways for kids like them to connect. Fuck everything, to be honest.] What am I guessing?

It's going to be stupid, Izabel. I really am sorry.

[He wants to pet her hair and push it out of her face, he wants to hold her hand, he wants to let her lay her head in his lap like Trish used to . . . he wants to do these things, but he can't, so it's Gold Experience's fingers combing her hair back, twining its fingers with hers, resting its chin on top of her head. Enfolding her, keeping her as far away from this as he (they) can.]

You remember, I know, that I told you about Jotaro's ancestor - the one who had a brother, the brother who took his body? My father.

And you remember what I just told you - that Jotaro had to fight a monster, one who didn't follow the rules? One who made it so that he couldn't follow the rules, either.

What you're guessing is this: what's the connection? It's an easy one this time. I promise.

...Mmn.

[It's too easy, especially for such an ugly truth. It's something she doesn't really want to say, but... It's important. She'd wanted this and she wasn't going to shy away from it just because it would be nicer to be able to let him talk instead of confirming.]

Your -- father. [She wanted to match his words there, even if they weren't ones she was used to saying.] He...killed Jotaro's grandfather?

[Giorno fights, Giorno murders, Giorno binds souls to corpses, but he wasn't anything like a monster. Izabel hadn't followed in her parents' footsteps, either.]

That's right.

[And he just . . . sighs, and his shoulders slump, and he looks smaller and younger and really, really tired. Gold Experience turns its head slightly to look at him, but doesn't move away from Izabel. An unconscious sacrifice, maybe.]

You - I'm not sure how to say the next part. It's . . .

The part of me that didn't want me to let Bruno die. In the mirror. The part of me that wants power for the sake of power, I. So . . .

Everything I learn tells me that's him. So I push myself to be - ah. Something else. Something not - that. Strong and merciful instead of cruel. Even though mercy . . . doesn't come naturally to me.

But Jotaro - he. We almost killed each other when we met because he saw me and Gold Experience in the darkness and thought it was him, but after that - after that, after he was sure it wasn't, it - was like . . . there was no connection. Nothing at all. Like a blank slate, like the blank slate I made for myself at home when I . . .

So.

He told me things. Things he carried from that battle, when he killed my father after my father--

[Killed Kakyoin. He can't. He can't tell that, either. He can't tell about Holly, he can't tell about Jonathan, it hurts. My God in Italian is dio mio, which he never says.]

After everything that he did. He trusted me with secrets that he told me only one other person knows. So he would, Izabel, he would tell me if something like that had happened. He would . . . he would. I believe in him.

[Her nod is silent encouragement to continue, as is each little touch or squeeze she offers Gold Experience because she can't offer it to Giorno when he starts and stops, starts and stops. When he reaches the end, her lips are pressed together and her eyes are on the ground instead of her friend. Her family.]

...Okay.

[She wants to ask about a lot of things, clarify a few points and dig deeper into those moments where he hadn't finished his sentences, but her desire to let him know that she understands, believing in Jotaro because Giorno believes in him.]

I don't know how, but okay.

[...]

It's yours. Not just Gold Experience and his power, it -- I know it's...not a great thing to hear, but. Those parts are you, not him. [Just as all her ugly feelings were hers.] That's why they like you, even with that part. Why I like you. It's yours. Just a small piece of what makes you Giorno.

[That gets a quiet laugh out of him.]

I don't know how, either. But I'm trying. Capire?

I . . .

[Yeah. Well. The nice thing about Izabel . . . she knows it's not a great thing to hear. That it's hard to believe. But she says it anyway. From her, it feels believable, even if only in this moment.]

People say that. I think that if I hear it enough times, I'll believe it.

It's okay if you - have questions, or don't understand part of it. It's a lot to take in, and if I can explain it - it's not that I want to, but that I think the less I pretend it doesn't matter, the better I'll be.

Only Bruno knows, though. From my family. Ah, my first family. Abbacchio - you know, and Mista, it's . . . it wouldn't matter to him, and I can't decide if it would be reassuring or if it would hurt. So I'm still thinking about that part.

[She just nods again, then takes a deep breath and puffs it out to blow a few strands of hair away from her face. It's a quiet, processing acceptance. She feels heavy now, shoulders relaxed even though there was still nothing relaxing about the night. Dully, she picks out something she figures he can answer without hurting. The rest can wait a little longer.]

Capire? And you said something to me earlier, too, when I was freaking out. Called me something other than commaruccia, and not stellina, either.

Ah.

[Well, this is much easier. He smiles at her, because he's grateful and he loves her, and Gold Experience starts braiding her hair.]

Capire means - you see, you understand? Just a way to check in.

Sorellina means little sister.

[Movie-star-golden-boy smile. Yes, he is aware you're technically older than him.]

[She can't move her head this time, because her original request is finally being met and the least she can do is comply. Smiling, though, is something safe, which is good because Izabel couldn't stop the wide grin of joy if she tried.]

You're a little shit, you know that?

[Funny how much that sounds like "I love you".]

[It makes him laugh, which is an "I love you" all of its own, and lean forward to inspect Gold Experience's work, as if he doesn't know everything it's doing already - as if he isn't just getting close for the sake of getting close.]

How would I ever get anything done if I wasn't?

I'm older than you.

[It's a useless reminder but she can't bite it back any longer. Despite that, she's still beaming full force.

She has to be careful about this next part. Izabel raises her hand, eyes calculating as she "sets" her hand down against his shoulder. It fades a little, of course it does, but with a small adjustment she becomes marginally less transparent than before, close as she can without disappearing from where one should be able to make contact. It feels like nothing, no different than it had before, but she mostly just wanted to see it.]

You'd find a way. [He's an impossible boy who does impossible things. He'd find a way. But he doesn't really need to.] I believe in you.

[He can't feel it, of course he can't, but it means a lot all the same: that she's trying, that she's making it at least look like they're touching. Carefully, he rests his hand over hers, or hovers it over, maybe, so it seems like he's covering it.]

I know you do. And I believe in you, too. It sort of makes other things seem less important in comparison.

[Her smile finally softens, though it's still as happy as before, just in a different way. It's another lie they've created, but one that isn't at anyone's expense. Probably her favorite.]

That's good. [Mostly? Like, the idea was to deal with all these problems, but if trivializing them made it easier, then that was a job she could do.] I'm happy.

...Do you need a string?

I'm happy, too.

[Because he's making her happy - because she knows to tell him how happy she is.]

Yes, please. It's a little simpler this time; I hope that's all right.

[She breaks off another thread from her shirt's hem and hands it back in reply. Regretting that it meant she'd had to pull away (a little bit through, which she hoped wasn't too unnerving,) Izabel offers her hand out so they can pretend again, and studies over his face.]

When you're ready to talk about all that stuff... The questions you didn't want to have to answer and the sentences you didn't finish? You'll come to me, right? You won't hide it?

Mm.

[Gold Experience takes the string, ties it to the end of her braid, as he rests his hand over Izabel's again, pretending.]

I'm starting to think that "ready" is an illusion. Maybe there are better times or worse times, but there won't ever be good times for these things. So if you want to ask now, you can.

[How she wishes she could hold his hand for real. She falls silent a while, trying to pick out where to start.]

Do you hate your father?

[Ah. He should have known that was coming first, he really should have. Trust Izabel to cut to the heart of the matter immediately, to the part not logical or practical but emotional, the part that makes the least sense. For a moment he wishes that she'd started with something easier, but then - no, that's not true; he doesn't want to be coddled, he wants to be treated like the man he has to be, and he wants her to ask what she means. Between the two of them, they're manipulative enough. This has to be their one safe space for honesty.]

[All the same, his expression goes a little dull, his eyes glazing over for a second or two as he . . . doesn't think, but remembers. Too many little things - too many people saying you're not him; Jonathan's eyes on him, hands on his shoulders, his arms around his neck; examining his own eyebrows in the mirror, the cut of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth; a picture in a wallet, battered over years of perusal . . .]

No.

I don't know what I feel about him. I feel like I should hate him. I get frustrated with myself that I don't. I see a lot of myself in him, physically and otherwise, and the more I learn about him the more I believe that we're more similar than anyone will admit to me. Part of me is fascinated by him, because I think there are things that I could learn from him and no one else - what to do and what not to do, because I don't believe that all of his tactics were wrong in theory, only in practice. Part of me wants to know little stupid things that maybe nobody knows anymore and probably no one cares about - what he was like when he was young, what his parents were like, if he was ever happy and brave or only a coward and miserable when he wasn't getting high off of other people's weaknesses. Whether he had any fears, and if he did, what he did about them.

I had a picture of him in my wallet for a while - a long while. It wasn't a good picture, but it helped, because it showed me what he looked like, and it helped me imagine what it might be if he came and took me away from a world that seemed designed to isolate and hurt me. I think every child who feels unloved is the same way: they imagine scenarios in which, suddenly, somehow, everything will be all right. And it was stupid of me, because from the start I knew, my mother told me, that he was a monster, that she almost died, that he had charisma like a black hole and could eat people alive and not blink even once, that murder was a habit and manipulation written into every bone in his body . . .

Well, some of those things I learned along the way. But on some level, it still doesn't matter. All I ever wanted was a family.

So I think he's disgusting, and a coward, and I'm glad he's dead. I'd kill him again. But I don't hate him, and I don't think I ever will.

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