digiorno | ic inbox ( ruby city ) Ⅰ

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.

[She knew earlier that she'd given him the easy questions. She'd also known now that this one would be difficult, but she still wasn't prepared for just how difficult.

But it all makes sense.]

...Yeah.

[It answered a few other questions, too, questions she didn't really know how to phrase and ones she hadn't even thought to ask. No wonder he's happy when he can make others happy. No wonder he reached so far and risked so much so he could do just that.]

I think I know what you mean. I don't -- understand. I couldn't. [And she won't insult him by insinuating as much.] But...yeah. Okay.

[Plus Giorno has a new family, now. A family that loves him and lets him know that in their own ways. It couldn't replace the one he'd gone through before, but... She hopes it's more than a comfort.]

This might -- It might be a leap to you. [She softly sighs, watching their hands and testing where it was where she got noticeably transparent, and if she minded that if it meant what was still there looked like it could squeeze his hand and he could feel it and squeeze back.] After everything that happened -- Bruno, Abbacchio, and...and the other one of you who died... I'm sorry, I don't know who it was. Was it worth it? Are you...happy?

[It isn't quite the right question, but Izabel hopes he understands as he always had before.]

[And that. That is what breaks him. Not the question - or not only the question - but: the other one of you who died, I'm sorry, I don't know who it was. How selfish are they, not to tell everyone they meet about Narancia - everything he was and everything he could have been if not for a stupid, stupid - stupid--]

[Selfish. He has to be better than this. Bruno was right, he has to be better.]

Narancia.

[His voice comes out hoarse, immediately wrecked, because this is his family, not Dio, this.]

Narancia Ghirga. He was angry when I joined because he was older than me and thought I should listen to him, and I wouldn't. He was violent and impulsive and dangerous, but really sweet, too, and he was behind with school things because - lots of things - but he didn't like people to know about it because he didn't want anyone to look down on him. He was so brave all the time, and he wanted to visit his home again . . .

We drove him home after he died and we buried him with flowers. Lots of flowers. It was beautiful. But he was still dead.

Sometimes I'm happy. With Mista and Trish, I'm happy. Doing what I do, I'm happy. But it's not fair that I have the opportunity to be happy and he doesn't. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready.

[He has to look away then, because his throat is closing up with tears and they stand out bright in his eyes and this hurts so much more every time he thinks about it. Time isn't helping. He misses Narancia so much, all the time.]

No one's ready. Not really.

[He's shared so much, and he doesn't look ready to talk. So it's her turn.]

We had people die, too. When we were running, trying to protect Hazel? I didn't know even know Barr's name, but he was Hazel's grandpa and he gave up the time he had left so we could keep going. He would have said he was ready, but -- he didn't get the chance to say goodbye. Not to Marko, or Klara.

And there was Oswald Heist. He was the reason Alana and Marko got together, you know? He wrote books that nobody really understood after awhile because it was about getting past the stupid fucking war and coming together. I think, anyway. He lived alone in this lighthouse and would drink a lot, but then we came along and he took us in. Klara... He loved her. He was a pacifist but he still shot someone for her because he loved her and she was hurt. It looked like they were going to be okay. But then he died, too.

Klara... Klara's alive. [She breathes out slow, and she sounds a little wistful. She misses Klara a lot, and she'd tried to forget how much until Abbacchio came along and dragged the memories of her to the surface.] She wanted to die, though, and told someone to kill her because... After Barr? After Heist? She didn't think there was a lot left to live for. But she was grateful when I stopped it, and... And if that stubborn old battle axe could accept what I did, then she wasn't really ready to die, either.

[She bites her lip for a second and reaches back with one hand so she can trace along the braid.]

I stepped on a land mine. It doesn't really count here, because I wasn't fighting for anything at the time, not like any of them or any of you. But I stepped on a land mine and bled out and...there was so much that I wanted to fix as I lay there. I wanted to make things right, and tell her... Let her know she was beautiful. What she meant to me. [...] I didn't, even though I was a ghost. It wouldn't have been fair. So I stayed away from them -- Windy, and Mom and Dad, and my brothers and sisters... I started over. I'm glad I'm here with you, and I'm glad Alana let me into her family, too. But it all kind of still sucks, doesn't it?

...Narancia. I'll remember him, too.

[No one's ready. Not really. And that's the truest thing he's ever heard, because - Bruno and Abbacchio gave their lives willingly, but no one is ever really ready to die. They have things still to do. Everyone does.]

[So . . . he listens, his brows drawn tight, and as he listens he calms down, and he's able to focus on her. It occurs to him as he does so that they've spent so much time talked about his problems that most of these names are new to him. Still, somehow it doesn't make him feel guilty. He feels to some extent as though Izabel's done this on purpose, steered things so that the focus has been on him, on Jotaro, on Bruno, and so on; he doesn't feel guilty, then, because he feels manipulated, and a little bit proud.]

[He made a braid for her, just like his. Sometime he'll trick her into holding still long enough to give her donuts.]

Remember him, please. He deserves to be remembered. He deserved to live to adulthood and find someone to love and get old. Like everyone deserves.

[He pauses.]

Like most people deserve.

And I'll remember Barr and Heist. And I couldn't forget you if I tried, of course.

[The adage of like most people deserve might have worried another person, someone who wasn't familiar with Giorno and Bruno and how they thought of kids and those who hurt them, those who took away people like Narancia. Diavolo. He was one of those people.

Izabel nods with a sense of finality. She'd remember, and he would, too. After going through the mirror world, it felt good to have someone else who would, and just... They owed them that and so much more.]

Thank you.

[She doesn't need to say it, but she does anyway, knowing he knows it isn't just for his promise.]

[They owed them that much and more, but they owed each other a lot, too. Not out of any sense of debt flung one way or another, or a sense that their continued loyalty to each other was contingent on an even score; just that when you love someone, you owe them happiness because you love them, not for any other reason at all.]

[So he could say you're welcome. But he chooses not to. Instead, Gold Experience leans in and grabs Izabel carefully but securely under the arms, pulls her close and hugs her tight, while Giorno smiles faintly and sends her all the love he can by proxy.]

[If it was anyone else, the hug still might have caught her off guard. But it isn't, it's Giorno, her family, and so she's returning the hug with an equal intensity. Once she's satisfied, she looks up to Giorno with a soft smile and --

wrangles Gold Experience by the neck and gives him a noogie.]

I'm older, you brat!

[What the hell WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL]

[Giorno shrieks, and Gold Experience squirms to get away, and all he can think of is Mista and Narancia and Fugo back in the early days when things were just easy jobs and stupid boys playing together, and he's shrieking again and laughing and Gold Experience is pulling half-heartedly at her wrist to get her to stop, for God's sake.]

[NEVER

no okay, with a triumphant laugh she breaks free once she thinks he's had enough, then throws both arms around Gold Experience's neck again and plants an exaggerated kiss on his temple. If there was any doubt Izabel only had younger siblings back home, that was probably gone, now.]

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