"I won't go until I am needed."

"I." He buries his face in Gale's shoulder and says, very quietly, "I know I'm being selfish and stupid and -- all of those things -- and also I selfishly stupidly need you to be okay or I'm not going to be able to do this."

"I know. I-- would be okay, if I did. But I don't expect you to believe it. I wasn't meant for earth. I was meant to be somewhere else."
 
 
 
 

This is just making him cry harder.

Gale is going to... hold him. And let him cry.

"I don't want, to argue with you, about whether that's true-- But please stay here, and don't die or at least don't die yet?"

"I won't die yet."

This does not really feel like enough but Mordred is pretty sure it's as much as he can ask for.

It... takes him a while to stop crying, and a while after that to let go.

Gale is here as long as he needs.

About two weeks into their time in New York, Mrs. Winston-Rogers calls Mordred and tells him that Douglas Henslowe wants to speak to him.

...okay, he can do that?

Mr. Henslowe arrives at the team's apartment. He looks healthier than he did before. "I... just wanted to thank you. For what you did."

He should have some socially graceful way to convey both that he was happy to do it and that he's not saying it didn't matter to him. What he actually says is "Getting you out of the asylum or signing on to fight the thing or--?"

"The asylum. Continuing the work is noble but it is hardly a thing you are doing for my sake."

"...you're welcome. I wish I could have done more, or sooner."

"Most would not even have done so much. I have taken up painting again."

Yeah. He knows they wouldn't. "So I have to do even more or it won't get done, I think. I'm glad you're painting?"

"Something pleasant to do in my retirement. Mrs. Winston-Rogers has me in a house upstate. There was... concern about me living with my mother."

"I can imagine."

"The mouths have gone away. It's nice to stop seeing the wall crack into a mouth every time I turn my head."

Nod. "I'm glad they didn't follow you?" This is probably the wrong response but he doesn't know the right one.

"Yes." He looks awkward, not sure what he wants to say. "I-- just wanted to say thank you. You are a good man, Mr. Orkney."

Tiny smile. "I try. Thank you. --I'm a journalist, I don't know if you know? The most well-read thing I've ever written was a book on abuses in asylums. I -- am very glad to hear that I could help."

"Mrs. Winston-Rogers told me. I read some of your books. Quite enjoyed them. I hope you are able to write again, someday."

"I hope so too. And I hope your painting is going well."