There's a brief inhale at the touch -- one of the first Corrigan's let himself accept in this entire time, a part of him just like Leo, wanting to punish himself somehow for letting Kurt be taken. He knows rationally it isn't his fault, that Miles is a conniving, manipulative, sneaky fucking bastard who knew exactly how to get close enough to tear the pack's heart out with his bare hands, and yet... He knows it was him Kurt would've cried out for, him they would've begged and pleaded for, every time Miles hurt them, every time they were afraid. His mate, his beloved, his heart and soul and life and breath would've called for him in vain, over and over, because he wasn't there to save them or their child.
The guilt of that weighs almost as heavily as the sense of loss, of emptiness. Corrigan is supposed to protect his pack, and he's failed twice over -- first by losing Kurt and again by losing himself. There's no possible way for him to heal from the first, he knows that deep in his bones. The wound of Kurt's loss will remain until they're back in his arms, bleeding and raw and as painful as it had been the day they disappeared. There's simply nothing to be done, there.
But he's pushed away the others he loves in his senseless grief, and that isn't fair to them. Every wolf in the pack is suffering, suffering alone. Corrigan knows the grief will never leave, but he cannot allow his pack to continue feeling it alone. Kurt wouldn't want that. Kurt would be indignant at the very thought, would lecture and scowl and get right up in Corrigan's face to remind him who he is and what he needs to do. Kurt wouldn't let him give up.
So, even though he wants to recoil, wants to curl back up in his mourning and let time and the world pass him by, Corrigan slowly turns, rests his chin on the jut of Naseer's shoulder, breathes in his scent. Faithful, courageous, weary and brave Beta, his first love, his right hand, his soulmate now as when they were pups themselves. Slowly, Corrigan reaches out, slides an arm around Naseer's waist, feeling how he's also reduced in size -- all of them starving, all of them putting more energy into searching than hunting, all of them unaware of their body's needs.
"I'm sorry I left you alone in this, beloved," Corrigan murmurs, mouth pressed to the warm spot where neck and shoulder meet, where he's hidden a thousand times in his life, both in jest and genuinely. "I don't -- want to wake up, but I know I must. I can't let Kurt return to a pack in splinters. They need us strong. They'll -- both need us strong." Saying it has a pang of agony rippling through his body, his soul, because even if Kurt can return, Corrigan doesn't know if their pup will be there. There are some sacred rules for every wolf, some absolute laws -- never harm a pup is one of them, even if it belongs to a rival Alpha. Children are sacred, beloved, to be protected and cared for above all, regardless of parentage.
Yet alongside that law is another: never harm another Alpha's mate. And Miles has already violated that sacred standard. Who's to say he won't do it again, with Corrigan's child?
no subject
The guilt of that weighs almost as heavily as the sense of loss, of emptiness. Corrigan is supposed to protect his pack, and he's failed twice over -- first by losing Kurt and again by losing himself. There's no possible way for him to heal from the first, he knows that deep in his bones. The wound of Kurt's loss will remain until they're back in his arms, bleeding and raw and as painful as it had been the day they disappeared. There's simply nothing to be done, there.
But he's pushed away the others he loves in his senseless grief, and that isn't fair to them. Every wolf in the pack is suffering, suffering alone. Corrigan knows the grief will never leave, but he cannot allow his pack to continue feeling it alone. Kurt wouldn't want that. Kurt would be indignant at the very thought, would lecture and scowl and get right up in Corrigan's face to remind him who he is and what he needs to do. Kurt wouldn't let him give up.
So, even though he wants to recoil, wants to curl back up in his mourning and let time and the world pass him by, Corrigan slowly turns, rests his chin on the jut of Naseer's shoulder, breathes in his scent. Faithful, courageous, weary and brave Beta, his first love, his right hand, his soulmate now as when they were pups themselves. Slowly, Corrigan reaches out, slides an arm around Naseer's waist, feeling how he's also reduced in size -- all of them starving, all of them putting more energy into searching than hunting, all of them unaware of their body's needs.
"I'm sorry I left you alone in this, beloved," Corrigan murmurs, mouth pressed to the warm spot where neck and shoulder meet, where he's hidden a thousand times in his life, both in jest and genuinely. "I don't -- want to wake up, but I know I must. I can't let Kurt return to a pack in splinters. They need us strong. They'll -- both need us strong." Saying it has a pang of agony rippling through his body, his soul, because even if Kurt can return, Corrigan doesn't know if their pup will be there. There are some sacred rules for every wolf, some absolute laws -- never harm a pup is one of them, even if it belongs to a rival Alpha. Children are sacred, beloved, to be protected and cared for above all, regardless of parentage.
Yet alongside that law is another: never harm another Alpha's mate. And Miles has already violated that sacred standard. Who's to say he won't do it again, with Corrigan's child?