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"Comfortable?" the blonde man asked, the faint smile playing on his face. It was awfully difficult to read his expression when his eyes were closed. Alain always looked so relaxed, but then Qual had never seen him outside the shop either... He thought, with some wry and unhappy amusement, that Alain wouldn't have to. In light of this encounter, it was perfectly clear that Alain could simply take the shop with him as he pleased, even if it was an inconvenient location such as a rain-sodden swamp.

"I don't suppose you've ever had to balance this thing on a mountain-top?" Qual asked, meaning the cafe and hoping to buy himself a little more time with a deflective question. Luckily, Alain seemed willing to humor him, or even genuinely thoughtful; his eyes opened, and he furrowed his brows, as if trying to recall.

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Alain shook his head slightly at first, but then recalled something, perking up visibly and uttering a soft, "Oh." Then he turned to Qual and smiled again, bright and beatific, and said, "Hmm, I guess you're right... I have once, I think. For a difficult person. She was a lot like you, actually. It was rather hard on the poor shop." He patted a wall with a fond expression, his shoulders shaking with a silent chuckle. Qual relented enough to make a face, but said nothing himself, only setting himself down on a chair once more. He considered going back to his original spot, but after seeing the puddle that had accumulated both on the chair and beneath it, he rethought his decision and settled for a nearby seat instead.

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Finally, finally, they arrived at a point where Alain was tired of the stalling. His gold eyes sharpened as they fixed themselves on Qual, who sat up a little more almost unconsciously, wary of the scrutiny. There was no danger, not physically at least, and yet Qual could never be easy. Alain placed his cup down and steepled his fingers, almost as if he was a real mortal shrink in some dingy white room somewhere, and asked, "Have you thought any more about what I asked you last time?"

"Plenty," Qual drawled back, somehow finding it in himself to be unpleasant. "It is difficult not to think about that which you dread." A few minutes ago, Alain might have chuckled, laughed off the idle insult as if it were actually amusing. That was not now; now he clearly acknowledged it for what it was, and heaved a quiet sigh.

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"You know what I'm going to say, Qual." Alain sounded tired, as strange as it was. "We've had this conversation so many times before, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd memorized it by now. I know I have." The thought of that suggestion amused Qual somewhat, and he let a bit of a wry smile slip onto his features, comforted by the exasperated look it earned him from Alain.

"If it is such a well-worn conversation, then why not simply do away with it?" Qual raised an eyebrow, both to accompany his words and privately in real, genuine surprise. It wasn't supposed to be this easy to snub Alain. In fact, it never was in the past. But the blonde man was not omnipotent, so he must tire at some point, and it pleased Qual to think that they were finally reaching that. It might not have been too much of a stretch now to imagine that he might one day be spared these inevitable visits.

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However near his fall might have seemed, however, today was not the day that Alain gave in, having held out thus far. It was true that he was wearing down, but he would not admit that here. "We keep having these conversations, Qual, because you refuse to learn. If Risse wanted to come back, she would have by now. Her children don't know you. They have nothing to do with you. Finding them won't help you, and you might just drag them into some demon mess that they won't be able to handle. Is that what you really want?" The words had once been delivered with passion; if he had the energy with which to do so, they might have been now. But Alain was tired, and the argument was an old one.

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"If I say yes, will I be excused?" Qual had dropped the smug act and was now looking out the window, avoiding Alain's bright sharp eyes. He had the air of a sulky child and he knew it. Some time ago he might actually have justified it by age, for his kind aged slowly, but he was now well past the point even by his own kind's standards where this sort of thing was acceptable. There was, unfortunately, merit to a few of the blonde's arguments, but none of it mattered. There wasn't enough reason to dissuade him, and Alain knew why, too.

The silence had gone on too long; Alain started again. "You can't fill up your life with this, Qual. What do you expect to do when you find them? They aren't-"

"Risse. Yes, I know. Nor are they going to bring me closure. Or give my life meaning again." He tried to sound offhand about it, but there was something upset murmuring in his tone. "I know."

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His admittance of guilt would not placate Alain, however much Qual wished it might. "If you know, then why do you keep doing this?" The reprimand was meant to be harsh, but Alain slipped too, and managed only to sound sad and exasperated. "You're only exhausting yourself. Why not try to find something else?"

"It gives me something to do," Qual said, his voice toneless; the moment of vulnerability had passed. "If I am exhausted, then I cannot think. That is some comfort, at least."

"You're being a coward," Alain replied, scathing. "You're hiding. This is the easy way out, instead of learning how to live without all the things that you used to have." All of it was true, and yet it wasn't, all at once. How could Alain understand? He'd never lost himself so totally, to Qual's knowledge. No-one that unfazed by others could have.

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"Oh, is that so? Then pray tell me, Alain-who-knows-all, how exactly I should go about doing that?" Qual had, finally, snapped, retorting with the hint of anger in his voice now, no longer the slow and elegant drawl that was his usual tone. Anyone else who had known him for as long as Alain had would have been taken aback, but the nature of his profession had long inured Alain from such starts. Still, the blonde man seemed troubled by that particular question, and the stinging silence hung in the air for a very long time.

Alain walked over from where he stood at the counter, slow and deliberate, sitting down opposite Qual. Perhaps that was what officiated a session for him, and not all this moving about nonsense involving the shop. He took a breath as if he were about to speak, but then let it go, shaking his head slowly.

So Alain had no answers for him either.

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Qual chuckled, a low and joyless sound on the verge of keening. It threatened at one point to break into real, panicked laughter, but he fought it down with what scraps of dignity were left to him by this point, their conversation having broken him of most of it. At this, of all things, Alain began to fidget uncomfortably. Qual thought, idly, that he might stop then for Alain's sake, but the choked laughter just kept going. There was no end to it, and he did not feel strongly inclined to bite it off, the shuddering sensation strangely comforting even as it made him feel as if he was going to retch.

"I can't tell you how to find life, Qual. I wish I could. You have no idea how badly I wish I could," Alain murmured softly, after what had seemed like hours of nothing but the strangled sounds. As if a spell was somehow broken by those words, Qual stopped, and found that he could no longer laugh even if he tried.

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The problem was that in this statement, he sensed that Alain was being more honest with him than he'd been in their years of acquaintanceship. There was something dark and sad in the blonde man's eyes, suggesting a true regret, perhaps a failure at some point in his life. Humanity. Mortality. It was what Qual best understood, for he had worked almost entirely among mortals for most of his career; and demons, too, were capable of regret and of death. Until then, Alain had seemed but a doll, and how could he trust the opinion of something so far removed from himself?

"Then stop trying," he replied, his own silver eyes steely. "This is how I live now. Whether it brings me happiness is inconsequential, and I am sure at some point it will change." He felt strangely detached now, falling back into his mask, no longer as helpless. "You cannot help me, Alain."

The therapist gave his own low laugh at that, and from the sound, Qual knew that he had won. Inconceivable though it was, he had won. "No," Alain whispered, "I cannot help you."