epiitaphs

[epiitaphs]

Nighttime is not any more solitary than the day.

The house is even more filled when everyone's - in theory - supposed to be inside it. Certainly, they're - in theory - asleep and not there to bother anyone, but they're  still there, taking up space and necessitating quiet. He's good at that. And yet - it pulls its stifling shroud around him.

Maybe it's just that everything feels a little sideways for him. Maybe it's no one's fault really, and he's just got - something...amiss. Sebastian wishes he could see the stars. They wouldn't be the ones he's looking for - the sideways feeling closing in. They're supposed to be his stars, the ones here. The ones he grew up with, the ones he's always been under. They're still not the ones he's looking for. But the ones he's looking for exist in a cloudless sky. The night is colder, there's less damp. That's not a home either, over there, but it's not here, and he doesn't feel like everything's gone sideways there. Those dry, chill places aren't ever familiar - never choose the same location twice - except perhaps in the way in which they've been chosen with purpose, experienced fully.

He doesn't know what's wrong. He doesn't know what he's looking for, standing in the garden of a place he's always called home, despite the actual realities of the  situation. Maybe there's nothing wrong. Or perhaps everything's wrong with the world, including his own place in it. Maybe it all shifted when he wasn't looking and no one told him. He ought to feel distressed, he thinks. Instead, it's just sideways, his mind rationalizing at a breakneck pace in order to avoid the pain of introspection. Maybe it's not even just introspection - he can take the world in, but he can't stop to actually think about it.

He smokes, because out here he can. No one will wake up, no one will tell him to do anything. No one needs him out here. It should be a contradiction, because without being needed, there is no Sebastian, not in the way that he's created himself to be. To be needed means he has a place in the universe, it means he's seen, that he exists. The night doesn't need him, not here, not there. It's not peace that he's sought out here. It's an escape, which he barely considers - it's a passing thought. To need to get out of somewhere implies that there is a situation to get out of. This, to him, is the absence of one. Only children are afraid of the dark. And he is, so clearly, not.

Neither a child nor afraid of the dark, but still utterly unmoored in it. When there's nothing to be done, the lack of tether becomes apparent, becomes itself one. He's motionless, in the dark, held by nothing. Alone, as he's wanted to be, but never contented or comforted by it.

[epiitaphs]

what is your dark love language?

SEBASTIAN MORAN, yours is A KNIFE CALLED GRIEF. You have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? You can run but not without them. You want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything. You want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. You want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven't been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. Because you know you'd do that for them.

BUCKY  BARNES, yours is CONSUMPTION OF A HEART UNLOVED. Here’s a dining table, here’s a set of plates. Here’s your heart, red  and bursting with love. You have tried to love people all your life, but  no one seems to understand you. Your own mother perhaps forgot to teach  you how to protect yourself, maybe people whom you trusted chose to  look the other way when all you wanted was a hand full of love. All you  want is someone to take from you, all you want is someone to dig in your  heart and eat it and kiss you afterwards - bloody and red. You want  them to tell you that you are what they have been looking for, you want  to be the one who ends their hunger.

TAGGED BY: @dcsperados​

TAGGING: @worthless-weight-in-gold, @gunmetalgrey, @perdefinitio​ and anyone who wants to!

[epiitaphs]

❝ I’m surprised you still have that. ❞

Seb shrugs, looking over at the small box that had lost its lid somewhere in the reorganization process. Back to Bash. It feels...odd somehow. They drink together and talk about their problems then, but showing him now that he’s got some sort of emotional center feels more fraught. “I keep some things.” As if anyone would have been able to guess that, even family, since clearly Bash is a bit surprised by all this. Probably should have just done this on his own. Maybe he’d thought Bash would be able to avoid investigating the things he’s been pulling out of the closet. He doesn’t feel angry about it, he supposes, which is positive, but the defensiveness is likely less good. “It’s not like I’ve got it all out on display.” Whatever that means. He’s allowed to be sentimental, he supposes, but he’d rather not. “Just go through it at this point, if you want. I’ll keep looking here, though I’m not sure I’m going to find it.”

[epiitaphs]

❝ Nobody move. Let’s poke it with a stick. ❞ thespian @ seb

“Doesn’t that mean we’d be moving, though?” Not that Sebastian really needed to poke holes in Thespian’s plan as if he had one of his own. He very much did not, staring at the thing like it would help him formulate something. “Though, admittedly, I’m not sure I’ve got any other ideas.” There. He was being nice. And supportive. Of the angel who could kill him, even if they definitively wouldn’t. “Might want to use a magical sort of stick in this case. I think a real stick might dissolve.” There was that sort of shininess to it that suggested there might be some acid or slime involved. Or maybe not. Sebastian really ought to do some research about some of the less-expected creatures he might encounter on these sorts of adventures. He’d do that if they both got back alive. “You might need to do the poking.” Since a poke like that might do a bit of damage to Sebastian if things went wrong. He looked to Thespian, then back at the thing. “Any idea of what it is? Or do we just see what happens if we poke it? I wonder if it’d be able to be punctured.”

[epiitaphs]

❝ I am definitely inevitable. ❞ jim @ bucky

"I guess." Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to really contemplate the grand universal designs that might have brought him to the inevitability that was Jim. Fate or just chance? It was harder to decide when there wasn’t much he believed in - or felt that he could. So maybe fate wasn’t a thing. Maybe it was just Jim being...Jim. That would make more sense. He made himself inevitable, somehow. And the world just sort of let him. Maybe the world didn’t know. Bucky knew a lot about that - being able to walk through life with no one noticing anything except the damage behind. “You call me dramatic a lot. I think that counts as dramatic too.” Jim liked it when he showed some personality, some of the time. So that was probably alright to say. “Even if it’s true.” Which, again, a lot of what Bucky said was true. Jim just called him dramatic for it.

[epiitaphs]

❝ I’m not going to die in this hole. ❞

The opposite was more likely. They both knew it, too. Even if they were valuable now, what the scientists were developing meant that one day the original prototypes might no longer have value. If Bucky had time to really think about it, he might have questioned if they had much value even now. And even then, it wasn’t like they were equal. Bucky didn’t try to kill scientists at the same rate that Bash did, which meant they took him out more. He liked being outside the cage, even if the other wolves didn’t like him. What saved him most of the time was that they followed orders to the letter. Not that it stopped some of the minor issues, but it meant he was still alive. Bash didn’t get that. They hadn’t tried more of his type. He could only assume they realized a pack was useful, as opposed to something more solitary. But still, Bash should be able to see the grass before he died.

“No, you will not.” He didn’t want to lie, but maybe if they said it enough it wouldn’t be one. Dying would be worth it if they could die out in the sun. “One day, you will be out.” Both of them, maybe. That would be nice. No bars between them. He didn’t know how that would feel. Probably like the air after a long time in the cages. “There will be a way.” It was stay here and die or try to escape and also maybe die, but die outside of a cage. Security was tight, but there could be a way. He wasn’t supposed to think this way. He knew it was punishable. And they would, they’d throw him - literally, but he wasn’t laughing - to the wolves and not pull him out until they remembered their investment.

[epiitaphs]

  night in the woods

❝ That was dangerous. I could have died. ❞ ❝ I’m not going to die in this hole. ❞ ❝ What are you doing out here? Nothing better to do? ❞ ❝ I walked until I was arrested. ❞ ❝ Like how many parties are there, really? ❞ ❝ The food is terrible but the chairs are comfy. ❞ ❝ Nobody move. Let’s poke it with a stick. ❝ You don’t need your ears to watch. ❞ ❝ I don’t need luck. I make luck. ❞ ❝ I’m gonna burn this room down with me in it, live out my remaining days as a shrieking ghost. ❞ ❝ I was feeling pretty bad but then I walked across town and I dunno. That helped. ❞ ❝ I will unlock your ass. ❞ ❝ I’m upset that we thought like the exact same words. ❞ ❝ Too bad you weren’t horribly disfigured. ❞ ❝ A majority of those made it into my mouth so I’m happy. ❞ ❝ Okay I’m gonna go lay down on my bed and die probably. ❞ ❝ I am definitely inevitable. ❞ ❝ I am both a leader and a dear. ❞ ❝ Are you going to be boring now just because you died for like a whole 5 seconds? ❞ ❝ Now that you’re back in town I was like hey we should do crime again. ❞ ❝ I can do nothing too. ❞ ❝ I’m not acting in a professional capacity but go ahead. ❞ ❝ I can’t have coffee. It makes me anxious. ❞ ❝ Remember when we used to knife fight? ❞ ❝ You don’t need me to, like, call your mommy? ❞ ❝ I like the feeling of “it’s different now because I was here.” ❞ ❝ I’m surprised you still have that. ❞ ❝ I would’ve liked to at least been asked. ❞ ❝ I’m… I’m a good person right? ❞ ❝ I just don’t ever want to lose him. Not ever. I don’t know what I’d do. ❞ ❝ I listen to him snore, and I stare at the ceiling, and I think about how I’m a complete piece of shit. ❞ ❝ I have really up up days and really down down days and I don’t know which it is until it’s over sometimes. ❞ ❝ You should carry a battle axe. That would be impressive. ❞

[epiitaphs]

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He'd been just sitting up when she says it. Maybe she was waiting for his back to be turned - even slightly - to say the hardest part. Sebastian does the math in his head. He hadn't thought so much time had passed. He'd turned away and she'd spoken, but now there's no escaping his gaze when he turns back to her. It's not so bad as the chilly consideration he'd do if she'd just revealed a betrayal, but he's certainly no longer watching her with pleasure.

"Good behavior? Or is it that you're having second thoughts?" At whose feet can he lay the blame? Because this, as long as it has stretched, has not taken anywhere close to thirty years. He wonders - she is very often direct - if it is the former. He also wonders if she has gotten attached. Sebastian would never admit to such a thing, but he will miss this. "I'll clean out whatever I've left here, then, shall I? Leave you to explain that baby?"

This shouldn't come as a shock - beyond the shortened time frame, she’d told him this. If recently. And yet, when she'd told him that it was going to be three decades and not a single one of them would care about it at this point, he’d wanted to believe it. "He said you could, as long as you told him, but I assume you've got no desire for us to actually meet. Wasn’t that it?" Sebastian rather wants to meet him, stand face to face and let it sink in who Electra's been spending her time with, the man that Aidan himself allowed - if such a thing could be said for a man who was quite firmly in prison - to sleep with her. A detail he might not have always been aware of, but certainly one he could use to his advantage.

By all rights, he shouldn't consider how he might make her cry, but it crossed his mind that he might try - and likely fail, given everything. "That's it, then. Your dick has been of great use, but it's time to stop pretending? Fair enough. Reality stops us all. Still, I don't know how satisfying having him back will be. Men out of prison, they...have their quirks, no matter how fine he may have seemed while in." A light way of putting it. "Best of luck with everything. Tell me when the baby’s born, if you keep it."

[epiitaphs]

“Just get out. Get out and leave me alone.” / Aidan & Seb

That's different. Usually there's a hook there, something that encourages Sebastian to do just the opposite, to stay and argue. Not this time. It feels far more final. He frowns, tries to think through anything he might have done, even though Sebastian is more than sure it's no worse than usual. Which means it's something external - he couldn't say what, but he could certainly guess.

"Is it your sister?" The one person that makes Aidan seem human. Not the only one - his family is a similar size to Sebastian's, but she's the closest and in the need of the most help. "Did something happen?" It's like - well, it's not exactly an automaton asking day-by-day questions, but Sebastian wonders if that's what it sounds like. He does actually care when it comes to Aidan, but given how they function, he wouldn't be surprised if it was taken the wrong way.

As much as Aidan wants him gone - and despite just how clear he's making that sentiment - Sebastian still does not move to open the door. "Tell me what's happened, and then I'll think about leaving." Maybe not the best time to impose a toll on him exiting the place, but Seb knows Aidan and he knows himself, and both those things point to there being something wrong. If he cannot fix it, he will go, and if he can, he will make Aidan let him stay.

[epiitaphs]

“Does it ever occur to you that I am done talking? That I am done with reflecting upon my words and action? Can’t you just take a fucking hint that I’m done with you? I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” / court!Fiadh

It's not the most she's said to him at all, but Sebastian is hard pressed to think of many similar events. He must admit he would like to smile at her and tell her - well, he is not entirely sure what. That she's won his game? That would not do at all, not in this moment. And yet, the temptation remains. Sebastian, for all that he does not enjoy some of her methods of defiance, prefers it when she's got a backbone. Perhaps the shadow of a smile shows on his face. She will not like that one bit. He does not mean to provoke her, but he allows himself less restraint when dealing with her.

"It seems to be the case quite often that you do not wish to speak to me. All I hear, day in and day out is yes my lord, no my lord, and nothing else in between. What is there for you to reflect upon there? I do hope your mind is full of more stuff than just that, but I have no way of knowing." He'd had the pick of her and her sisters, and she had seemed the one with most substance. The forced wedding had still been forced, so perhaps she was simply the best of a bad bunch. That's a bit unfair, but not entirely when she became a mouse the moment she married him.

But done with him is a bit trickier. "Are you done with me?" This he asks coldly, any enjoyment of her standing up to him gone. "Tell me, is that your decision?" If they were able to properly talk about it, an agreement might be reached to that extent - they would be married as necessary, but their relationship as it currently stood would end. Others at the court had done so. But if she spoke like this, she would get none of these considerations. "You will remember that we have no son. You have not done what is required of you yet. Only then - or if you prove yourself utterly incapable of a son - then you may find yourself done with me. But luckily, there is very little speaking needed to fulfill that, beyond knowing if you are ready."

[epiitaphs]

“Looking at you I see nothing but something I need to put an end to.” / James :) :) :)

"James -"

Wasn't this it, though? Wasn't this the one time that Sebastian was supposed to roll over, let himself be killed? Wasn't this the time that Sebastian had always hoped would come? He'd always thought that he'd agree with it, when James said these words. Right now, he mostly feels fear and an unfortunately burning desire to live through this situation. Maybe it's because he doesn't understand why. Maybe it's because Sebastian knows he has more to give, more ways to stand at James' side as the man rules the world. It's not over, Sebastian's life. He's not an old dog to be put down yet. Maybe he's afraid because James is wrong.

"Why?" he manages. There's been no explanation for this. Maybe that's part of it too - he always thought it would be clear when James no longer had a need for him. This is sudden, no warning, no mistakes. Sebastian doesn't know what he's done to deserve this. He's pretty sure he doesn't, but he doesn't want to say - or admit to himself - that James can be wrong. "I didn't - I haven't done anything to harm you or hinder you or - can you just say why?" What happened. What did Sebastian do wrong? Surely he did something, because James doing this for no reason - he can't understand that, can't fit that into his worldview.

"If you want to be rid of me, can you at least say why I've lost my use?" He's certain he hasn't lost all of it. He's got his hands raised, far from any weapon, hoping that James isn't going to launch himself. But he might. He doesn't often, but the man has a nearly inhuman speed when he wants to. If he wants Sebastian to bleed, he will make it happen. Seb knows that for other reasons, of course, but this is serious. This isn't James teasing about taking a rib or two. This is a James who would tear them out of him if he could, never mind the blood. That's what scares Sebastian - that James might be wrong, and that James has deviated - or seems likely to - from his rules. The rules that govern him are the rules of the universe. Or so Sebastian thought. That's what it is - the universe is coming unpinned and he doesn't know how to fix it. The weight of the sky falling will crush him when all he wants to do is keep holding it up. If anyone was strong enough to do that, it'd be Seb. But it's becoming clear, that the sky will crush him, wants him to become dust between a rock and a hard place. "James, please."

[epiitaphs]

worthless-weight-in-gold​:

Maybe she should get a taser. Maybe Frank could teach her how to shoot a gun, and then she could get a gun. And then get arrested for shooting someone, probably. Vigilantism was pretty illegal, if Eun Yoo was remembering right. Self defense wasn’t, though. “That was pretty good shooting.” Probably. It had successfully stopped them from moving, and Eun Yoo was relatively sure he hadn’t fired a ton of misses, so she was confident she’d sound like she knew what she was talking about. “Have you ever thought about maybe teaching someone else how to shoot?” Maybe some poor defenseless young adult?

“Fuck that.” Doctor – with what fucking money? Yeah, no, she didn’t want to go broke just because she had a few cuts. She inched away from Frank when he offered to look at it, but then paused and took a confident step back towards him. “Sure. If you want.” Since he was so worried about it, might as well let him make sure. She still was also concerned one of the guys’ blood had made it in, there was no way those two weren’t riddled with diseases. “I’m not jumpy.” She bit out, which absolutely didn’t disprove her point, and crossed her arms. “Okay, good. Fine.” No stalking, then. Eun Yoo hands dropped slightly, to be resting on her elbows instead of choked up almost to her shoulders. “Maybe. Yeah. I still don’t want you to enter my apartment, though, so if you want to check the cut it’s gotta be somewhere else.”

A nod, quick smile. Yeah, he’s pretty good. Couldn’t avoid that with his current occupation or with his old one. Lift of a shoulder. “Might’ve been." It was, but Frank wasn’t gonna brag, not to some little girl. Maybe not so much of a little girl, if that’s what she was asking. Shooting a gun would grow her up pretty fast, but it seemed like the world wasn’t all that interested in keeping her safe. “I might.” Another calculating look at her. He could. She didn’t have anyone. “You gotta be sure about it. I’m not the easiest teacher.” Good at threats and warnings, not great at soft. But that’s how she’d learn. Better have her head on straight if she came to combat.

Soft exhale, the suggestion of a laugh. “Yeah, I get it.” He also got her not wanting to stick around. Wasn’t really the sort of guy anyone wanted to meet in a dark alley, whether he was a threat to them or not. Especially not with the bodies around. Still, she seemed full enough of surprises as she took a step forward again. Yeah, he’d teach her to shoot, for sure. Had enough backbone for it, even if she was hesitating now. “It’s about you too. Just a check where you’re hurt and if you’re done, I’ll stop when you say the word.” Easy out. Frank wasn’t in the business of taking prisoners, for the most part. A look. She was jumpy and they both knew it. “It’s all up to you.” Reassuring, or he was trying to be. He shrugged. Understandable. “Could take you to my place, if you want to trust me that much. Or a diner. Not great if you’re bleeding out, but bright lights and other people around.”

[epiitaphs]

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” / Leo & Bucky

Well then. Bucky's proud of Leo for being able to say that, but he's not as happy about leaving Leo on his own with his thoughts, so he doesn't turn to go just yet. Flesh fingers tap at prosthetic wrist. "That's fine. Can I sit or do you want me gone even if I'm not talking?" Bucky must've pushed a little too far earlier. He never wants to upset Leo too much, but sometimes they have to do their little question and answer sessions to get through some of Leo's hangups. Which again, it's not like Bucky can blame him for them. Still, when the man can't admit when something's too much or when he wants to stop, it makes it a lot harder to not ask one question too many.

He'll wait for Leo to respond before he thinks about getting any closer. "Last things I'll say - if you don't want me here or if you do. If you're going on a walk or something, watch out for yourself. Don't want you getting hurt." He really doesn't, especially when it's a little his fault for it. He's not going to try to win Leo back, not like this. It'd just be a desperate move, really, something from an ego that Bucky doesn't really have. Or at least not that part of an ego. He's proud, but not so proud he needs everything to be perfect, running his way. It's taken a while for Leo to talk about anything. If he needs space, Bucky'll give him his space. And then the other two, if they want to intrude - he'll tell them to be careful, obviously, but they'll do what they think is best. "Secondly, just know I'm not mad at you for this. Frustrated about other things, but you remember what I said back there."

[epiitaphs]

“It always comes back to this with you, doesn’t it?”

"What else is it supposed to come back to?" Her, he knows this. You aren't supposed to love anyone but your wife. He never learned that outright, though he’s clearly punished plenty who didn’t at this point. Punished isn’t perhaps the right word. Killed is. Sebastian doesn’t deal in metaphor more than he has to. No point in dressing it up. He’s killed husbands, wives, mistresses, the whole set of them, in whatever combination is asked for. He doesn’t love M, is the thing. He would tell that to anyone. Those around him might debate his ability to love at all, but that is not the question. It is simply that M has unerringly held his attention without pause for as many years as Sebastian has worked for him. That could be love, if examined under the right light. In turn, Sebastian has been unwaveringly loyal to the man. This too could be love with the right lens. “You know I could not possibly turn my back on him. Not even for you.” I’m sorry must be assumed in those four words.

But whatever love Sebastian has for M differs than what he has for Fiadh. Yes, the two are both under his protection - one from the other, but it will never come to that.

He would never -

- perhaps it is hard to unentangle the two.

He loves her. This is a simple fact. Sebastian loves her in the way that he loves, which could be called protective charitably and possessive more realistically. Be the fix to her problems, be there when she goes numb, a remedy. Be useful to her - useful to M. Hard to move away from them. They occupy separate boxes in his mind - there is home and there is work, but work so often spills into home, so it cannot be so surprising. “What would you rather it come down to? What would you rather I say other than the truth of the matter? There’s no point in lying. These are the facts. This isn’t something I can ask him to compromise on. He is already more lenient with me than anyone else.”

[epiitaphs]

right in the guts. angst sentences.

“It always comes back to this with you, doesn’t it?”

“Why can’t you just learn to let the fuck go.”

“Did it over occur to you that I never wanted this to begin with?”

“Why can’t you just look at me for one god damn second!”

“Let go of my hand.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Why are you — saying all these things —”

“You know what? I was wrong. You never really meant anything to me. You’re broken, you’re beyond fixing, you’re not something I want to take the time to handle. Simple as that.”

“You’re a god damn mistake, that’s what you are.”

“I never wanted anything to do with you to begin with.”

“This, us, was a fucking mistake and I should have known the second things went further than planned.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

“If anything, you were a fucking waste of time.”

“I just don’t feel anything anymore.”

“Looking at you I see nothing but something I need to put an end to.”

“Oh? Really? You thought we had a future? What gave you that idea.”

“Is this even going anywhere?”

“Why can’t we just talk about it —”

“Does it ever occur to you that I am done talking? That I am done with reflecting upon my words and action? Can’t you just take a fucking hint that I’m done with you? I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

“We’re through. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“You were broken to begin with.”

“How am I supposed to ‘love you’ when I never had feelings to being with.”

“Haha, I don’t know who gave you THAT idea, but we’re not an item. We never were.”

“I’d like for you to leave now.”

“Just get out. Get out and leave me alone.”

“Why are you — saying all these things??? Where did they come from???”

“If you never were happy to begin with, how come you never told me?! I would have listened, I would have helped —”

“I don’t need, or want help, what I want is for you to get the fuck away from me.”

“You’re damaged goods and I can’t find the patience to take on you as a project.”

“You’re the kind of crazy I don’t want to deal with.”

“Lately you’ve become a burden, and I can’t handle it anymore.”

“If you’d just leave me alone, that’d be great.”

“Oh come on, the second we got to know each other, the due date were already set on us. We were never meant to last forever. Our relationship had a deadline, and now we’re at it; so, what you gonna do?”

“This is all on you.”

“Save your tears. I’m done here.”

[epiitaphs]

the real christmas gift for @gunmetalgrey

(nat and bucky, moments that are....kind of happy, if you squint)

They are sitting on the little balcony. This is unnecessary - they have already appeared for the neighbors multiple times this week, but he had said yes when she’d asked. There is no threat to them here. Siberia is not where they look for spies. And that is why she is there, assisted by him. There is no purpose to sitting on the balcony, but there is no purpose to much of what they are doing here. They are here to be real people for a while, as long as it takes them to accomplish their missions. There are no new orders or urgent matters to attend to. So it is not a problem that they are out here. The sun peeks out weakly for barely a moment, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches her making the same motion. Slight tilt up, let the face take in the rarity of it. He’s not meant for niceties such as this, they tell him. But he will take what moments he can. He’s not a prisoner, they told him when he was confused, but sometimes he feels like he takes in the sun’s rays the way a prisoner does, grateful for a moment that will have an end. 

-

The fat orange cat that he has seen next door is on the balcony today. This is…it is allowed, he thinks. It is just a cat. A cat that is approaching him as he steps out. He’s not sure what he is supposed to do out here, just that he could not help but step outside. Maybe it’s for the cat. Natalia is out, attending to business. Buying food, he thinks. This will keep her occupied. She talks to the women she meets there, even if the information is not mission critical. He crouches, holds out a hand to the cat. He has memory troubles - made to be the greatest soldier of - and he does not remember how cats are supposed to work, but this one doesn’t need his help to push up against his hand, showing him what it wants. He crooks a finger, pets the way he thinks he should. The cat wanders away, having got its fill. It doesn’t go far, flopping down an arm’s length away. He watches, intrigued, still crouched. He was trained to hold any position, after all. The cat stares at him a moment, loses interest again, and falls asleep. He watches it, the way it breathes and the way that the breeze sometimes ruffles the cat’s fur. He stands quietly, at the time that she enters their home, giving no indication that he had been doing anything but wait for her. 

-

They lay in the dark together, much the way they have since they arrived. They are a couple, they must do everything a couple does, even behind closed doors. More or less. There are things he does not remember, and he cannot ask for others. What matters most is that they are flush against each other, sharing warmth, sharing safety, sharing the darkness. It could end at any moment. This is one of the things that he cannot ask for but that she will give without him saying anything. He’s learned that she can do that. She tells him sometimes that he can do this or that, things that he’s not sure would be allowed otherwise. It is all part of the game. It’s not a game. They both know this. It is never a game. Always serious. Which is why moments like this - he feels like a person again, a proper one, not just their soldier and tool. They’ve gotten closer and closer as time has passed, till now they’re as close as possible. Keeps out the cold, comes the excuse, in case he needs one. But in reality, it makes him feel good, feel something beyond the cold and the arm and - it doesn’t matter. He cannot really complain, not when complaining would take him away from this, which is the nicest thing to happen to him that he can remember. It will end, he tells himself. It will always end, so he will be happy about this for now. 

-

He watches her cook sometimes. They are not busy. There is only so many times that weapons can be cleaned and counted, only so many hours to be dedicated to reports. And when there is time and he feels that he can stand another presence - it helps that she is also one of theirs and not a real person - he watches her work. She is precise in everything. They taught her well in training. Perhaps not to use a knife in this way, but it is the use to which she is putting those skills right now. She knows when he is watching, looks over. 

Today is not a day he can ask questions. 

She senses this - maybe he should worry how good she is at that, but that is also what she was trained for, reading men - and tells him what it is. He nods. Tells her that it sounds good. He talks a lot, to all sorts of people sometimes. This is good practice. And easier. The focus is the soup, not a bargain. He wasn’t made to bargain. He was made to enforce them. He turns his attention back to the kitchen, watching her. She is - lighter, he thinks. When she does these simple things. 

-

They are comfortable with each other now. He is…himself with her. Less soldier, more human. It would be hard for a soldier to sway with her. As a person, he can do it. The music that plays softly over the radio - he does not ask if this is allowed - is not something he recognizes, but that is for her to know. What he knows is that they are warm, and fed, and close. That is about as good a life as he could ask for. If he could ask for more, he’d say the next door cat, but he cannot. As it is, he is happy now, happy that she is relaxed, happy that she is close. It will not last, he tells himself, as she rests her head on his shoulder. This feels - right somehow. He is content. That’s what it is. It can’t last, but he is nothing if not trained to respect opportunity. He will take a soft touch where he can get it. They will not be so kind when he returns. But he is not returning right in this moment. He will take the warmth and the food and her presence, treasure them as long as he can. He has memory problems, but he wants to hold on to this one. As long as he can, he will.

[epiitaphs]

another thing for @gunmetalgrey

a revelation. cw for very clear references to drug addiction

When will I get back - he should have known it was coming. The moment that she finally spoke, the moment that she finally explained with those few words - that one short question - why she’s been such a difficult case. They both know the answer - or all three of them in that room, really, but Sebastian doesn’t give a shit about the doctor. What he does care about is the fact that she’s been sabotaging her fucking recovery, all the while thinking that she’s going to get back to 100% by dragging her feet every step of the way. 

He slams the car door with far more force than necessary, hoping spitefully that the old thing will just fall to pieces in front of them. That’d serve her right. It was his car once, but he’s willing to sacrifice it to prove a point. “I drive you to these fucking things. I go to them because you won’t go otherwise, I -” he huffs out an annoyed breath - “do every fucking thing in my power to get you here, to get you healing, because there’s nothing you want to do less than the actual fucking work to get yourself back in shape. And then you ask if you’re going to get back to mobility or whatever and you’re surprised and fucking hurt when they say no?” He faces her properly now. “Of course it’s a no, because you’re not doing anything but feeling sorry for yourself every fucking moment of the day while I get all your shit in order.” And counts the pills in his mind, wondering if that would make it easier. It would, he knows. She’s not wanting to take them and is out of it on the pain itself, so she probably wouldn’t even notice -

“Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? I’ve babysat you through all this. I have a fucking job. But I’ve been here for you, with the surgery, through all these fucking appointments, and - do you think -” Christ. He doesn’t know where he’s going with this. It’s resentment and stress, and he needs a smoke at the very least, a drink somewhere in the middle, and something stronger at the best. “You should be grateful I’m willing to keep taking to you these things. Not even grateful - you wouldn’t go if I didn’t. It’s not even the favor of a fucking ride, it’s the full time job of chaperoning you. Jesus. Grow the fuck up Alex.” He’s on a roll now, unable to stop even if he wanted, barely even registering her expression. “You should be grateful that I drive you, grateful that I’m counting out your fucking pills when you have no idea how fucking easy it would be to keep them. They’d actually be appreciated that way. Fuck.” Now it’s out there, he supposes. He runs a hand through his hair. He’s been trying so fucking hard to get through this whole thing, telling himself that he’ll get himself killed if he stumbles, that she’ll notice, that she needs him alert, any possible excuse. He’s been smoking like a fucking chimney just to not sit in the house sometimes. It’s bad, because he’s stressed, but all the stress feeds into an inescapable circle that’s going to suffocate him soon enough. He gives what is barely a laugh, collecting himself back into himself. “You’re lucky. You’re so lucky. Two years ago, you wouldn’t have seen a single one ever again. Gone like that. No matter how much you wanted or needed them. Get a fucking grip, Alex, your tantrum isn’t helping anyone.” He hates that he’s said this - any of it, anything that actually bares the issue at hand. 

“I can’t walk away,” he tells her. There are people she could go to, but he won’t do that to her. “But just know that every day I know exactly where those pills are, how many there are. I tried not to count - trying to be healthy, you know? But you aren’t making it easy. I know exactly where they are, what they’d do, and how fucking nice it would feel to not have to worry about anything. I mean, at this point, it’s been a couple years. It wouldn’t even take that many, at least not to start with.” He needs to stop talking. This is too much. It’s not that she doesn’t need to know, but rather that he can’t bear to tell her any more than he already has. “I’m not getting rid of you, but work on realizing you’re not the center of the universe. Maybe think about doing some of the work yourself. Because as much as I want to help, one day I’m not going to be able to help you anymore.”