#Overhead Conversations: IC Dash Commentary

[silicon-bastion]

“Lucky!  I can’t do either!  I don’t even have taste.”  Bastion dismayed as overheard Aki’s answer to that Nonnie’s question.  If it was one thing that the bot wanted, well other than to protect his family and friends, it was to eat and taste everything out there.  

He didn’t even care about the stuff he shouldn’t try.  He wanted to try it, just once.

[keeroo92]

Crimson Tide Ch7

Chapter Seven - Transit

Enjoy!

---Reader---

Your shoulders relaxed in V’s grasp as the ache in your head faded away. The pain kept getting more powerful and each episode left you feeling wrung out like a towel. At the very least, whatever was happening to you had yet to last longer than a few minutes. Terror still dominated your mind, but you took solace in the discomfort's brevity.

Maybe I have a tumor or something. Maybe I’m going crazy.

Maybe I’m already crazy.

The rapid pounding of your heart began to slow and you took a deep breath, exhaling heavily as the last twinge of pain dissipated. You opened your eyes and blinked, the light a shock after being closed for the past few minutes. You were still outside in your mother’s yard, so it couldn’t have been too long. V would’ve moved you otherwise.

“It’s gone again,” you whispered. V pulled away to gaze at you, his concern evident as it always was. You gave him a smile, hoping it would reassure him, but he didn’t budge. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear and you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand on your cheek helping center you further.

“It’s getting worse,” he said. You nodded and reached for your water, taking a sip to gather your thoughts. He took your left hand and stared at it thoughtfully, weighing his words before he continued.

“I think it has to do with the portals.”

You sighed and set down your glass. “It does seem related. Maybe we should try checking Dante’s library?”

He smirked and his emerald eyes rose to meet yours. “You read my mind, little fox.”

The poet helped you rise, guiding you back to sit in one of the wicker chairs from where you’d fallen to the ground. At the sound of approaching footsteps, you turned your head to see your mother returning. She looked a little calmer, but she still toyed with her hair anxiously as she sat down with a sigh and dropped her hands.

“I’ll be staying with your grandmother for a while. She says hi.”

Relief flooded you; your mother would be out of danger. You weren’t close with your grandmother, but she lived over six hours away and it should be safe there.

“Okay. Say hi to her for me,” you replied. V dropped your hand and stood, stretching his shoulders with a soft grunt. He gestured toward the main road, indicating how it was now early afternoon. You’d been gone for hours, and you needed to return to the group soon.

“We should head back. Are you good, mom?”

She nodded and the two of you rose to hug. You inhaled her scent and allowed it to ease some of your worry away. There was something about the aroma that made the world seem less scary, a gentle reassurance that you weren’t alone. The feeling of home reminded you painfully of your childhood and you hugged her tighter, absorbing as much of the comfort as possible with so many worries swirling in your mind.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she whispered. You released her and stared earnestly into her eyes, heart aching as you saw the tears waiting to fall.

I’m so sorry, mom…

“I promise. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I hope.

---V---

The lull of the bus sent you straight into a doze, the bitter tang of cigarettes and sweat barely making you pause. V found it distasteful, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He sat stiffly, your head resting on his shoulder as you napped. Your mother’s parting words to him echoed in his mind as he watched your eyes twitch in a dream.

Protect her.

The poet sighed softly, trying not to move too much. What was he risking, by not asking you to stay behind? Would you die if you went to save Nero and Dante? Would he? What if your health got worse and something trapped you in Hell where there were no hospitals, no doctors or even a band aid?

He couldn’t let you die. He wouldn’t.

You can’t possibly be thinking of making her stay behind.

V mentally rolled his eyes at his companion.

You know, in most cultures it’s considered rude to eavesdrop.

What do I care? Listening to you think is the only entertainment I got! No cable in here!

I’ll get right on that.

A low purr and the echo of a rockslide sounded at his sarcastic response and he smirked. It was occasionally entertaining to have three separate beings share his mind, though it became crowded at times. He had the ability to block them out, but other than a few intimate settings it seemed excessive.

The point remains – she is ill. It’s too risky.

Yeah, good luck keeping her from trying to save Nero.

V cringed. It would be a difficult conversation. He’d need to plan carefully, pick the right moment. Be strategic and tactful, approach the issue with logic, so you might see reason. He huffed in frustration as no immediate solutions came to mind.

Doesn’t matter when or how you say it; she’s not gonna like it.

If you’re going to offer commentary, at least try to be helpful.

My advice? Keep your mouth shut. She’s going, and there’s nothing short of hiding her in the basement and throwing away the key that’ll stop her.

V sighed. This might be more troublesome than he thought. Griffon faded into the background as he continued his musings, the mouthy demon having said his piece. The blocks passed by in a blur as the bus rolled on and before he had time to make any progress, it had reached the stop closest to home. He tugged the cord overhead and whispered your name gently to wake you.

“We’re here, love. Wake up.”

You blinked your bleary eyes open with a grunt, crinkling your nose adorably. V’s heart warmed, renewing his determination to keep you safe. The bus creaked to a full halt and he led you off as you yawned. The bus stop wasn’t far from the manor, and within ten minutes the two of you were stepping through the front door. Inside, Lady sat at her computer typing furiously. From the stressed look on her face, V knew no portals had formed since she’d arrived.

“I’m going to go train for a bit, we can visit Dante’s tomorrow,” you murmured, giving V a quick peck on the cheek as you stepped away.

I suppose I’ll work on the new bedroom, then.

He rolled up his sleeves and turned around to head back to the exterior of the house, trying to focus on finishing the drywall by dinner instead of his worries.

---Reader---

You heard Trish training as you neared the familiar room, her low grunts mixing with short blasts of yellow light that flashed through the hallway. She gave you a tight nod as you drew your sword, beginning your warm-ups as she practiced. The motions soothed your troubled mind and you let out a deep breath as you focused on honing your skills.

You finished warming up quickly and joined Trish’s sparring session in the open center of the room. As you approached, you noticed her movements seemed off somehow, slower than usual as if something was distracting her.

“You okay, Trish?” you asked her kindly. She met your eyes and the look of agitation on her face solidified your worries.

“I’m all right. Let’s get to it.”

You didn’t believe her, but lowered yourself into the standard guard position anyway. Trish smiled ferally and attacked, her blade a blur as you struggled to counter her speed. She had no mercy, slicing and lunging with such rage on her features she resembled a demon. You cursed as her attacks forced you to step back, putting your spine against the wall.

She dashed forward, her blonde hair a tornado as she closed the gap with a grunt to slash at you with a dagger. Her path of attack was obvious, no tactical thinking apparent and you blocked it easily. Caught off guard, Trish paused and you countered with an upward slice of your own, expecting her to dodge as she always had.

But your blade sank into the meat of her forearm, drawing blood as she staggered. You dropped the sword to the floor and rushed over to her, already shouting apologies.

“Trish! Are you okay? I’m so sorry, let me take a look at it!”

Something’s definitely off with her, she’s never taken a blow like that before.

She held her bleeding limb out for your inspection, her jaw clenched as you took stock of the damage. It was shallow, to your relief. You wouldn’t even need to stitch it closed. Still, you dropped her arm and retreated to bring the first aid kit over. Trish sat in annoyed silence as you cleaned the injury, barely making eye contact as you wrapped it in gauze.

“Ok, you’re good. Again, I’m really sorry,” you said. She stood and continued practicing, her eyes challenging you to join. The two of you fell into the familiar pattern of attacking and defending in turns and you tried to ignore the concern niggling at your mind for your friend. You lost track of time as you sparred, too focused and worried to notice the hours ticking away until the clatter of approaching feet stole your attention.

“GUYS! Guys, we got another one! Let’s go!” Lady’s thrilled voice shouted from the hallway. You beamed at Trish and helped her grab the spare swords kept in the training area, dashing out to the main room to learn how far you’d be traveling.

You skidded to a stop when the hum returned, intense and focused like a scalpel performing brain surgery. With a startled gasp you dropped the tangle of blades, hands rising to rub at your throbbing temples.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Trish cried behind you. The pain crystalized, driving deeper into your skull and she stared in confusion as you crumpled to the ground, unable to respond. It felt like someone was taking an ice cream scoop to your brain and you retched, spilling foul-smelling bile onto the hallway floor. V came running as the others finished preparing the van, and together he and Trish carried you to the couch in the van.

“What’s wrong with her?” Trish asked. You wanted so badly to reassure her, but all you managed was a weak groan as V settled your head in his lap.

“She’s been hearing a humming sound, accompanied by pain. We think it has something to do with the portals,” V replied. He stroked your hair and gripped you tightly as Nico started the van. Trish’s voice sounded distant, almost as if she were underwater as she replied, and you withdrew inside yourself, hiding from the agony behind a wall of blank incoherence.

 For the rest of your life, you wouldn’t be able to recall the journey to the portal. All you knew was the pain between your ears, and how much you fought it for control of your own thoughts. You failed at every turn.

The next time you processed your surroundings, you found yourself still in the van with V, the Tris and Lady on their way out the door as he continued stroking your hair and cradling you gently. Nico and Kyrie sat in the front, their eyes mirroring V’s concern as they watched you recover. You blinked as a flash of bright colors and unending light crossed your vision, but it dissipated so quickly you couldn’t discern any details. With its passing the pain vanished without a trace.

“Are you all right now?”

You raised your head and nodded, carefully standing a moment later to head outside. V’s hand on your wrist held you in place and you stared at him with a questioning expression. He swallowed and looked at the floor as he spoke, unable to look you in the eye.

“I… I think you should stay behind.”

He can’t be serious.

Nico and Kyrie frowned but didn’t speak, staying out of the obviously approaching argument. You glared at V, about to retort when he continued.

“You aren’t well and we don’t know why. We don’t even know for sure that Dante and Nero are still alive, let alone if we’ll find them. We might be gone for months. What if your condition worsens? What if it overcomes you during a battle? You could die.”

The undeniable urge to lash out, to fight surged through you. You blinked in disbelief – V wanted you to sit at home and wait like some kind of helpless idiot while everyone else went after your best friend? No way. He knew you’d never do that! Just thinking about it made you shake with rage. How could he suggest such a stupid idea?

How dare he?

“I’ll stay with you. The others should be able to handle anything they find well enough,” he concluded.

You almost slapped him, clenching your hands repeatedly to suppress the desire. He dropped your wrist as you seethed in anger but didn’t retract his words. It took a moment for you to calm yourself enough to face him, but you saw red again as he reached out to lay a hand on your shoulder. You blocked his touch with a dismissive gesture, knocking it off course with ease.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me right now. I can’t – we don’t have time for this!” you snarled. V visibly flinched at the venom in your voice but you were too angry to feel guilty.

And without another word, you opened the door and started running, straight at the portal with tears prickling at your eyes. It opened again behind you as V followed, but you had too much of a lead on him and he couldn’t stop you. He cried your name, but you didn’t turn. You only ran faster, determined to cross. Lady and Trish were eliminating a pair of Caina and as you streaked forward, the roar of the engine returned as Nico turned the key in the ignition.

Come on! Just a little farther!

You watched as Trish and Lady stepped into the yellow light. The portal flashed gold and they were gone. Nico’s van roared past you and you heard the mechanic’s shout of exhilaration as the front bumper made contact. Another flash and it disappeared, Nico and Kyrie on the other side. Your heart pounded painfully fast as you forced your feet to move even faster.

“Y/N, wait!”

No. I’m not turning my back on them.

A low roar echoed through the air, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Shadow turn to face V with a snarl, her opinion clear. Griffon appeared a moment later, his voice reaching you as you dashed away from his master.

“Run, little lady! You’re almost there!”

A hurtling object descended from on high and you swerved to dodge Nightmare’s comet as it struck the asphalt. It materialized rapidly and inclined its head as you passed in an approximation of a bow. You returned the gesture as you ran by, hoping it understood your gratitude.

“Damnit, STOP!” V shouted, but you didn’t pause for an instant.

You closed your eyes and sprinted through the portal, the yellow glow flashing so bright it burned through your lids. The ground beneath your feet vanished and you were weightless, suspended between two worlds in a thick plasma. You couldn’t breathe; there was no air. It was the most terrified you’d ever been and you couldn’t even scream.

And then it was over, a solid surface materializing under your feet as you completed the crossing. The second you opened your eyes, nausea overcame you. A kind hand held your hair back as you retched violently, your stomach expelling what seemed like everything you’d ever consumed.

---V---

He watched helplessly as you vanished, his arm still stretched out to stop you. Breathing was impossible as the portal flashed, taking you to the Underworld despite his best efforts. V turned on his three friends with a murderous glare, and even Nightmare shrank away at the pure rage in his emerald gaze.

“I warned you, Shakespeare. There was no stopping her,” Griffon commented, landing on the massive golem’s shoulder. V pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed, grappling his anger into submission.

“Yes, you were right. All I can do now is follow her and do what I can to keep her safe.”

Shadow purred her approval and he released his hold on the three summoned creatures, an enormous cloud of black shards flitting to settle on his skin and hair. He gripped the handle of his cane tightly, taking comfort in its familiar shape in his hand as he stepped closer to the portal.

Don’t think, just keep walking. This time will be different.

Yet his mind brought up the past anyway, reminding him of his time in Mundus’ prison and all the torture he’d endured. He felt the cold tendrils piercing through his flesh, heard the clatter of the Yamato as it fell from his grasp and broke. Smelled his own blood leaking from his wounds.

Done with the drivel yet?

V grimaced, shaking his head to rid himself of the vision. He wasn’t that person anymore, he never would be again. This time would be different. Mundus was dead, what could he possibly need to fear?

Other than losing you…

He forced his reluctant feet forward, his eyes fixated on the glowing portal as he snarled at it.

Let me save you from that weakness…

His jaw clenched as he heard the echo of Mundus’ taunts in his mind.  His vision darkened as he remembered being encased in demonic energy, his pitifully trembling arm reaching desperately for the Yamato as he was erased.

You need neither ego, nor memories.

V growled and took another step, pushing through the recollections and embracing the pale light as it flashed around him. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his wits about him during the crossing but unable to do so. The oppressive energy, the silence and taint of demonic power were too reminiscent of Mundus for him to ignore. His arms flailed, reaching out for something, anything to hold onto.

But he was alone.

You’re never alone, Shakespeare. We got ya.

Shadow and Nightmare chimed in their agreement, and the aching loneliness and isolation gripping V’s heart eased. He focused on his bond with the three demons, taking it as a refuge from the pain of memory as he waited to complete the journey. He envisioned himself wrapping the thick tendrils of their power around himself like a cocoon, concealing himself from any foe until he prepared fully.

And then, his feet touched down. He was through. He gasped heavily, drawing in a massive lungful of breath as he fought back a wave of nausea. It was nothing, a trifle. Unworthy of his attention, he must focus on finding you.

Still, he found himself bent over and heaving bile onto a patch of bright orange grass.

Damnit.

“There you are V! Ah, here, let me…” Lady cried from somewhere nearby. Her hand lifted his hair out of the path of his expelled stomach contents and he tried to grunt his gratitude, but only another gob of filth escaped his mouth.

“Let it out, Trish was the only one who didn’t blow chunks,” Lady murmured kindly. She rubbed his back until the heaving stopped and he was able to rise to his full height again.

Where’s Y/N?

He scanned the area, giving the brunette a quick nod of thanks. There was Nico and Kyrie, next to the van. Trish was to the left, her eyes trained on the horizon.

Ugh, appalling…

The myriad of colors was blinding, the cacophony too disorienting to make sense of easily. What demon would shape their realm this way was beyond him, but he sincerely hoped they were long dead for their crimes against perception.

There you were, arms crossed as you came out from behind Nico’s van with an irritated frown. You walked right past him without a word, joining Trish on the hillside. V’s heart sank. He’d expected you to be angry, but it was much worse to encounter it face to face.

I must make amends somehow. Even though I was right.

Yeah, maybe leave that part out when you apologize…

Obviously.

Trish turned and walked to the group. V sympathized as he saw her cheek twitch; he knew what she was fighting. He felt it too, through his link with his three friends.

“There’s something down there, we need to go check it out,” the blonde announced.

Nico cracked her knuckles and climbed into the driver’s seat and V sighed as he stepped into the van, already bracing himself to endure her insane driving.

[unfolded73]

A Drink Between Friends - COMMENTARY

So @justanotherwannabeclassic said, why aren’t there DVD commentaries, but for fic? And I said guuuuuuurl, we used to do those on livejournal all the time, but when I tried to start it as an askbox meme once, I got nothing. So she asked for a commentary of “A Drink Between Friends”, which I just wrote yesterday, so in theory this should be easy, right? Let’s go then.

If you ever want me to commentary a one-shot or fic chapter, hit up my ask box.

He opened the door to find Regina standing on his porch.

“Henry’s on a date,” Killian said, drying his hand off on a dishtowel he had thrown across one shoulder. “I think he said they were going to the movies, so if he’s not answering his phone—”

I rarely make the mistake anymore where I give Killian two hands, but I did here - I said he was “drying his hands off”. Thank god for betas. Also, I think I send Henry on dates too often in these fics to get him out of the way. Usually for banging, but not this time.

“I know he’s on a date, I came to see Emma,” Regina said, adjusting her purse strap on her arm. She was dressed in one of her severe business suits, heels elevating her several inches above her actual height. “I thought she might want to go get a drink.”

Now it’s bugging me that she didn’t just text Emma. Ugh, what a contrived situation. Uh… maybe she was driving by after work and stopped on a whim. Sure.

“She’s working late; she’s still at the sheriff’s station,” he supplied. They stared at each other for a long moment before he stood back and held the door wider. “You’re welcome to come in.”

Regina’s eyebrows went up. “We don’t really do that, you and I.”

Killian frowned. “Don’t do what?”

“Spend time together. As friends,” Regina replied. “I mean, we do, but in a large group that includes your wife and the Charmings and… We don’t ‘hang out’ together.” He could hear the air quotes around ‘hang out’, because Regina Mills didn’t use modern slang without air quotes.

This is one of those times when the struggle for a different phrase becomes a thing in the fic to key into. I sat here thinking, what’s a Regina phrase for ‘hang out’, because she would never say that. Hmmm. Hmmm. Finally I decided to use the fact that it wasn’t her natural way of speaking to increase the awkwardness of her little speech here.

Killian huffed out a breath. “Do you want to come in for a drink or not?”

“Fine,” Regina muttered, stepping over the threshold and setting her purse on the table in the foyer. “I don’t drink rum, you know.”

“I know,” he said, pulling a bottle of whiskey down from a cabinet. “Ice?”

She looked at the bottle, presumably to judge the quality of his liquor, and then shook her head. “No ice.” He poured the whiskey into a short crystal tumbler and handed it over. “Thank you,” Regina said with a quick nod of her head.  

Because bad whiskey needs to be chilled and watered down to make it palatable, but the good stuff should be drunk neat, you see. But Regina had to see what he was offering before she decided if she wanted ice.

Killian picked up his trusty bottle of rum (although these days he drank from it relatively infrequently, compared to the past) and poured himself a drink to match Regina’s, gesturing for her to join him in sitting at the kitchen table.

Not sure if I should start talking about Killian’s relationship with alcohol and how extremely problematic it got on the show, or I will never stop. Let’s suffice it to say that while I don’t think he’d ever go cold turkey and start working through a 12-step program, part of being a healthier person in a happy marriage would also include a reduction in how much he drank. And not out of fear of getting fat.

“I figured you’d be out with that band of hooligans on your boat,” she said, her posture stiff.

“The Lost Boys aren’t hooligans, and more than half my sailing class is teenage girls from the high school now anyway,” he said, slumping back in his seat.

This is the one signifier that this fic occurs some months after “What Comes Next,” as (spoiler alert) the remaining Lost Boys and what happened to them was a plot point, and Killian ended up as a de facto sailing instructor to teenagers by the end of that fic.

“I bet it is,” Regina said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you’re their bad boy fantasy come to life.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “I’ll have you know, most of those girls are becoming excellent sailors. They aren’t there for an old, married pirate who wears a sheriff’s deputy badge, my dashing good looks aside.”

This reminds me of this post where Jamie asked if teens would find Colin hot and I polled my kid about it. I mean, yeah, some of those girls are interested in sailing because they’re hot for teacher. But also, they probably end up really liking sailing.

Regina rolled her eyes and sipped her drink, choosing not to respond to that statement. “I hope Emma’s not working too hard.”

“She’s not, surprisingly. She took the day off yesterday, so she’s just catching up on some paperwork this evening.”

Silence settled over them. After a minute, Regina said, “If we aren’t going to have any terrible threats to Storybrooke to discuss, then we’re going to have to learn to make small talk.”

I struggled to find things for them to talk about before they got into the meat of the conversation. So my struggle to come up with stuff for them to talk about became explicitly their struggle in the text.

Killian sighed. “Watch any good television shows lately?”

One of her eyebrows arched. “I don’t like television.”

“Nor me.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Look at that, something else we have in common besides Emma and our dark pasts. We don’t like television.”

Regina laughed, rolling her glass between her hands and looking down at the table. “How much do you think about the old days?” she asked him.

This fic was written more out of order than I usually do, and I ended up shifting around a surprising amount of it, as I struggled to make this into something worth posting. Anyway, I wrote this bit first.

“Which old days? I have quite a lot of them, love.”

Her lips quirked up in a half smile. “Any of the ones when you were a villain.”

“Why do you ask?”

Regina huffed in frustration. “Just humor me.”

These points where they resist opening up to each other are thanks to @j-philly-b​, who rightly suggested that it would take a bit more for them to start talking openly with each other.

He swallowed a measure of rum, enjoying the sensation of it warming his chest. “Every day.”

“Me too,” Regina said softly.

Killian looked up, surprised that she would admit something like that to him. “Really?”

Taking a drink as if bolstering her courage, she nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if the guilt will ever entirely go away.”

“Should it?”

“Perhaps not.” She took a sip of her drink. “Although I think there’s something to be said for truly forgiving oneself.”

I fucked up here and used her taking a drink in 2 adjacent paragraphs, due to the moving stuff around. I decided not to fix it, figuring she was really actually nervous about this conversation and using the alcohol as liquid courage.

“And is that what you’ve done? Forgiven yourself?” Killian asked.

Regina stiffened up again. “That’s a rather personal question.”

“You started us down this road, love.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Humor me.”

Another point where one of them resisted, added toward the end of writing this at @j-philly-b‘s suggestion.

Her eyes skittered away, as if she was looking for an escape from the conversation. Finally she sighed. “On some level, I have. In that I’m not letting guilt keep me up at night so much anymore. I’m allowing myself to be happy. But in other ways, no. I’m still striving to make amends to the people I’ve wronged. And I won’t ever let myself forget,” she said.

Killian swirled the rum in his glass, watching the way the overhead light reflected in the liquid. “We’re very much alike, you and I.”

The way the rum warms his chest, the way it looks in a crystal glass – I was really a little obsessed with all these sensations of drinking, and how a person who is perhaps trying not to drink might be obsessed with them too.

“I know, I told Emma that when we were down in the Underworld rescuing your sorry ass.” She tapped a fingernail against her glass. “It’s why we don’t get along.”

About half-way through writing this, I was getting close to giving up on it, and @j-philly-b reminded me of the UW scene between Emma and Regina in 5x15. 

Regina: Well, that’s because he hasn’t forgiven himself. 

Emma: How do you know that? 

Regina: Though I hate to admit it, we’re much alike… and forgiving yourself is the hardest thing to do. You want to help Hook? Help him with that.

“We get along fine, Regina.”

“It’s why we maintain this distance between us, despite the fact that we’re part of the same family. We don’t like seeing our worst qualities mirrored in the other person.”

So I keyed into that, that they are alike, but more than that it’s why they circulate at opposite ends of the Charming family pool, kind of keeping their distance and often seeming to barely tolerate each other.

He nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Of course it’s true.”

“Do you ever wonder if you could have followed a different path, in spite of all the things that were pushing you toward darkness?” he asked. “There’s goodness in you, clearly, so do you wonder if you could have chosen to be good?”

“And never become the Evil Queen?”

“Exactly.”

“I doubt it. Hatred metastasizes like a cancer, I’ve decided. Self-hatred, hatred of others, it all grows and multiplies inside you until there’s no room for anything else but that.”

Another part that I wrote at the very beginning, this idea of hatred as a cancer. Because what makes a good person turn bad? These are two people who started good and whom we like, so how could they spend years and years being horrible people? That’s where the cancer idea came from. That they got so filled with hate that there was nothing else.

“Aye.” He remembered it, a seemingly endless line of days when he woke up with anger tightening like an iron band around his chest, a list of those who had wronged him, enslaved him, taken his brother, taken his love, taken his hand echoing over and over in his mind like a mantra. And under it, the absolute certainty that if he had been a better person, he wouldn’t have lost everything he ever cared about. “Sometimes it seems like I was a different person then, and other times…”

Killian Jones as Arya Stark, muttering the names of his enemies to himself every night as he falls asleep. Funny AND tragic.

“Take it from one who knows: you weren’t a different person. The dark parts are baked in, and you can’t separate them. They’re a part of you.”

A reference to the Evil Queen/Regina split of S6. A plot I did not like, but it was useful here.

He snorted, and started to raise his glass to finish off his rum, already thinking of pouring himself another. Instead he set the glass down and took his hand off of it. “I do enjoy your pep talks, Regina.”

“I’m an alcoholic, I don’t have one drink. I don’t understand people who have one drink. I don’t understand people who leave half a glass of wine on the table. I don’t understand people who say they’ve had enough. How can you have enough of feeling like this?” – Leo McGarry, The West Wing

The instinct, once he starts drinking, to keep drinking is one he’s consciously resisting. These couple of simple sentences describing his attempt to slow down his drinking are maybe my favorites.

“I’m not saying that I don’t think you’re a good person, obviously. You’re helping to raise my son and are married to one of my closest friends. I’m just saying, people like us, we have to be…”

“Vigilant?”

“Yes.” She thought about it. “Disciplined.”

He pondered that, the way he inspected every small choice he made for evidence that he was slipping toward darkness. Every action he took at work, every time he raised his voice to Henry, every gluttonous or greedy impulse on his part was picked apart and dissected in his mind in the wee hours of the morning.

I am VERY attracted to characters like Killian Jones, and I don’t just mean in a sex way, although yes, that too. I mean the reformed rogue, who has put himself on the path of goodness because of love. But I mean fuck, then what? That’s usually where the story ends. Does he then just have no issue being a good upstanding citizen forever and ever, amen? Does he ever backslide? And if not, how? That’s where that whole idea of vigilance and discipline came from, and the idea that Killian would be constantly monitoring himself. Ugh, it sounds exhausting, it’s making me worry about his long-term happiness, I don’t like where these thoughts are going, somebody stop me.

“I realized at one point that a part of me was angry with David for forgiving me,” he said, finally giving in and draining his glass. “I wanted him to punish me for what I did to his father all those years ago.”

“That’s not really in Charming’s nature,” she said with a sardonic smile.

“He just… forgave me, and not only that, he welcomed me into his family, and at first I was so incredibly grateful.” He swallowed around a lump in his throat.

“So what happened?”

He shrugged. “I started to feel that I owed him this huge debt that I can never repay.”

Yeah, I’m pretty fond of this idea, that Killian would actually resent the ease that David had in forgiving him, and I’m not sure he’d tell Emma he felt that way, so Regina is a perfect confidante for this. He’d want to suffer, and David would not make him suffer.

“And you expected Charming to send you the bill? It doesn’t work like that, Killian. Good people forgive us because it’s in their nature, and maybe because we did a little bit to earn it, and it’s up to us to continue to earn it as time goes on. By being who they expect us to be. Who they see us as. Who we want to be.”

He smirked. “Heroes?”

“Yes, heroes.”

As is often the case, I wish I’d written more. I feel like this ends too abruptly. But at the same time I like them both agreeing that they want to be heroes at the end. So I don’t know, I’m torn about the ending. I always hate my endings.