snowblindrpg | [network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165

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[network] @Mnemosyne; video; the light we cannot see [open] Night 165

I can't sleep.

[The tablet is on the floor, lighting its own patch of paleness on the ceiling above. Beckett is lying next to it, prone on his back - that's what the angle of his arm, raised half-heartedly into the frame, suggests. He pulls more clearly into view for a moment, rising to a sitting position, to squint at the camera. His glasses are off, and his eyes glow a faint red in an ashen face.]

For all I know, I imagined it - the girl, the eyes. I'm certain the red pen was real, though, and the choice that came with it.

[He falls back again. Too tired to sit up. The tablet records to show nothing but light and shadow as he speaks.]

It may have been just me. Doubtful, but possible... but it was not just me who saw things. Perhaps we all did. I'd like to know what. Piece of some whole, or just another attack on what's left of our collective sanity... either way. For the sake of the record, if not any kind of answer.

[His relationship with answers isn't getting any less complicated. His voice drops low, dreamlike as he speaks on.] I saw a girl wearing a cloak. She was drawing the eyes, all around me... around me... until I was surrounded. She climbed on my back and drew her eyes on mine, and I knew there was no leaving. There has never been, not for me. Perhaps we are all...

[Too much. He stops abruptly, and rises again, grabbing for the tablet.]

It's all in my notes.

[The recording ends. In its place he sends his notes file out again.]

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Perhaps you change your name and start a covert new life as a vault hunter. You'd be practically unrecognisable with the right dashing hat.

[What a good thing is coping humour. It might even distract her from how this was supposed to be about him.

His voice softens then.] Or perhaps that is one possible future. If I know my physics, the many worlds theory posits, well, many. It's strangely optimistic when you think about it from a certain angle.

[And for his next trick he might even convince her that he's even still aware optimism is a thing.]

Dude, I'd make a really sh-- ter-- crappy vault hunter. Maybe even worse than I'd be at being a vampire.

[ That does get a small smile out of her, though. A mini one. So very wee. ]

I'm not ruling anything out, I'm just not counting on a happy ending. And you are still deflecting, mister.

[Deflecting. Well. He shrugs, then holds up his hands, palms out.]

In my defence, you started it. [They've become so good at this, going around and around. He shivers suddenly, pulling a little closer as he coughs into his fist. What is any of it for?] I can't tell you anything more than you can tell me. Perhaps deflecting is the only thing we can do to stay alive. That is why we do it, isn't it?

[It's only after he says it that he thinks that talking about deflecting is in a way worse than no longer deflecting.]

I - oof. That's a pretty heavy interpretation. Like being giant dumb skaglicks is the only thing we have to live for. I don't think we're quite at that level.

[ She takes the opportunity to fuss ever-so-slightly when he coughs, reaching over to pat his back. Look - if she can't indulge the fuss urges while they're being this horribly candid, when will she ever be able to?

Suck it, grumpire. ]

Or I... hope we have more to fight for than that. Right?

[Don't ask questions for which you don't want the answers, Angel. Beckett quietly, subtly, leans into the fussing touch again. A different gesture from the conscious, more like the way he all but fell into the touch of her cool hand when he was feverish and delirious and utterly broken. Of course they're not deflecting because they have some kind of hope. They're avoiding things because looking those things in the eye would break them.

Which does mean they still feel they have reason to avoid breaking. In theory. In practice maybe they're just cowards.]

Do we? [He asks quietly. Honestly.] If neither of us have anywhere to return to, and there is no future here, then what are we doing except pushing away the inevitable?

We're...

[ She doesn't know. She has no freaking idea. Maybe that's the answer? They're not doing anything. They're dying in slow motion. God, at least last time she died for a reason.

Except that isn't true, is it.

Dying didn't keep Jack from waking the Warrior. It sped up the process, because it just gave Jack the motivation to pick up a better, stronger Siren. And Angel had known, once Lilith showed up in the bunker. She knew, but she let herself die anyway and it was all such a freaking waste--

And she's doing it again, isn't she. She's supposed to be smarter than this. They both are. ]

...We're being big fre-- fric-- big fucking babies. This is kinda shameful, holy f-- heck.

[ One swear is quite enough. ]

[Beckett almost laughs. Something escapes him, a crack of a sound, as brittle as his mortal body feels. He could easily draw back again now, back to the safety of deflecting, if he just avoids the wrong questions. The right questions. Or maybe if he just doesn't ask any questions at all.]

Why are we babies? Because we might have a hard time dealing with a post-apocalyptic wasteland of total despair?

[But he will. He does. It's who he is. There isn't much of him left, but there is that, built into him like the Beast's blind instinct for survival. Neither of them is something he can escape.]

Or is it because we expect the world to offer us some kind of grace?

No, we're babies because this is stupid. And we should be getting angry instead of moping, and we should make our own freaking grace if we're not going to be given it, because waiting around to die or be saved just makes things worse. Giving up doesn't fix anything, it just - it leaves you dead on the floor full of regrets and melted organs!!

[ She doesn't feel like she's making very much sense. She's tired and she's sick and she's missing Rhys and she's worried about Beckett and now she's freaking crying on top of it all. It's bullshit. It's too much. ]

That's not going to happen to me again.

[He doesn't know what hits him harder, her tears or her words. She's so young, and he thinks to himself, of course she's fighting, she's fighting the way young things do. But she's also died once, a mortal death, real death, in a world that doesn't even offer the mockery of a second chance that his kind had enjoyed. She knows what death is, and she's fighting -

There is no making their own grace. He'd thought of it once, the last moments of his world, but it hadn't been more than a comforting deception to sleep for the last time on... or perhaps it's just him that can't do it. Lucita had succeeded.

Lucita had fought. Meaninglessly, except if nothing held any true meaning... Ah, Beckett. Always an excuse why you can’t do it. She was right to say it. Maybe more than she knew.

Angel is crying. He can't start crying too. That would be stupid.]

I think you can do it. [He speaks in a rasp, aching, but he wants to say it to her. He wants her to know he means it. If he has absolutely no other hope then he at least believes that she does. That her fighting means something.] You can find another way, even if this place doesn't offer one. You deserve your own grace. Even if you don't always believe that of yourself, I do.

And what about you?

[ Because that's important too, whether he wants to brush it aside or not. He's important. If her stupid face wasn't leaking, she'd probably try and get angry about it.

As things are, she has to settle for "slightly fierce, mostly wet." Stupid face. ]

You can't have hope for me and not yourself, it doesn't work like that. If I'm going to find a way, do you really think I'd leave you behind? Whether it's a way out of here or a way out of - you know, this. The hopelessness... thing.

[ It's hard to keep up enough steam to remain articulate in her current state, but. She's trying. That's the point, right? ]

Are you deflecting again?

[He says it with a crooked-sad smile. It's not that he has any trouble believing she cares for him - he doesn't do that kind of self-loathing, and calling their friendship an error of judgement on her part would be a disrespect he wouldn't even dream of. But they come from such different places. She's so young. She's fighting for chances he's already wasted.]

I'm afraid I've had my opportunity to fight already, and I missed it. [As he says it, the despair boils down to those words. That realisation. He stares ahead into the void in his mind.] I'm a relic. A remnant of a world that's already gone. I could have - [He swallows.] But I didn't. I didn't even try.

You didn't...?

[ Oh. Suddenly a lot of things seem to make a deeper kind of sense. It's been obvious for a long time that he has a level of survivor's guilt - she hadn't needed to wander through his dreams to understand that - but this extra tidbit of information...

The weight of it must be crippling. Heavy enough to crush his bones from the inside. No wonder he's the way he is. ]

You never -- I'm sorry. I didn't know. But - I mean - do you regret it?

[ The question she wants to ask is, of course, do you want to talk about it. Baby steps. ]

[It should be such a simple question. There is only one answer, and one he should be able to say at once. Of course he regrets something, regrets what he'd said, what he'd chosen. But he knows, just as immediately, just as plainly, that he couldn't have done anything else. He's only ever been on one path, and it only ever had the one end, like all of his kind.

He closes his eyes, and slowly sinks back to lean against Angel's shoulder again. Lets his head rest on it, feeling her mortal warmth even through the coat. Seeing only the darkness behind his eyelids, he knows he doesn't deserve her mercy. But he surrenders to it nonetheless, a very human weakness.]

I could have gone with Lucita, [he says to the darkness and the girl he can't look at.] We'd lost each other long ago, but if I'd gone with her, perhaps... I never had her courage. I let her down, I let both of them down.

[ Well. The cuddles, at least, are something she's capable of handling. The coveted head-on-Angel's-shoulder spot is usually taken up by Rhys when he's feeling especially low, so she has vast experience in how to proceed from here. Apparently, even grumpires need to be looked after sometimes.

(Being looked after by Angel involves hair-petting, the Soothing Voice™ and steadfastedly pretending not to notice if anyone starts sniffling. Obviously.) ]

Was it a matter of courage, though? Is that why you didn't... go with her? You've never displayed a lack of courage that I know of. Kinda the opposite, really.

[ She can't really imagine him letting anyone down, either. Very careful probing is needed here. ]

[There's no sniffling - he finds that the tears have retreated, that there's an almost soft numbness settling in him instead. It's almost like calm. He's offering up his mistakes to her and she will make sense of them, understand and deem their meaning, and whatever she makes of them - guilt or grace - will at least come from better hands than his own.]

Not the same kind of courage, [he says after a moment's silence, bringing up a truth that he's always known, but never entirely faced.] Risking danger, even death, is easy when you're sure of the reason. But facing down all your life, all your beliefs, and knowing you were wrong... looking that truth in the eye, and changing with it... that takes a different kind of strength. I never believed in Gehenna. When it came... I clung to my search, I chose answers I would never have over the hope of saving - anything.

I think... that would have broken most people. Having your life's work crumble like that. And before you claim broken-ness yourself, I mean broken-broken.

[ Beckett isn't broken. Showing a few hairline cracks and maybe the odd chip, sure. Not broken. ]

I'm sure they'd have appreciated your presence at the end, but I don't think you let them down. I mean - it isn't - I didn't know them, obviously, I can't speak for them, but it's like...

[ She pauses the hair petting briefly, scrunching up her face as se searches for the right words. ]

...Iunno. I think the closest situation I can think of is - if we do fix things here and Rhys goes back to Pandora without me, I'll be sad. But he won't be letting me down, and I won't feel less important or loved. Your friends seem like they'd have been smart enough to understand your decision, too. Right?

If by broken-broken you mean catatonic and drooling...

[He's seen his share of those, too. The search has claimed its victims. And it's almost strange that he isn't one. It's the Beast, of course, the Beast wants to live.]

Madness would be easier, [he murmurs, almost all to himself.] But I don't want it.

[And the Man wants to live too. It's strange to realise. It feels like the first time he's realised as much.

He opens one eye, tilts his head just enough so that he can catch her gaze. He doesn't think she's lying, of course, but the truth he wants from her goes deeper. Not just what she wants to feel, for either of them. But what she feels under that, in her own broken places.]

Do you really feel it would be that simple? If Rhys were to leave - just to understand his decision, if he chose something else over your friendship when you need that friendship most?

[He's not just thinking of himself and his own dilemma now. Which is... good.]

Well, it - that isn't how I'd see the situation. Saying he'd be choosing something else over our friendship is an uncharitable way of looking at it, I think.

[ It's hard to think about, and talking is even harder. It needs to happen, though, and not only for Beckett's benefit. ]

Because if it was just a question of love, it'd be a much easier decision. He'd stay. I think. But there are other factors! It isn't just about choosing one thing over another thing. It was the same for you, right? Or you wouldn't have any regrets at all.

So yes. I'm sure I won't feel let down if it comes to that. The same applies if circumstances lead to you ending up somewhere I'm not, by the by.

[ It's comforting, almost, to find that this is really how she feels. She's been thinking of herself as a selfish brat a lot lately, and there's something pleasant and familiar in knowing that her ability to be self-sacrificing is still very much A Thing.

Which isn't messed up in the slightest. ]

[She is so rational about it. So clear. He keeps looking at her, looking with his unnerving stillness, silent but for the faint rasp of his breathing. He looks until he thinks that she really does believe it, or has worked her way to believing it, and finds nothing more natural than the idea that she can be put aside, left behind, with no hurt and no fuss.

It makes a shiver run down his spine, which rather ruins that penetrating stillness. He presses a little closer. A kind of burrowing for warmth. It's an interesting irony, how with both of them a little feverish, they can generate more of that precious warmth between them.]

No. [He says it very quietly. Never mind that no one else is near. This is only for her ears, only for her.] I thought the same once. I was wrong... about this as about so many other things. She had every right to ask what she did of me. I owed her... owe you... something that goes beyond circumstance. I won't make the mistake of leaving again.

[So there you are, Angel. Stuck with a sad vampire who loves you. Possibly forever.]

You don't owe me sh-- squat.

[ Unfortunately, it's hard to sound properly chiding when you're doing The Smile Thing. Particularly when you top off your statement with an impulsive kiss on the forehead of the person you're scolding. Alas. ]

That isn't how love works, you doof. Um - not that I'm saying I don't want you around! Just that you aren't obligated. And you wouldn't be letting me down. Especially since - erm - you know. If everything works out, your decisions will - they'll last longer than I will, I suppose.

[ MORTAL LIFESPANS, MAN. It's her turn to snuggle up closer, seeking comfort as much as she's trying to give it. Things are always so complicated. ]

Sorry, that sounded a lot less horrible in my head.

[She really has got to stop with this forehead kissing thing. It makes him feel strangely touched - blessed - things he doesn't deserve - things he can't rightly find in himself. He raises one hand behind her back, hesitant, very gentle as he brushes the fall of her hair.]

It's - there is more to it than love. Or maybe there isn't. Maybe that is what love means, the choice to stay... [Rambling. Right. Your emotional philosophy is stupid, Beckett.] You give yourself up too easily.

[There. That, he is sure of. That, he is going to say, even if she calls it fussing.]

But I would - I've said this before, haven't I? I think I was drugged up to my eyeballs at the time. I'd give you the Embrace. Without question, if you ever willed it.

[It's simple in his own mind. Probably too simple. But since they're all so well-adjusted here... yeah.]

I don't give myself up too easily! Not most of the time.

[ It's not the most eloquent argument, but she is kind of distracted by Beckett petting her hair. And, you know. The whole vampire thing.

Immortality is frightening. It's hard not to think of ways it could go horribly wrong, particularly considering the life Angel has led. She's chosen death over solitude and pain and hopelessness before, so the idea of rejecting death completely? Forever? Terrifying, even without all the other factors in play. Like outliving people she loves. Or drinking blood. Or potentially losing it and attacking people. Then having to live with all that, for-freaking-ever.

But -- ]

If - when the vampire stuff is an option, you should make that offer again. Um, please.

[ She doesn't want him to be alone any more, any more than she wants to be alone herself. It's like he just said, isn't it? Maybe sometimes love is making the choice to stay. ]

[Strangely enough, it isn't the answer he expects.

His hand freezes, for a split-second on her hair. He tries to hide the response, that instant of flinching doubt, like a cold shock at touching his own thoughts. Why did I make the offer? He'd told her more than once that any reason is good enough, as long as one is aware of it, sure of it.

They've just talked about it. Maybe they're still talking about it. What right does love give, to ask...?]

Tell me honestly. [His voice is hoarse, throat gone dry with mixed emotion.] Would you want it for your sake, or for mine? Is this really something you would want, or - a sacrifice?

Iunno.

[ Well, he did ask for honesty. Sometimes honesty comes in the form of an infuriatingly clueless noise.

It's pretty precious, though. ]

I'm not saying that it isn't a pretty scary thought, because it is. And I don't think I'd be especially good at... vampiring.

[ Meaning that she's pretty sure she'd be worse at being a vampire than Beckett is at being a distressingly sniffly leaky human. Egads. ]

But I wouldn't call it a sacrifice. I mean - being able to keep you company would be more than worth the potential teething problems, I think. Hehe - teething problems - um.

[Teething problems. God help him, Beckett actually smiles.]

There's hardly a manual for it. Or a quiz at the end.

[Not anymore. There isn't anything anymore.

Would it be worth that? He wants to ask her. Not only the cold stillness of death, the dark - how much sun has Angel seen in her short life, and what empty heritage does he offer her in return? There had been so much once. History, lore, riddles and questions. Now it's all going to die with him, unless he hands it on.

She's so young. Too young to be his absolution. If he makes her his childe, he'll make her free.]

When - if - when we get out of here, [he settles on that word at last, and sticks to it,] you should wait a while first. Live a little. Be young. Chase a dream or a Vault or two. Date poor Kunsel maybe. Take five years, ten... then ask me again, if you still want it.

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phaseshifter - 2016-10-28 23:27 (UTC) - Expand

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