[Her hands are rougher than people may imagine a girl like hers hands would be, but they are, callused from all that violin, musician's hands. And he's crushing her hand and telling her to stop, but she doesn't pull away. Instead she moves in closer.
She knows that what he says, it may not really be true. If he didn't want her so close, he would push her, not grip her like maybe she's holding him in place.
She's close enough that she moves her head a bit, so her head is on his shoulder, and doesn't say anything, just stays there, the weight more solid now.]
[He doesn't cry. His throat gets tight and his eyes get that stupid hot feeling, and when he tries, again, to tell her to leave, it comes out thick. More like gerowf, and his shoulders hunch up--
But he doesn't cry. His fingers grip at her hand, sticky with his own blood. The ache of it spreads up his hand, his arm, and, miserably, he laughs.]
This is what I did. Before. When Remus--
[Merlin. He shuts his eyes. It feels like he's trying to breathe around something sharp in his chest.]
[She nods. She's never been like this, she's never felt so deeply, but when Dean left she felt like part of her heart had gone with him. It's worse, she thinks, when they're not from home. When they come back not remembering who you are.
Her free hands goes to his hair, and she squeezes out on the one he's holding:]
[There's still anger in him. Anger is easier than anything else. He knows what to do with anger. He feels at a loss with everything else, the more subtle or more complex--so it's easier, then, to turn it into anger.
But he still knows what the words mean, when she squeezes at his hand. He actually has the capability to understand the quieter things, too. It makes him angry, but there's more to it.]
I don't want to sleep.
[He still doesn't pull away. He stares down at her hand, at the little flexing that it makes when she spells out her response.]
I want to find him.
[Stupid, childish, stubborn. He doesn't take it back.]
[She looks up at him, then, still holding on, unwilling to let go. He wants to find him, and why not. Remus would have been waiting at home. Edgeworth is out in some other universe entirely.
There are platitudes, there are reassurances, but she doesn't have any of those for him. They're lies, little lies to reassure someone who is hurting. You'll find him won't help anyone.]
[It doesn't come out tired, which is the way that it starts. It comes out with a little snarl, with a glare thrown down at her face. He still doesn't pull away.]
Because it doesn't matter, does it? No one can do anything. He's gone. That's where this ends. He's gone, and running around the ship looking for him doesn't do a fucking thing. I don't want to be here, that's what I don't want. I don't want to be standing around doing nothing, but the thing is, there's nothing to do.
[And now he does pull away--quickly, like he's got to force himself--so he can pace over to the wall that he had punched. Not to hit it again, just to glare at it, darkly.]
[She watches this, she moves back to the bed and sits on it again, cross-legged, and she's back to her slate. He hates this place, which is no different from how anyone else feels.
She doesn't want him to suffer but she cannot fix this, there is nothing she can do to make it better except be in this space.]
I'm sorry.
[That is not a platitude, that is honesty, and she looks away after she writes it.]
[The room is very quiet except for the scrape of the chalk. Sirius knows that she's writing, but he doesn't look around straightaway. He stares, heatedly, at the wall, as if he could put a hole through it on mere concentration alone.
Eventually he's got to look around, and he reads those two words, and quickly changes the track of his gaze.]
Yeah. Well, unless you sent him off-- don't be.
[But he knows what she means. He's just being a prick. Frustrated, somewhere beyond mere frustration, he lets out a breath and sinks down to a crouch, shoving his fingers through his hair and gripping, hard, at his scalp. There is less hair there to grip. Tyke had cut it quite short, but it's grown back very quickly.]
[She just sits there and watches him, let's him have his moment. There is no need to interrupt it.
After a while she finally gets up and goes to her basket, picks out a bar of chocolate and goes to sit next to him, and eats a piece, then offers him the other one.]
[There's blood, from his hand, smeared in his hair. He can smell it, above the usual flat smells of the ship. And then there's the quiet snap of the chocolate bar, and the smell of it, and Sirius still doesn't look up, not just yet. He registers Sera coming to sit beside him, the soft sound of chewing.
Eventually, he sits up a little, and looks over at the chocolate that she's offering him.]
Why is it always chocolate.
[He says it a little heavily, but finally, he sounds more tired than angry, and he reaches out to accept the piece.]
[Booze, okay. He shifts to his feet at that--doesn't do the gentlemanly thing and offer her a hand up--but goes right to the basket, to rummage around.]
'Course you didn't. Don't worry, I've got manners. I had lessons.
[Not that anyone would guess it of him. He pours out her glass first, generous in the amount, and hands it over. Only once she's taken it does he pour out for himself, with a hand so steady it surprises even him, a little.]
[He takes a good deep pull of the space liquor, awful though it is, and swallows, hard, fighting down that burning feeling that immediately sets up. Angry, still, he gives the glass a swirl, and then remembers that idiotic conversation about clockwise and anti-clockwise swirling.
Fuck you, Edgeworth. He drinks again.]
What'll happen to you, when you go home? What are you going back to?
[Has she told him before? Doesn't matter. The question seems relevant right now.]
[She makes a face, and shrugs once, but he's asking so she'll tell him.]
I go back home, to where my twin is probably going to keep being a dick, my mom will keep pretending I literally do not exist, and angels will keep trying to guilt me into committing suicide.
[Did he know that last part? Probably not. She takes another drink.]
[No, he didn't know that last part. And it doesn't make any sense, really--why would an angel want anyone to commit suicide--and why her, of all people. The vague feeling of unease sets in on him, but Sirius washes it mostly away by taking another swallow of space liquor.]
[She shifts a bit, like she's uncomfortable. That's a hard question because as shitty as things are here, it's not like her life at home is great, either.]
I don't exactly feel comfortable anywhere.
Sometimes I think this is some kind of purgatory. A stay of execution for something that's coming, but I can't figure out what.
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She knows that what he says, it may not really be true. If he didn't want her so close, he would push her, not grip her like maybe she's holding him in place.
She's close enough that she moves her head a bit, so her head is on his shoulder, and doesn't say anything, just stays there, the weight more solid now.]
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But he doesn't cry. His fingers grip at her hand, sticky with his own blood. The ache of it spreads up his hand, his arm, and, miserably, he laughs.]
This is what I did. Before. When Remus--
[Merlin. He shuts his eyes. It feels like he's trying to breathe around something sharp in his chest.]
I hate this place. I hate this fucking place.
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Her free hands goes to his hair, and she squeezes out on the one he's holding:]
Me too.
You slept next to me, when Remus, before.
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But he still knows what the words mean, when she squeezes at his hand. He actually has the capability to understand the quieter things, too. It makes him angry, but there's more to it.]
I don't want to sleep.
[He still doesn't pull away. He stares down at her hand, at the little flexing that it makes when she spells out her response.]
I want to find him.
[Stupid, childish, stubborn. He doesn't take it back.]
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There are platitudes, there are reassurances, but she doesn't have any of those for him. They're lies, little lies to reassure someone who is hurting. You'll find him won't help anyone.]
What else do you want?
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[It doesn't come out tired, which is the way that it starts. It comes out with a little snarl, with a glare thrown down at her face. He still doesn't pull away.]
Because it doesn't matter, does it? No one can do anything. He's gone. That's where this ends. He's gone, and running around the ship looking for him doesn't do a fucking thing. I don't want to be here, that's what I don't want. I don't want to be standing around doing nothing, but the thing is, there's nothing to do.
[And now he does pull away--quickly, like he's got to force himself--so he can pace over to the wall that he had punched. Not to hit it again, just to glare at it, darkly.]
I hate this fucking place.
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She doesn't want him to suffer but she cannot fix this, there is nothing she can do to make it better except be in this space.]
I'm sorry.
[That is not a platitude, that is honesty, and she looks away after she writes it.]
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Eventually he's got to look around, and he reads those two words, and quickly changes the track of his gaze.]
Yeah. Well, unless you sent him off-- don't be.
[But he knows what she means. He's just being a prick. Frustrated, somewhere beyond mere frustration, he lets out a breath and sinks down to a crouch, shoving his fingers through his hair and gripping, hard, at his scalp. There is less hair there to grip. Tyke had cut it quite short, but it's grown back very quickly.]
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After a while she finally gets up and goes to her basket, picks out a bar of chocolate and goes to sit next to him, and eats a piece, then offers him the other one.]
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Eventually, he sits up a little, and looks over at the chocolate that she's offering him.]
Why is it always chocolate.
[He says it a little heavily, but finally, he sounds more tired than angry, and he reaches out to accept the piece.]
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It releases a chemical in your brain I think. It makes you feel better.
Besides it's tradition.
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[He takes another bite anyways, shifting the bit to the side of his mouth so it melts.]
I don't even like chocolate that much. I like liquorice and pastries. Turkish delight. Remus always goes for chocolate.
[Doesn't stop him from eating the rest of it, but. Just saying.]
What else d'you have?
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I brought cookies and some cake, too. And booze.
[She came prepared.]
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Are you drinking or am I drinking alone?
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I didn't come here to make you drink alone.
[Pour her some.]
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[Not that anyone would guess it of him. He pours out her glass first, generous in the amount, and hands it over. Only once she's taken it does he pour out for himself, with a hand so steady it surprises even him, a little.]
Should we bother with a toast?
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Then she takes a drink, breathing out the burn of it.]
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Fuck you, Edgeworth. He drinks again.]
What'll happen to you, when you go home? What are you going back to?
[Has she told him before? Doesn't matter. The question seems relevant right now.]
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I go back home, to where my twin is probably going to keep being a dick, my mom will keep pretending I literally do not exist, and angels will keep trying to guilt me into committing suicide.
[Did he know that last part? Probably not. She takes another drink.]
Oh, and my junior year of high school.
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Sounds brilliant. So do you want to? Go back?
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I don't exactly feel comfortable anywhere.
Sometimes I think this is some kind of purgatory. A stay of execution for something that's coming, but I can't figure out what.
[She takes a long drink, then.]
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So, what. All the deadly illnesses and beasts and-- stupid temperature changes and things. Those are all just trials?
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I didn't say it was my purgatory.
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You're not honestly suggesting we're all just living in someone else's purgatory, are you. Because that's even more unbelievable.
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I don't really have a very firm grasp on faith, anyway.
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