as_damaged | ☎ voicemail [v 2.0]

[Maybe she should have been a little firmer about calling.

Even if she'd been expecting company, she'd check the peephole first; but Chase, at least, doesn't warrant an interrogation before she unlocks the door. Unbolted, though, she only opens it halfway, not barring his entry but not providing a very warm welcome, either. After all, she doesn't even need to see the former bottle to know he's not in good shape. He's lucky that she wouldn't trust him to tend to that cut on his own, or she might not uphold her permission.]

I thought you were going to call first,

[she answers coolly, stepping back to give him space to pass, the action paired with a look that insists he do so. Trying to back out will only land him in more trouble now.]

[There's actually little choice. Without the support of the door handle he reels and grasps for the frame, crushing the corner of the card between it and his hand, and the distance to the nearest item of supportive furniture is less when he stumbles into the apartment than it would have been back out in the hall.]

Could- couldn't remember the... number.

[It's a small miracle he remembered the address, and if she speaks to her neighbours at all she'll find it took several attempts.

He's stopped, by now, braced with both hands on the arm of her couch.]

Look, I got... a little the worse for wear. But I didn't miss it.

No, you didn't,

[she murmurs neutrally, not sure herself whether it's for better or worse that he's made it here. In the long run... better for him to be here than stumbling home, or in a bar all night because he can't manage it. At least that's how she's looking at it.]

Sit down, I'll get you some water.

[He edges around the couch, swallowing down acid from a stomach all too liquid by now. It's not pleasant, and somewhere in the part of his mind that even this abuse can't dampen down there's an awareness that this isn't a pleasant state to inflict on anyone else. But he's here now. He sits on the couch and by the time she comes back he's almost lying on it. It's an odd, uncomfortable angle, heels digging into the floor, head tipped back far enough to feel dizzy. Dizzier.]

[Being angry at him can come later, once she's out of immediate reasons to be worried. She crosses the room to stand beside him, holding out the glass; it's a position she'll hold until he accepts it and at least takes a sip.]

[He doesn't shift immediately, though his attention flicks from a blank stare at the ceiling to try and focus on her.]

You know what day it is?

Still February, I think.

[Her sarcasm is a little muted.]

It's more than that.

[It's a sort of anniversary. Don't ask him why this applies when his birthday didn't: perhaps because this is something which still matters to him.

He sits up, slowly, hissing with the effort, and pushes the card across the couch.

There's no envelope. He hasn't written in it.]

And it's Valentine's.

[Well, you really know how to treat a lady, Chase. She bends carefully, water sloshing but not spilling, to pick it up, slipping her thumb into the fold as she straightens up to open and read it, though of course there's not too much to take in.

(Maybe that's for the best, strained as things are.)]

Going by the arbitrarily accepted calendar, I suppose it is.

[The joke covers a vague bafflement, because she can't begin to guess why this counts and his birthday doesn't. It might as well be merely Tuesday. But when she shuts the card she does it carefully, favoring the creased corner so it doesn't dogear.]

Thank you. [A little clipped, but also more genuine than she meant to let slip.] Here.

[The water, presented again. Drink up, doctor's orders.]

[It's also merely Tuesday, and that may be an aspect of what made this week a perfect storm, although even he can't justify getting this wasted over the mere irony of it. The card, at least, perfectly expresses his inability to find the right thing to say.

I'm sorry about how things work out hadn't seemed very romantic.

Coughing, it suddenly seems like she might have done better to bring a bucket over a beaker, but he manages to reach out for that. Considers mentioning that he's not thirsty but he could really use a drink.]

Did you eat anyone's heart?

[He's worried over it for three days now. Coincidences here stack up like bad luck in triplicate.

But he drinks, and yelps, distracting himself with the bump of the glass spilling fresh blood from the corner of his mouth.]

[The water's a non-negotiable, the drink a non-option. She seems satisfied when he takes it but flinches at the sounds.]

I guess I don't have to ask if that's closed over.

[And now, now she sounds disappointed. Another red mark on an ugly pattern he's making, in and out of curses, tending towards self-destruction in small ways and large ones. She leans in, only a little to give the cut a critical glance. This will be a much less pleasant evening for them both if it needs stitches.]

I had one. Accidentally. [Slipped among more important matters, because really she's not fond of the details. The City hates secrets, but she clings to hers.] Let me get something to clean that out...

[At most it might fit one stitch, but a steri-strip across the deepest part of the cut would suffice easily. He's lucky, the glass cut into jagged shards but didn't splinter. His tongue finds the source of the bleed and stops it up, slicking his teeth copper bright. Only her disapproval hurts.

He follows her when she goes, leaving just enough time for her not to be able to tell him to stay before stumbling after her. Now it's important.]

What- what did it have on it?

[Her shoulders tighten when he stands and follows, but she doesn't pause until halfway down the hallway to the bath, to turn and look back at him.]

Someone else's business.

[Truth be told she hadn't even read it, so she'd been totally unprepared for the vision that had followed. If she weren't already tense she would be now, thinking back on it; but that's hardly a conversation for here and now, since it isn't his business any more than hers.

A few more steps, and she flicks on the bathroom light and opens the medicine cabinet, searching and prepping with practiced motions. Might as well take care of it here, where the light's better.]

[The answer confuses him into a frown, although it seems like she's misunderstood what he was asking.]

I know that.

[The sink makes a convenient prop as he watches her, still shaking his head. The hand on her shoulder starts out as a way to turn her toward him, but digresses into his fingers catching in her hair.]

They weren't all so bad. Were they? Some of them were... understandable.

[She's turning anyway, though not to meet his eyes or make the conversation easy; cotton ball in hand, she is all business.]

I only had the one. This is going to sting,

[she says, not because he doesn't know of course but so he doesn't jerk away when she presses the antiseptic to the cut, her other hand moving to cup his jaw. It isn't that she hasn't noticed his hand, she's just chosen not to comment on it. Without the first aid supplies it could be a very different picture.]

I rather doubt the memory's rightful owner would want me sharing details.

Ah-

[He jerks anyway, reflexes too hard to control with his focus on standing up, and on curling that soft hair around his fingertips. Jerks, but not too hard, jutting his chin up against her hand while his jaw locks tight.

It might be enough of an answer, if she weren't so prone to talking in code (or he so prone to assuming that of her). But it seems so impossible, now, that the curse shouldn't have laid him bare. Like her.]

But it's not fair. You do the right thing - [He parts his lips under her ministrations and the rest of the words sound half formed-] shouldn't be so hard to live with.

[She stops and looks at him, meeting his eyes in a way she's been trying to avoid whenever she sees him, not quite frowning but most of the way there. It doesn't last long, her stillness; a slight flick of her eyes, down at the sink for lack of a better target, and then she's wiping an errant drip from the corner of his lip with her thumb.]

I have no idea what you're talking about,

[she says coolly-- firmly, because she doesn't want an explanation-- and turns her attention to unwrapping the strip. Too much to hope it's drunken rambling, but she doesn't want to engage him in this state either way.]

[He looks back at her, unfocused but determined in the way that people can get in this unwise, unguarded state. He stays still long enough for her to tape his lip together before his other hand comes to rest on her other shoulder. One of them is supporting the other, but maybe not the way he intends.]

You spared him... two days? One? Of constant pain? That's not immoral, Al-Allison. You can't always do no harm, but you can do the least. Whatever harms the least.

[It startles her, and her hands drop away from him. Put that way there's no questioning what he's talking about; and it shouldn't come as a surprise that this sort of thing would come out in a curse. Maybe it's for the best, that he be the one to find it.]

I know it wasn't wrong. [Quiet. She looks up again to meet his eyes, as if to prove her conviction.] But that doesn't make it easy. It shouldn't be easy, to make that choice.

It wasn't. [For her, of course he just means for her. Gradually the hands on her shoulders slip until he's resting his forearms there and leaning in. He could almost rest his head against hers and his voice softens to acknowledge the proximity.]

But you had to do what was right. You know that?

[The proximity doesn't bother her, but there's something frightening in his insistence. He's arguing a point she won't challenge, justifying something she's more or less at peace with. More or less, because it isn't easy, even years down the road. But it was right.]

Come on.

[Lightly, a brush of her hand on his side, not shoving but guiding, suggesting. Back to the living room, the couch, back to a safe distance; and away from this topic, most importantly. She's already had the last word she needed on it, which is perhaps a dearer secret than what she did.]

You know.

[It's important. He'll let himself be lead, but he has to check that one more time just in case she'll say yes and he can pretend the subject was different.

He'll let himself be lead but won't quite let go of her.]

Hope there'll be someone to make that choice, for me.

Edited 2012-02-15 21:10 (UTC)

[That scares her, and it stops her again, breath tight in her chest. Does that mean-- is there some immediacy? A veiled request? Or just melancholy and too little control over his mouth?]

If it hadn't been the right thing, I wouldn't have done it.

[It only skirts the edges of being an answer, just enough (she hopes) to get him off the scent. Why he's so desperately insistent... why, right now...

With an uneven breath, it's back towards the other room.]

[That, at least, seems to be enough to quiet him for now. Teeth dragging over the strange fuzziness of the strip papered across his lip (he'll have the thig worried loose by morning, but by then the cut will have begun to reknit).]

Ok.

[It's like a mantra, lately.]

[If there's any comfort in it-- perhaps not-- she's walking far nearer than she really needs to, ostensibly to steady him but the truth is she's missed that nearness for a long time. Perhaps it's taking advantage of the situation.]

I don't suppose you have any interest in eating?

☎ voicemail [v 2.0]

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