busemox | dig your hole, dig it fast

[ A ghost of a smile. ] Yeah. [ And then it's gone. ]

I shouldn't have liked him anyway. I should have known better.

[ Her parents taught her to be a smart girl. She should have seen the seeds of anger and desperation in Jackson - she should have seen the cruelty - but she didn't. And it was easier to blame herself now for letting herself feel anything than think any more about how much she loved him and how much that hurt. ]

But you didn't.

[And neither did he: not when she, erratic, wiped the blood from her hands and smiled at him; not when she lied to him again and he bought it for the first second fifth tenth time.]

Even when you get burned I don't think anybody really learns. Funny thing about people and love.

No, nobody learns.

[ Which just makes her think of Peter, and how, for a very short time, he made her feel like Jackson used to - swept off her feet, living a little bit dangerously. And then he turned out to be a real live monster. ]

[ She's about to sink all the way into sullen memories when something occurs to her, rising up through the fog of alcohol. ]

. . . You never said it'll get better. That the pain will fade.

[ Because that's what Allison had said to her - through tears, which was nice, but she was still standing next to the guy who loved her and, despite what she claimed, had never hurt her anything like the way Jackson had hurt Lydia, and more importantly was still alive. Allison had said I'm here for you, it'll be okay, and Lydia had wanted to punch her in the face for lying again. ]

[ Travis isn't lying to her. ]

'Cause it doesn't.

[He'd know, wouldn't he?. He's still drinking it off, after all, years and years later. That hot summer's day, years off now, still stings in his memory, sore like an old wound. He still sees glimpses of the broken, mangled bodies. And he's tried to forget, time and time again, but no matter how much he drinks, it never goes away.]

You just... learn to deal with it. Or you don't. [Travis stares into the bottom of his cup, and chuckles again, running a hand through his hair.]

I mean, fuck! I didn't, now look at me. [Ha. His voice falters.] Fucking look at me. [Sigh.] You can't do worse than me, here.

Edited 2012-12-25 02:40 (UTC)

[ She should feel worse from hearing that. She should feel hopeless and angry and desperate - but she doesn't. Because he's just confirming what she already knew in her heart, but what everyone else was trying to deny: that the image of Jackson dying in her arms would never fade, and neither would the feel of the handful of dirt falling from her hand onto his bloody body. She'd never get the smell of wolfsbane out of her nose, and she'd never forget what he tasted like. ]

[ And that's okay, because the alternative is forgetting him. ]

[ Her eyes are dry now, and she's watching Travis with the barest hint of curiosity. She finishes her glass and pushes it forward again. ]

What do you do? Besides . . . [ She waves her hand at . . . everything. ]

[Travis Touchdown is many things... but he is not a guy who can hold his alcohol well. He's already at the embarrassing word vomit stage by now, and there's no turning back.]

I have no idea. [He slumps over onto the bar--arms crossed, head half-buried in them, leaning like a bored kid sulking over a desk.] Guess you just figure out the best way to bear it, at some point, if you can't figure out how to get past it entirely.

M'not the one you should be asking about this, though. [He gives another hollow laugh.] My girlfriend was kind of an asshole too, and if I'm not over her yet, I don't think I'm ever gonna be.

[He pauses.]

But she was different.

[ The bartender fills her glass, same again. She's pulled herself together enough by now that she can smile graciously, even a little flirtatiously, at him before she turns back to Travis. He looks more childish now, less adult, less sure of things (even if they are desperate things), and she's not sure if that's better or worse than before. ]

[ She sips at her drink now, not slamming it back, and grips the edge of the bar, feeling a little dizzy. ]

Of course she was different, that's - isn't that what we're talking about? I loved - love him. I love Jackson Whittemore. I'll always love Jackson Whittemore. He was different, too. Bastard. I love him.

[ This time her drink is longer, sloppier, and she has to wipe her mouth. ]

Quid pro quo. Your turn.

[It's worse than before, or he'll think so, anyway, when he's sober--but now, he's too deep into his cups to analyze this situation in any really concrete way.]

Heh, that's love for you. It's the same for me.

[Travis sits up again and shoots Lydia a tentative glance. It's been a long time since he's talked about her so directly. The wound, figurative and literal, feels raw again. He absently rubs his chest, above his heart, where a scar lies, and continues.]

Her name was Jeane. She died three years ago, but I lost her a long, long time before that.

And I still love her, I think. No--no, I'm positive I still do.

[ Lost her - well, Lydia lost Jackson a while ago, too. Back when he'd first started spinning out of control into anger and violence and jealousy, back when he'd first started hurting her instead of making her laugh. She'd always loved him, but she'd loved him painlessly once. ]

[ She meets his glance and looks away quickly, biting her lip. ]

So, what was she like? I already told you . . .

...Up and down. [A faint smile crosses his face; he's remembering.] It was rough when she was down--she'd cry, and get so mad it'd actually scare the shit out of me--but when she was happy?

She was a genius. Smart and funny and beautiful. The whole package.

[His expression fades.]

Didn't last, of course. But while it lasted, it was perfect.

[ She wants to say something or do something to make him feel better, but she can't think of a single thing that will help. Nothing helps when you're remembering this, she thinks, and her fingers go white around her drink. ]

Did she ever hurt you?

[Hurt him? That's hardly a question. He answers, almost matter-of-factly:]

She killed my parents.

She took everything I ever-- [Fuck. He rubs his forehead and sighs; he's never been good at being open like this, even when drunk. He feels so bare, so split-open and exposed.]

Fuck. Sorry, this isn't about me, this is you.

[ Her eyes widen. No, she hadn't been expecting that. She'd thought - bad girl, bad breakup, a lot of pain. Not murder. ]

[ It only takes a second for her to cover it up, though. It's easier to deal with his than hers. Hesitantly, she sort of nudges his knee with her knee, lightly enough that it could look like an accident if he wants to play it that way. ]

Hey. I asked.

[There's a hell of a lot of skeletons in his closet, Lydia--which is why he doesn't like sharing much these days.]

And I told, right?

[He doesn't notice her expression, but when she nudges him, he glances over, the ghost of a grin sneaking upon his face for just a moment.]

From there it gets really cheesy and melodramatic. It sounds like fucking Greek tragedy.

[ She laughs, bitterly. Kind of like she's trying to choke back a sob. ]

You told. We both told. Tragedies on the table. So what now? It's not going to get any better.

[ It's. Kind of nice to have someone who gets it, though. ]

Did you go to her funeral?

Yeah. [Like ripping off the bandage.] 'S out there, though, which is more than nothing, I guess.

[But he's not quite ready to break the whole "I kill people for money" news to Lydia yet.]

I was there for her when she died. [I was the one who finally let her die.] But she didn't have one. You can probably guess that she was kind of...

...well, things were messy, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Literally and figuratively.

Yeah.

Just - [ She's drunk enough to ask, she can't keep it from tumbling out, god, she doesn't want to think about it anymore, but - ] He didn't - have a traditional burial. I - there's not going to be a funeral. Not really.

[ She thinks of him in the grave with the wolfsbane and wants to curl in on herself, leans over the bar so her hair falls in her face. Her chest hurts all over again. ]

Edited 2013-01-09 19:41 (UTC)

[He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know how to comfort people, he doesn't know how to make things better; he has a million snappy one-liners for every occasion, everything but the hollowness of mourning.

His hand is so tentative on her shoulder. He's not even sure he's got the right to do this. It was a split-second decision and his arm half moved on its own and God he still has no idea what he's doing.

Like he'll watch her dissolve like this without doing anything, though. And his words are all gone.]

[ The second he touches her shoulder she dissolves. Just. Turns to liquid on the inside, holds onto the edge of the bar with white knuckles, digs the nails of her other hand into his knee on impulse. She has to hold on to something. He just happens to be there. ]

[ She's crying again, but silently, because she doesn't want anyone to hear her cry. Even now, with her hair in her face, she can mostly hide it. Travis will be able to feel her shaking, though. She hates that. But it doesn't matter, right? Because he doesn't know her. It's okay. She'll never see him again. ]

[ She doesn't have to worry about people seeing her weak because she's all alone here. Just because he understands doesn't mean he's going to worry about her when he wakes up tomorrow. ]

[He scoots closer; the nails digging into his knee doesn't bother him because it's the kind of thing he'd expect. It's the kind of thing Jeane did, when she was in too low a state to do anything other than cling to him until she could pull herself out of the episode.

Travis grips her shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. It's strange to him. He's never the one to do this sort of thing. He's always the one who's a mess. And more importantly, since when does he care?

She doesn't deserve this, though. She's too young to put up with this-- the kind of pain that leaves scars. Tonight, she's just a poor kid in a bar with too heavy a weight on her heart, and this is all he can give.]

You're gonna get through it.

[Somehow.]

[ She laughs bitterly and wonders where her drink went. Did she finish it? Is it on the bar in front of her? Did the bartender take it away? Maybe Travis drank it. She doesn't know. She wants about twelve more. ]

[ Turning her head, she wipes her eyes fiercely and frowns at him. ]

Why are you doing this? What are you getting out of it?

[ Retreating back to defensiveness and suspicion, because that's what's kept her safe before, or at least close enough to safe that she's survived. ]

[He honestly doesn't know. Travis pauses and shrugs a shoulder.]

Hell if I know. [He shrugs a single shoulder. The bartender's polishing a glass on the other side of the bar. He'd taken their drinks--or whatever was left of them--and cleaned them up. Or so he assumes, anyway.]

Maybe I'm being selfish. Kind of a "giving you what I never got" deal.

Edited 2013-01-21 06:01 (UTC)

[ There's a brief moment of blank confusion - is he being honest? Outright saying he's being selfish? But nothing he's said has sounded like a lie before. He's not suave, he's not cool, he's not charming - he's grating and annoying, but he's trying to comfort her. He's not trying to get her to do anything, or get anything out of her. ]

[ In some ways honesty is more suspicious than ulterior motives. Experience makes her wary. But she also feels bad, honestly and deeply, about the fact that he never had anyone, not even a stranger, to sit next to in a bar and flush his sorrows away with. ]

[ She forces herself to relax slightly, not let her guard down but at least stop looking at him like he's about to steal her purse, and shrugs, too, clearing her throat. ]

I can think of more selfish things.

[Oh. Shit. His hand's still there. Travis awkwardly pulls away, his hand shifting to rub the muscles at the back of his neck.]

Me too. [He chuckles dryly.] Does that mean I get a pass this time?

[It's been a long, long time since he's been this open with somebody else. Maybe it's because she's a stranger, but when Bishop was alive, he never truly told him everything that weighed on him, like lead weights in the bottom of his ribcage.

Travis casts her what might just be the ghost of an uncertain, but genuine smile.]

This time.

[ Her voice is dry, in part because her throat is dry, in that gross, post-crying sticky kind of way, and in part because she was drinking, and in part because - not because he touched her, but because he was such an ass and had tried anyway. That was why her throat hurt. ]

[ She catches his eye and ducks her head a little, instinctively. ]

You're practically a good Samaritan.

Heh.

[Travis chuckles. Him, a good Samaritan. Of all the things. It's hard to believe it, but God, it sure sounds nice.]

Yeah, all right, I'll take it. That's my good deed for the next year or something, then, I guess--m'free to be an ass for the next three hundred and sixty four days.

If that's what you want.

[She looks at him unreadably for a second, then instinctively, drunkenly, unhappily leans over and hugs him tightly.]

You can go for longer now, [she whispers hoarsely, because she's not doing this for herself, she's doing it for him. She doesn't need it. Not at all.]

[His first reaction is to freeze. He may be a sentimental man, but life, his own rotten nature, some bad turn of fate, whatever you'd choose to call it-- it shoved people in the opposite direction. This contact... it's something he very rarely gets. He doesn't quite know what to do.

But slowly, he moves his arms to wrap around Lydia and hug her back. Not because he needs it; or because hugging a strange girl, pouring his heart out to her, has made him feel the most okay he's felt in months.

She needs it, really.]

Thank you.

[She laughs, and it's not a cute happy popular Lydia laugh, it's choked with tears, although she is pulling herself together against his shoulder. She takes a second, deliberately slowing her breathing, and pulls away, feeling his discomfort.]

Why are you thanking me?

[Uh.

He hadn't really thought of a coherent reason to be thanking her: it's more that he feels like it's something he needed to say. Being asked for it just forces him to stumble for a meaning and oh no he has no idea what to say.]

I-- uh, I don't know. I didn't know what else to say.

[He chuckles awkwardly, to fill the space of the silence.]

[She quirks her eyebrows at him, a little pityingly. He's such a mess. But she's a mess, too. It's no big deal, at least not for tonight.]

Well, thanks for thanking me.

Sorry I got your shoulder wet.

Eh. [He manages a little smile.] It's water. It'll dry.

Sorry you ended up listening to some ranting drunk guy. Fun night, huh.

It was - [She hesitates, then nods.] Better than it could've been.

dig your hole, dig it fast | travis+lydia

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

i had to reupload this icon for this now i'm sad

AHHHHHHHHHHH HE'S SO HAPPY.......

"WAS" IS THE KEYWORD

wow weeps

weeps with

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject