dig your hole, dig it fast | travis+lydia

[crownless]

[Travis doesn't know why he still comes here. The drinks all suck; the ambiance (if you could call it that) is null; everyone else here is crouched over their drinks as miserably as he is, sulking over his own half-empty beer.

Maybe he just feels sorry for himself. And, well, a shitty night calls for a shitty bar and even shittier beer.]

Jesus fucking Christ.

[Screw it. He drains the rest of the glass and sets it back onto the table with a thunk. Maybe if he has some more it'll start tasting good, or something.]

Comments

[homemademolotov]

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. ]

[crownless]

[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.]

[homemademolotov]

[ 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. ]

[crownless]

[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.]

[homemademolotov]

[ 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. ]

[crownless]

[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.

[homemademolotov]

[ 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.

[crownless]

[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.]

[homemademolotov]

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.

[crownless]

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.

[homemademolotov]

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.]

[crownless]

[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.

[homemademolotov]

[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?

[crownless]

[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.]

[homemademolotov]

[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.

[crownless]

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.

[homemademolotov]

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