pain_train | SANCTUM INBOX

Deep breaths. She holds on to his hand like a lifeline. But her voice is calm, focused when she says, "All right. Strategy." Everything like a battle plan. "Can those be covered?" She can't see. And maybe it won't make a difference but maybe it will. "And then... shit, I can't think."

"I'll cover them," he says. He gently tugs his hand away, exits her room, and goes to the nurse's station to get a roll of medical tape (requesting the juice and milk while he's at it for efficiency's sake). When he returns, he places the items on the tray table and rips off a strip of the tape. "I'm going to wrap this around the bracket," he says. "I need to be careful. Don't move." He'll have to do the bracket on her leg, too, but one thing at a time.

He's gentle as he presses the tape to the shiny parts of the metal, being sure not to yank or put pressure on the pulleys. Still, he's sure she can feel minute movements of the cords. It's just inevitable.

The hard part about doing this is the only way to accomplish it is to look at the bracket. He looks away several times, training his gaze on the ceiling. He sees other things, just glimpses, impressions, but they're enough to disturb him. Some of them are of the past, with little things different, some of them are of an altered present. It's not that the images themselves are so bad, it's just the fact that this is happening at all.

"Okay," he says with a strong exhale once he's finished. "Now for the other one."

He begins wrapping the bracket at her feet. This one is larger and turned at a different angle, the broad shiny side facing upward rather than sideways. He looks down at it, judging where the first strip of tape should be placed, when he sees it. His own body, with South and Wash standing over him.

This time he should look away. He shouldn't let his gaze linger this time. But it's something about the sight of him, dead, and as he watches South's death is faked over the radio. Why did Wash do that? Was any of this even real? Was this what had happened, or was this another distortion?

He rubs at his forehead, but keeps looking, reaching slowly to grip the edges of the bracket. He sees the Meta attacking, sees as South has Delta implanted immediately before the fight. North's riveted; he can't look away. He sees South shoot Wash in the back. He sees as South leaves with Delta. He hears her call in to Command as Recovery Two. Just as Delta had said.

Just as Delta had said.

Edited (elaborating) 2014-11-05 03:18 (UTC)

Wrath holds still and just tries to breathe. Seconds stretch to hours for the few minutes he's away. It's not pleasant, any of it, when he starts taping up all the brackets and other shiny metal bits, but she just grits her teeth and maintains, because it needs to be done. Whining about it isn't going to accomplish anything.

And then it's just like he's... entranced. She can't see him that well, from the angle she's at, but it can't be good. From the look on his face, it really can't be good. "North?" she tries. "North, what's wrong?"

That seems to snap him out of it and his eyes blink slowly, and they trace up her body to reach her face. He's blanched and his jaw is slack. He firms the line of his mouth and swallows and blinks a few more times. "I need to cover this," is his eventual answer, but his voice is halting, and now as before he makes himself continually glance away as he places strips of tape on the metal. That had been so clear compared to the flashes of images he'd gotten before and the ones he's getting now. For all he knows that longer one was as much of a lie as these others—visions of himself receiving Sigma as his AI, or of killing his sister during the break-in.

"Okay." And she waits for him to finish doing that, watching him as intently as she can. The minute he's done with the tape, she stretches out her fingers toward him. "Come here. Please."

She doesn't know what caused that look on his face, but she doesn't like it, not one bit.

He returns to her side and places his hand under hers, but instead of taking it he runs his fingertips over her palm and fingers contemplatively, staring down at them.

She crooks her fingers to stroke at his hand lightly in return, watching his face carefully. She'd probably be having a lot of very blush-inducing feelings about this if she weren't suddenly so damned worried. "What's wrong, North?"

"Something I saw," he mutters. "I... I shouldn't have looked." It had been glitchy and distorted but he still saw what he saw and that isn't going to leave his mind any time soon.

Deep breath. Let it out slowly. Catch one of his fingers for a moment, just to hold on to it and roll her thumb over the knuckle. Then a little tug. "Tell me."

He hates to say this, but— "No. I can't. I can't—" He gestures helplessly and then covers his eyes with his hand.

She squeezes his finger, gives it another little tug. "Shh, shh... You're being dumb, North," she whispers. Damnit, she doesn't like being in traction any time, but this is about a million times worse. The best the can offer is: "Zen hugs. It's okay."

"It can't happen anymore," he mumbles. "I covered them up. Hell if I know what's wrong with them but it won't happen again." He drags his hand down his face and drops it to his side. "They're all lies, anyway," he said haltingly. "Everything I saw."

Maybe she should just let it drop. Maybe that would be better. But she doesn't like how upset he seems, and she can't do anything but talk. She rolls her thumb slowly over North's finger again. "If it's all untrue, why are you so upset?"

She's not going to drop it, he thinks. "Because..." Where to even start, or how to sum this up? "Someone told me about it. Before. But it's not true, it can't be."

If he got mad at her, she'd probably drop it. But maybe it's an effect of not having a whole lot of secrets; she's not shy about talking about anything. She's silent for a long time even now, considering his words, his tone.

Maybe she should just drop it. Because she might just upset him worse. And then he might leave and--

And what's the point of being friends, then, if you're afraid of being honest with the other person? And asking them to be honest with themselves? She's shit at this whole friends thing, probably. Which would explain why she doesn't have any except Whiskey, and he's a total asshole, just like her.

As best she can, she laces her fingers with his, then says: "Can't be true as in it's impossible, or as in you don't want it to be true?"

Because those are two very different things. And she knows the latter all too well, and it's a bad place that just hurts you worse in the end.

Goddammit he's going to cry. It's making him feel agitated. "If it's true, it means." He stops, mid-sentence, because this truly is unbelievable and it's a horrible thing to say out loud. "...it means. Means my sister left me to die."

She doesn't even have any siblings (not that she can remember) and even she can't quite encompass the horror of that particular concept. She's heard how North talks about his sister. "Oh no, baby."

...it's a dumb thing to say. It's the best she can manage in that moment.

And she really, really, really, really hates being in traction. All she can do is hold onto his hand as tightly as possible. Because the worst part is this: if he didn't think it was possible, it wouldn't gnaw at him like this.

"It's just because of what Delta said," he says, sotto voce. "If Delta hadn't told me that I wouldn't have known anything about it to...I don't know, come up with it in my head."

He presses a hand to his forehead. There's that agitation, showing more plainly in the way he grits his teeth and tilts his head.

And it's all falling apart. The wall he'd put up in his head to avoid thinking about it. "God...Delta's not a liar, Wrath. He isn't. He must have misunderstood something." His hand moves from his head to the railing of her bed and he grip it hard, seemingly holding his own weight up by leaning into it.

She doesn't know Delta, so she can't comment on that at all. She tugs on North's hand, but it's a rather useless gesture. She doesn't have another hand. She can't... she can't touch anything but his hand, let alone give him a hug. "Okay. Okay."

But being honest is best, right? Because telling people what they want to hear--ugh, no.

Very slowly, she says, "I don't know Delta, and I never met your sister. I don't know any of your friends. And this sounds... it sounds really painful. But if Delta's as honest as you say, if you ask him for just the facts, just what he saw himself, then that's it, right? You can't argue with facts. They don't go away." This is a struggle. She doesn't like this at all. "But maybe there's something he just doesn't know?"

North's gaze stays downcast. "He was in her head. He saw it all. He even knew what she was thinking." If only this whole thing hadn't come out during an argument. The blow might have been lessened. Somehow.

That's... pretty inescapable.

Wrath squeezes his hand as bit more tightly. "Oh, North. I'm so sorry."

Because this doesn't even need to be spoken out loud. He already knows the truth; he's just had his plausible denials stripped away. She knows this feeling of thin denial replaced by the inexorable grind of truth. It's crushing and inescapable. (It's something she experiences over and over again, every time she goes through compliance.)

He can't answer; he's busy shuddering his way through the terrible feeling that is crashing through him, his eyes closed and his mouth pressed into a thin line. His sister could be selfish and ambitious and they'd always had their differences, but this...

She'd led the Meta to their doorstep and allowed him to be killed. Even if his dying hadn't been part of the plan, she'd still used him as bait. And that...

No, that's the part he can't handle.

He doesn't know how long he stands there but he's insensible for a time, barely registering that she's still holding his hand. Eventually he begins to catch his breath and he opens his eyes in a mental fog. He's not crying, he didn't cry, but he almost looks as if he had. Maybe he needs to at some point but this is too fresh to simply break down over.

There isn't a lot she can do, and it hurts in its own way. It's a horrible, even more helpless feeling, really. Because she likes North, and he's important to her, and she can't do anything at all. It's not fair.

Well, nothing ever is.

Unable to do anything else, she focuses on the one point of contact they have: hands. She loosens her grip enough to stroke his knuckles. It's kind of awkward, position-wise, but she does her best.

He looks terrible when he opens his eyes, like someone just died, and she supposes that's not far off. It hurts to look at him, almost. Wrath squeezes his hand. "Hey. It's not okay, I know it's not. I'm really sorry. But I'm here." That's about all she can even say.

He nods tightly. "Thank you," he mutters. The only person he's ever leaned on in the past is his sister. And she betrayed him. And he doesn't know how to handle it.

He moves his gaze to Wrath and notices what she's been doing, stroking his hand. "Don't twist your wrist," he admonishes, not for the first time, and moves his hand to take hers at a better angle. Being the caretaker, that's something he can handle. That's what he was made for, practically.

She offers him a little smile. "Worth it." Of course he's worth a little awkwardness and discomfort. More than worth it. She strokes his thumb slowly with hers. "Zen hugs, North."

Fuck, she hates being stuck like this. It's so much helplessness. Her smile goes wry. "Throw some zen hair petting in there too. You look like you could use it."

Day 152 | Morning | Action

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