home sweet home? (closed)

[bloodbathing]

Who: Leonard Church and Agents Washington, Texas, and Maine
What: Meetings, reunions, and definitely no awkwardness.
When: shortly after the April intro log
Where: Islet #4, Cottage #3
Warnings: canon typical language


[ What's better than a group of space marines with lots of interpersonal baggage? Plucking them all from different points in time, then shoving them in the same house and seeing what happens.

MINGLE POST. Make your own top-levels, tag around, go nuts. ]

Comments

[motherfucking_ghost]

[He hadn't...done any of that, had he? Didn't have the technology or the knowhow--but then again. If she knew and didn't say, if she just...went along with whatever he said or implied about their relationship, isn't that something of the same thing? Does claiming ignorance, no matter how true, negate the harm done?

You're bound to have some residual memories. They're just not yours.]

I hate this, and I hate you. [And he hates himself the most.]

[counterblows]

Thanks.

[What the hell else does he say to that? Isn't it deserved?]

Look, Tex might be able to tell you better. She probably can. You'd just...have to ask her.

[motherfucking_ghost]

I foresee that conversation going really, really well, can't wait to have it. [He's not really looking at Wash, though it's...harder to tell with him.] I'm gonna leave now.

With your cat.

[counterblows]

Fine.

[Oh, fuck. He almost forgot the entire reason they were having this conversation in the first place - ]

Wait, wait. Just - if you see Maine, don't freak out on him, all right? He doesn't know any of what's going to happen. He doesn't know what the Meta even is.

[motherfucking_ghost]

Well then MAYBE you should TELL HIM because you seem REALLY GOOD at TELLING PEOPLE some REAL FUCKED UP SHIT ABOUT THEMSELVES!

[There it is. There it is, building for a while. He was hoping to beat it out the door and avoid another screaming match, but it there's, it's out of his mouth instead of rotting in his gut, and now they both have to deal with it.]

[counterblows]

[For a minute, he misses his helmet, because there's no hiding the startled flinch, the way his mouth opens, and then the slow, defeated closing of his eyes. He doesn't school his expression into stillness quickly enough.]

[There's no right answer to that, he knows.]

I know.

[That's about the only thing he's good for, right now.]

[motherfucking_ghost]

[It's a dual response and he hates that, too. Part of him finds satisfaction in seeing Wash flinch, to agree, to recognize what an ass he's being, has been from the word go.

But it also twists something, like an ache, like he wants to stuff the words back in or apologize and soothe it. And he hates that bite of regret nibbling at him. Why the fuck should he regret causing Wash any pain? Why the fuck should he ever listen to this guy ever again?

Before was deliberate. This was an accident. He thinks. He thinks it was, but who's he to say anymore? He takes a breath, points a finger, like he's going to AND ANOTHER THING him--

Doesn't. Just. Lets it drop. And makes his way out. It's just short of a run. It's definitely not a run. He's not running. That would be cowardly. It's just a little bit short of that.]