pick it up, pick it all up.

[cloud9]

WHO: Abby Boylen/cloud9 & Terrance Ward/demonspawn.
WHERE: Abby and Jaime's apartment.
WHEN: Forward dated to Sunday, evening.
WARNINGS: Initiative cadets can never have nice things.
SUMMARY: Losses.
FORMAT: Quicklog.


[ she's been losing weight, losing the warm flush of her skin. she doesn't eat much-- doesn't do much of anything at all, except lay in bed, curled up on jaime's side of the bed, trying her very best to remember as much as she can about him. afraid, maybe, that she'll forget the details of his smile, the way it felt when he kissed her, or the shape of him laying beside her in the dark. the ring finger of her left hand is marked red from how often she twists that golden band around and around.

she knows she has to get up eventually. she knows she'll have to face the reality of being here, without him, but she isn't ready yet. she'd always been so sure he'd always be there. she'd forgotten what this place was like, what it could take from you.

she'll get up. eventually.

but not today. ]

Daughter - "Medicine"

Comments

[demonspawn]

[ it's not right, him taking this role -- the role of comforter. and it isn't because he doesn't want to. god, how much easier would things have been in his life if he'd been the one to make things better instead of the one who always fucked things up. but he's a poor substitute for the person abby's missing, and his presence in their home doesn't seem to lift the stagnant, lingering air of misery. he doesn't talk to her much -- isn't sure what to say, most of the time -- and just tries to get her to eat a few times a day. only goes home at night to feed the dog, see how things are back at carrie's place.

the first night carrie doesn't come home, he only hesitates a second on it -- thinks about jaime being sent home, then shakes the thought off. she's the caped crusader type, there's nights she's out doing whatever caped crusaders do. but the next day, her absence stretches longer, and finally, he delays going to abby's to look for her. in a few hours, he's found her communicator and the cynic inside him knows the truth.

he takes a duffel bag full of his stuff and his dog with him when he finally leaves for abby's apartment without saying a word to anybody else. he lets himself in, locks the door behind him, and leaves his things out in the living room before finding abby right where he left her, laying on the bed. he's the shadow in the doorway for a few long seconds before he approaches, kicking his shabby sneakers off before easing down next to her, back to back, not quite touching.

he'll be angry about it later -- furious, looking for reasons to act out, resentful, hateful -- but right now, he just listens to abby breathe, feels the trickling whispers of her fears and insecurities in the back of his mind, and thinks to himself that it's too goddamn exhausting to get attached to other people. ]

[cloud9]

[ abby gets stirred from a half-daydream, half-memory by the way the mattress dips under his weight, one hand lifting to rub the drowsiness from her puffy eyes. it isn't until now that she realizes it's late-- another day wasted, lost in an unhappy haze-- and that terry has only just now come over. in the living room, through the walls, she can hear his dog barking at something outside. she's never been the sharpest tool in the box, but even abby knows something is wrong. feeling his presence at her back, tellingly quiet, she's afraid to ask what.

she doesn't think she can take anymore bad news. she's never been particularly good at handling loss. or change. she feels like she's always stumbling along, shaken by every metaphorical crack in the sidewalk. and even though there are things about terry that still scare her, even now, and there are things about him that she can't understand, he'd been the person to reach out to her, back home. in the hospital, he'd held her and said it would be okay. it unnerves her, more than his powers and his anger and his hate, the still and quiet way he lays next to her right now.

finally, slowly, she rolls onto her other side, facing his back. his hair's getting a little long, maybe. thin shoulders, for a boy. wrinkled t-shirt. at length, in a soft voice, faintly rough from disuse and crying: ]

Terry?

[demonspawn]

[ it's probably the first thing he's heard her say out loud in a while -- but even then, he doesn't respond at first. he doesn't want to answer. he doesn't know what he's feeling or what's going to come out of his mouth when he's teetering on the dangerous edge between something like sadness and something more like fury. and the last thing abby needs right now is an angry demon taking out his problems on her. she of all people has had more than her fair share of that. she doesn't deserve this. maybe he does -- maybe this is bad karma, for all the people he's fucked up, like a little reminder that the idea of him being able to keep anyone close was a total joke. but not abby, she doesn't deserve any of this.

his eyebrows draw together, tension rising in his shoulders.

he hasn't said it out loud to anyone yet, so it takes him a minute to work the words up. they come out of his mouth low, festering with ill-temper and something bitter: ]

It's Carrie.

[cloud9]

Oh.

[ why is this happening.

why is this happening to them.

why. ]

Oh no, Terry--

[demonspawn]

[ no, god, abby. don't do that. don't do that thing where you care and then you cry -- that just makes it worse, it does, honestly, because he's the last person on the fucking planet that deserves your sympathy. it just pisses him off more, that upset tone in her voice, pissed off at himself for even coming there in the first place, when he knew abby's heart was soft and she'd feel for him, on top of all her own problems. he's pissed at abby too, unreasonably, for being the type of person to care too much.

he sits up abruptly, but doesn't turn to face her, just lingering on the edge of the mattress, hands unconsciously gripped tight in the sheets. ]

I don't want to talk about it.

[cloud9]

[ she thinks she understands, maybe. she used to worry about terry. how isolated he made himself and how dead sure he was that he wouldn't be good for anyone, ever. it used to make her sad, mostly because a part of her thought he was right. carrie proved them both wrong, maybe. she isn't really sure.

at length, she just reaches out and presses her hand lightly against his back. like she wants him to know she's there still. ]

Okay. We don't gotta talk about it.