itstopped | Re-Entry 10: Text/Voice/Spam

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nobody forced you to play both sides

Re-Entry 10: Text/Voice/Spam

[Private Text to "Wasp"]

I hear you have a talent for finding information.

[Private Text to Merlin]

I changed my mind. I'd like to know who it was.

[Private Voice to Morgana]

I need to talk to you.

[Spam for Narvin]

[Felix has practically been living at the lab lately, both before and after the port -- in fact, probably now more than ever, more or less only leaving to move to the engine room or take five minutes for a meal or a shower. It's late, at the end of Narvin's day, when he approaches the Time Lord, looking hesitant.]

Narvin?

[This whole thing is about trust, and he doesn't trust Narvin... but in this case, that works to his benefit, because he already knows he doesn't trust Narvin.] I wondered if I could ask a favor of you.

[Spam for Racetrack]

[Part of the reason for his sabbatical from social living is her. He said he'd stay out of her way, and he meant it. He's really tried to... But it's a small ship, and there are only so many ways to avoid someone, which is how on one of his rare trips to the mess he winds up standing right next to her on the line.]

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Something I had to suffer almost weekly in Camelot. [She's still not sorry that it affected them, she's not even particularly sorry that there were casualties; it wasn't meant to kill, though she wouldn't have minded if Merlin and Arthur had killed each other. Of course it hadn't worked out so perfectly as that.]

Yes. And I wasn't there. I didn't see the fall out. [She has no idea what happened to Dean.]

[Neither does Felix, actually, although he has a few guesses. Not that it needs to be any one of them in particular -- he can see why Dean would be upset with her over any of the available options, and he's not entirely sure it matters which one it is when it could have been any of them. He could have easily been killed. He might have been. He might have watched it happen to someone else.

And knowing the Barge as Felix does, he doubts it didn't end in at least one death.

He sits back again, frowning. He can't say he's not angry about it, but it's not an overwhelming kind of anger. It's manageable. He wasn't there, and it was a long time ago, and he understands the need of the suffering to strike back. Especially now. They want their trial.]

And now? [It's still hard to read what he's thinking, whether he's feeling cold or warm towards her.]

[She hates that he can hide so well like that, it makes her feel like she doesn't know what direction to go in, even though she already knows her answer. It frustrates her, and her hand tightens around her glass instinctively.]

I don't regret hurting them. [It comes out hotly, and she doesn't entirely care. But she does go on.] But I wish I'd found a different way.

[Now something does slip through a little, although it's mostly incredulousness and exasperation.] Those are the same thing. Either you do regret it or you don't.

They're not the same thing! I can regret one outcome and not the other! [She lets go of the glass, pushing it forward along his table.] Is that all, or do you need to question me further?

Do you? You got innocent people caught in the crossfire! [He doesn't blame her for not regretting the other part of it; he wouldn't have used torture or psychosis, himself, but he's heard rumors about things that were done to Gaius and he can't say he's felt anything but, at best, pity. He certainly regrets not killing him more than he would if he had.

But there are lines.]

[She bites back a sharp retort, breathing hard through her nose and staring at him.]

I shouldn't have to explain myself to you.

It doesn't sound like you've done much to explain to the people you should have to. [This isn't about Dean, really, as much as it probably seems like it is now. Not just about Dean. That's just the face of the issue for him. The truth is, deny it as he might there are still things he believes in, and this is one. He still cares who gets hurt.]

Like who? Dean? I don't owe him anything. [It's where they differ. She cared, once, but ten years has taught her that there are casualties in war, and wars cannot be won in half measures. Sometimes innocents have to die.]

And neither do you. What more do you want me to say, Felix? I'm not about to beg forgiveness from either of you.

I don't want you to. I-- [And there's the problem: he doesn't want her to feel like she has to beg. She hurt people. So has he. He's never apologized, either, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it.]

Forget it. [And now there's that coldness he's so good at.] I had a question. You answered it.

[That's easy enough to read. She stands, telling herself the best thing she can do is stay silent, leave, and pretend she doesn't feel betrayed - but as she starts to turn for the door, she pauses, and turns back to lean over the table, expression angry, and strained.]

I spent three months trapped in Wonderland losing my mind. Do you know what that feels like, to know your sanity is slipping between your fingers? And when I came back, nothing had changed. They treated me like a rabid dog who could be fixed with enough time in the kennel. [Adrenaline makes her tremble, and she has to clench her fists against the table.] So I pretended to be fine so they would never shut me in again. And when I couldn't take it anymore, when I couldn't sleep, or eat, I fixed a mandrake root beneath one of the tables and made sure its smoke would fill their lungs. I didn't care about the rest. I couldn't see anyone beyond Merlin and Arthur.

[Her voice is shaking by the end, and she's not sure if it's anger or something else - so she stands, pushes herself away from the table.] I'm sorry if that offends you. [And she's heading for the door.]

[If it were just about anyone else, he'd let her walk out without another word, but she's been a good friend to him. More than that, she's been nearly his best friend here, when she's around and knows who he is.

And she had said before that it was a mistake, that she hadn't been well, and she's saying it again now. He doesn't know what insanity is like, but he's experienced flashes of it before: the rush that made him stab Gaius, then Sharon. The narrow focus, the total inability to care about anyone you can't see...

The problem is that it's dangerous; the problem is that it means he can't trust her. But maybe he owes her enough to tell her why. He stands to go after her.]

Listen--

[He catches up to her at the door, voice low as if someone might be listening in, but urgent, eyes gone from cold to heat.]

That town, it showed me things. It made me realize things I hadn't... no, frak, that's bullshit. That I had known and hadn't wanted to. And what it showed me was that... [That he chooses murderers and despots; that he's afraid she's one too.] ...that I don't know who I can trust anymore. I don't know if I can trust anyone anymore.

[She's tempted, sorely tempted, to just ignore him and walk out. She's learned over and over that trust is a weakness, that people will disappoint you - and here she finds herself trusting again, and angry that she's certain Felix is about to prove her right one more time. So when he speaks, her lips twist in a smile that's half grimace, focused at the door.]

Maybe you can't, [she says, and it takes her a moment to look up at him.] Maybe none of us can. Trusting people just gives them opportunity to break it. [The smile comes back, briefly, and it's not any sweeter.] Either you understand or you don't, Felix. Either you judge me [forgive me], or you don't.

[He wants to trust her, but isn't that the problem? He'd wanted to trust Sharon... wanted to trust the Eight, too. He'd wanted to trust everyone that had betrayed him. That had been the problem, and maybe this is his testing ground. He stares at her for a long moment, and even if his face is still, the distress is clear in his eyes now. He clears his throat and glances away.]

You said it was a mistake, before. You said you've changed. Which is it?

[And can he believe whatever answer she gives him? Maybe not.]

[She can hear Jefferson's mad laugh in her memories, and before her own bubbles up she shoves it away and shakes her head.]

I don't like hurting people, Felix.

[The problem there being that she doesn't particularly mind it anymore. She doesn't feel the need to recognize that at all.]

I don't feel out of my mind anymore. I don't feel like poisoning half the Barge anymore. [Except for the days when she thinks she just doesn't care enough.] Should I bee more specific? It was a mistake, and I paid for it!

You're still making excuses. [Just like him -- they're too similar. He shakes his head, running a hand agitatedly through his hair.] I'm not saying I don't understand making a mistake, but this... What happens if someone hurts you again? What happens if this place lashes back out at you? You know it will. It does it to all of us. It did to me.

[Maybe none of us can, she thinks again, and when she draws a breath it's like there's a knife, a sword between her ribs again.]

And what will you do?

Not that. I'm not going to punish the people on this ship for something the Admiral did. [Only he had, hadn't he? The mutiny-- plenty of innocent people had gotten caught in the crossfire then. The town's reminder of that still stings fresh in his mind. He turns away, digging his fingers into his eyes.]

I'm tired of getting people hurt. [It's harder-edged, but this time the bite isn't directed at her. Not entirely.] I'm not going to do it anymore.

[She can see the lines where they differ, now, and their feet are planted firmly on opposite sides. He's tired of people getting hurt, and she's tired of being hurt. Because he's probably right - maybe she will strike out again, maybe something will drive her mad enough, or maybe she'll stop caring entirely.

And it would be easy, in most cases. To distance herself from whatever affection she still feels for people like Felix, because revenge and anger are easier emotions to hold close.]

What shall I tell you? 'Don't trust me, I may make another mistake?' Is that what you want to hear?

Of course that's not what I want to hear. [He turns back to her, and the lines aren't only drawn in the sand: they're on his face, signs of weariness and years brought on too soon, signs of too much stress for much too long. He can't even be thirty yet, but the hair at his temples is turning gray, and he looks so tired for all the fire still in his eyes.

He knows what he wants to hear, but he also knows now that it wouldn't be enough even if she did say it. Look at the others: Dean has gotten almost all the answers right, Barbara has gotten them all right, and he still can't trust them, or himself with them. How could he with her?

He shakes his head and retreats, goes to pour himself a drink, trying to lock it down -- his feeling for her, all that camaraderie and affection. She's not Dee, and even Dee betrayed him in Silent Hill.] You don't have to say anything else.

[She swallows the impulse she still feels to smooth things over, to make him look at her. She tells herself she should have known better than to trust anyone.]

But it's all you will hear. [It comes out as nearly a snarl, and she looks him over, taking in the gray hair, the exhaustion. Her jaw clenches.]

I didn't have to say anything to begin with. [But she trusted him, and now she wonders if trust is just the greatest fallacy in life. She turns and pulls open his door, sweeping out with as much dignity as she can, forcing her head to stay up.]

Edited (gee let's just make it too small to read, whoops) 2013-06-09 22:56 (UTC)

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Re-Entry 10: Text/Voice/Spam

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