wecanavenge | ✘ | 015

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[When the camera clicks on, there's just the Cloverfield/Blair Witch Project effect: everything is shaky and slow to focus. The feed shows one of the suites, and the movement blurs things over - is that confetti on the floor, or just dust? Is the drapery meant to be that red, or was something splattered there? But there isn't long to dwell on those mysteries, because the camera finally focuses on Erik. His eyes are wide, and a little wild; at first the camera is too close as he shifts his grip on the device, and that's all there is to see: very wide, very angry eyes.]

Shh, [he says sharply, pulling the communicator back again. The door into the hall is behind him, and wide open.] Can you hear it?

[Maybe you'll hear nothing. It's faint, certainly, and Erik scowls, glancing around.] Shh, shh!

[And then, just maybe, you'll hear a song drifting up. It's old, decades old, but he recognizes it. His eyes leave the device, and he stares at something off screen for a moment. Then he lets go of the communicator, and for a moment, the camera is in free fall - but it lifts again, steadier this time, without Erik's hand holding it. It hovers in front of him again. Behind him, the door is closed.

Some of the anger clears from his face, and as the song gets louder - for him, at least, he joins in the verse.]

Il me dit des mots d’amour
Des mots de tous les jours
Et ça me fait quelque chose

Il est entré dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause.

[For a moment, everything is still and (mostly) quiet. Then the anger floods back, and Erik waves his hand; the communicator is thrown across the room, where it falls, propped up against the wall. It has a good view of the suite, and of the damage Erik is doing to it. Mirrors shatter as their metal frames twist in on themselves, drawers with metal runners launch themselves out of dressers and desks, the room seems to destroy itself. And Erik steps into the frame amid the wreckage, pointing at - well. At what might be nothing, or what might be a man in a silver helmet.]

You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch, you turn it off!

[He sweeps his arms wildly, and cracks appear along the ceiling; dust filters down on the communicator, and then there is nothing as beams fall on it.]

[Spam for Charles]

[He has to get out of here. Charles was right, he was so right, everything is wrong here. Because Shaw is here. Schmidt. Erik has seen him - how many times, now? Once in the helmet, twice in the glasses and suit he was so fond of in Germany. He left his communicator in the suite when he barreled out of there, abandoning everything. He doesn't even stop to find a jacket, or gloves - glad only in his turtleneck, Erik rushes down the main stairs, swings his arm to throw the front door open ahead of him, and rushes out into the snow. He's soaked halfway up his calves in seconds, and it's frigid, but he doesn't stop.

Du und ich werden viel Spaß zusammen haben. He spins to the side, but can't see Schmidt, can't even hear him anymore. Over his harsh breathing, and the shivering in his limbs, there is only the quiet of snow falling.]

[Spam for Tosh]

[He was still shivering, even after sitting in front of the fire in the lobby for a long few minutes. His clothes were still damp, and so was the blanket he'd found laying about and wrapped around his shoulders, but it didn't matter. He was already warmer, and he didn't much feel like venturing back up toward the rooms to find dry clothes. He didn't feel like venturing back there at all, certainly not to retrieve his communicator.

Charles had left him to warm up, though not to be alone with his thoughts; Erik knew that Charles was handling this place poorly, that it was wreaking havoc on his mind, but - and he couldn't help the sardonic little smile - he wasn't alone in that. Charles had gone off to actually eat or sleep, two things he hadn't done much of since getting here, and that was fine with Erik.

Being alone was nothing new for him.

And so far, everything had been normal. Schmidt wasn't whispering in his ear anymore, wasn't telling him that the pain would stop once he learned to control his gift. But that had been a lit, because the pain had never stopped. Erik shook his head to clear his thoughts, and stood, grabbing for the poker to stoke the fire higher.]

(OOC: Lyrics translation: 'He speaks to me words of love/Words of every day/And it makes me something/He has entered my heart/A place of happiness/Of which I understand the reason.' For maximum dear God why-ness. The German is 'You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.')

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[Charles hadn't needed his communicator to see what was going on. He'd been keeping a telepathic ear out for his friend - and for most of the people he cared about - the entire time they had been here, and Erik's distress was as obvious to him as it had been on the night he'd almost drowned himself trying to lift a submarine out of the ocean.

So he tore down the hall, down the stairs, distantly almost impressed that he hadn't tripped over his own feet and ran out the door after his friend.]

Erik, stop! [He almost hesitates by the door, just like he'd done at the CIA facility when Erik had almost left, but this is more desperate, because the idiot wasn't wearing a jacket and there's no where to run to, he knew, he'd been outside before the snow had started falling even harder, and he was already shivering as he waded through the snow after Erik, despite the fact that he was wearing a sweater and shirt under his jacket.]

Where are you going?

Away! [He isn't even sure if Charles is there, and he slogs through the snow, hands in fists and trembling, from anger or cold or - most likely - both. He doesn't care, doesn't care if he freezes to death out here, it will be better than spending another moment inside the hotel, listening to the only song he heard in the entire time he was in Auschwitz. He wants to break something, but there is nothing nearby, only the snow, God there's so much of it.]

You were right, everything is wrong--

[He trips on something and falls, arms stretching out. He's elbow deep in the snow, and he wants to scream, but he clenches his teeth tight instead.]

[It's easier out in the snow. Things are quieter, and he feels like his mind is better focused, he can concentrate, and the cold makes him feel more awake and alert. He chases after Erik - and God, it had been a long time since he'd had to race after Erik and stop him from doing something incredibly stupid - feeling the angry panic as if it was his own and bit back a sob.

He crouches next to him in the snow, carefully putting a hand on his back, not bothering to filter out the desperation and concern in his voice.]

Erik, please come back inside. You'll freeze out here.

[Good, a part of him thinks. He'll die out here, and the great struggle will be over. He'll never have to worry about changing, or failing, or ever seeing Shaw again. His stomach heaved, and Erik swallowed hard to avoid vomiting in the snow.]

He won't die.

[Charles isn't exactly bothering to erect much of a barrier between their minds right now, and the thought makes him want to be sick, because as much as they don't agree, even though everything he seems to hear about their future has the two of them as enemies rather than friends, he really doesn't want to live in a world without his friend, and he's not going to let him freeze to death out here in the snow.]

He's gone, Erik, Shaw's not here. He's dead. It's over. [We killed him was the desperate, painful thought, because Charles was just as accountable, wasn't he? He was a murderer, too.

His hands were cold. He hadn't had time to grab gloves before following Erik out here, and he swallowed thickly, trying to fight past the tightness in his throat.]

I don't know what's happening, but please come back inside.

He is here! [Erik pushes himself up on his knees, waving blindly toward the hotel.] He's there, just the same as - like it never--

[But that's crazy. Shaw died; Erik felt every second, ever millimeter of it as he pushed the coin through his creator's brain. Not even Herr Doktor could survive that. Not even him. They all had their limits, and Erik had shoved Shaw past his own.

He's dead he's dead he's dead he's dead

But he was just in the room--

Erik shakes his head violently, and grabs a fistful of snow to press against his face. It's icy, and the cold is sharp and painful at first, but it numbs quickly, soothes.]

You didn't see him?

[Charles didn't say anything, physically biting his lip in an attempt to not let his own thoughts on the subject bleed over, because he'd felt every second of it, too, but he couldn't let him know that, not now. He just watches him, shivering, feeling his face go numb and shakes his head slowly.]

No. I think- [But he didn't think, he knew, didn't he?] Something very bad happened here, Erik, and whatever it was hasn't really left. It's making us see things that we're [He almost chokes on the word, because really, this was something he was afraid of, and he carefully puts a hand on his friend's shoulder again to make sure he's really there.] frightened of. They're not really there.

[He hesitates for a moment before moving to unzip his jacket, pulling it off with numb fingers and throwing it over Erik's shoulders.] Come on, I'm afraid, too. But we're going to get through this, and that can't happen if you freeze to death out here first. [It's somewhere between insistent and pleading, and the snow's already starting to cling to his navy sweater, half melted in his hair.]

[He responds to the coat settling around his shoulders, and as much as much as he's grateful for that warmth, he tries to shrug it off and push it back toward Charles. There's no sense in them both freezing.

Dropping his handful of snow and wiping his face off on his arm, Erik shakes his head, and finally starts to feel like it's clear.]

We should find the Barge.

[Charles just stubbornly pulls the jacket back around Erik, frowning at him even as his teeth chatter uncontrollably. If Erik isn't going to bother looking out for his physical well being, someone else has to, and it was a task he was happy to fulfill.

And that's a good idea, really, because they'll be marginally safer there, but there's one problem.]

You can't feel it at all?

[He stretches out his hand, fingers spread wide - which just makes it easier to see how his hand is shaking, trembling with the cold and...everything else. His arm moves, in this direction and that, but ultimately he clenches his first and pulls his arm close, teeth bared in his frustration.]

No. Not even a hint. [What if the Admiral had left them here? That was a truly horrifying thought. He set his jaw, and glanced at Charles.]

We have to go in. [Charles' teeth were chattering. Though Erik wasn't sure if he'd rather just freeze to death out here, even now. Everything was wrong with that hotel.]

[Charles doesn't bother trying to contact them. He'd already done it, and couldn't feel anyone they'd left behind. Tony might as well have never existed.]

I can't feel them either. [But they didn't leave them here. They'd come back, this would only carry on for a few more days. They'd been rescued when they'd been trapped with the Vanquish. They'd find a way out of this, too. He projected that thought at Erik, and kept the idea maybe we're still on the Barge to himself.

He shifted closer as the wind picked up, shivering, tugging the jacket tighter around his friend's shoulders before wrapping his arms around himself.] I'm frightened, too, but we'll get through this, Erik. Please don't do this. [He might be agreeing to come back inside for now because Charles was cold, but Charles didn't want him trying some other suicidal stunt later on, either. He was afraid of the hotel, but he was more afraid of Erik's suicidal streak making a sudden return, and some of that fear bled over, not entirely intentionally.] Can you stand?

[Suicidal. He'd never thought of himself like that, and desperately wanted to punch something. He settled for the snow, burying his arm almost elbow deep. But slowly, he dragged himself up, pulling the jacket around himself and settling an arm around Charles' shoulders when he could.]

I'm not sorry I killed him. [It's abrupt, apropos of nothing, but he doesn't think he'll ever be sorry for killing Shaw. He would have done it again in that room, if only he'd been able to.]

[Charles put an arm around Erik and slowly moved to help him up to his feet, sticking close for warmth and support and reassurance that this was real and actually happening. He glanced up when he spoke, and quickly looked down again when he spoke.]

I know. [There's a part of him that feels like he should say more than that, because while he can't blame him for wanting revenge, or for killing someone who'd wanted to commit genocide, he can't really fully condone it, either. And again, there was the horrible, nagging memory of what it had felt like to have a coin shoved through your forehead, so he kept his mouth shut.

It was easier to just tighten his arm around his friend and focus on starting to wade back towards the hotel, even though he was still afraid. He'd still rather take his chances of getting out of this alive than freezing to death out in the snow.]

[God, he was cold. He'd been so angry, so incredibly out of his mind that he had barely noticed it, like the pinch of a needle slipping under your skin. Now, he could feel it pierce him to the bone, and he shivered, grateful for Charles' coat. The song still played, but this time it was only in his head, and god he hated Edith Piaf. Swallowing hard, he lapsed into silence on the walk back in, eying the door, the hotel itself, as it loomed.

Abandon Hope, all ye who enter, he thought, and a small but savage smile twisted at his mouth. It was almost disappointing to find his faith in God lacking; but then, his religious education had stopped by the time he was nine. He was reasonably sure there wasn't even an afterlife to imagine Shaw struggling through.

But whatever came after, Erik hoped it was suffering. He'd tolerate his own, as long as Shaw felt it too.]

[Charles was silent apart from his chattering teeth, clinging to Erik and focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other. He was freezing, and he could feel his control starting to slip, picking up on some of what Erik was thinking and probably projecting some of his own thoughts by accident, even if they weren't particularly interesting beyond I'm cold and the hotel seemed farther away than it had been when they'd first run out here.

Still, he almost wanted to change his mind when they actually stood in front of the building. He was freezing, and he knew they wouldn't survive out here, but he really didn't want to go back inside.

He tried to grit his teeth and keep walking. At least it would be warm in there.]

[Erik dragged his feet at the end, and he really was thinking about turning around and freezing out there. But Charles wouldn't let him, and he wouldn't let Charles freeze, so he clenched his teeth tight together and lifted his feet, stepping through the door and into the heat of the hotel. Maybe it was a little like hell. Or a lot.]

[He didn't let go of Erik until they were both standing in front of the fire in the lobby, and it still took Charles a long moment to unlatch himself from his friend. His hands were numb, and felt bleary and confused with cold, but he finally managed to let go of him and clumsily tried to brush melting snow out of his hair and off his face.]

You need a blanket, [He stuttered through chattering teeth, and looked around for one, wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to conserve heat.] I'll be right back.

Wait, [he said, and, still shivering, pulled the coat off his shoulders and draped it over Charles'. He was getting a blanket, he didn't need the coat. Then he bent to the task of slapping snow off his clothes, and closing the door behind him. The click echoed with finality, and he wanted to just run back out again.]

[Charles frowned but didn't shrug the coat off, just focusing on finding a blanket or two or seven, especially after he'd picked up on that stray thought. He couldn't handle the idea of Erik freezing to death. He couldn't.

He came back quickly with a blanket, and wrapped it around Erik before nudging him over towards one of the couches.]

Here. Sit down, you need to get warm.

Yes, mother. [It was a weak joke, and Erik's teeth had started to chatter when he didn't keep his jaw locked, so the words came out with little clacks. Wrapping the blanket around his torso tightly, Erik shivered hard and sat down hard on the couch, abruptly reminded of their first day here. Now their positions were switched, though, it was his turn to see blood on the walls (in a manner of speaking), and he wondered if Charles was still seeing the impossible, too.]

[Charles mostly felt confused, like there was something he'd meant to do but forgotten everything but the need to do something. The fire didn't seem to be doing much good, even with the jacket, and he was cold and wet and confused.

He wanted to sit next to Erik and huddle together until whatever this was passed and they warmed up, but that was it, wasn't it? They needed dry clothes or more blankets or food or sleep, God, when was the last time he'd slept? He looked dazed, eyes glassy and face pale, his thoughts fuzzy and disconnected.]

We n-need- [He blinked, shivering violently and forcing himself to focus.] Dry clothes. I'll go get some.

All right, [Erik chattered, hunching his shoulders and sitting forward as if it would make him warmer. He shuddered again, and nodded, like he'd forgotten that he already agreed.]

Okay. I'll - wait here. [By the fire. Maybe he ought to move closer, but he couldn't move just yet.]

Erik- [That at least cut through the muddled feeling, and he put a hand on his friend's shoulder, moving in front of him so he could look him right in the eye.]

If you need me, call. I'll be right back.

[Looking up, Erik nodded, and pulled the blanket a little tighter.]

I will. [If he shows up again, is what Erik doesn't add, but he doesn't think he needs to.] Go.

[He doesn't. The idea of Shaw being here at all, let alone following Erik around makes him want to be physically ill, because that's one demon he really doesn't want to face, or to watch his friend go up against again. Shaw was dead. It was over. That should have been the end of it.

He squeezes Erik's shoulder one more time and heads for the stairs. He'll be right back. There's nothing to worry about.]

[Possibly for the first time, Tosh has been....relieved, that Erik barely seems to know she exists.

It's given her a lot of time to get reacquainted with old friends.

She's never shrugged off her guilt. The lives lost because of her - she carries them around with her, dull scars on her heart that still throb with pain whenever she holds still long enough. And the Barge - the Barge is good for nothing if not encouraging stillness. She finds distractions for herself but it's never enough, not really, and if the Barge is painful then the Overlook Hotel is torture.

She wakes on Monday morning to find Tommy Brockless in her bed and he asks if she slept as well the night after she sent him to the firing squad. When she stumbles out of the shower, Mary hands her a towel and tells her that all she'd wanted was to go home. Owen watches her eat in the kitchen and tells her that he'd known she loved him, he'd always known, but the day would never come that he wouldn't take his empty one-night stands over the love of someone as screwed up as her.

When she curls up in the corner of her room on Tuesday evening and presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, Harper chips in, asking softly if she remembers her other self, the woman she briefly became who couldn't feel guilt or pain or love. If she didn't miss that pleasant, predictable numbness and she does, God help her, she'd give anything for life to be so simply again.

He touches her pale cheeks and rubs her quaking shoulders and tells her she can make that happen, and she just nods.

She doesn't even really remember walking back downstairs. She's been longer than thirty-six hours without sleep before, and handled it better, but right now she feels floating and disconnected. The lobby's warm but she observes it rather than feels it.]

Erik.

[She knew he'd gone. More or less.]

Thank God you're alright. I was worried.

[Entirely true, for entirely the wrong reasons.]

[He turns sharply when he hears his name, the lines in his body tense under the blanket - but they relax again when he sees Toshiko.

Nothing to be alarmed by; she's no Schmidt.

He nods, and doesn't try to hide the shivering.]

I realized how futile it would be. [Well, Charles made him realize, and there's very little bitterness in his voice, but there is some. Erik has a penchant for stepping into danger and staying there, whether it will kill him or not. He shudders, and pulls the blanket closer around him.]

Putting too much trust in the Admiral never seemed wise to me. [Who knew if he'd be brought back from the snow? The worst part was realizing he hadn't cared, so long as it stopped.]

[She doesn't respond to that. She doesn't know if she trusts the Admiral - the only evidence she has that her first deal was fulfilled is that she went back to her world and it was still there. It doesn't matter, anyway. The Admiral, the Barge, it feels very distant now.

She feels Harper's breath on her neck, the heat singing across her implant like a brush against an exposed nerve. You don't have to feel like this. You don't have to feel anything any more.]

You're shaking. Come upstairs, get some dry clothes on. Losing your toes after the fact would be pretty futile as well.

[He says nothing for a long moment, eyes moving instead toward the stairs up. No is the very immediate response he has to clench his teeth over. No, he doesn't want to go back up there. Shaw is up there.

But - Shaw is dead. Erik rubs at his eyes, shaking his head as if to clear it. Shaw is dead, and La Vie en Rose is not playing, not even if he listens very carefully. That is in his head. It's this place in his head. He thinks he hears the band queuing up, and his eyes dart to Toshiko's face.]

Can you hear it?

No. No. All I can hear is you.

[Liar.

And she doesn't turn around at Owen's voice because either she'll see him - sneering mouth oozing blood, hair burnt away, radiation sloughing off his skin - or she won't see him at all - and she doesn't know what's worse.

Always keeping it together, aren't we, Tosh? You're already as weak as a kitten to him. He doesn't need to see all the screws you've got loose, eh?]

Please. At least for long enough to change your clothes and have a hot drink. I'm worried about your core temperature.

[He searches her face for a moment, not sure he believes her - how could she not hear it - but all at once it stops, and he lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His lips quirk, and it's a rueful little look.]

I thought that's what the fire was for.

[He sits still for another long moment, then unfolds himself from the couch, moving slowly and keeping the blanket about his shoulders.]

Come with me. [He should hate himself for saying it, because it's as good as saying I'm scared, don't leave me alone. But he doesn't care, because he is scared, and he doesn't want to go back up there on his own.]

[The fire isn't going to deal with depressed internal temperature, Erik. But she's not going to argue when he's conceding, and not when Owen's so close by that she can almost reach out and touch his annihilated flesh.

She offered him her deal, she reminds herself. She offered and he refused -

Yeah, like I was going to trust you to save my life when you did it so bloody well the first time.

She doesn't flinch.]

Alright.

[She doesn't offer him a hand up but she does go ahead.]

[And he follows, moving stiffly at first, holding the blanket tight around him. But it isn't too difficult to fall into step beside her, though he does lose some ground on the stairs. If it isn't entirely the cold that's slowing him down, well, no one but Erik will know.

For the most part, he's silent. But:] Have you been all right? [He hasn't been concerned at all about her, but it seems - right, even necessary to ask now.]

I'm fine. I don't think this place bothers much with humans.

[That's right. Wallow in your own insignificance. You never meant anything, after all.

She's glad Erik can't see the way her face becomes a mask of shock. She hasn't heard Gray's voice since he stood over her in the Hub and asked her how it felt to die. For a second, her knees buckle and her hand goes tight around the balustrade.]

I just haven't been sleeping, that's all.

[It's not much further to the door to their suite.]

Edited 2012-11-20 21:18 (UTC)

[He glances up at her with the pause, but it's so difficult to concentrate on things here. French lyrics fill his head, and with them an uncertain calm. It's a good song. He hates it.

He snorts at her explanation, though not disbelievingly.]

Who could blame you?

[He stretches his arm out from under the blanket, wrist flicking; ahead of them, their door opens. Unnerving as it is to have doors slam closed behind him, it's a comfort to do it on his own. Stepping in, he shudders and goes directly to the closet to fish for clothes.]

Edited 2012-11-20 22:30 (UTC)

I suppose.

[She goes over to the dressing table at the other side of the room, hands hovering over its little electric kettle and teaset.]

Tea or coffee?

Coffee. [He didn't want to sleep again, not here. His sleep is often fitful, but it's worse here, and he's afraid that if he sleeps, Shaw will come in earnest and he'll never wake.

Erik disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes, and when he emerges, it's in dry clothes, long sleeves and a sweater to help against the cold. He's still shivering, though, arms crossed tight over his chest.]

[While he's in there, she crushes a few sedatives against the back of a spoon, tips the resulting rough white powder into the cup alongside the coffee grains and pours the boiling water over it, stirring mechanically until the floating crumbs of white residue have dissolved completely.

It takes a little less time to do than it takes him to dry off and change and she spends that time staring at the cup, and it occurs to her that maybe she'd be better off drinking it herself. What's in there constitutes a (nonlethal, but likely hazardous) overdose and maybe it'd just be better all round if she spent the rest of this outing unconscious.

But why would that make it stop? Surely by locking herself into her own mind she'd only be making it worse. She makes herself a cup of tea she doesn't plan to drink, and when Erik reemerges she holds out the coffee to him.]

Here. It's the foulest instant I've ever tried, but it's warm and there's caffeine.

[A turtle neck and a sweater later and he's still cold, but it's a start. At least he isn't damp anymore, and he almost feels like a real person in dry clothes. The cup is plucked from her hands eagerly, and he only offers a vague, dry smile before taking a long drink.

He cocks his head, eyebrows raising, and he nods.]

'Foulest' doesn't exactly cover it.

[He suppresses another shiver, and goes to sit on the edge of his bed, nursing the coffee.]

Do you still think it's worth it? Enduring these ports for the Admiral. [Another drink; his eyes are starting to feel heavy.]

[She sits down on her own bed, opposite him, cup of tea held lightly between her hands.]

I don't think I'm doing it 'for the Admiral'. It's just part and parcel of the life I've chosen, for now.

You could choose another one. [He runs his tongue over his teeth under his lips, blinking rapidly and straightening his back against the sudden onset of exhaustion. Maybe the whole...episode had taken more out of him than he'd realized. Erik takes another gulp, willing the caffeine to set in.]

No. I told you that I'm here for the long run, and I meant it.

[And where the hell else would she go, anyway.]

[Rewrite history or something Tosh, have some imagination. Erik finds himself nodding, finds his eyes closing. The mug is hanging between his knees, tipping toward the floor, not quite spilling yet.]

Just don't see why, [he mumbled, and struggled with a yawn.]

You could have anything. And you're here.

I don't...

[But then she just shakes her head and watches him. It won't be long now.]

[He opens his mouth to reply, but the mug drops from his hands, and he doesn't remember what he meant to say. Something is wrong, he thinks distantly, and reaches out for Charles, help me, but the thought dies almost as quickly as it's formed. His weight shifts, his eyes close, and he tips backward onto the bed, asleep.]

[Tosh just watches him for a minute or so, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and when she's absolutely certain he's unconscious she gets to her feet. She doesn't even remember reaching into her jacket for the gun, only that it's in her hand.]

I don't deserve it.

[It's a whisper, and he doesn't stir. She holds the barrel of the gun less than an inch from his heart and pulls the trigger twice, and nothing changes.]

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