fridgetothefire | 015 ☣ Voice + Spam

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015 ☣ Voice + Spam

[Private to Alex, Bruce, Ben, Cass, and Pietro.]

I'm going to be okay.

[Private to the above + Riddick, Felix, Cassel, Rhade, and Dean.]

Let me know if you made it. Please.

[Public, a day or two after.]

If anyone who got hurt is still laid up, in the infirmary or wherever else, and wants me to bring them some books from the library, I'd be happy to.

I can read to you too, if you want, although I can't make promises how long my voice will last.

[It's still a little bit hoarse from screaming, but Anya knows all about painful, boring recoveries. She imagines most people on the barge will have more company than she used to, but it can't hurt to offer.]

[Spam for Erik]

[After a night of deep, utterly dreamless post-adrenaline-crash sleep, Anya manages to drag herself into out of bed, because she can't stand the thought of more trail rations when she could get real breakfast. And there in the hall, just stepping out of his own room, is Erik. He's not her father, he never was and he never will be. But he's something like it, and he told her stories once, trying to protect her from the man who keeps haunting her all too literally. After a moment of staring, Anya flings herself at him and clings on tight.]

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[She sighs, and the pill can't have even hit her stomach yet, but there's something to be said for the placebo effect. Or maybe it's just that she feels safe, partly because because of Ben, partly just because the barge is home to her now, in spite of everything, more than any place has been since her family left their village for the city. She closes her eyes as he tends to her damaged fingers, trust and weariness blurring into something with the timbre of peace, letting the pain trickle through her without marking it too much.]

It is a lot. It's so complicated. I don't even know where to start.

[She thinks about the things that other Magneto said, the awful world-splitting resonances in his scream, the gutted ashen look on his face as he shut her in the coffin, still not listening to a word of her begging, in the throes of loving grief and still unable to see her as anything but a talisman of human cruelty, the tragic victim to his elevated and unhinged protector. She knows she died in Wanda's world, and Pietro's. It felt real, at the time, like she had slid through a terrible mirror, into a glimpse of how it really happened for another Anya. But she has no idea if it was like that, or if the place was just trying anything to hurt her, to make her blame herself and give in. She thinks about Wanda crying, begging her to say, shrieking and threatening and laying down ultimatums in a tone of voice Anya knows best from her own bitter victory speech.]

There was an attack...similar to one when I was a child, only we beat them back. And then a thing like my father was there. He kept saying that they killed me, that I died, like - like I did in other worlds.

[Not like I was supposed to. That's the belief it was trying to play on, but it's just not in her anymore, the spot where it used to be stinging a little like the bed of a lost baby tooth, freshly bloody but soothed by its own emptiness.]

[Ben waits patiently, true to his word, intent on his work. If she never utters another word about it he won't press, uninterested in wresting from her any secret she doesn't want him to have of her own volition. He doesn't think about anything while she considers, though he's fully aware of the rise and fall of her pulse, the hitches in her breathing; he can hear her remember. He waits.

And eventually she does find her starting point, and then he listens. He's learned by now to ignore the actual words - father has no meaning to him, he barely understands the concept of other worlds, he doesn't really understand why childhood attacks are so traumatic considering his own childhood - and listen to the way that they're said, and he makes a small, encouraging noise in his throat.\

And you are still not dead. [It's both an observation and an invitation - and a statement, in the mild but significant warmth in his voice, that he is glad for the truth of it.]

No. He buried me, as if I was.

[It's quiet, spooled out idly, to no purpose, like yarn the cat got into. It's why her hands and arms are damaged the way they are, from desperately battering against the immovable barrier of a rough wooden coffin lid, pinned with earth. But the horror of it, the weight of it, is behind her. She got out, she can breathe now. Those terrible hours breathing shallowly in the dark are no longer what disturbs her most.]

He sounded so...devastated. I've spent so much of my life wishing he still cared about me, instead of shoving me out of sight like a broken toy. And he's not kind but things are better, in the other worlds Wanda and Pietro came from. I thought - I don't have all the details but they seemed that way. I kept thinking it would have been better, if I died. For them, for everyone.

[This, too, is something Ben recognizes, though it takes him a moment out of context. He's idly turning the words in his mind, studying them for how they apply to her, the figurative meanings behind each sound; then he makes a small adjustment, shifts from father to brother, from family to unit as he so often has to, and that's when he sees it.]

That is... not a comfortable thing to believe about oneself. [He states this blandly, almost casually, eyes on where he's supporting one of Anya's hands carefully in one of his own, smoothing a gauze strip down over the least marked part of the back of her hand with his fingertips. He repeats the motion twice, ostensibly to make certain the bandaging will hold. That's not why, but he lowers her hand to her lap and withdraws his, keeping his eyes down as he picks up the discarded wrappers beside him on the chair.]

Then what happened?

No. No it isn't. But he wasn't - he wasn't different, even loving me. He was in pain but you could hear it transmuting into the kind of bitterness that wants to break the world. He didn't listen to me. He couldn't hear me screaming unless it was part of the story he was already stuck in.

Sometimes children die. Sometimes they get hurt. I can't be responsible for what kind of monster he becomes.

[She says it fiercely, a little nervously, eyes searching his face for a reaction, for judgement. The resolution carried her through, but she hasn't said it out loud before to anyone, and it sounds so petty, so callous and so selfish to her in the stark light of survival. She's surprised she even managed to expose it so much, but it's at the core of her now, and if she let uncertainty linger in it, she thinks it would eat her alive from the inside out. And - it's Ben. She trusts him with more than her bandages.]

[Ben looks up as she continues to speak, wrappers not forgotten in his hands, but stilled with the rest of his movement. There are shades he recognizes there, too - Ben couldn't see the people under the guise of the Nomlies when he was doing his utmost to believe in the Blue Lady, but that had partially been the point and he's not sure if that makes it better or worse; it is, in the end, what it always was. He can't change that part anymore.

Ben is, perhaps, not the best gauge for what is selfish and what is acceptable in the name of survival; there's no judgment in him, though. That's true for more than just this, he doesn't really have the capacity to be offended by others for their choices, but it's true now as well. It's there in her language, though: she can't be responsible for what happens.

His voice is gentle, but firm.] You're not responsible.

[He pauses a moment, considering the rest - it needs to be right. He knows what he wants to say, he just has to find the language so that she'll know it too; it doesn't help that it's new knowledge on his part as well, learned by fierce, unrelenting determination to fit into this world he knows nothing about outside of Manticore. A place where there are children with fathers and mothers who should have loved them and didn't, instead of a place where parents didn't even exist and children were products made in a laboratory.]

Children are the responsibility of their parents. Not the other way around. He was supposed to treat you well, not use you for an excuse for his own ends.

[In some ways, she knows Ben's perspective is skewed. In others, that's why she wants to hear from him instead of anyone else, because even if he doesn't really understand family, he understands her desperation, the shape of her world defined by his authority. She lets out a low, shuddery breath at Ben's last words, at use you as an excuse. It's plainer language than she ever put it in, but it's right, and it bolsters her.]

Thank you.

[She centers herself, continues. He asked what happened next.]

Lua kept me - not sane, really, but. Talking, on the comm. They got me out eventually.

[There are a lot of glossed over details there, about radios and the monsters and a stunted tree as her only marker, but survival is the part that matters.]

[Oh, Ben understands family; he understands that very well. Just not in the context that others use it, not with the same criteria, the same language and labels. Others say brothers, sisters, those they are related to by blood and genetics; Ben says unitmates and means the same thing in reference to people that share only the genetic engineering.

He blinks to acknowledge her gratitude, and looks down again to continue his work, relieved that he found the right words.

He knows about the glossed details, too; it's difficult not to. He was separated from the group, Rhade found him again right before the end - this is how he explains his own experience. It doesn't describe the two days in between, being alone in a place meant to drive the people in it insane and suck them in and keep them there, but it's how he explains it anyway.]

I'm sorry that so often, it's all anyone can seem to do for you. [Hands freed he looks up again, not quite frowning.] Is Lua alright?

I was alone for a long time. Maybe it's just what I need most.

[Her voice is very soft, just above a whisper, halfway between speech and the privacy of a thought.]

I think she will be. I think - maybe getting to be a hero is good for her. I hope so.

[He's watching as she says it, and he acknowledges the second half, but the first part is what interests him most. What he understands.

How it's difficult to be able to tell the difference.]

Is it actually what you need? Or what is just most comfortable?

It helps.

[She doesn't know which of those options that qualifies as.]

I'm not scared of pain. I'm not scared of death either, really, even though I don't want to die yet. But I'm scared of being trapped and alone again.

Yes. [It's an agreement, simple and broad; every word she just said is true of both of them. He didn't used to be able to tell the difference, either, and maybe he still can't, but it's something he's had a lot of time to think about, a lot of time to consider. He used to honestly believe the best thing he could do for... not the world, but the people in it that he cared the most about, was to be as far from them as he could get.

But he's always needed them, too. To stay away from them was to trade one type of insanity for another and he could never make up his mind which was worse. Now, Ben settles carefully back into his chair, pulling his good leg up underneath him, hands in his lap.]

When we... escaped Manticore. When my unit was first submersed in the world outside, we had to become a part of it with basically no knowledge of what it even was. We were designed to be fast learners, to be adaptable; many of us were able to do it.

But I found the cities to be too crowded, too chaotic, and I became... overwhelmed and confused very easily. I hurt people, and made them afraid, and people become dangerous when they were afraid.

So I retreated into the wilderness outside of the cities, where I could be alone and hear myself think. But out there it was too quiet, too isolated, and it became very easy to lose myself.

I never found the solution, there. I never figured out how to compromise and no one could help me. Then I came here.

[She wants, badly, to lay her hands over his, but of course she can't, raw bundled wrecks that they are.]

I didn't ever really have a plan for after. I knew I wouldn't get away with it long enough, deep down. I mean, I could have faked my way through if I had lived, I had plenty of books for context. But I didn't imagine anyone would welcome me, or that it would be worth trying to convince them to. I was just going to steal supplies and sneak in the vague direction of Paris until my father's followers caught up with me and I died.

[It hardly sounds worth all the trouble she went to, when she puts it like that. And yet.]

I wish it hadn't been so hard for you. But I'll really glad you're here.

[Ben wouldn't know what to do with the contact anyway; Rhade, Alex keep trying, but Ben just doesn't get it. He fidgets with the seam of his BDU pants, small and subtle movements, instead of shaking his head.]

We didn't know it was hard. We just knew that's what it was. It's okay.

[Which, some have told him, was even worse. Rhade had been so upset with him for calling the Barge a good place. He looks back up at Anya, though, and finds that it's true again. It's been a good place for him. Something he can understand but also something kinder than what he's used to.]

I'm glad you're here, too, if not for the rest of it. I'm glad you came to see me.

Just because you didn't know that there were other possibilities doesn't mean you weren't struggling.

[It doesn't make it worse, to her - she understands a little of that, of how constrained perspective can be, how what you know is what is, even when it seems horrid to others. But it doesn't make it better, either, that he was lost and trying to assimilate and too caught in the coils of his conditioning.

For Anya, the barge is only most of everything she ever wanted. She smiles weakly.]

I'm glad I came to see you too.

[Ben's not sure what to do with either of those statements, either. They were struggling, he knows that, and they continued to struggle even after they escaped. Of course, he's witnessed that even people outside of the circumstances that were true for him seem to struggle with their lives.

Alex says he's strong. Ben thinks Anya is strong. He's beginning to understand.

Still.] Will you be alright tonight, or would you like to stay here again? I can go to my warden's cabin.

[He hesitates, glancing at the bed, and then back. The corner of his mouth tugs in the barest of smiles.] This room is more comfortable than it used to be.

Yes, it is. Thank you for the offer.

[Her voice is warm all through with it, a little wavery after anything, not because she's uncertain but because the contrast with what she's been through is so vast, and she appreciates Ben's kindness - thoughtful, unstinting - so much.]

But I think I want my own space tonight.

I understand.

[He doesn't, though, understand the signals he's picking up from her expression, her voice. It's alright. Whatever it is, it's pleasant, she seems much calmer and maybe a little happier than she was when she originally entered.

He takes a slow, careful breath, lets it out as carefully.]

Do you require assistance to return to your quarters?

[She doesn't need it. She'd like it, she thinks abstractly, like to shamble back lingering in his company, arm in careful, bandaged arm. But even if he'll heal in days, he's not at all well now. She's not that selfish. She shakes her head with a rueful little smile.]

I'll manage alright. You can walk me home next time.

Alright. [He would now, if she asked him; or if she seemed, to his perception, to need someone to go with her even if she didn't want to say as much. Ben is accustomed to reading the fear between the lines but he doesn't see it in her now.

He doesn't bite his lip, but he wants to.]

Not that you need to leave until you are ready. I don't require as much sleep as normal humans. I only wanted to make certain of any arrangements while it seemed appropriate.

[Ben talking about normal human sleep just makes her yawn. It's been a long few days with longer nights.]

You're sweet. But I definitely need rest, and I think that pill is maybe kicking in.

[She levers herself up carefully - her elbows are more or less unscathed, and they take the weight of her pushing up off the couch well enough. She wants to hug him or squeeze his shoulder or - something, anyway, but they're both too hurt in different ways to make it a good idea.]

Thank you again. For everything.

I've been told that before. I'm not certain it's accurate, but I won't argue, either.

[He's not, really. At least he doesn't think so. Nevertheless, she should go if she's tired, and she's moving to stand, anyway. Ben would join her but before he can figure out how to do it she's up, so he stays where he is.

His lips press together into a thin line for a moment, eyes searching.]

You're welcome. If you don't feel comfortable going to the infirmary for more medication or... any other assistance, you may come here and I'll do what I can for you. My warden will approve more supplies and more medications at my request.

[She smiles a little wider at the offer.]

You're not sappy, but you're definitely sweet.

I'll remember.

[She hovers for a moment, still wishing there was an easy way to connect, touch his wrist, something. She thinks of his hands carefully wrapping her hands, and decides that has to be enough. She bobs a little, somewhere between a nod and a curtsy.]

Goodnight, Ben.

[The doorknob is a little odd to work with her elbows, but it's just a question of angular pressure, and she gets it open before Ben can lurch to his feet to do it for her.]

[Ben doesn't know what she's waiting for, and he's searching for anything he may have forgotten to do or is supposed to do now. If there is, he's forgotten it or never knew it, so he does the only thing he can think of and replies in kind.]

Good night, Anya.

[He watches her until she's gone, and reminds himself that if she comes again, he'll get the door for her.]

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015 ☣ Voice + Spam

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