cactusy | IC contact for lastvoyages

[It's not hard to connect the dots. There's clearly something going on there--it's not still, it's not dark or dead. It's just...muted.

In a way, he envies her a little. Sometimes it's too much, to feel it all, to not be able to escape it...

He lowers his gaze for a second, features briefly twisting with emotion, then when he looks back at her, his features are tight with sorrow.]

Some people have never had that much. A partner, I mean. Of any kind. Marriage back there, it was just the only...socially acceptable option. That's why I wanted to keep writing if the marriage blew up. You're an awesome pen pal.

You're either really weird or really naive.

[She says it with a tired eyeroll, but she doesn't sound particularly annoyed or offended by it. She flops backwards in the hammock, staring up at the stars.]

Whatever. Just don't say I didn't warn you. You're right about the marriage thing, though; that society sucked.

[Instead of bristling or even trying to argue the point, John just smiles. She has no idea how…nice that is. Maybe she sees it as dispassion, but to him it just feels steady. Honest, true. She lacks feeling? Fine. She’s not clouded by it either.]

Consider me warned.

[For a second he just sits there, watching her lay staring up at the stars…then hesitantly, as if not sure he’s still welcome, settles back into his spot beside her, not touching and still feeling like he’s burning alive.]

Society in general sucks…that one could’ve been worse in some respects.

[He falls quiet for a long moment.]

I inherited my wealth back there by killing my father. I didn’t…kill him for money. But there were rumors I killed him…they were true. If I hadn’t, he would’ve killed me.

[Another beat…]

Happened the same way in real life. Only he survived, and I was sixteen. Shot him with a bow and arrow ‘stead of a pistol. He was drunk, he was always drunk, but that night was worse ‘n most. Sometimes think it would have been better if I did kill him. Least in that world, it was. A little.

My dad was a better man than the breach made him into.

[Her jaw works, and a cloud of darker gray rolls across the surface of the orb that she still clutches in her hands.]

Your dad - is he still around now, in the real world?

[John glances over at the remark, and he sees the cloud of darker gray swarm the orb. He doesn’t smile, but his expression softens to see it.

He decided, right then, that she’s wrong. And he wants to hang on to her, to this. Only here, he knows he doesn’t have to marry someone to keep their friendship.]

I don’t know. Never thought to check. Got drafted a couple years after the incident…

[He trails off, folding his arms under his head as he looks up at the stars, and thinks of Delmar.]

Didn’t go home after I got discharged. Honestly, not sure where I went for a while. Just…all over. Finally thought to look up a friend from my unit who made it out, too…found out he got killed in ‘Nam and didn’t know it. I’m the last member of my unit left, not counting my CO. My dad…

[He trails off, feeling that cold, hard thing from that night that he hates.

The thing that came back up when the cops in Hope came after him.

The thing that didn’t care if a human being lived or died.]

He isn't worth counting?

[Shaw guesses, giving him a brief glance. She respects family ties, but not to a fault; while she wouldn't respect someone who abandoned their father under ordinary circumstances, abuse is a whole different ballgame.]

…no. I’m not.

[The words are only just audible, and he’s been learning over the last year-plus just how true they are. He wasn’t worth counting until he proved he could fight, until he was a suitable weapon—and now he’s a broken one.

And the war is over, so it’s possible that’s okay. Maybe he can learn to find some solace in that—being here is part of it. Making it all count for something to help somebody who needs it. Maybe even forego the deal he was asked for, it seems selfish anyway.

How can a weapon find a new life? A new function? A gun is a gun, a sword is a sword, and a soldier is a soldier.

So while the words are soft, they come not unlike Sameen’s. They’re simple, matter of fact, lacking in feeling. They’re simply true, and there isn’t a lot of emotion tied up in simple truths like water being wet or stars twinkling.

Dad wouldn’t care he’s alive, because he doesn’t matter…and John is tired of hurting people. Even those who deserve it.

So…he doesn’t want to go home.]

[Shaw studies him for a long moment, her expression serious but impassive. Eventually she decides that, fuck it, she's just going to voice the thought she'd had when she'd first met him, injured and bleeding in the hallway.]

This place is gonna eat you up like catnip.

[-- Hm. On second thought, clarity of phrasing might be in order.]

I mean, you're going to end up with a lot of friends.

[And people who want to take care of him, but she knows better than to say that out loud to a military man.]

[John looks at her, not sharply but suddenly at the 'catnip' remark, but when she elaborates he blushes and smiles sheepishly, shrugging.]

S' nice of you to say.

[He's pretty sure she's wrong, but--yeah. God, that would be nice. To not be alone anymore. And it feels really dangerous to hope, but...

He peers at her, unable to hide that hope in his eyes as his smile brightens just a little.]

And, I mean...I got at least one so far.

[...right?...]

I guess.

[Sorry for the lack of enthusiasm, John - but to be fair, if Shaw herself is used as the measuring stick, that counts as an enthusiastic reaction. Without a previous relationship dynamic to fall back on, a significant chunk of her brain keeps reaching for the breach. She might as well get used to him, because they're getting married, they're going to America, they're going to settle in the west--

Except they're not.

She makes a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat, though it's not really directed at him.]

Is your mom really Navajo?

[John smiles at that, nodding with a little glow of warmth in his chest. He can’t help it, the deadpan agreement is charming and…it’s agreement.

It’s friendship.]

Yeah. I was born ‘n raised in Bowie, Arizona—Mom died when I was young, but I hung out on the res a lot. No family on her side, but some of the old men in the tribe took an interest in me.

My dad died when I was ten.

[And as straight-forward an easy a fact as that is, it's not the sort of thing that she normally offers up readily.]

But my mom was still around, and she was a good mom. That, uh-- that sucks, that you were on your own that young.

[John just nods in silent thanks for her sympathy, his own fingers curling in on themselves with the desire to reach out, to just...touch her hand, offer some kind of comfort of his own. It's hard to tell with her deadpan demeanor, but there are some kinds of pain you just...share that way.

Cut to the chase, matter of fact and blunt. Step back far enough, and it won't hurt quite as much. He wants to say he gets that, say he understands...]

...you wanna grab a drink sometime?

[That...falls out of his mouth instead. And as it does, he realizes he doesn't care. If it's a date, if it's a bar crawl, if it's a step towards crawling out of the intimacy the breach fostered.

He just wants it. This, here, this quiet open moment. To be able to reach out whenever he wants and pull it back towards him. Friendship, relationship, kinship, whatever final form it takes. He wants it.

He'll have it. Whatever it takes to keep it.]

Sure.

[She says, and it's an easy answer. It wouldn't have been a hard answer under normal circumstances - she likes alcohol, she likes the lounge, and side-by-side on barstools is one of the more tolerable ways to get to know someone - but she's well aware that the lingering effects of the breach make it feel natural in a way that it wouldn't have been otherwise. And it's that, rather than anything that he's said or done, that makes her add--]

I'm married. Here, I mean.

[In the maybe-real world.]

Doesn't mean I don't still get drinks with people, but, uh-- that's my fun fact for the class.

[...of course she's married.

The thought comes the same way it did when he nearly said things to Delmar he couldn't take back during the war. Things that allowed those forbidden feelings to turn into friendship, deep and loving and healing, the only thing that makes him happy for everything else he endured.

He wouldn't trade meeting Delmar Barry, caring for Delmar Barry, being wrapped up in the hearthfire of his brotherhood, for a thousand lifetimes of peaceful sleep.

He wasn't as painfully aware of how lonely he was back then, though, and he is now. So he doesn't feel as gently wistful or remotely hopeful, just...resigned.

Because of course she's married. Of course she has someone good who loves her, who she loves. Of course he's an idiot to think he can have anything that good, his own depravity aside.

But he really does just...want. He wanted so much more from Delmar, learned to be happy with what he had, but the grim reminder that he's supposed to be alone doesn't dim that longing to stay in this moment, so he doesn't react to the revelation with anything but a slightly wistful little shrug around his soft smile.]

It's a good fact. Long as it is 'fun,' anyway. You deserve to be happy, and I was serious 'bout that in the breach. It's important to be friends before you can be with someone, far as I'm concerned. So...friends. With bonus friendship extended to your other half as long as he treats you right.

She's a pain in the ass, but yeah. She does.

[The casual swap of pronouns - the revelation of Root's gender - is incidental, not purposefully pointed. Shaw isn't bothered by the assumption that she's married to a man, nor does she worry about the potential for a surprised or negative reaction - and, of course, she's blissfully unaware of his own internal struggles on the subject. Have some exposure to open queerness, John. It'll be good for you.]

Edited 2025-07-30 20:43 (UTC)

[It's reflex to be startled, and he is for a second--but then he remembers Malcolm, and shock turns to surprise turns to amazement in an instant.

Then he smiles, small but genuine and happy. Because that...that's still great. Maybe his part in history is fucked up, full of blood, and pointless, but some things are different. Some things are better than they were when the future arrives.]

'She'...fuck yeah.

[He's only half aware of saying it, but doesn't mind when it's out there because he means it. He's the sick one, not gay people like her and Mal. They're different from the norm, but he gave the norm the finger a long time ago.]

Sorry, just--for me, everyone still thinks you're sick in the head if you're in love with someone who can use the same public bathroom you do. Feels good knowing people are changing their mind about that. Getting smarter, y'know?

IC contact for lastvoyages

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CW: mentions of child abuse & alcoholism

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