konstant | . .. IC Contact

"I heard most of those people were taken in by the SIN guards and the city officials." And misses being able to just go and look up those results.

"And that the city itself is unstable."

He frowns. "Unstable how? Duplicity has had two civil wars--could they be on the brink of that?"

"No - physically." He can at least imagine a toxic city under the ocean. There was a neighborhood like that in Los Angeles.

He frowns and considers a moment. "If you end up needing help and call, I'll come anyway."

"I know you will." He thinks back, grins, and it feels good to smile. "I remember you breaking out of prison. Pretty sure not much could stop you if I called. It didn't hurt, did it?"

"No," he answers, distracted by the sudden grin, unsure what it means in practice. It keeps him from withdrawing too much as he considers Jesus's face.

"I don't... Like to do that. Sometimes people are scared by it."

He shakes his head slightly; he wasn't frightened by it. "Impressed, I'd say. For me, anyway. It made me feel a little better about your choice...knowing you weren't stuck where you didn't want to be."

"It's part of why prison doesn't worry me." He could even still get out again, he thinks, if he was willing to do real harm to the guards. He's not for just himself though.

"If I'd known it could make it better for you I'd have said." Another, not so direct apology.

"I didn't know what would've made it easier on me. I was just trying to support you." Which is what he'll do again in three months, when K will likely reach the same conclusion he did the first time around.

"Where are you going to be staying?"

"I was told I could stay here for the month," he answers, automatically glancing towards the door again, towards Nibbles, and then back at a man who probably doesn't realize that support is such an odd word to K that he doesn't know what to do with it.

"I don't have anywhere besides the Down housing to go anyway. Not that won't cause problems."

It's odd how empty this place seems without V, even though V hadn't decorated or done much to make the space his own.

In the end, he was only asking so he'd know where to go to find K.

"I can stay here tonight. If you want."

K is quiet then, his gaze still scanning over Jesus's face, lingering at each feature; the shape his hairline makes and the pieces of it that always fall loose of how he ties it back first; the shape of his eyebrows; the blue of his eyes; the curve of his nose, the way it comes to a fine point; the fullness of his beard, and the way his lips form his smile, the way they frame the flash of his teeth when he talks or grins.

He brushes his fingers along the slope of his neck. "I want you to," he says, delicately, clearly, "But I'm not allowed to have visitors. I don't want you in trouble."

"I'll leave before first light, then." But he'll stay the night. He holds K's gaze, the way he's being studied, and fights a shiver of feeling. "I want to be with you. We both lost someone..."

The same someone.

"I'm sorry," he says again, immediately, not the least bit perfunctory even though it's almost reflexive, even though something in his expression crumbles ever so slightly.

"You found him, you brought him back, and I -" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

He let them both down.

"I found him with you," Jesus lays his hand on K's cheek, urging him to look at him, to hear him. "I couldn't have done that without you. You saved him as much as I did."

"I was right here." Loading the dishwasher, wiping down the counter. He's not sure when, exactly, V vanished but he knows - "I was between him and the door, and I didn't even know until he was gone."

Some officer he is. Some friend, to not even know.

"K, I'm dead. Not just dead; I should be in a coffin. We have no idea how we're brought here. No one knows. And no one expects you to be able to stop however it is they bring or take people." His other hand on K's other cheek, desperate to be heard.

"It is not your fault."

He lets himself be steadied, although raising his eyes to meet Jesus's again feels harder than breaking out of that cell had. He makes himself do it anyway, focuses on the warmth of Jesus's palms at his cheeks, at the way he leans into every word he says like he doesn't need K to believe it because he does all on his own.

But he wants him to believe it. He wants it to be enough to hold back K's doubt, which is cancerous and deep, which will kill him a second time if it gets half a chance.

He doesn't agree, but he doesn't argue either, and leans his forehead against Jesus's. Wraps his arms around Jesus, tight, and hangs on.

He slides his arms around K then, chin on K's shoulder, and wishes he knew what to say, what to do. This is all he has. This is all he can offer: being here, even if it means defying the city.

"I don't blame you for this."

Do you have dark thoughts?

Did they program you to have dark thoughts?

Do you think it's some kind of corruption, these dark thoughts?

K shivers, hangs on a little tighter, although this still isn't even a fraction of his strength. He wants to hold Jesus here, yes, but not to hurt him, physically or otherwise.

Jesus doesn't blame him. K turns his face into his hair, and breathes in, and tries to let that be enough for him, too. "I think this is fear," he confesses, whisper-soft.

Maybe it's a spot of rust or something.

He's scared, too.

If he holds K like this, if they don't let go, could he just vanish right out of his arms?

"What are your thoughts doing?"

He doesn't startle; he's spoken the script aloud before after all, pieces of it anyway, his part of the call and response. Hearing something along the similar lines from Jesus isn't the strangest thing that's happened.

What kind of power do you have against the dark?

"Circling." Why are these things happening? "I don't want you to go."

Do you think you can protect people against the dark?

"I don't want this to be what our lives are."

Jesus doesn't either. But it is. And this is how his life has been for over a decade: uncertainty and fleeting moments, and sudden losses. He doesn't know how to make it easier, not for himself and not for K. You just keep going, that's all there is.

"I'm not going." Not right now. He has the mission, but not right now. "I want to stay with you."

Dreadfully distinct against the dark.

K is aware that he uses his baseline to self soothe; he's aware that in some ways it's destructive, but at least in a way he understands. Emotions are trying to tear him apart and doing a decent job of it, and until Jesus came in the door, until he insisted he wasn't leaving again, the only thing keeping him moving forward was that script over and over and over again in his head.

Jesus says he'll stay. Jesus wants to stay. K takes several moments to let that sink in but when it does, he nods.

"Okay." It may be trouble, and maybe it won't change anything, but he does believe him. "I want that. I want to stay with you, too."

"Come lay down with me." Nibbles is on the bed, and at first Jesus tries to arrange himself around him but the cat hops off the bed and sits, tail flicking, watching and waiting for the humans to get settled.

K was already dressed for bed, which in this case just means he's barefoot. It means he's willing to let go of Jesus long enough to let him climb up onto what really is a nice king-sized bed, with a thick comforter and soft pillows. It's a nice room. K just doesn't want to be in it alone.

But he does follow, and he does curl up on his side facing Jesus and already reaching for him again, unknowingly echoing what the other man had wondered before: is holding onto each other enough to keep them here, or can they vanish right out from under each others' hands?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject