interstellar5555 | ☆TRACK VIII: I'LL REACH YOU BELOW

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☆TRACK VIII: I'LL REACH YOU BELOW

Who: All rescuers!
What: The trio is here to give you the deets.
When: The evening of February 18th.
Where: An abandoned subway.
Warnings: Nothing predictable, but you never know.

“Word has it on the wire
That you don't who you are.
Well, if you could jack into my brain,
You'd know exactly what you mean here.”

☆I'LL REACH YOU BELOW

The notification is sudden. A several hours in advance, all rescuers will receive a ping over the network from Shep that they are to gather at a specific location late that evening. The location will not be given out until one hour in advance of the meeting, but they are advised to be ready to receive it and move out immediately.

When they arrive, the meeting is taking place in an abandoned subway. At first it doesn't seem like there is a way in, but after slipping through the rubble in some collapsed tunnels, you'll find it. Shep, Gold, and Silver are all present, and will spent the first while doing a careful headcount of those that show up, until approximately 15 minutes after the starting time. The results seem to be disappointing. People who were here the first time are missing, that much is obvious just from looking around – the leaders’ unease with it is clear.

However, it doesn’t cause them to panic or change the point of the meeting, either. At 11:15 PM on the dot, then Shep will begin the meeting by explaining what they are all there for: information. There have been details that the team has been holding back on giving until now, and Shep will somewhat sheepishly explain that it’s because they didn’t want the risk the change of it being leaked in the event that new recruits were incapable or unwilling to blend and lay low for the time being.

Thankfully, he’ll explain, everyone here has more than proven themselves capable of working within Vista’s system. So, they’ve been brought together so they can be fully brought up to speed. Information will be delivered in three parts, by each one of the leaders. Afterwards, questions can be asked, and the rescuers will be allowed to mingle and discuss for a few hours.

All the information is concise, and in the end the actual explanation will end up taking a half hour or less. Afterwards, Gold has brought snacks to share, as has become customary. Hopefully you like pastries.

“So, if you've got the time,
Set up the tone to sync.
Tap in the code,
I'll reach you below.”

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J is unusually quiet, leaning against a wall, sunglasses down over his eyes despite them being both inside and underground. Sometimes they're just easier to hide behind, and he could use that right about now.

He's out of his league. He's known it for a while - ever since Silver knocked him flat by tune alone well over a month ago - but it hadn't really sunk in until just now, until he knew more. They're fighting robots, and magical aliens that want to become gods and can kill them easy as breathing, and...

And he doesn't think he can help.

If Silver can just about wipe him out just by being in a bad mood, then he can't afford to even go near Blanche and Santiago - his Music sense will just make him a liability around them, worse than useless. He can tell who's a robot by tune alone, but he can't do anything about it. Right now, it doesn't sound like there's anything he can do. He came here to help, and he can't, and that's just about the worst place an Agent can be.

He hasn't been this down in a while, and he doesn't know what to do about it. Right now, he's just trying to process what they've been told and stave off the headache caused by the mixing of Gold and Silver's tunes.

This time she finds him. Weaving through the crowd, she comes to him -- if only for the reason that to have him at the edges of things is unlike him. Sunglasses down, he's expressionless, remote.

This isn't J.

She draws closer, fingers raised and brushing along the wall. She doesn't announce herself; he seems to always know she's there anyway.

"Is . . . everything all right?"

He hears her coming, yeah, but he doesn't say anything until she speaks up. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." It's an out and out lie, but...he feels like a jerk for even thinking it, but Lapis isn't too good at people. Maybe she won't notice.

She isn't good at people. And she can't find anything in his face that would make her deny his claim.

But.

It still feels strange. She's seen J tired before, and even then, he looked up and smiled when he saw her or anyone else walking into the room. This . . . is a different sort of J, pulling everything inward and not seeming to like what he sees.

She stands there for another long moment, watching him. Then leans against the wall beside him, sharing the space. Waiting.

Either she'll gather more information, or he'll speak on his own.

Edited 2016-02-22 22:48 (UTC)

She's expectant - curious - but that doesn't mean J wants to talk about it. This is his little pity party, and the last thing Lapis needs is an invitation.

So he deflects. He's good at that. "How're you holdin' up?"

She might be quiet. But that doesn't mean she isn't determined. (Read: Stubborn.) Her stubborn levels are over 9000.

"You're not okay," she replies, ignoring the deflection for what it is. She can't say exactly how she knows this, but her memories of people skills are sharpening the more she's been forced to be around them. "And I'm sure it's not just because you're tired."

Well that didn't work. He sighs and gives it a moment or two before he speaks again. "Why'd you ask if you already know the answer?"

"Because I want to know what's wrong." There's certainty in this. "I want to help."

He does consider it for a moment, but...how's Lapis going to help him figure out his place in this, if he has one? She's got enough to worry about. "Thanks, but I dunno if you can." He shrugs. "I'll figure it out."

"You help me." Her eyes bore into him, dark and unrelenting. "How is it different if I help you back?"

"I want to try."

Cough it up, J.

"Different set of problems." And it is, he tells himself - he can find the right words, the right rhythm, to help soothe Lapis' anxiety and worries; he's fairly certain she's not going to be able to help him with a crisis of purpose - not without him bringing up a lot of things he'd rather not talk about. See, not the same at all. "I appreciate the offer, though."

And then, suddenly, she's irritated. Irritated that he's brushing her aside, irritated that he's not trusting her to handle the weight on his mind that she can certainly see.

Irritated that he's pushed his way into her life, made her trust him, and now he won't let her give back. Because why?

She eyes him sideways -- at the remoteness of his figure, his stance, made all the more distant due to the fact that he's not even allowing anyone to see his eyes. He's walled himself away. It's almost as bad as being in the mirror again that way: Being able to watch, but never able to touch.

Her mouth firms, and in nearly one movement she suddenly steps in front of him, hand darting forward to snatch the glasses off his nose and eye him in the face.

He's not going to wall off and away from her.

She's not going to be just a mirror. She won't let him make her into one.

The irritation's not a surprise - from the outside, he's sure he's being difficult. It's not what he wanted, sure, but he'll figure it out somehow.

The intent that suddenly surfaces in her tune is what surprises him. He's heard similar intent from other people, and more than once it's turned into danger. He's got a split second to react, and he wastes it trying to get around the surprise that he's hearing it from Lapis of all people-

And then she moves, and his shades are gone.

For a moment, he's frozen in wide-eyed shock. How did she- how could she-

Shock never lasts too long. It collapses a moment later, and anger surges into its place. He's already having one hell of a bad day, and then she just goes and grabs his shades, and you do not touch an Agent's shades.

The only thing keeping him from going full Rage Against the Machine is the quiet voice in the back of his head insisting that she doesn't know. It's that voice that defuses the anger just enough for him to get a grip on himself. He snaps a hand up and grabs Lapis' wrist - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep her from pulling away. He's still wide-eyed, angry, struggling to find a balance because he's already lost his cool in front of these people once and he is not giving a repeat performance-

But he's in control.

"What are you doing."

Her wrist is in his hand, poised in the space between them. Her music likely carries a note of chaos, wild, twisting very similarly to the moments when she was facing down Pearl. Her stance has changed; her shoulders are back, her chin is lifted, her feet are braced in the dirt and decay of the subway floor.

Her eyes meet his anger and don't flinch away.

"You're hiding," Her voice is even, flat. "Do you think I don't understand that? You won't let me hide. From the beginning, you've found me; you've poked me out. You never let me be. You made me trust you. You made me want you there. Do you think I can just walk away?"

Her eyes press closed briefly, then open again, no less focused. "Five thousand years I was locked away. No one could see me. No one could touch me. I watched everything when they'd even forgotten I'd existed."

Voice dropping, "Don't make me watch. You, Steven, this place, you're opening me up. Even if I don't know the answer . . . don't shut me off. Look at me."

Her voice falters, and for a moment there's a quiver of the usual Lapis in it, soft. "Please."

Let me do this for you.

There's something about hearing this from Lapis - hearing her tune bolstered by the controlled passion and steady, no-nonsense determination that he usually expects from Derek or Morris - that stops his anger in its tracks and really makes him listen.

He hears her tune open up, feels eons of pain and loneliness welling up from the deep, from places far beyond what he could ever hope to reach. Her tune is deep like the ocean - he knows that every time he hears it, and yet somehow he forgets. When he can see the sunlight dancing on the waves, it's easy to forget just how far down those fathoms extend - and here she is, opening all of that up to him, and asking him to do the same for her...because that's what friends do, isn't it?

At some point, when he wasn't looking, his anger had washed away. He doesn't miss it.

Slowly, he lets go of her wrist and plucks his sunglasses from her fingers, folding them carefully and sliding them in his breast pocket. "Not here," is about all he can manage. "Okay? Later, I promise, just- not here." If they're going to have this conversation, it's not going to be in front of a crowd.

She can see -- almost feel -- the anger slide from him, watches his fingers fall away from his wrist. Her own fingers are unresisting as a result as he takes the glasses from her -- though she watches carefully nonetheless to see where they go.

"Okay," she says quietly back. And it is okay. This she can deal with.

This she understands.

They leave early, or at least a little earlier than anyone else; for once in his life, J doesn't want to hang around and be social, and he doesn't want to have this conversation with anyone else in the apartment. They leave, and take a very roundabout way back to the place J has been calling home for the past few weeks.

He shuts the door behind them. "Honestly, I'm not sure how to start this," he admits. Usually, when he gets this down, someone drags the reason out of him and then won't leave him alone until he fixes it; he gets the feeling that that's not Lapis' MO. He's going to have to figure this out himself.

Give him a minute.

She trails next to him on the way home, Luna in appearance, quiet, letting the silence breed between them. He's promised her; there's no need to drag it out of him. If it were her, she'd likely be doing the same thing, sorting through the spin of her thoughts. Let him have the time and speak when he's ready.

She re-emerges as herself as they enter the apartment, and he shuts the door behind him. Still quiet, she gives him the space to form his words, settling onto the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her.

She waits. And listens.

Yeah, he'd figured she'd take the hands off approach here. Looks like he'll have to get the ball rolling.

Somehow.

"I don't know what I'm doin' here," he says, and immediately wants to grab the words and hide them the moment they're out of his mouth. Admitting he's lost - that he doesn't have an answer - he knows it's not a dead end, but that doesn't stop it from feeling like one. "I mean," he presses on, because he can't just leave that admission out there on its own, "we got a phase two of this plan, an' everything's just...it's nothin' I can help with."

And that, more than anything else, is what's killing him. If he can't help - in a place based on music, of all things - then what's the point of him being there?

Edited 2016-03-01 07:37 (UTC)

She's already dragged this conversation out of him to begin with; as far as she's concerned, he needs to be given the time and the space to start it when and where he's ready. Her silence is patient. She's used to waiting.

She watches him through his admission, quiet and attentive, eyes lingering on his.

It's hard. She isn't used to having to comfort people, to have to sort things through. But she managed somehow with Steven . . . and it's important. It's important to him, and how he feels and thinks is coming to be important to her, so somehow, some way, she has to find the words. She knew that from the beginning, and she knows that now.

Fear of not being good enough to manage has to be pushed aside.

"You don't fight."

It's more of an observation than a question. She's never seen J fight, and somehow it doesn't quite seem like him; he's much more defensive than offensive -- someone who waits and moves accordingly rather than strikes the first blow.

"But . . . I don't think you have to fight to help?"

The question is implicit: So why is he concerned, if he does know this? She feels like he must.

"See, that's the thing: usually, I don't." J shrugs - he's support, and he knows it, and usually he's proud of it. Right now, alone, it just feels useless. "But it looks like everything's gearin' up for a fight, and..." He trails off, shrugging. "That ain't my place. Problem is, I dunno if I have another one, an' I don't think we have the time for me to figure it out."

Again she falls quiet for a few moments, watching him. Then, softly, "It's . . . better. Not having to fight."

"Gold and Silver say that they want to bring people back. Out of being brainwashed. Away from being prisoners. But . . . after having been taken like that . . ." Her voice drops. "After someone compromising you . . . it doesn't mean that you're better."

"If you can fight that . . . it's worth more. More than anything."

"Not havin' to and not bein' able to are two completely different things." J should know; most days, he falls under both of them.

He goes quiet, listening both to her words and to the emotions rising out of the depths of her tune. Lapis keeps a lot buried - he knows that - but he never really had any idea of how much or how deeply. There's a good reason she keeps surprising him today. If she's been through something like this before...

And she's got a point. Gold and Silver both know him as the 'music guy.' As far as J knows, he's the only one here who can tap into people's tunes and repair them, and isn't that worth something? Even if the front lines are where the action is right now, he can still keep working from the side, can't he? "You got a point," he admits quietly.

As to what happened to Lapis, that she would know that feeling that intimately...it's probably better not to ask right now.

She'd give it to him, honestly, if he asked. But it doesn't occur to her that he might want it. She doesn't trust that anyone would.

"Your way of fighting is different," she replies softly. "You're still fighting. Being able to hurt other people . . . it doesn't make you hurt any less. It doesn't make you any less . . . angry for what's been done."

"I'd rather know you were here for Steven . . . than anyone else."

Vastra also seems to be standing off to the edges of the room, watching and listening. It's what she does best in these sorts of situations-- observation. Especially when she didn't have much to add to the plan. Right now, it sounds as though they're simply waiting for this 'chop shop' to be operational, because doing anything before then sounds like a hell of a good way to expose the rescuers and get the kidnapped musician killed.

She glances over at the man with the sunglasses, noting his body language. "Doubts?"

About the plan, obviously.

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☆TRACK VIII: I'LL REACH YOU BELOW

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