I'm in the autumn of my years

[panspermia]

Who: Greg Universe and any Rescuers
What: who's this asshole
When: June 18
Where: The Rescuers' ship
Warnings: trauma and PTSD

If Greg has a reaction to entering a massive alien guitar spaceship, he keeps it to himself. Between the drama of the ritual, the return of his maimed soul, and his haphazard rescue, he simply has too much to process first before he can take in the rest of the rescuer operation. As a result, first thing he does is find a small, empty room--a bathroom--and ask to be left alone for a while.

An hour or so later, a very different man emerges again.

It hadn't been his first intention in locking himself in that room, but the longer he'd been in there, the more necessary it had felt. Greg hasn't felt like himself in a very long time. The worst of it was the result of Blanche's meddling with his soul, yes, but it extended before that point as well. The face of his youth, the one Blanche used and tried to make into a different person altogether... Greg couldn't keep looking at that face anymore. It hurt too much, made him too sick. Adding a few years on to his appearance and a beard isn't going to fix it, either; he's not the same person he used to be, either. (After all, he did keep the hair.) But this is better, closer than before. Whoever he is now, this is about as close as he's willing to get.

Greg Universe emerges into the ship, avoiding eye contact, and finally begins to take things in.

Comments

[oceantier]

She lets the hand stay, doesn't move away from it, but. "She used what was inside me already. It's not as though she put anything into me that wasn't already there. She twisted it, used the connection back to Malachite . . . but don't you understand? It was all there. I just wasn't strong enough to keep it back."

Her voice hasn't risen; there's no accusation in her tone -- just the edge of a plea, though it's hard to say for what. Still, though, she's not pulling away. This is the worst part of her, placed out onto the table for the world to see. While she's not -- can't be -- sorry to have that anger, it scares her sometimes with its virulence. Up until now for the most part, her rage has been her own burden, and she hasn't felt that it truly affects anyone but her.

There were benefits to not caring about anyone else. That luxury is gone.

Now . . . it's exposed, bare to the world, and it's been used like a knife against people she's come to dare to feel for. The others . . . they've been so kind, so understanding. But she doesn't deserve it. How can she?

She wants that forgiveness -- needs it, craves it. But how can she take it? How can they really offer it if they don't really see what she is?

Maybe he'll understand that. She dares to hope he'll understand that when he's been used himself.

[panspermia]

"Lapis. I've seen what you can do." His hand shifts on her, gentle and firm. "You've always scared the pants off of me, you know that? You're terrifying. Back home, and over here."

This might not be the best pep talk, but if she's not interested in beating around the bush, he won't either. She'd attacked and threatened him plenty often, even before Lesedi went and scrambled things up, and he'd be a fool to pretend that side of her wasn't there.

"Maybe you're got more Scared and Angry in you than you do Friend, right now. But, the only way we're gonna tip those scales is if we keep working at it."

[oceantier]

No, she wanted the truth -- and there's relief in the fact that he doesn't turn aside from it, doesn't sugarcoat it for her sake, doesn't hide from what she already knows is there. There's relief and release in it . . . His words release her from having to hide from it in turn to be acceptable, to sugarcoat or reason it away for him.

In simple words, he's given her the freedom to be who she is and the warmth to say he still cares . . . she still matters. The release and the gratitude chase across her features, and though she's still unsure about ducking underneath his arm for a hug, her cheek tilts, pressing against the back of the hand on her shoulder.

[panspermia]

She's too unsure to tuck fully into the hug, but Greg's not. His arm curls around her shoulders and he scoots in beside her. They're both tired, they're both hurting. Greg's so tired of keeping it together. Right now, he really needs this hug, and Lapis surely does too.

[oceantier]

Brief surprise, but she doesn't protest, allowing him to pull her close. His warm solidity, the fact of being held, pushes out the empty places in her mind. With a soft release of breath, an arm comes up to tighten around him in turn.

For a few rare moments, she's at peace.

[panspermia]

The hug doesn't budge for a long while. Greg's so exhausted, he could just as easily fall asleep here.

"This is really good, though," he finally mutters. "We don't have to worry about being friends any more." One hand pats at her shoulder from the hug. "We can be pals and no one can get mad about it. Criminy, I missed that kind of freedom."