Noah (hellboundlife) wrote in commandhq, @ 2018-06-11 20:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | calvin banner, p: mena, p: mj, waverley rowan |
Who: Calvin Banner & Waverley Rowan
What: Calvin thinks a swim will help with his grief but boy was he wrong
When: Sometime after the announcements of the deaths
Where: The pool & boys locker room
Rating: Medium [references to a panic attack and a lot of emotion/swearing]
Cal didn't really know what the appropriate emotional response was to loss and grief especially as whilst he had lost things and people before it had never been through something as final as death. That took things right out of your control and rendered you completely and utterly powerless and Cal hated that. The Outsiders were a mess but that was to be expected, they'd just lost one of their own and it had been so sudden that there hadn't been any way to prepare for it. Ever since his first very emotional response to Scotty's death Cal had in effect shut down, pushed his emotions down, and poured his focus into doing what he could to help the others. It probably wasn't enough but their life hadn't exactly prepared them for this sort of shit. Not in any shape or form. He'd tried eating but anything he put into his stomach he just brought back up and so he'd given up, no fucking point if all he was going to do was spend more time bent over a toilet than actually being able to keep it down. At some point he'd turned his energy into laps in the pool until he'd just spent himself and every muscle was raw with pain and it was then and only then that he got out and changed back into his clothes but it was during the pulling on off his t-shirt that his chest suddenly got tight and it honestly didn't feel like he could breathe. That was fucking stupid, he could breathe, and yet every time he tried to take a breath he felt like there was a tight band around his chest and every single one seemed to stutter and stall. And he definitely had the feeling and sense of impeding doom that was really pointless especially as he didn't have any reason to feel that way but if Cal knew a little more about what it was feeling he would realise he was in fact having a panic attack. It was short, sharp, punctuated by ragged breaths and the scrambling need to get air, but apparently his limbs weren't in any shape or form being obedient so all that happened was he managed to make it to the wall where he just curled in and tried to find some way out of this all consuming all encompassing shitty ass feeling that no matter how hard he tried to push it away kept creeping up on him. He was meant to be stronger than this. After the announcements had been made, Waverley felt the pit of her stomach drop. She didn't know the agents in question, of course she didn't, but they would have had friends here, and some of them may even have had family. Scotty Weston, she knew, had family here. The Outsiders. She'd seen posts from him on the network, knew of him from late night conversations with Calvin over drinks, or over lazily lounging in the water, the two of them indulging in their shared abilities. As soon as Russell had dismissed them, she left the common area of her suite because Cal hadn't been there, hadn't been at the announcement. She checked his room - empty. Then she moved to the common areas where she'd often stumbled across him late at night, unable to sleep - empty. And honestly as she was walking towards the pool, she wondered why she hadn't just checked there first. Jamie might be alive, but for years she hadn't known that. For a decade, she'd mourned the loss of her brother, someone she thought she'd never get to see again. She knew this pain and she knew that hopeless feeling of loss. She knew that empty vacuum of grief and as she reached the locker rooms - since the pool was empty - she barged into the boy's one, not bothering to care about them being gendered. It wasn't like she'd never seen a naked boy before. She pressed her lips together as she slowed to a halt, seeing Cal braced against the wall, curled up from where he'd clearly slid down it, and she could see the ragged breaths forcing their way in and out of his lungs, the tension in his form as it trembled. His face might have been hidden, but Waverley knew what expression would be there. Her own chest tightened, her throat felt dry, her eyes burned. She knew this pain. And so without a second's hesitation, she swiftly moved to crouch in front of him, her hands catching his bare arms before she reached up to cup his face, trying to gently coax him out from where he was curled in on himself to give his body a chance to fully expand his lungs. She could feel a breeze kicking up around them, too, gently ruffling her hair. "I'm so sorry." Cal's first instinctive reaction was to tense at the unexpected touch especially as he was already berating himself mentally for apparently not being able to hold his shit together and now somebody had found him and this was not any state he wanted to be found in. Too vulnerable and too exposed. He fucking hated it, he really did. He was about to lash out, tell the person to get off him, leave him alone, but when he realised it was Waverley his first kneejerk action was muted down to pressing the heel of one hand into one eye after the other as he tried to scrub away the burning sensation of tears. His body hadn't unfurled but it his body language was a little more open though he just shook his head before a rumbled gruff escaped him, "Nothing for you to be sorry about." Waverley wasn't surprised by the initial defensive reaction, it fitted from what she'd learned about him in their time together. What did surprise her was how quickly he deflated after seeing her, when instead he just pressed his hand into his eye. She reached out, curled her fingers around his wrist and drew his hand away from his face. Her other one skated across his jaw and up through his wet hair, the touch comforting as much as it was to make sure his attention was focused on her, trying to draw his mind away from whatever it was circling on that was making him unable to draw in a breath. "How come you're alone?" she asked him, her hand still gently moving through his hair, moving so that she was kneeling rather than crouching as her balance was a little wobbly. Her thumb smoothed across the back of his hand where she was still touching him. "Shouldn't you be with your family?" 10 June 2018 Cal was still struggling to breathe, still fighting to fill his lungs, and he absolutely hated how short and stuttering his breathing was and he was pretty certain that his eyes were too wide, too blown, and he definitely felt tears. This was not the state that he wanted to be in or if he was he didn't want it to be seen by anyone, it had been bad enough when Jade had found him drunk, but this? Well, this was definitely worse. He pulled back a little and pressed that much further into the wall as if that would help to ground him and just make this stop. "Needed uh, I needed to-" Cal gestured vaguely, not even sure what he was trying to say. "Needed some space?" Waverley finished, because she'd been on her own when Jamie had died, she had Kyra, but she had no one else and honestly that had been terrifying. But Cal, Cal had his family here and she supposed that if he was going to be strong for them then he'd need to get away for a bit to just try and process what had happened on his own. She felt him pull away but she didn't let her touch drop from his hair, her other hand lifting from his wrist to cup his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone and across those freckles that dusted it that she found utterly fascinating. "It's okay," she told him, wondering if he was having a panic attack. He looked like he might be; looked like he might be struggling to draw in a breath. "Look at me for a minute?" she asked, "I think- Cal I think you're having a panic attack. I need you to look at me." She glanced away briefly, drawing water that had pooled on the floor to hover in the air just beside herself as a sphere that pulsed in and out in time wih her, significantly slower, breathing. "Start by matching my breathing, okay?" Yeah, maybe? Cal didn't know, all he knew was he had all this restless energy and he needed to find some way to work it out of his system especially before he went back to the others. He still felt that weight, pressing down on his chest, and it ached. It really fucking ached. Was it normal to feel physical pain while grieving? He didn't know, couldn't wrap his head around much and every thought felt like sand slipping through the gaps in his fingers. Her touch registered but at the same time it didn't, everything still felt so... weird and distant, like he wasn't fully in his body and present. Cal knew if he said it aloud it would make sense so he didn't. Instead he just pressed his teeth together and with that grounding pressure it allowed him to finally look at Waverley. Panic attack? What the fuck was a panic attack? He flexed his hands restlessly and swallowed past a sudden inexplicable lump that had seemingly stolen his ability to speak and just nodded, trying to match her breathing with his own. Waverley's hands dropped to Cal's knees, exaggerating her own breathing so that it was easier for him to follow, the sphere beside her expanding and contracting at the same time in case he didn't want to look at her. It was easier, sometimes, to look at something that wasn't looking back at you. She remembered her own time, curled in the bathtub under the shower feeling like she couldn't breathe, like the world was caving in around her and stealing away her ability to do anything. A clawing panic that she'd lose everything else, that she'd be alone. Feeling like her chest cavity had caved in and shrunk so she couldn't take a breath. God, she remembered it so vividly. She felt like she'd been stabbed and it hurt. It hurt in her soul and in her body. An ache that she couldn't get away from. She squeezed his knees, watching him carefully as he matched her breathing. "It's okay," she told him slowly, "what you're feeling right now will pass." There was definitely this empty aching hole where he was certain Scotty had been, would that ever feel go away? He didn't know and he really didn't like that uncertainty. He just wanted breathing to stop hurting and for his best not to feel so tight and constricted. If that could happen then maybe just maybe he'd feel something approaching normal. He wanted nothing more than to beat his fists into something until they bled and yet here he was completely and utterly struck down and unable to move. "You-" he began before he just felt his breath catch and he inhaled sharply through his nose to try and work it through. "You sure?" Honestly it didn't feel like it would. "I'm sure," she told him sincerely, and confidently. Cal had always struck her as someone who was so careful to manufacture how people saw him and in some small way she felt like seeing him like this was an honour. Something she would never have dreamed of abusing anyway but he hadn't told her to leave and goddamn he looked so young right now, so young and vulnerable and Waverley just wanted to wrap him in a hug and somehow make it all go away. Her hand lifted to his face again, turning it to face her so that she could meet his eyes, and she gently leaned forward, still breathing in and out more exaggeratedly than she needed to. It was to give him something to focus on, and if she was a bit closer, it was easier for him to look at her and not away. "I- you can work through this on your own," she told him, "or I can help you." Her expression was earnest, she wasn't about to do anything without permission but it was tempting to just hum, help him calm down and explain later. But she felt like that was a blatant abuse of the situation. She wet her lower lip, "Either way, keep breathing. I promise, it'll pass. Focus on me, focus on breathing in and out." Telling her to leave had crossed his mind, in the beginning, but they were so deep into this that he didn't think he could. His brow knitted together when she leaned in and for a moment he was uncomfortable at the increased level of closeness and the tension which filled his shoulders was indicative of that, but he had a word with himself an eventually his shoulders did relax. "I wanna do this on my own," he muttered as he swallowed, hard. The only person he'd ever let affect him was Sandy because she was one of the few people he trusted unequivocally. His chest was still straining under the crushing weight and he could feel that transferring into the rest of his body as it shook which was very much against what he wanted it to do but apparently it wasn't listening to him at the moment. He needed to breathe, in and out, Cal fixed his eyes on Waverley and just breathed. Honestly, if Cal had said go at this point she might not have done. But he didn't, and he even relaxed a little after intially tensing. She knew how hard this was, that feeling of loss was overwhelming, leaving you out at sea without any way of anchoring yourself. And if he was being the anchor for everyone else, he was lost at sea on his own and she wouldn't let someone else go through that. "Okay," she murmured, meeting his gaze and just breathing with him, slowly seeing the change as his breaths came in more slowly, more deeply. She had no idea how long they were sat there, but she'd let her powers release the sphere and dismiss it, the water snaking obediently down the drain so it wasn't in the way. She nodded, saying without words that he was doing well, that this was the right thing and even though he might feel stupid, she knew what he was feeling. Knew this panic. That cloying feeling. "That feeling a bit easier?" she asked after what felt like forever had passed. It looked like he was breathing a bit more easily, at least. He hurt. Everywhere. There was this ache that seemed to permeate through every inch of his body and filled every single limb to the point where he couldn't identify where it began from. Of course that was fairly evident, it was deep in his chest, right where his heart was. "Yeah," he managed with a nod before he pushed a hand through his hair, idly noticing that it was now dry which meant they must have been here a long time. He pushed out another breath, shaky but steady, and he just rubbed at his upper arms as now he was through the worst of it he felt really fucking stupid. He cleared his throat a moment later. "Thanks." "Don't," Waverley said, though if it was in response to the thank-you or in response to the way she could see that Cal was reacting in a manner that indicated he was embarrassed with himself wasn't clear. "It's not needed." She didn't move away but she did lean back a little, leaning over to snatch up his shirt, offering it to him. Inappropriate though it was, she caught herself giving him an appreciative once over and chastised herself. "Here, you're probably feeling cold, now." Cal took the shirt readily and happily especially as she was right, he did feel cold, really cold. Jesus Christ, what he wouldn't do for a little warmth right now. Might even sell an organ. The shirt was tugged on and pulled down into place before he just dropped his head back against the wall as he regarded the ceiling, hating that he still felt... off, especially as he needed to really just pull his shit together. After a moment he realised where they were and that it was in fact the male locker rooms and Waverley was there which could only mean one thing: she'd come looking for him. Honestly Cal didn't know how to process that because he was not used to being sought out, he was so used to being the one to do the seeking. "Suppose I ought to get up off the floor." "S'pose so," Waverley said, getting to her feet herself. Her knees felt like they'd locked into position kneeling with him and she resisted the urge to groan as she stretched her body out, arms above her head and spine popping a little before she reacehd out with one hand and held it out for him to take, wiggling her fingers. "C'mon, I'll give you a hand." She wondered how long it would be before he yawned. The first time she'd had something like this, she had been cold and tired and she had felt sick. But she also hadn't wanted to be alone. Unfortunately, Kyra had been at work, and she hadn't wanted to burden her friend with this. With the mess that she was after her brother's death. "Lucky this place was empty," she told him. "Means I didn't have to shout at anyone to leave." Cal sniffed idly and passed the back of his hand over his eyes to make fucking certain that whatever tears were there were no longer visible. He pushed a breath out and flexed his hands before sure enough one of them took a hold of Waverley's and with that grip solidified and steadied he rose to his feet. He knew it had been empty, it was why he'd picked it after all, less chance of anybody seeing him in this state of emotional disrepair. Christ, he was... exhausted and he was certain the cold was in his bones. Even as he got to his feet, Waverley didn't immediately let go of his hand. She squeezed his fingers, offering silent support and comfort even as she figured they could maybe talk about something else. "You got a hoodie?" she asked him, not able to see one on the bench where the t-shirt had been abandoned. She already knew what she was going to do; get him back to his room, get him settled in bed, try and help him at least relax so he could think about sleeping and then check on him in the morning. After all, he struck her as the kind of person who would implode, silently destroy himself rather than tell people he was struggling. Honestly? Cal could not remember. A lot of the time before the pool was something of a blur and he just shook his head. "Uh, I don't think so?" He did however need to put his boots on because all he'd managed was his briefs and jeans before the panic had overwhelmed him. He rubbed a hand through his hair and shuffled in the direction of the bench where he sat for a moment to tug on his socks and boots, hating how his hands were still shaking, and it didn't even seem to matter how many times he flexed his hands it didn't seem to help. Waverley watched him for a moment before she followed and dropped smoothly into a crouch again, without words helping him get his socked feet into his boots. She didn't do them up; at least getting his feet into them was enough to get him out of there. That was all he needed; just for them to be on his feet. It was enough, and she figured he'd be embarrassed anyway. She wasn't about to make a big deal of something that was a perfectly perfunctory action. Once she was sure that his feet were in his shoes, she moved to sit next to him on the bench, reaching out for his hand and taking it in both of hers. "We can sit here for a minute if you want," she told him. The tremble running through his body was clear to her, from his hands right down to his legs, that fine tremor that came with the adrenaline rush of a panic attack. God, this was really fucking stupid. Cal was beyond frustrated with himself, he couldn't even get his own fucking boots on. What the fuck was that? Seriously. Waverley wasn't wrong, he was embarrassed, really embarrassed. He worked tension out of his jaw and just pushed a breath out, head turning to watch was Waverley took his hand in both of hers and swallowed hard. Nope. He wasn't going to do it, he wasn't going to cry. "Yeah," he answered with a nod. "Probably a good idea considering I couldn't even get my fucking shoes on." Lacing the fingers of her opposite hand through Cal's, her other arm lifted, resting against his upper back as her hand closed around the back of his neck, fingers pushed up ever so slightly into his hair as her thumb brushed through his hairline at the base of his skull. "It's okay," she told him softly, just sitting there and then falling quiet. "This'll pass too." She rested her lips against the curve of his shoulder, squeezing his hand and sitting with him for a while, waiting for him to tell her when he felt better. She sat there quietly, waiting for him to let her know when they could move, resisting the urge to talk to him, to get him to talk to her. If he wanted to speak- she'd listen. But until such a time as he was ready to move, she was content to sit in silence. |