Edwin Seabeck is a killer in potentia (elusive_control) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-07-01 10:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log, edwin seabeck, hunter mackenna |
WHO: Edwin Seabeck and Hunter MacKenna
WHAT: Hunter checks in with Edwin. All the feels in the world ensue. Part 1 of 2
WHEN: After Edwin’s Team Training Session, Wednesday June 26
WHERE: Secret space at the Boulders
WARNINGS: nearly 13K words
STATUS: Novella complete
Hunter felt like he hadn't slept in a week. There were plenty of times that he'd closed his eyes and time had passed, suddenly it was late or early or lunch was over, but he didn't feel rested. How could he? His mind wouldn't relent, wouldn't let him go, scenarios and ideas and facts hammering away at his consciousness with equal importance and demand. There was Daisy, there was Vic, there was Kim, there was the Vol Underground, there was Vols Rising and Andrew Parish, there was Wendell and the Dean and all that they represented -- all these people and their concerns and he buried himself in the midst of them because no part of him was capable of stepping back and just not caring, at this point. He felt like they needed him or they wanted things from him that he'd promised he would give or his survival depended on his ability to keep them in his rearview, never take his eye off of them. Give them the right answers. There were shadows under his eyes and the other day he'd hid in one of the shower stalls in the bathroom because his nose wouldn't stop bleeding, had to text Anthony for help. That was before they'd heard about the resolution, when the majority of his problems had been personal. For once, the person he wanted to be around more than anyone else was Edwin. It wasn't hard to find him at the end of his Wednesday training meeting -- the tone was very serious, and Hunter's commentary had been limited. Everyone at this point had ideas for how they could use their powers offensively or defensively or to gather information. He pushed himself slowly to his feet as the other members of the group began heading out in different directions. Just like last week, when Edwin was fresh out of solitary, he waved a bit and moved over to join Edwin, not quite smiling. "Hey..." Edwin was always the last to leave because he never went back directly to the dormitories. Now, with his hunger strike days well behind him, he had the energy to go running again. That was good because it was all he wanted to do - blank out on the rising tension and inevitable fate and exhaust his muscles in the hopes of it carrying over to his mind. He never slept so well since his powers escalated and now the darkness of his subconscious was quite preferable to the commentary of his consciousness. It had been a good meeting. For all that everyone was petrified of what the future brought and angry at those that were setting the dictates that would create that future, they were also so determined and confident that they’d find a way to be helpful to more than just themselves. There had been a general malaise of hopelessness the last few months; in this small pocket of time, there had only been action and, to an extent, optimism that something could be done. “Yes?” Edwin asked, looking up from the last few thoughts on Savannah he had and tried not to grimace. Hunter looked so drawn and pale - the usual from him these days. He was sure that Vic and Daisy were on his case 24-7 about how he was overworking himself, but he wasn’t sure if Hunter had actually looked at himself in a mirror lately. "That bad?" he commented dryly, having caught at least the flicker of concern in Edwin's eyes from the look he'd tried to suppress. He'd start to take offense if people began blanching at him; he still had his vanity, still hoped that Edwin didn't think he looked ghastly. His hand found his way up to his hair self-consciously, but then he slid both hands into his pockets so he wouldn't fidget unnecessarily. He didn't need to give any more signals as to how anxious he was, right now. "It's nothing, really. Just, you know, checking in." Hunter shrugged slightly, scuffed one foot against the red dirt and watched the dust settle on top of his shoe. He didn't seem in any hurry to leave, now that he'd 'checked in.' "So..." Edwin set his notebook aside and put the biro back into his pocket. He leaned back, arms catching his upper body so it hit a relaxed angle. “I don’t know how you’re standing,” he said in response to the comment about how bad it got. He gestured with his head for Hunter to take the patch of ground next to him. It wasn’t hard to guess that Hunter had something he wanted to talk about - fidgeting with his hair, scuffing the ground, shifting. "Just fine," came Hunter's rather clipped response -- he was getting a little tired of people ragging on him for overworking himself, and even if that wasn't precisely what Edwin meant by it, the comment slid a little close to home after hearing so many outright demands to cut down on his workload. Still, he sank down rather gratefully to the ground next to Edwin and leaned forward, his elbows looping around his knees and his cheek resting against his shoulder as he looked back towards his friend. He wasn't sure what it was that he wanted to talk about in particular, if anything. Everything. He didn't know if there was somewhere that he should start or not. But it hadn't escaped his attention that Vic and Edwin both were 'dangerous Vols,' the type of people whom IVI would likely haul away first if they had to weed out the ones who could cause the most damage before the Vols had the chance to do so. He studied Edwin's sunglasses. The neat strands of hair, his light skin, the narrow shoulders peaking beneath his shirt from the tension of his weight on his arms. Sighing, he turned his face forward and closed his burning eyes. "It's all just...a lot right now, isn't it?" he said at last, softly, more like he was hoping for a sound of agreement than asking a real question. Edwin pursed his lips. “That might be... no, that is quite the understatement,” he replied quietly, head tilting to rest on his shoulder. The thought of it all unleashed such a flood of thoughts and emotions, picking out one and clarifying it enough to put into words seemed to be as easy as trying to catch a bird barehanded. Everything he’d feared was coming to life and though bad things happened with some regularity to Edwin, it never got easier to handle. Six months ago, he’d not have blamed anyone for enacting such resolutions on himself. Now that he finally felt... if not settled with what he’d done then at least resolute to accept and integrate it, of course it would happen now. He looked over at Hunter now, a character in his fevered psychosis once, and thought that this would definitely all fit in with his theory about the Asylum. That he constantly destroyed everything he built, was always undergoing some form of punishment. The moment he read Eli’s statement, he felt a finality in him that filled his lungs to crush him from the inside. Some Vols are too dangerous to live - a statement that had always been true, but out of the right mouth had all the weight of a battleax to the throat. His throat. It’d been a long time since he felt like he was constantly living on borrowed time. Each hour had to be filled with something purposeful if only to leave no room to be scared. “Don’t you hate being right?” he said wryly. "So fucking much," Hunter replied, not quite ready to open his eyes just yet. He'd always known that he would be right, of course, he'd had confidence in that from the beginning, but it was so much worse now than it would have been then. He cared about so many more of the people, now. Clearly, he'd made a horrible mistake getting involved in their lives. Trying to help. Giving over his power to the greater good, for whatever that was worth. Edwin was always so talented at saying what he thought without actually betraying anything that he was thinking. It was always up to him to be brutally honest, to cleave the conversation open to its heart. So he went first. "I made all these promises to people," he said, voice coming out small as he spoke, "but I'm worried we're running out of time. I'm worried that -- no," Hunter interrupted himself. Worried -- that was another understatement. Worried was to how he felt like a drop of water was to a deluge. "I'm fucking terrified that any day now, they'll drag you and Vic out of your beds for being too dangerous, and there'll be nothing I can do to stop it or fix it." “I think they’d have a hard time dragging Vic anywhere, don’t you?” Edwin replied, one eyebrow peaking up skeptically. For as inclusive as Hunter was being, Edwin knew that was where his concern really lie. “The man could keep a locomotive stationary. Besides,” and Edwin was serious when he proposed this, “it would be the start of the end. Victor would be a domino effect - Omar would be animated, maybe Lo too. Daisy would be in, which means Carter, which means Javier, which means Mariana, Dominic, Mason and so on and so forth. Best to keep him out unless you want to really kickstart the civil unrest.” He twisted around again, eyes opening narrowly to glare at his friend. "They won't have a hard time dragging Vic or you anywhere with a tranquilizer," he hissed, fingers jabbing at his neck in demonstration of the needle they could use to pacify such dangerous cases. "The horse tranquilizer shit they keep for Nate? You wouldn't be able to open your eyes, much less fend off guards with guns and tasers pointed at you. I've fucking made this argument to myself a hundred times, Edwin -- if they start taking us away, if they fuck with the web we've built in here, everything is going to unravel into hell really quickly. Don't you think they know that? They're telling us this is how it's gonna be, starting now. They're shoving people in solitary for next to nothing. What do you think they'd do if we gave them good enough reason to come for us? Conspiracy to attack a guard? You know just as well as I do that there's room enough for all of us in solitary. The only reason they haven't put us all in our own cells yet is because they wouldn't be able to give us the paramilitary training they want us to know for when they try to use us. They don't need our cooperation. They don't care about that anymore." The extended rant had left him almost out of breath; Hunter stared for a long moment at Edwin, that white-hot rage lighting up his eyes with an energy similar to the one he always felt when close to Edwin -- and then it bled into his cheeks, flushing them as the fire drained from his stare and he looked repentant, humiliated. "I'm sorry," he muttered, "I know this is personal to you too, I know you get how fucked-up this situation is too, I'm not trying to...to crush your optimism with logic or something." Well, no. That was exactly what he'd been trying to do, just not because that was what he wanted to do. “They’ve already started taking us away, Hunter. It hasn’t unraveled yet. Are you going to crash permanent detention tomorrow for Laurel? Or Eden? Or Seth? Or are you going to wait until there is a solid plan in place? I don’t think you could wait if it was him. And Daisy couldn’t wait if you were going, and Carter, and Javier and so on and so forth,” Edwin reasoned flatly. “Victor has a dangerous ability, but he’s not shown much in the way of a problematic personality. Why catalyse such a large force into action when you can eat it away in pieces? People who the group won’t miss. People who’ve done things before that they can semi-justify.” Edwin sighed with a controlled air. “You think that the next time someone gets taken to solitary, everyone will just rally together and go on the offensive? I hate to crush your optimism, Hunter, but that’s just not the way it’ll work. It won’t be just for anyone. It has to be the right person in the web.” He was avoiding talking of himself and he wasn’t stupid enough to think Hunter wouldn’t notice, but it was easier not to delve into his situation. This was everything he had feared coming to life and even in the dead spot they were sitting in he feared letting himself get surrounded too deeply by those emotions. Edwin held out little hope for himself and there would be no solace in false optimism from his friends. It had been so easy to accept this as his fate once... he just had to get back to that. Then everything else would fall into place. Hunter shook his head, slowly. There were so many protestations on his lips -- he didn't believe the Vols would rally to defend each other out of the goodness of their hearts, he did believe in the power of fear wielded by IVI, he did see that it had already begun. He didn't think they needed reasons anymore -- conspiracy and danger were justification enough, all that was required was the barest thread of "evidence" and permanent solitary doors would open with a flourish. Vols had never been anything more than tools to these people, with the potential to hurt or protect. And he would be helpless to do anything about it without a solid plan, he knew, that knowledge was the thing slowly shredding his heart in his chest every time he thought about it: if they took any one of his friends away, he would have to force himself to hold it together and wait, because the only place he was more useless than within IVI's walls was within their cells. But the thing that kept getting more deeply etched in negative space was the topic of Edwin himself, and the more he cut around it with his words, the more Hunter found he couldn't ignore it. He didn't fully understand how they'd reached this point; he could go back and trace the path of their conversations, their meetings, the tiny serendipitous moments like him walking past the lounge at exactly the moment an age-shifted Edwin had whimpered, the letter, the moment he'd heard we can't do this -- here, the fact that they'd connected on the same level in the first place...and yet he was pretty sure it wouldn't make sense to him, even with perspective. He'd tried to understand and the only explanation he'd come up with was that he was starved for such connections, but that didn't really explain anything either. It didn't give credit to Edwin for his part. It didn't explain why it mattered to him so much despite the brusque wariness and outright dislike of his two closest friends. It didn't explain the sudden dryness of his throat or the ache beneath his breastbone, that tearing sensation that he'd become all too familiar with in the past year in IVI. Fucking caring about people -- it ripped him apart. It had been so much easier when it had just been Vic. "Goddammit, Edwin," he rasped. "Will you fucking stop it? I care about you, you asshole, you won't even let me convince you of that. I don't know why you think it would be so much easier for them to take you away than Vic. I don't know why you think we wouldn't care. When Understanding told me you were in the infirmary that time -- or solitary last week --" Hunter exhaled hard, the tightness of his chest forcing it out in a shudder. "You have to stop fucking pretending like you don't exist, like you have no fucking impact. You can't keep holding everyone away from you like it's gonna make it hurt less if something happens to you, it's so completely too goddamn late for that. Please just -- fucking stop. I don't know what I'd do if they took you away for good, either." Somewhere along the line of Hunter’s declaration, Edwin had folded his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around them as if that would fortify himself somehow. It wouldn’t though. Each sentence was a hammer blow to him, honesty to destroy ambiguity and make the things he hoped into reality. Hunter though it was for his benefit, but the avoidance and the detachment and the distance was for his own benefit than anyone else’s. Selfish, self-centered Edwin, who couldn’t bear to believe other people thought those things about him because of how bad it hurt when he was wrong. But he couldn’t think that now. Hunter, bastion of blunt honesty, wouldn’t lie about this with his chest practically concave from emotion and his already worn features harrowed further. He plucked his sunglasses off his face and let them drop down to the dirt, rubbing both hands over his eyes. How could he have done this again? How could you not fall in love in the face of that? Edwin kept his eyes trained away from Hunter and on his knees, unwilling to let go of feeling reciprocated in exchange for a more sensible emotion. “I care about you too,” was the only thing he could get out in response, his voice barely above a whisper as he snuck a look over at Hunter. He was almost a compulsion - almost, fuck that, he was a compulsion. He’d extracted so much out of him, and hit all of Edwin’s impulses to please and explain and just open up because there was something unidentifiable in Hunter that was so easy to trust. Or maybe it was that he was so identifiable to Edwin - a parallel spirit. He didn’t know and what was more, Edwin didn’t care. He didn’t have the brainpower to overanalyze just now. He only hesitated for a moment before he unfolded himself, shifted his weight and slid back across the red dirt to plant himself directly next to Edwin. It took effort and yet felt unconscious; when he spread his arm out to wrap around the taller Vol's back, it simply seemed right. His cheek found Edwin's shoulder and rested against it. "I know," he said softly. Of course he knew. There were times when he was afraid that it had faded, that Edwin had finally wised up and done what he should have done all along and moved on from the dead end that was caring about Hunter, but as good and as right as he knew that was, it never failed to make him feel a little bit ugly, unwanted. And then in the moments like this, or the looks exchanged, or the surprisingly easy camaraderie they had in instances when neither of them was trying -- he could still feel it. Without a sense of guilt, no weight of the hidden letter pressing down on his conscience, just a simple warmth from the knowledge that Edwin sort of loved him. It could be more complicated than that; he sensed the threat, had felt it with overwhelming strength in moments when he least expected it, but in his desire was a need to make Edwin feel less alone, not the kind of desire that threatened his sanity. Right now, his words and a simple presence seemed to be sufficient. "Talk to me," Hunter said at last. "Say whatever. Say anything you want. Just talk." Edwin tilted his head slightly onto the pile of curls on his shoulder and, for once, didn’t stiffen at the press of affection. After a false start, reached out and took the hand that hadn’t presently taken residence on his shoulder. He laced his fingers with Hunter’s, taking that little bit of consolation for himself unasked. “The sooner I accept that this will be my end, the more of use I’ll be,” he said after a few breaths of the quiet moment. “There is too much damage in my history to be ignored. Emotional and physical volatility. I’ve spent all my time here trying not to be the pages of psychiatric nonsense and a stack of reports they have on me because I can see the logic in that resolution. I always could.” How many lives was he worth? What did his imperfection of control cost? At what point does the existence of one out-weight the safety of the majority? He’d never found an answer to any of them, but it was hard to know that someone apparently had. A few pages of names, ranked and plotted. The words fell out of his mouth easily. There was a heavy sort of finality in his chest; he wondered if this was going to confession was like? “I wanted my life to be defined by something other than death and isolation, but I can’t escape it. And I can’t even say I want to run from it anymore because I don’t know what else to give to this.” He worried the back of Hunter’s thumb with his own, watching it trace circles into the warmer tones of the younger boy’s skin. “The last full measure of devotion, I guess. In the exact way I never wanted to.” Hunter didn't move away from Edwin's head resting against his own, didn't pull his hand out from that grasp. He flexed his fingers against Edwin's, adjusted it to something comfortable, tried to listen as closely as he could while ignoring the nerves tickling to life under Edwin's thumb. He could understand it -- he did understand the sentiments, he always did when they talked about their worth and their past. There is too much damage in my history to be ignored. This time, though, he wasn't sure Edwin meant it the way that he had before -- or maybe he'd only heard it one way when Edwin had subtly implied another, and let him stick to the familiar meaning to deftly avoid the confrontation that would follow a proper definition of damage. Still, there was no part of him that could simply nod and agree and keep his peace when Edwin was admitting that he was ready to give up. That he saw no other vision of the future left, the possibilities weeded out to one final solution. "Your life is defined by more than death and isolation," Hunter couldn't help but insist, his arm tightening around his friend's back. "You're not alone. And you've done so much more than just...end up here." He took a deep breath. "And if we all ended up where we deserved because of our pasts, well..." People rarely got what they deserved. In Hunter's experience, justice was a theory, a gilded concept to which the flawed reality could constantly be held up against and fall short. "I don't even know what you mean when you say that -- emotional and physical volatility. Never seen the stacks of reports or heard the psychobabble bullshit. So who can't ignore it? Why don't you think you can escape it?" “IVF. The arbiters of our fate. They can’t.” Edwin exhaled, then after a moment let his knees drop to the sides, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on them. “I have a decade plus of being on and off some form of psychiatric care. On paper, I don’t look very stable.” He didn’t even feel particularly stable - since they cut off their connection to the rest of the world, it felt like he was balancing on a ball rather than flat earth. His conscience was half a world away and there was no quitting the escalation of events that drove him further and further towards inevitable conflict. Writing would always be a release for the miasma of feelings that fought to be pinned down by words, but if Edwin had learned anything in his years in therapy, it was that he was only so good at handling himself. He could never be truly objective. “I wrote the Dean after Anika got taken in. The first time they told us about permanent confinement. She was, understandably now, vague about what got you secluded and what legal avenues a person had to pursue, etc. and --” Edwin halted and unlinked his hand with Hunter’s to dig into his pocket for his phone. It took a few moments for him to scan through the litany of unread emails. “Ah. ‘On a personal note, I would like to thank you for your hard work at IVI. You are an exemplary student, and your leadership has not gone unnoticed by those of us in administration. Though you may have what some consider to be "dangerous" powers, you are not in fact a dangerous person, and I hope that you understand that no one on staff would ever consider you similar to someone like Ms. Morgenstern, who went out of her way to physically and mentally harm her fellow students and IVI staff.’” He looked down at the top of Hunter’s head, the warm aura of comfort drawing him in more than the arm that kept tightening on his shoulder. “I doubt she’d write these words again, all things considered, but she might remember them if it’s her decision that brings out the firing squad. If it’s some group of officials mired in bureaucracy, with a stamp and a file... I’m at a greater disadvantage.” It was the least emotional way he could phrase it, another attempt to stay on the ball, stay balanced. Hunter's first reaction was the least optimistic one: he thought back to his own conversations with the Dean (and there had been a few; warnings, mainly) and shook his head. She was a frontwoman. She was empowered to say the right things, the words that would resonate with the listener, to try to reach them -- that was all. What decisions truly lay in her hands? No, it was her superior who made those final calls. She was the executor at best. He wanted to reach out and take the phone to read the whole email, but it didn't make a difference. It was old news. What Edwin was saying now was more important. His freed hand curled against Edwin's knee. "You're good at appearing uninteresting," Hunter recalled slowly, more old words drifting to the surface of his consciousness. Connections forming, fusing. "To avoid scrutiny. So nobody will know." He paused, then gave a quiet, dry laugh. "S'funny -- you and me. The disguises we wear, I guess." Hunter turned his face up to look at Edwin then, expression hovering somewhere between wistful and thoughtful. This conversation wasn't about them anymore -- he had to focus, move back to the topic at hand -- but it was difficult not to draw something personal out of it. "So why didn't you join the Squad, then? Why didn't you run for StuCo, show them from day one how devoted to the IVF's principles you are?" There was scorn in his voice, but not directed at Edwin; the concept of sucking up to an authority was reprehensible to him in any circumstance, for any reason. Like licking the bottom of someone's shoe. "Those are the only people who're gonna be safe when the axe drops. You could've stayed away from people like me. Stuck with the good kids." “I did apply for the Squad,” Edwin replied, “though considering the events of Melbourne, I can see why they didn’t pick me. Smart of them. But as for student council... I can’t say that if given the same opportunity with the world as we knew it, I would jump at the chance. I’m not nearly likeable or respectable enough to be a politician, nor am I particularly fond of having power over others. But at that time I felt the least capable person in the world of making decisions for myself, let alone the whole student body. And, as you said, I didn’t want the scrutiny. I didn’t want my name anywhere.” He met Hunter’s eyes then, little singularities staring into blue, unable to let Hunter’s dig at himself go. “You’re one of the best people I know,” Edwin said awkwardly - not for the sentiment really, but for the saying it aloud. The performance anxiety that buckled his tongue in most public situations leadened it here too. Maybe if he was a different sort of man (an American, possibly), he could expound further on that: how he couldn’t quite regret coming here because of the people he met, how he could no sooner stay away from the sun than stay away from Hunter, how much he respected that he wore his emotions, his thoughts, his ideals so brazenly to him and in exchange for really nothing. He meant so much and it all stayed in his throat, hard to breathe around. Everyone seemed so much more precious now, not least of all Hunter. “All the better for the disguise you never wore around me.” Compliments weren't supposed to sting so much. Hunter closed his eyes briefly -- almost a grimace, face turning slightly away like he could hide the reaction even at such a close distance -- and when he opened them again, his gaze fixed somewhere in the region of Edwin's elbow. "You need to know more people, then," he smiled thinly. The only good things that he could identify about himself were his intellect, his propensity for loyalty, and a certain determination to be as genuine as possible, whatever the cost. Those qualities were not enough to construct a good person, in his opinion. Not when indelibly intertwined with all the qualities that made him insufferable, amoral, weak, temperamental, possibly certifiably delusional still. He could be just as objectively critical of himself as Edwin; they shared that desire to analyze themselves under the harshest possible light. Leave no stone unturned. Comprehend even the worst of it for what it was, and make no excuses. This was a moment when, if he'd been a truly bad person, he could have leaned in and swallowed the compliment with a kiss. Sealed his own demise; the turbulence in his relationship with Vic subsumed for once by his desire to pull Edwin close and reward him for his undeserved faith in Hunter's best qualities, an action that would likely destroy whatever fraction of that faith he did deserve. Betray his love for Vic and Vic's trust in him, and he was worthless. But he was worthless in so many ways, so what was one more? He had a long and colorful history of making stupid choices when it came to men and sex. Vic knew that. Even Edwin knew that. If he pushed the older boy back and slid onto his lap, it would not be out of character, for him. Instead, he destroyed the moment. "You'd never consider helping the VR, would you?" Hunter asked abruptly. "If it meant possibly getting us out of here alive?" Edwin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?” Briefly, Hunter's gaze snapped back to Edwin's face, then the safe zone of nowhere in particular again. "We're trapped in here now, facing -- death and isolation, as you said. So if you were given the choice between this and helping Vols Rising out there to break the force field or come in through the front gate or whatever, would you do it? Would you help terrorists who have killed more than a thousand people if it would save our lives, or are you too good of a person for that?" He sounded, oddly, like he'd done this before. Like it was rote. Edwin’s brain immediately worked to play out the rest of this conversation in a few different ways. It was such a blunt example, told in such an easy fashion, completely out of context with the conversation they’d been having... what was he getting at? He pursed his lips. “Being willing to do anything to keep the people you love safe isn’t a character defect, Hunter,” he replied, taking a stab at why he’d interjected this into the conversation. Hunter took compliments about as well as he did. "I know," came Hunter's short reply. "I'm asking you. Would you do it?" There was no way to tell what was going on in Edwin’s head, his face a careful blank as he continued not to consider the question per se, but why it was being asked of him. There was an answer that Hunter wanted to hear - he could see it hiding somewhere behind his pointed look, fueled by some motivation that had turned his rather cozy body into somewhat anxious lines. The guards wanted to come up again, his intuition warily poking at the last 2 minutes of conversation and coming up concerned. “I suppose,” Edwin replied, the softness out of his voice and back to the measured, considered meter it usually was, “if it’s only to be either or, the argument is that yes, they’ve killed a thousand people, but how many would IVF ultimately murder in the name of security? An equal thousand? 10,000? Which is the lesser evil?” His head tilted philosophically. “But they are not dead yet and can we condemn a whole slew of people to die for something that hasn’t come to pass?” Hunter was nodding slightly, his chin still against Edwin's shoulder -- he'd gone through these reasons in his head already. Over and over and over again. He couldn't get Vic's accusing stare out of his head. How could you? "I don't think what they did was -- necessary." Right or wrong wasn't in his vocabulary, this time. "If I was out there, I wouldn't be doing it the way Andrew Parish is doing it. But the dead people are dead. And I don't..." He shrugged, slowly. "Honestly? I don't care that the VR is responsible. I don't care that they're terrorists, I don't give a shit about evil, I'm not filled with revulsion every time I think about them. They're the only organized Vol group out there that we know of, the only one that stands a chance of meeting us halfway." Then, after a moment, he looked up and made eye contact with Edwin again. Cautiously -- unsure of what he'd find there -- but studying him with all of the visible expectation that Edwin had read just before, from the simple ability to read Hunter. "So would you? And if I would, am I still one of the best people you know?" This wasn’t a theoretical conversation. They’d had theoretical conversations on this subject before and this was different. He bounced the head that was on his shoulder lightly. “Sit up,” Edwin directed as he shifted himself, turning so that he faced Hunter instead of the distance. “My turn,” he said bluntly, picking up his sunglasses that were now buried under his shin and sticking them in his pocket. “Parish gives you a knife. Or a gun. Or a shovel - which ever weapon you want. He gestures to the pair of guards and says ‘kill them so we can get in to the door they are guarding’. What do you do?” Hunter felt exposed as Edwin moved away, the sudden source of warmth absent and the comfort of it leeching out of him. But he didn't make a move to stop Edwin. He'd done this to them, he was the one who had torn away the intimacy of that moment, he couldn't pity himself because he was the one who had forced this turn of conversation. At least Edwin hadn't put his sunglasses back on, yet. Deep breath. He leaned his elbows against his knees again, continued to study Edwin's face. "Be scared shitless. Then do my best to kill them," he replied quietly, impassionately. "You didn't answer my question. And I asked three times." “I’m getting there,” Edwin replied unflinchingly. “What if Mason asked you to do the same thing?” Hunter shrugged again. Tell him to go do it himself was on the tip of his tongue. "If the reasons are the same and it accomplishes the same thing, I don't see what the difference is. To me, at least." “You didn’t ask Parish for reasons. He didn’t give you reasons, he gave you a weapon. And if you are going to sit here and tell me you’d do the same for Mason, you’re lying through your bloody teeth,” Edwin said flatly. “Would I help the VR? Would I join Andrew Parish’s All-Vol Army and storm the battlements? No. Because charismatic narcissists with violent tendencies terrify the shit out of me. And they terrify me because they do the exact thing you just exemplified - they get people to believe that they are the only authority and everything they do is right. And those that disagree? Well, he did blow up a city whilst in the midst of an argument with a mate, didn’t he?” Edwin gestured pointedly out into the distance. “Not 10 minutes ago you declared that you wouldn’t have done it like he’d have done it. But you are already of a mind to fall to his designs. And why, because he wasn’t caught? Because he’s intelligent? That means what he automatically says goes? You can poke a hundred holes in his logic up to this point, but the minute his interest is keen you’ll turn your brain off?” Edwin had to take a breath as he realized he was starting to get loud and there was only so much distance between the dead space and where the microphones would resume pick up. He forced his shoulders down from where they’d tensed up around his ears and set his back a little straighter. “I’ll tell you what, Hunter - I hope we manage to figure out how to get out before they come because you’re one of the smartest people here and if he’s already got you buying into the myth, I don’t hold out much hope for everyone else.” The blistering reproach sent heat rushing to his face: his jaw set as he flushed, his hands clenching tightly against his knees. How was it worse, somehow, to get scolded in a British accent? "I'm not buying into anything," Hunter replied lowly. "I'm not even saying I'd join. I'm saying that if he has a plan to get us out of here, then I'm willing to take the risk of trusting his plan just to get us out of here." Anger surged in him suddenly, and he felt something in his chest give way -- maybe it was exhaustion catching up to him, maybe it was the hatred of feeling like he was cornered by people who he trusted, who didn't feel like they could trust him anymore if his judgment was impaired enough to consider this. He took a deep breath that was strained and another, and pressed his hand against his face, and felt incredibly young and stupid as the emotion broke in him. "I've been trying to figure out how to get us out of here since the moment we arrived," he said, but really it was more of a pained sob, one that he attempted to stifle before he kept speaking. "I thought -- Elsa maybe -- even Anika -- Harlow -- there are so many powers here, you think there'd be a solution that would be simple, but I can't even get close enough to the secrets of this place to figure out how they've set it up and people aren't fucking keys that can just be used whenever, they keep having plans of their own. The fucking VU might be able to get us somewhere but that's only if anyone will listen to me if I tell them how they can help get us out. And we're running out of time. What else am I supposed to fucking do? I've failed up til now, I'm grasping at straws here -- if they're reaching out a hand, if they're going to be our secret weapon, it would be fucking pride and idiocy and suicidal not to take it and deal with the strings attached later!" Hunter rested his face in the cradle of his hands, fingers pressed against his temples and thumbs at his jaw, hunched over himself. Immediate guilt washed over Edwin as Hunter crumbled in front of him as sobs shook his crunched shoulders. He’d taken a knife that he’d known was in Hunter and inadvertently twisted it, which had inadvertently twisted something in him. His chest felt locked up as he watched him cry out his failure, but his legs weren’t. Edwin crawled the small distance to line up alongside Hunter, still facing him, and pulled him in close the way that Hunter had done to him before, one hand stretching across his shoulder blades and the other catching him midback. There wasn’t anything to really say in the moment, he just rubbed over the muscles along Hunter’s spine and shoulders until the stiffness melted, and tilted his head, catching his forehead along the fingertips he clutched to his temple. "Fuck," he swore thickly and vehemently in disgust at himself, in terror of the situation, in desperation. His life had never been anything resembling normal, but he wondered if there was some other universe where he could have been a twenty-year-old who didn't have to make life-or-death decisions, who didn't have to come up with plans to outsmart a military complex. Who didn't wake up sometimes wondering if his world was even real. His body was out of his control, and his muscles tremored and trembled as he allowed Edwin to hold him. Usually, he cried on Daisy; it was a small handful of times, but since coming to IVI, it amounted to more crying than he'd ever done before in his life. It wasn't cathartic for him -- there were very few things his parents had taught him about life, but he had identified crying very early on as a weakness, a sign that they'd gotten to him, or just a base form of manipulation. It was just humiliating and painful and he knew how much Edwin had regretted crying in front of him, too. Maybe this made them even somehow at least, he wondered. |