lookforheaven (aucontraire_) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2016-02-18 19:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2019 [01] january, adelaide hawkins, ian terrell |
WHO: Adelaide and Sarge (Charlie too!)
WHERE: The Hawkins' trailer
WHAT: Rodeo is gone, Sarge is in charge, Adelaide is concerned.
WHEN: January 10th, after these.
It has taken quite a while between Addie sending him that fateful text and his return to the trailer they are currently all shacked up in. Time in which he worked through things in his own tempo. Which of course means he is well past tipsy by the time he opens the door, worn and weary and wondering all kinds of things. Walking the dog seemed like a perfectly good excuse, even if said dog roams around the Dog Park all damn day and wouldn't be able to identify a leash if presented with one. It seemed like a good excuse at that time, and he has been stalking around, looking gloomier than usual and still twitching at the quietest of sounds. Because you can take a man out of prison a lot easier than taking the prison out of the man, and since it took explosives and quite a few casualties he can't help but wonder if that itching at the back of his neck will ever go away completely. Of course it won't. It has been a steady companion as far as he can remember, since a time when being locked up meant spending time in a dark closet with forgotten work coats and the occasional mouse that was just as hungry as the boy locked up with it. There is no escaping the inevitable talk with Adelaide, so he finally drags himself back, realizing that even just walking around is probably too much exercise and that he should take things a lot slower than he is willing or able to do. Because Sarge hates feeling helpless, and that's exactly what he is right now. His best friend has been taken by God knows who, and finding him currently brings to mind proverbial scenarios involving needles and haystacks. Luckily they have been proven to be resilient to a downright annoying degree, and quitting is not an option in this case. Even if being in charge feels about as pleasant as a root canal without anesthesia between two rounds of water boarding. Sarge is second in command, the first is currently indisposed, so he has to deal with it - even if that whole thing always seemed rather laughable, a hypothetical thing that will never happen because there will always be Rodeo. Well, damn. Cat bounds through the door first, all wagging tail and excitement, followed by Sarge and the dark thunder cloud over his head. It is battling for dominance with the unmistakable cloud of whiskey he decided to wear in lieu of aftershave, because there were quite a few patches and general people on the way that shared a drink with him. Or two. There are things that need to be done, and he made sure to find people to go out and try to find any leads while he has to stay and be unable to move his arms up far enough to fire a stupid gun. It doesn't sit well with him, and it shows. Head down he sweeps the room with his eyes for potential threats as he stops right at the door, back against the wall. “Hey,” is all he has to offer on this magnificent day, presumably to the tips of his boots since that's all he is looking at now. Walking the damn dog. A woman far more gullible than Adelaide Hawkins would balk at a brush-off like that. And it would take a downright stupid woman to still buy it, the walking of a dog that doesn't need walking in the first place, hours later. But Adelaide is also not the kind of woman who needs to control a man's every move, and so at first she sets it aside. Adelaide, for herself, has been alone long enough, has kept her own counsel through years of separation, months of distance, and then weeks of jail time, and she would be perfectly happy to have some company - well, particular company - in facing this next blow. Unavoidable circumstances are one thing, but if Sarge is available to her? She'd always rather have him there than not. Face this down with him rather than apart. Instead she is alone - well, alone with Charlie, who can't exactly elaborate on his thoughts, who needs caring for far more than he can give it. But she interprets Sarge's text as a declaration that he needs to clear his head, and so she sets about distracting herself, cleaning up, sorting through Charlie's clothes, putting aside the things he has outgrown with Teagan in mind, putting away new things he's growing into. It's a distraction for a time, but not forever, not with Jims God knows where. When she's done Sarge is still walking the damn dog. Adelaide puts on some music from the laptop that Archer recovered for her, The Civil Wars keeping them company while she changes Charlie, feeds him and makes some dinner for herself. When they are done, he's still walking the damn dog. Adelaide settles down on the floor with the baby and a simple puzzle - fat, brightly painted wooden cars and trucks and helicopters that Charlie smashes into spaces for a while before he moves on. He pulls himself up on the sofa, and without any warning takes three overly enthusiastic wobbly steps across the space to crash land in her arms. Stunned at this sudden development, Adelaide lavishes her son with praise while her chest thrums with impotent frustration and illogical fear and a painful twist of pride nobody is there to share. First steps, and he's still walking the goddamn dog. Charlie has made the trip back and forth six times by the time Sarge makes his appearance, accompanied by the not at all subtle scent of whiskey. Charlie yells when he sees Cat, and stumbles his way toward Adelaide again, arms held high until he barrels into her reach. Sarge is looking at his shoes, so Adelaide imagines he doesn't see this new development. Adelaide doesn't get up from the floor. She merely holds Charlie in place, her thumbs gripped in his hands while he stomps his feet up and down, and she looks Sarge over. The dog noses at Adelaide's knee, and Adelaide ignores her. "Oh hi," she says, droll. Being socially challenged does not equal being stupid, and Sarge knows that Addie isn't happy. It doesn't mean he knows how to improve the situation, and he's stubborn enough to not make himself want to be able to. So he crosses his arms in front of his chest and goes into defensive mode, briefly wondering how things will play out. He's good at being yelled at and not saying anything back, there is a lot of experience in that under his belt, even though he still doesn't want to even think Lori’s name. The little voice that is telling him how they both could probably need a hug is drowned in a fog of whiskey fueled indignation, because he can do whatever he damn well pleases and nobody needs to get frosty with him because he's clearing his head and taking care of shit . Apparently he's the one with that wretched crown now and Trent Reznor knew a thing or two about that. It's pure and utter shit, that crown, but before Sarge even thinks about letting someone else take over he'd rather walk through the gates and into a horde of the undead assholes, thank you very much. Maybe he should say something. Maybe that'll help. But maybe he could screw things up even further, so he doesn't. Keeps cowering beside the door like some feral creature that someone dragged inside, waiting for the right moment to flee. Sarge is vaguely aware that this is not the right way to do it, that he should behave differently, but there's a defiant set to his jaw as he thinks about how it's better that she sees how completely unworthy he is of her attention so she can move on. Somehow he spirals himself further down, takes this from a rather simple problem to the worst case scenario in a matter of moments, and when he finally looks up at Adelaide he looks as if he's been kicked but is ready to take more. “We got search teams out lookin’ for clues. ‘m gonna go out with ‘em tomorrow.” Adelaide is not the type to yell, as a rule. She doesn't nag or scold, or even generally try to interfere at all with the people in her life who hurt her - Rodeo, years ago with all his misdeeds, Rob more recently with his fussing and his compulsions. She is far more apt to shut down, to ice over, to dismiss and withdraw, though she has almost never had cause to do so with Sarge. She has always refused to become that raging shrew of a person, even when justified. She has always had a bones-deep revulsion of resembling anything like what her batshit crazy Mama was every damn day. But even she has her boiling point, and the emotions of the day - Jims' disappearance, her baby growing into a full-on person right before her eyes, the frustration that no one was there for any of it - are giving her a choked, helpless feeling, that makes her want to cry and yell at the same time. The way that Sarge looms there by the door and doesn't even come inside makes her teeth gnash, though admittedly if he'd strolled in like nothing was wrong it would have been far worse. When Charlie walks away from her again - walks away from her, so much like Jims, and lord she's going to have trouble with this growing up thing - she finally stands, and Adelaide is nodding at his talk of search crews until he hits that final sentence. Her gray eyes snap to his face. She scoops Charlie up and deposits him in his playpen quick enough to startle him, and he sits and then starts to whimper, and then starts to wail, because walking is maybe the best fun ever and there's nowhere to go in this cage. Adelaide doesn't think about those parallels now. "So is that why you avoided coming back?" she asks pointedly, skirting around the playpen to stand, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. "Because you don't want to be talked out of that brilliant plan?" It feels strange to speak harshly to him, to feel disappointed by him, but she is - and just now it is manifesting itself in a hard chunk of anger in the center of her chest. In another universe Sarge might be able to disarm this needlessly ticking bomb by applying simple social skills. He knows Addie is angry, and he also knows why. Instead of taking a step back to put himself into her shoes he clamps up and glares at the floor, because nobody tells him what to do. Nobody ever really has, actually, except for Rodeo once they reached a certain notoriety back home, and even then it wasn't telling him as much as a “Hey I got this here brilliant plan, waddaya think”. It doesn't matter that Sarge always ended up going with it, that has always been his decision. Addie could talk him out of a lot, and right now that thought is as scary as it would normally be comforting. Years ago he tried to be the voice of reason, the slightly less good cop to her brother's good cop, when he would sit her down on the kitchen counter so they were at eye level when they talked. And now she could do the same for him, probably still benefiting from that boosted position. But he refuses to take that, not now, not when so much has already changed. It's too much and this is the proverbial last drop that threatens to drown his entire damn world. To an outsider this may seem trivial, silly even, but after relinquishing so much control at La Quinta and with his best friend's disappearance now Sarge needs to feel in control of something, even if it is little more than an illusion. Charlie's wailing stabs him right through the heart and sets his teeth on edge. Slowly Sarge looks at Addie, eyes nothing but cold steel, protecting his insides that feel as raw and wounded as the stab wound that is probably seeping again. “I didn't fuckin’ avoid nothin’,” he spits, too far gone in his anger to even think about his words anymore. All he wants is to get rid of that tight band around his chest. “When he's gone I gotta talk to people. Figure out this damn pile of shit. We all got our jobs,” he says, pointedly looking at Charlie's pen because he is two seconds away from going over there and doing something drastic involving a seat on his shoulders, a lot of bouncing and the occasional silly sound. Addie is not used to harsh words from Sarge. Hardly ever in their past have they had occasion to disagree, to butt heads, to stand toe-to-toe like they do now. There were plenty of times that he took her aside and told her what’s what in that old way, but his approach was always just so, operating on that wavelength where they both vibrate, and he got results without a lot of friction more than a stubborn jerk of the chin that relented slowly. Sure, she always wanted him and Rodeo to stop their bad business, but that always came back to Rodeo’s ideas, Rodeo’s schemes and itches and needs to be some big man. Sarge was just part of it, and Addie was astute enough to look to the root of the problem, back then. But right now the conflict is decidedly between the two of them, those harsh words are just for her, that cold look is aimed directly her way. Some part of her buried deep gets it, understands what’s happening behind his eyes, but she’s too hurt, too heartbroken over Jims, too anxious and frustrated and just now? Too pissed off to let that understanding in. She doesn’t go to Charlie right away - he’s got to learn that even though he can walk, she’s still the one who says where and when he can at least for now, and maybe that’s the something that Adelaide is finding right now to control amid this chaos of their lives. She and Sarge always did have a whole lot of things in common and that impulse is just another one. Adelaide knows crocodile tears when she hears them, and so her focus doesn’t waver. Her eyes are scalding slits, starting toward heat instead of the cold, her cheeks flushing with temper, something that only ever happens when she cares. So, not very often. “Oh, so I guess it’s my job to sit around all by my damn self scared out of my mind for the people I care about, while they run around and do idiot things for this ridiculous camp,” she snaps back. “I didn’t ask for any goddamn job, Sarge, and I know damn well you didn’t either. I had an idea we were in this together, but if you’re plannin’ on putting me in my place then you obviously forgot who you’re talkin’ to.” As different as they are in some aspects, they are eerily similar in others, and more often than not Sarge is able to understand that. Being perceptive to such strange things and acknowledging them are not the same though, and right now he can't seem to be doing either. There is a numbness spreading through him that he has been trying to ignore since Addie sent him that text, and even though he knows that putting a plan in place to get Rodeo back was and is important, his first instinct was to go and find her. But he didn't, because Addie means seeing right through him and finding all the parts that hurt, and he doesn't think he can stop himself once he has been softened up. Instead he clams up and refuses to let go. “Yeah, cause you tellin’ me what I can and can't do is different.” It's barely more than a defiant little rumble, because through some miracle he grits his teeth and tries to reign in his anger, reminding himself that he is not his father. Fighting with Lori was a lot easier, because he didn't care so he let everything bounce off him. He can't do that now and it's tearing him apart. “This stupid park is what gives those people hope. We're here cause we don't fit anywhere else. They look up to Rodeo and with him gone somebody's gotta make sure we can keep goin’.” The look on his face says everything about his opinion on this cheap cosmic joke, but they both know he is too stubborn to back down. Adelaide’s expression doesn’t permit his dismissal of himself as a leader, doesn’t buy into it or even entertain it for a moment. She dismisses his doubt, because no matter what she tries to tell him about his better self, he’ll do exactly what needs doing in the end anyway. She has more faith in Sarge than she has in just about anyone in this world. Even when he is pissing her off intensely. It’s the way he’ll do it that she’s taking issue with, to his own detriment and without her. She steps up to him, closing the space because even like this she still craves contact with him, even if the “contact” is just glaring up into his face from a little closer. “Don’t you try pretending like I’m some pain in the ass woman because I tell you the truth you don’t wanna hear. You’re a grown damn man and you’ll do what you decide, but that don’t mean I have to shut my mouth and not tell you you’re in no shape to be out there, especially not when you got dozens of damn people to be out there already.” She pauses for breath, presses the tip of her finger into his chest, while Charlie plops down on his butt and looks on at the argument with bemused eyes. Her voice is even, but firm and unflinching and unapologetic. “And don’t you lecture me about this place, Sarge. I’ve been here this whole time trying to keep this all together so you’d have something to come back to. I had no choice but to do it without you, but if you’d given me the choice? I sure as hell would have wanted you right next to me. I always do, because you’re who I care about and who I lean on and who I trust. I’m not gonna beg you to want me the same way, but I’m not accepting less, either.” There’s no ultimatum to it, it’s too simple and bare a statement for that, a raw kind of honesty she isn’t known for, except for in particular company. She knows he feels the way she does, it’s just the digging down to it that’s hard. Most of their conversations, back in the day, were very one-sided, always centered around Adelaide, never about him, at least not really. He has never shared anything of significance that was truly about him, nothing deeply personal, and he doesn’t think he knows how to go about that in the first place. The defiant little voice in his head assures him that it is nothing he wants, anyway, but it’s nothing more than an echo of his usual thoughts. Because he does want to, somehow, and knows that he has to if he wants to keep this. Wary eyes watch her move closer, and for a moment his back presses into the wall, hard, because maybe he can just move through it and get away. Sarge feels cornered, because he isn’t one to be particularly reasonable in moments like this, and because the shadows of the ghosts that visited him in solitary are still looming in his head, whispering all kinds of things he doesn’t want to hear anymore. It is hard to break habits, especially when you absolutely hate changes and have a head thick enough to pose a serious threat to brick walls. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’,” he growls, looking more and more like a little boy that has been caught doing something wrong and tries to scowl his way out of it. His body is hurting all over, he is tired and worried about Rodeo and now he has to figure this out. Finding the right words is hard, because at this point he can’t seem to find any that seem to fit. When his eyes look up and find hers he looks lost and frustrated, his hands fidgeting at his sides, tucked away under the arms that are still crossed in front of him, creating that protective barrier he doesn’t even really need. Not here. “I got no fuckin’ idea what I’m doin’ here. That’s why I got to be out there, I know what to do there. We got to find him and you know damn well I ain’t gonna stop before that.” Somehow he manages to untangle his arms and moves one up as if he wants to reach out for her but drops it instead. If moving in baby steps is what it takes he will have to deal with that, too. Adelaide knows progress when she sees it, and it isn’t as if she came into things with Sarge expecting grand sweeping emotional conversations or regular discussions of feelings. Those aren’t even things that she wants, not really. The understanding that’s always been between them is there, is plenty, just so long as it doesn’t get buried under insecurities, past traumas and fears. It probably can’t be buried that way, because this is turning out to be something that Adelaide wants, fiercely, and she finds that she is far more ready to dig than to retreat. That is very new to her, as in the past she would have already iced over, retreated into indifference, or never even started this argument in the first place. Never before with Rob would she really have cared about being set aside - she didn’t know his business, and she didn’t really care. It’s refreshing, really, this sear of things that hurt, but are real. Her anger is starting to dissipate as she watches this rumbling giant of a man fidget, listens to him admit that he’s uncomfortable as hell. When his hand falls away Adelaide lifts her brows, purses her lips in thought for a moment, and then raises up her hand, palm first in front of her. She won’t take his hand herself, she needs to be met halfway, but the offer is there. “I told you boys all my life,” she starts, measured and quieter now, letting the anger go but keeping the firm, the unwavering. “Only way you can be wrong with me is by not being with me.” It’s clear she doesn’t mean with her, physically, every minute, but with her, in the bad shit and the good, in honesty. Sure, Sarge never promised her anything, all he did was kiss her, but he can’t have his nonverbal understandings cake and eat it too. They both know it’s more than kissing. She keeps on watching his eyes, keeps that hand up, small and white and calmly awaiting his response to it. “I’m not after anything fancy, you know.” It does occur to him that her outstretched hand, her entire demeanor is something one would also do with a startled dog, and his mouth twitches just briefly when the thought of sniffing her hand races by in a flash. This is serious, of course, but sometimes his head takes a little detour if something shiny catches his eye. This is difficult, will be for a long while if they keep going, but Sarge wouldn't be Sarge if he didn't accept a challenge. Only this time it also comes with rewards he kind of likes. A lot. A moment ago he was ready to throw his thoughts toward acid filled puddles of the worst thoughts, revolving around Charlie and how he is used to raising someone else's children, about how he will never be good enough. All that is smothered, wiped away by a simple gesture. Maybe not entirely forgotten, but not to be examined right now. He has no idea how these things are supposed to work, at this point his old man would have thrown something, yelled at the toddler for crying and dished out a few kicks and punches. That will never happen, but he lacks any positive imagery that he can use to guide himself through this minefield and he doesn't know what to do about that. It doesn't take that long for him to reach out and take her hand, although it feels like half an eternity. Instead of tugging her he steps closer and wraps his other arm around her, his head lightly resting on hers. As much as he wants to be the one to hold her up, to give her strength, he knows it works the other way around as well. Otherwise he would be stumbling towards the next best vehicle right now and attempt to take Austin apart all on his own. Sarge needs people to ground him, and has recently learned that it is actually quite nice to have a few of those, but that doesn't change the fact that his world revolves very firmly around two people, and one of them is right here. “We're gonna get through this. Together.” It takes some effort to keep the hint of a question out of his tone, but there is enough grave honesty to get his point across. Adelaide threads her fingers into his when he reaches out, all kinds of knots in her chest loosening when he does. All that faith in him is no lie, but she’s got a healthy dose of pessimism for the world at large, and it’s nice to have something take that rare positive turn these days. Then he takes it a step further, moving toward her, and she lets out a long breath, fingers of her free hand knotting at the back of his shirt while their laced hands hold between them. She’s been keeping thoughts of Rodeo at bay while focusing on Sarge, on this, and so now a wave of real, deep fear rolls over her. They have no clues, no leads, no idea if he is dead or alive - again. There’s no building they can invade, no force they can decimate. But they’re not alone, and that’s everything to her. “We got this,” she affirms, a small but steady anchor. “And the camp… there’s a solid base here. Lot of people stepped up this past while, everybody did their jobs and then some while you all were gone. They don’t need inspiring speeches or anybody micromanaging things behind the walls, they just need to know you’re managing those boys, and we’re not letting him go.” She draws back just enough so she can tiptoe up and brush her lips over his, comfort rather than heat. “If any of ‘em ever met you and me, they know that already.” With everything that they have in common it wouldn’t surprise him to hear that she is as inclined to expect the worst as he is, even if it seems that he has the winner title in that category, because the feeling that she will laugh him out of the trailer any time soon never really leaves the back of his mind and makes it hard to let the warmth spread through him and just let it go. There is still a tension in his shoulders because he can’t forget what happened, because he almost died and he basically almost told her he loves her through a stranger. Almost stranger, but those are details he can’t be bothered with right now, especially when the strict line between family and strangers has just begun to soften and stretch a little, allowing for strange concepts like maybe, possibly, sort of friends. Kissing right now, when his body is still rushing with adrenaline, his mind is still reeling with the fact that she didn’t kick him out, didn’t even throw nothing, seems strange, but he is not objecting to the brush of her lips. Pauses for a moment as if deep in thought, trying to mask the fact that he is plainly enjoying it, then his eyes move and almost look at Addie directly, but not quite, because the progress they seem to have made has been sabotaged by guards and drugs and fights, but he is trying to find his way back, even though it might not look like it just yet. “Yeah, I know. They ain’t completely lost without us here, but I gotta do somethin’ or I’m gonna kill someone real soon.” There is nothing inside Adelaide that doubts Sarge, even as he doubts everything - even as she joins him in doubting most things. The old obstacle of figuring out whether or not he was interested in her beyond the role of best-friend’s-dear-baby-sister was a significant one, but it is one that feels well behind them now - now that she has seen desire in his eyes more than once, felt it in his hands, no matter how much he frowned about it. The want exists, and that was all Adelaide needed to know to set a course. She can feel the three steps he has taken back while he was gone, can feel every pessimistic doubt and fear, all the overthought thoughts that kept him away today when all she wanted was to give and take comfort, share a burden. Now that he’s here in front of her none of that matters except to tell her just how bad things got for them, inside. Just how many more steps there still are here between them. Their progress might be slow, it might even go backwards sometimes, but Adelaide believes with a certainty that has very little to do with optimism and much more to do with years of proof and a bones-deep feeling, that he will always find his way back. She watches his eyes try to find hers, and almost-not-quite get there, and it brings on a big jumbled mix of feelings and even though some of them aren’t easy, Adelaide is forever grateful to him for inspiring every single one. Assuring her she is even capable of them. She lifts her free hand and thoughtfully brushes her thumb over the crease between his brows, ever tactile, and she shakes her head. “Not sayin’ they don’t need you, just that you don’t have to work yourself all the way to death like I know you’re inclined to,” she murmurs. There’s a beat, and then as usual she says it anyway. “I wasn’t just yellin’ to yell, you know. I want you, with me. For a long, long time.” And then the softener, so as not to kill him - “And if you work yourself to death before this kid gets to show you his new walking skills I’m not sure he’ll forgive you. He’s got a pretty vengeful Mama and that stuff passes down.” She swallows around the one knot in her chest that didn’t loosen, the biggest one. “They’re lookin’ for him. They’ll find him. And if they don’t… Jims’ll find us. That’s how it goes. You’re not doing nothing, being here.” The conflict inside him seems to steadily get out of balance with each confrontation like this. Confrontation with his feelings, not fights with her. It gets easier with time, that initial instinct to pull back and flee, and even though he seems to have regressed, perhaps understandably so after what happened, he can still somewhere deep inside sense that sort of life line that has built over time. It’s strange, because this involves effort he is prepared to make, and that is relatively new. Part of his reluctance to return was the fear of having to face the reality. As long as he was out there in the park, taking care of things, there was not much room to think about anything unpleasant. Sarge has dealt with life without Rodeo in it, but it was different. before, they were separated during various stints in correctional facilities. They knew it wasn’t forever. Then, when Rodeo was arrested for killing that guy, it felt like an integral part of him had been removed by an unskilled surgeon, leaving behind a big, vaguely Rodeo shaped hole that left him dealing with a strange numbness and phantom pains he’d rather not think about. He had lost Addie, too, because she was long gone when he came back, and he had gone into a state that was damn near catatonic. This time he is not alone, Addie is right here with him, but he is not sure he wants her to see him crash and burn. He wants to drink more, until he is positively hammered, then drink even more and break a few things, unch at walls until his hands bleed because that’s the only coping mechanism he knows. And he knows that that is not normal, that people don’t go around throwing punches all the time, and he doesn’t want Addie to see him like that. But he also can’t go back to the soft little boy that used to be, that was crying in closets for endless hours. It seems that all that is left for him to do is nothing, and that is the most unsettling idea of all. Then she is talking about having him there for a long time, and he feels himself wanting to stumble back to the door, even going so far as leaning back, looking at her with widened eyes, but he stays where he is as if his feet are glued to the floor. Even though she is talking about Charlie and he wants to say that maybe he doesn’t have such bad genes after all, then doesn’t say it because he is thinking how glad that little boy can be that he doesn’t have hisgenes, because they are made out of anger and pain and nothing very useful. He doesn’t say any of that, but some of that reflects on his face, in the creases between his eyes, when she talks about all that. Good things, inherently, that he doesn’t know how to deal with. “Well, I kinda gave away my favorite hidin’ place, so I ain’t got a choice,” he mutters, trying for levity, but her last words kind of make that impossible. Before he has thought it through he has pulled her tightly against his chest, not sure if he is the one comforting or seeking comfort anymore, and maybe it doesn’t really matter. “We’re gonna find him. He’s gonna be back. That’s a fuckin’ rule.” |