invinciblenpcs (invinciblenpcs) wrote in theinvincibles, @ 2015-08-11 21:06:00 |
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Usually, she tossed him both beers, cap still on, let him use those powers to do something useful for them both. Drinking through broken glass has its charm. But she must’ve had a feeling, some shit that had her handing him the next bottle ready to drink, keeping an eye on him as she’d collapsed onto her sofa, legs splayed up on the frosted glass table. The hoodie she’d been wearing had been hazard orange, half-inched from Case earlier that day, and she kept it on around Paul because she was cold, not because he was a perv. Thought of this night every time she picked it up-put it down, how she should’ve handled it differently. He nodded his thanks, hands stone in a moment and bottles open in the next. He looked at her, toasted her, drank some beer faster than he usually did like it was a rough day in a rough week -- but weren’t they all? Of course they were. “I think I need another,” he said, voice a soft grumble like granite on asphalt. Sometimes folks asked if he had some rock inside, too; he usually just pointed to his lap and said something about those being the only stones in him. Bottle raised to her lips, ready to take another gulp of the shit, Camryn slanted a look at him. Pushing it, she would’ve said, if she didn’t know Operatives. If she’d told him to get it his fuckinself, or if she’d been the one to slam the eight-pack or whatever the fuck it was on the table between them… Fuck knows. There had been more beer for both of them was the end of it. She wasn’t drunk. Hadn’t been drunk. Her toenails had never ended up in her mouth, which was a sure sign of drunk Gams Garrett. Buzzed just meant she moved her nose too much and said stuff she’d normally think through -- maybe once or something -- first: “This a dick thing or something give a shit aboutable?” He huffed, a half-hearted laugh like it was something he was supposed to do, not something he really felt. “Some of us think dick things are give a shit aboutable, y’know.” He might’ve been drunk. Certainly drunker than she was. He’d tossed them back, fast as he could manage. He wasn’t a lightweight but when he wasn’t all rocky and monstrous he was still on the skinny side, more or less. It took its toll. “But nah. Ain’t a dick thing. Just a… thing.” he sighed, took another sip of beer, shook his head. By now he would’ve smiled usually, should’ve smiled. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He clenched his eyes shut, balled his fist, took a deep breath. “Got some bad news today. Nothin’ special.” That cold feeling, right up the nape of her neck, the one that made her brush her fingers over her skin because she had hair there, and it was standing up, and it was fucking weird. That’d happened. There was also her face, doing that thing it did sometimes where her eyebrows and her mouth and her chin all combined to look sharp, suspicious, aching. She wriggled her leg out, get out the tension, and let her eyes close. Jax always felt better telling her difficult things when it looked like she couldn’t see him. “Tell me? M’interested.” His mouth opened and then closed, then open and closed again. The ‘It’s not important’ and ‘Don’t worry about it’ were written on his face, but in his eyes she could see how much it mattered, if she hadn’t closed hers. Somehow, that made it easier. “Did I… I ever tell you I had a brother?” he said, after a moment, too loud for a whisper but still so quiet, compared the way his baritone normally rolled out. “Older brother.” It was one of them questions that shouldn’t need an answer, but did. Cam hooked her lips around the mouth of the bottle. Shook her head. Been buzzed enough to think that eyes closed meant he couldn’t see her do that, so she’d had to swallow her own saliva and speak out loud, like whatever this shit was didn’t make her feel like static electricity, all over. “Nah.” “His name’s Tom,” he said in between two more swigs of beer. “He transferred, few years back. Wanted to see the ocean, packed up for L.A., you know.” A sigh, then another gulp. After a moment passed, “But I guess you can’t see the ocean from the facility there. He tried to escape yesterday.” “Shit.” She’d said that. At least once. Maybe more. She’d opened her eyes up and closed them again, because fuck, whatever expression on his face right now, it’s not something she wants to see. Bad enough that all her own muscles were tightening up hard. She’s almost sure she hadn’t asked what had happened to him, if he was dead or locked up, because what the fuck difference would it make? No getting out was for definite. All at once, it came to the surface, and she saw all the things he kept behind granite and marble. Rage. And pain. He was out of breath by the time he finished the string of swears and condemnations, hands trembling. “Some day, it has to stop,” he said, finally. “It can’t go on like this.” And then he took a few breaths, had another beer, and pretended to smile again. Back to normal. Another tap of her nails on the tabletop, a long enough silence to remember the one thing she could say that would make Willy look worse. She was South Side. They didn’t fucking rat. Hopefully long enough, too, for the pig to realise that she was done talking, only a blank-eyed, lemon-sharp smile left up on offer. Typical. “Well, Miss,” Allen said, after a moment, picking up his notes and standing. “If you do find that you have anything you’d like to share, feel free to contact myself or the Head Operative.” He couldn’t keep the sneer off his face, nor out of his voice -- though, to be honest, he didn’t really try. “Until then, you’re dismissed.” Cam kept her middle finger straight as a ruler as she scratched the side of her nose. She didn’t rush standing up, waiting an inappropriately long moment to uncross her legs and stand, striding out without another word. |