ᴇʀɪᴋ (metalize) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-06-07 10:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !: action/thread/log, ₴ inactive: erik lehnsherr, ₴ inactive: genya safin |
WHO: Erik & Genya
WHAT: Genya gets a canon update and it SUCKS
WHERE: Morningside
WHEN: Today, early
WARNINGS: Talk of grief and loss, Grishaverse spoilers also FYI
STATUS: Complete
The first thing she felt upon waking was the insurmountable amount of pain in her heart. She couldn’t breath, she couldn’t figure out what to do, and all that replayed in her head were the memory of the Fjerdan’s bombing Os Alta the night after her wedding, the discovery the labs were bombed as well, and the realization that David had been inside when it had happened. Genya had still been in her wedding dress. There were a great deal more memories after that, including the funeral and the need to pull herself up and continue helping King Nikolai (only Nikolai in Vallo) fight the war, and dealing with the Darkling’s return. But Genya couldn’t get past her loss. She pulled her pillow close to her chest, squeezing it against her as if splinting it would help her take a deep enough breath to get the oxygen to her brain and keep her from collapsing. She didn’t collapse though. That might be too kind of a reprieve right now, but she did get up and put on her slippers and leave for… where? Somewhere. Anywhere. She couldn’t be alone, but she couldn’t be near either Zoya or Nikolai right now. They were here together, they were happy, she should go to someone whose happiness she wasn’t going to ruin, especially if they didn’t have the memories just yet. That happened a lot too -- one person would remember, the other wouldn’t. That’s how she found herself in front of Erik’s apartment, knocking on the door of someone completely distant from her life in Ravka, someone who might know of the pain of what war brought, and someone who was a friend. It was one of those confusing mornings - patches of blue that grew in the sky, soft and bright at the same time, though beneath the sheets of clouds was a kind of gray that was likened to steel, and the edges of it all were white. This meant the day could turn rainy or it could bring sunshine - either way, the cloudiness meant something of a chill nipped in the air too; Erik had noticed when he went out on the balcony to check the herbs that he and Rogue had growing there (they were slowly beginning to begin what could generously be called a farming project - this would all lead to their own bigger garden, soon). He'd just come back inside when he heard the knock at the door - which surprised him because it was early. No one ever showed up this early, not before he and Anna both left for work and dropped Anka Irene off at school. They all tended to stick to their routines, but here was something to shake it up a little. Wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt (he'd change for work, clearly - this wasn't the best thing to bring to a smithy) he answered the door. "Genya," those ice blue eyes blinked in surprise. "Come in - is something wrong?" Clearly something was, but. He held the door open for her so she could enter and tried to fathom what this could possibly be about. He had opened the door wider for her, but her feet felt rooted to the spot. She glanced around his apartment, noticing both the similarities and differences between her own. How simple and normal everything seemed right now (or at least normal for Vallo) when in another universe, things had changed drastically. Her eyes found Erik’s after the brief moment of wandering, and she swallowed before speaking. “I had memories.” Her voice was still groggy from the sleep she had woken up from. “David is dead.” In that moment, it seemed to occur to her own body that she wasn’t wearing anything besides her light pajama bottoms, slippers, and a long t-shirt, and she started shivering. From the chilliness or from the emotions, it was hard to tell. Oh. Personally, Erik had never experienced a sudden onslaught of new memories but he knew it could happen - it had happened to Wanda, unfortunately, and those memories hit her hard. He had to imagine it would hit anyone with just as much devastation, unless those memories were happy or, at the very least, provided some sort of closure. Because the added insult to injury was that you couldn’t do anything about them. Not from here. You simply had to recall something potentially horrific and be paralyzed to act upon it. “Genya - “ She was a little bit disheveled (had obviously come straight here upon waking, wearing pajamas and no usual eye patch) but that didn’t matter; he stepped forward and hugged her anyway - to help quell the shaking, perhaps, but also because she may need something to ground her in the moment. She was in Vallo, not back there in her home where everything seemed to go wrong. “It won’t change anything, but I’m sorry about David - I really am. I know what it’s like to lose the person you love.” It hadn’t been like a wedding ring slipping off and falling down the drain - no, it wasn’t that kind of loss. Instead it was a journey to never ending darkness, what felt like no hope. Darkness and anger that he couldn’t quell, because his family was dead - he’d realized it was sadness too, pain, and all of that went back to the exact same origin. “Here, come inside - sit down,” he offered, attempting to steer her in that direction. Genya let him lead her in. Her arms had been limp at her side even when he hugged her although her shivering had decreased in intensity slightly. The moment she took the seat she offered, she brought her hands into her lap, grasping at the edge of her shirt into fists. It was out of sheer habit from a bout of anxiety and worry, although usually, it was her kefta that got bunched up and wrinkly in her hands. Which she stared down at now, her eyes trailing over the miniscule scars, a few of many that covered her body, signs of her torture at the hands of a power-hungry being who had begun to ruin her life at age eight. But David didn’t care about those scars, and he didn’t care she was missing an eye. He had always just looked at her and when asked what he was doing, he would state he was studying beauty. Genya let out a whoosh of air before speaking up again. “The Fjerdans… an enemy group. They bombed our capital. Including the Palace. They dropped one on the laboratory, which was where… he…” Her voice cracked at the end, and she had to pull her hands up to her mouth to suppress the sob. Erik sat down on the sofa next to Genya, resting a hand on her shoulder in a display of comfort. He could only imagine what waking up with such sorrowful, terrible memories was like - there was no erasing them, there was just learning to deal with them. Somehow. Coming to terms with the pain, and acknowledging that it would always be there - it was incredibly hard, but that was the way grief happened to be. Difficult, and lonely - so very lonely. “There are no words of comfort that will make it better,” he stated quietly. “Nothing makes it better, not really. Time lessons how much it hurts and yet...it’s still always there.” But learning to live with it was what they were all meant to do rather than stopping the pain entirely. He’d tried. It didn’t work. Grief didn’t go away - but it did change, it morphed and crystallized as weeks and months passed, perhaps becoming akin to an old injury that ached when it rained; it would flair up sometimes and that was okay. And one could still feel the pain and yet embark on a path to heal too, as he’d also come to learn. Genya reached up with one hand to hold onto his, just to anchor herself to her friend as she let herself go. She needed this. She had memories of her doing this already, memories of the funeral, memories of arguing with Zoya, pleading with her not to do something stupid because she couldn’t lose more people. Thank the Saints she hadn’t. “It was our wedding,” she sobbed out. “We never had a proper celebration… Nikolai put one for us. David said he needed to go to the lab after the party.” In between, she let out a choked laugh, because that was David, brilliant-minded, a little awkward, always kept a notebook on how to be more romantic. “I could have told him not to go, Erik. I could have said ‘no, let’s go to bed, there’s a notebook for your thoughts at our bedside’.” Erik shook his head, resolute. "You can't get caught up in that," he insisted. "Thinking about what you could have done - trust me, it won't amount to anything. That doesn't mean it's easy to stop thinking about it, however. I understand that." But there was no receiving closure for something like that - death wasn't always one of those experiences where someone passed on surrounded by friends and family, and they had prepared as best they could for the inevitable end. It was oftentimes as sudden as a snap of lightning and as tragic as one's own heartbreak. He took Genya's hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. "Let me make you some coffee - or tea? Whatever you prefer." Eating something probably wouldn't happen right now - her stomach was likely twisting in on itself after having such awful dreams - but perhaps a hot mug of something would help. He could tell her not to think that way but she did. Oh, she really did. It seemed like a lovely little quirk then, David was his own person and would probably never change even though he tried to push himself to be more romantic. She hadn’t wanted him to change, all she had wanted was for him to see her and love her, and he had. And that was something she would never get back. Genya nodded, even though the thought of tea made her heart hurt all over again, remembering how particular David had been with his own brewing. Still, she mumbled, “Tea, please” and brought her hands back over her mouth when Erik stepped away. Erik went into the kitchen to get a pot of tea going - he thought one of the calming varieties might be best, a rose tea that was a blend of the fragrant petals plus lemon balm, a bit of blackberry, and orange blossom. It made the space smell strong and earthy, and he didn’t add any honey or sugar to the cup - just left those out on the counter as options if Genya indicated she wanted anything. But he brought both steaming mugs back into the living room and handed her one. “I was married before Rogue,” he shared, settling on the sofa once more. “Her name was Magda. We lived in Poland, in a small village, when I took on another name and was just trying to lay low after a period of...calamity.” He hadn’t killed JFK and he hadn’t killed Trask - nor had he killed Mystique, but things between him and Raven were rocky at that time. Best they went their separate ways, which they did - he’d taken a hit, brought down as a wanted terrorist whereas she rose up as a hero and a symbol of peace achieved between humans and mutants. As if it were that easy. “We also had a daughter, Nina,” he continued as he blew gently on his tea. “I worked in a factory, a simple job and a simple life but it was perfect for us. Until there was an incident at the factory and I saved one of my co-workers from being killed by using my powers to stop a metal crate from crushing him. They - called the authorities, who showed up at my home. I said I’d go quietly but Nina was scared and her own mutant powers went haywire - the authorities hadn’t arrived with guns but with arrows instead. One of them accidentally fired an arrow and it killed both my wife and daughter instantly when it struck them.” Talking about this was always difficult. It hurt, and that was the point - he knew it always would. “So please know I understand - people mean well, when they say things like ‘sorry for your loss’ but few truly understand. You saw something terrible occur back in your world but you don’t have to go through what comes next alone.” When he had stepped away, Genya let herself continue to pour the emotions out of her, albeit silently. There was no point in bottling any of it now and she knew herself enough to know that if she did, it would just lead down to a path of self-destruction. It was only when she finally reached up to wipe off her tears that she realized she didn’t have her patch on. A new sensation of self-consciousness crept over her as she tried to duck her head and position her hair over it. But she didn’t think Erik would mind it terribly, especially not when he started talking about his own. Fresh out of sobs and tears for the time being, Genya took the cup and cradled it in her hands as she listened. She didn’t move to take a drink just yet but just listened. Her heart hurt all over again but not just for her this time, but for him as well. She and David had not even breached the idea of children and she may have wanted one someday, but to have both of your loves ripped from you in two... War was disgusting. Hatred of people you didn’t understand so terrible that you decided to hurt them instead of trying to understand them was just as disgusting. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “People just want to hurt others instead of understanding and it’s-- I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” Erik replied, hands wrapped around the mug of tea. It was calming, soothing, to have something warm where he could soak in the heat. Hopefully it would help Genya a little too. “I simply - wanted to share the experience. So you know you’re not alone.” And it was possible to rebuild again - to love again. It took time, of course, and someone understanding - but he knew Magda wouldn’t have wanted him to continue on a path of destruction, blindly following Apocalypse and listening to his honeyed words and promises of revenge and mutant utopia. Instead, Erik came to his senses, tried to deal with his grief, and attempted to find mutant utopia on his own - Genosha was a way to do that and before Jean, he’d largely been minding his business (again). No, Magda would have wanted him to find happiness - to take this opportunity with Anna and with Anka Irene. It didn’t mean he forgot about her, and he wouldn’t - he’d always love her. More like it was that he found family to share in what he had here, to share his life with. He found Genya some tissues, passing over the box. Crying was perfectly natural and he didn’t wish for her to hold that in. “I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.” Genya held onto her cup for a brief second before reaching over to sweeten it with sugar. She was silent for many seconds as she prepared her tea. Her shivering and sobs may have calmed down for now but she knew it wasn’t the end. It would come in waves, hitting her when she thought she was doing better. Right now, it was a bleeding tsunami, maybe later it would be less frequent tidal waves crashing at the beach but everything still hurt. And she almost felt her chest tightening up again as another wave of emotion threatened to hit her. “I don’t--” she paused to swallow a lump in her throat as her eye became cloudy with tears again. “I don’t think I can move on. I don’t know when it’ll stop hurting.” “There’s no time table for it, unfortunately,” Erik replied gently. “Grief isn’t - it’s not ‘accomplish x, y, and z and it will stop hurting.’ No one can tell you that you should move on either. No one can tell you that you need to stop grieving.” Everyone went through something like that differently, when they lost a loved one - but one thing he’d found to be true, without a doubt, was that a suffering, grieving person made other people uncomfortable. They thought these things happened on a timetable, that grief really did go in stages (it did not) and that it wasn’t more unpredictable, changing like the tide (now that it was). He didn’t want that for Genya - if he could provide a safe space for her to experience all these emotions and the pain, naturally, then so be it. She was a friend, of course he would do that for her. “I think - “ He paused, thoughtfully, brow furrowed as he watched his tea. “I think the most important thing is to let yourself feel that hurt. To realize that it’s natural and to go easy on yourself as you process everything. Talk about it when you need to. Remember to eat and sleep and take care of yourself physically.” Genya let out a small sigh. She was sitting there and sipping tea, but she definitely did not feel hungry or thirsty, or really much of anything outside of heartache. She gave herself a minute or two of silence, however, letting it hurt, the emotions flitting across her face when she thought she was going to cry again. It wasn’t much, just a spot on his sofa and a cup of tea, but if she was going to be grateful to anyone right now outside of the people from her world, it was definitely going to be Erik. For everything they went through, Erik and the mutants he spoke about could basically been some alternative reality version of Genya herself and the other Grisha. She wasn’t sure if there was anyone else she knew who could relate as much. After a long period of silence, Genya attempted to give him a smile. “David would have approved of this tea. He was extremely picky.” Erik chuckled a little, a soft rumble of sound. “I generally go for coffee so I’m rather particular about tea also - but it’s what Charles preferred, so I know a thing or two.” Plus it was what he had available on Genosha, to offer for any guests or just for himself when he wanted to wind down after a long day - tea made right there, with dried fruits and ground-up flowers and plant roots; it was something he took well to, while living on an island. “I’m sure I would have liked to meet him. David, that is,” he added. “Perhaps whenever you’re ready, you can tell me more about him. How you met and what you loved about him.” Sometimes that helped too - it brought those good memories to the surface so you weren’t dwelling in all the bad that had happened. Though he’d understand if it took time for Genya to be ready to talk at length about him - it had taken Erik awhile to open up about Magda but when he did, it felt good. If a lot emotionally overwhelming, to expose a raw nerve like that. Genya nodded. She would love talking about it. She already did, and if she ever get there -- well, when she got there, to the point at which it started to hurt less -- she would bring him up again, discuss him with fondness, tell people more about him if they were willing to listen. That time just wasn’t now and she knew she didn’t have to tell Erik that. “Thank you,” she said. “For all of this. For everything.” “Of course, anytime.” Erik was a lot of things but he wasn’t the type of person who would turn away a friend in a time of sadness. He didn’t have a lot of close friends either, preferring to keep his circle small - but the ones he did have, he tried to be there for. And considering all of the quirks of Vallo (sending them back in time, dropping monsters and other creatures out of seemingly nowhere, the sting of random dreams from home) it helped to have some support whenever things went south. Sometimes, teamwork really was best. |