. (euphie) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2016-01-20 10:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | euphemia corte-real, jude novak |
Who: Jude Novak & Euphemia Corte-Real
What: Confession.
Where: SS; medbay
When: During the trip to Pluto
Warnings: Talk of murder and death.Traces of PTSD.
The wall was hard against his spine where it pressed, but the cool metal plating of the floor was a comfort. He'd abandoned the bed over an hour ago, that restlessness rolling in uninvited, and with no answers available in the light fixtures above, Jude closed his eyes, bright oranges and reds bleeding through his eyelids. With the effects of the Xanax still lingering in his system, the medbay was a blur, though the clarity had returned, somewhat. But viciously so — and not for the first time, he wanted to throw up. An understandable reaction given the memories currently circling him; Euphie had waited patiently, allowed him rest until the lack of answers changed her mood from curiosity to discomfort. There were moments to leave things in peace, to confront, to forget. In the late hours within the Sling the silence is oppressive, because it is not pure silence: the panels humming, the engine echoes, the doors metallic slide. She does not always know when to let things go(example one: her stubborn insistence of Pluto), and here is exhibit two: visiting Jude in the late hours. She finds him sitting on the floor looking a shade too pale, padding over to where he is and nudging him with her leg in greeting. Any other time, he might have reached for her ankle to brush the bones there. Looked up to meet her gaze, smiled. Instead, her presence is a daunting shadow, and Jude stares only at her knees, swallowing to ease the terrible words in. "I didn't mean," he starts, pausing to recollect. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm just—" The exhale is shaky. "—Avoiding." Euphemia has no mercy right then, she has to be captain and the captain needs to know what secrets are being kept. Even if she has to kneel by him and catch his face in her hands. "I don't like to do this, but—" I have to. The metal is uncomfortable, knees protesting as she plants the weight of her body. Jude can throw her off, but Euphie is waiting for him to come together beneath her fingertips. "What happened out there?" Lucidity filters back into his eyes then, just long enough for him to look into hers. "I didn't hesitate," he forces out, the admission already crumbling hoarsely. "I put a bullet between someone's eyes and I didn't hesitate." Euphemia's composure wavered. As captain she knows what this means — what it leads to, the fact of the matter is, Jude would be suspended pending inquiry. A replacement would need be found. "No," Her nails press against his skin, "You did the right thing." She had told Elysian once, they were different, the kills anyone on this ship made had nothing, nothing to do with the murderers they apprehended. Slowly, numbly, he curls fingers around her forearms just to hold, not to yank away. "I don't know." Hoarsely, still. "It felt right then, but right now it's— not." Taking a life was not suppose to feel like anything — that was Euphie thought. After all, this was for a righteous cause. A brief brush of lips against his forehead. Jude is good. He should have never been out there. She had failed him. Everything coming in small bursts. That realisation. The ache. Euphie pressed her mouth against his skin again, "You were protecting them, it was the right thing." Beneath her touch, the crumble begins: grip tightening, words shuddering. The effect is visible immediately, but Jude had always been an open book, his emotions too quick to flash across his face and in his eyes. He felt too deeply; it made the pain worse by a tenfold. Shakily— "I'd do it again, if I had to, and I don't— know how to be okay with that." Her fingers weaved through his hair, folds him closer(she wanted to protect and tuck him away, somewhere between muscle and bone). "You're not a killjoy, darling, this is not a position you are likely to find yourself in again." Although, if they kept chasing reds he just might. Sooner than expected(but she had it in mind, no reds for a while, not after Pluto). Needing something, someone to touch, Jude tentatively reached out, his uninjured hand along her side. Her arms around his shoulders, chin on the top of his head. Whatever Winston said, this was her doing and Elysian had told her — he had said — he had — he had —— the pieces made sense. "It'll be fine, sweetheart." Wordlessly, he circled his arms about her waist. The one always with something kind, something comforting to say to those who needed it, Jude could say nothing at all, not in this suspension of time. Instead it was the weight of her arms, the gentle stroke of her hand along his hair that measured the ticking of the clock. When the Xanax wore off and sleep eased out all those creases, when clarity of mind finally reared its head, he would have that thing to say. But in that moment, all he needed was her. |