2022-05-09 - Hero's Remorse

It's a ridiculous time in the morning. Dawn will happen any second. The dark night is getting less dark with the pending arrival of the sun. All the better for them to get out of sight and out of mind. It takes a while Nicasia has to hang around. Statements are given. While Myles lays low. Occasionally texting her. When it's clear she's alright and not arrested for some random reason he gives her his location to come pick him up.

Myles is on the beach. Playing the part of beach bum, Myles has a brown paper bag pulled up over his hand. Hiding the gun he can't drop.

When the headlights of Nicasia's car are seen, Myles starts creeping up from the beach, and his hiding spot. Looking both ways before he's rushing across the space over to the car.

Part of the delay here - the worrying part - is that Nicasia's phones are dead. The burner might actually be fried at an integral level, which the true tragedy of this story because the forward roll of technology has made them extremely difficult to acquire. It's fine. It's just a matter of getting back to the car and letting her real phone charge for a bit and send proof of life and her lack of needing bail posted.

Which sounds like a joke, but isn't.

She rolls the Jeep to a stop over there someplace and waits - and is still sitting there waiting when he launches himself into the seat. In the gray light she looks positively ashy. But she's here. And the interior is warm, smelling neither of blood nor ozone.

The door is closed. Myles is flipping the seat back. His hand finally coming out of the paper bag to show her his gun. His gun she's seen plenty of times. But on this day, the gun cannot be dropped. "Bad fuckin' time." He growls, low. But that's all he says, looking over to her, somewhat expectant. He glances down to the gun. "Safety's on."

That's a lot to process, all at once. A lot on top of the lot that there already was, a whole mountain of it that she's about to slide down off the top of and then be buried under.

Nicasia eyes him. And the gun. And him with the gun. And takes a long moment to pull herself together, to take a deep breath. "Those guys at the warehouse..." She starts to say, but can't really get the words out so derails onto the other track of the conversation. "Are you..." Some questions - some whole subjects - are easier than others. Basically all of them are easier than this one. Even though it's not the right question, she isn't sure how else to ask, "Are you okay?" Even though she probably already knows the answer.

"Fine." Myles rumbles low. "Let's just-- Let's get off the fuckin' street. I don't wanna get pulled over or some shit. Let's just get home and get inside." His eyes flick over her. "You straight?" Another once over. "No one came after you, yeah? You good? Didn't get hit or anything?"

Fine. Except her version of it is just a nod. One that starts out small and dismissive and then continues, taking on some adamancy, some vehemence, some really perplexing haste that picks up velocity until she twists away and opens the door and practically falls out of the seat in her haste to make sure she's far enough away that when she empties the contents of her stomach, it all ends up on the pavement and not in the footwell.

The door opens and she goes out to let out all over the pavement. Myles opens the door and sets his shoes back on the pavement, making his way around the hood of the car. Heading over to her, with a gun in his hand. His hand settles on her back, his hand sliding forth and back twice. "I can drive." He rumbles lowly, one more stroke over her back.

He waits another moment as he looks down. "More?"

Fortunately - or not - Nicasia isn't really in much of a position to worry about the gun, though that, at least, has never been an issue. Exactly. She's still leaning over, hands on her thighs, when he gets there, her whole body wracked with dry heaves.

"Fuck you can drive," she answers. "With a gun stuck to one hand? What if you get stuck to the steering wheel? I'm fine." She's not but there are degrees of it, maybe. "I just..." There's another hard convulsion like she might lose another wave, but everything seems to be gone. "...okay."

"I got it." Myles growls, a little more firmly than he may normally. "Go get in." He stands next to the door for the driver side to block her entry should she still try. But his hand continues over her back, still, gently petting and stroking as she contends with her stomach.

There is no further argument. Only an attempt at a glare, which she can't really put any energy into. A few more strokes over her back seem to suffice, because inevitably she straightens up and reverses the circle, going around the hood to get in on the other side. She buckles in by rote, then folds her arms around herself in a tight, self-contained wrap.

He's in the drivers seat, tucking the gun down in between his seat and the center console. "Shift. Please? Put it in reverse." He rumbles, waiting for her to do so before the SUV is backing up, "Drive." Soon they're on their way away from the beach. Lights on. Driving slow. Driving one handed. Watching his rear view. Watching the side view. Driving like the most careful god damned driving student that has ever lived.

He sneaks a few glances at her. Back to the road. Back to her. His jaw tightens, he keeps his eyes on the road. "Sorry I split." He rumbles low, looking over to her. "You get why, right? It seemed like you were good-- Not in danger. I mean."

It is the most awkward of rides home, but at least she only has to shift twice before they can get onto the road again. She most certainly is not watching the road, just staring out the window like she's maybe trying hard not to be sick again. There's no real danger ofit, or she wouldn't have gotten back in, but the notion of it lingers around her someplace.

"I... thought you were right there until you weren't anymore." So quiet, these words. "But yeah. I get it. I gave a statement. They ended up with a lot of bodies." Which is the sticking point, really; she draws a breath and holds it for a moment, blinking a few times to fight back and swallow down some unpleasant emotion or other. "I don't even know what happened. Just." Her arms lower and unfold so that she can hold her hands out, palms up . Long fingers flex a time or two, then curl into fists. "Fuck."

Myles glances over to her, glances back out. He frowns. "Sorry, Nico. I wouldn't split on you if-- You know I wouldn't bail on you like that." This is different than the interpersonal issues they may have. This is being able to rely on a partner in a potential life or death situation. "It looked clear. I just-- I couldn't stick around. Not like this." He frowns deeply as he looks over at her.

A lot of bodies.

"Your friends?" He rumbles lowly.

"We'll debrief. It's good to say everything that happened. Get it out. Sometimes things happen and you don't even realize it til you say it out loud. I'll run you a bath, yeah? Get you a drink and we can go over it."

"I know," she answers quietly. "I'm not... I get it. It woulda gone differently if you had still been there with that in your hand. Stuck. To your hand. I know." Perhaps she has not had the extraordinary pleasure of being the primary subject of that kind of interest but she's dealt with it secondhand for almost as long as she cares to remember. "It's okay. We're all okay. Ish."

A lot of bodies.

"Most of them went to the hospital. That guy..." One day she will remember Mikaere's name but today is not that day. "...he was in bad fucking shape. But he was still breathing. Still talking." That counts, right?

Really, Nicasia is fine right up until he gets to the part about not realizing what happened until you say it and she shakes her head. Again, again, again, almost the reverse of the nodding loop that made her barf earlier. Fortunately this doesn't do that, though she drives her nails into her palms hard enough that she's going to have marks there for a bit. "I don't think I want to. Those people were fucking smoking, Myles."

"Okay." Myles rumbles low. He frowns lightly at how bad of shape Mikaere who cannot be named was. "Still talkin'. That's good. Maybe he'll learn a fuckin' lesson from this. Jesus fucking christ." He slowly shakes his head.

He looks over to her, frowning softly. Keeping his gun wedged down into the seat. He frowns at what she says. They were smoking. He looks back to the road. He opens his mouth. Kenneth. But-- Maybe this isn't the best time to check in on the money. "Bath and a drink. At least." The drive to their house is uneventful. Fortunately. He pulls into the drive and is quickly stepping out, rounding the hood to move to Nicasia's side.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Nicasia is unsure. "Maybe they're right, though. Maybe it is a good thing we're here."

The drive to the house is pretty uneventful probably because the cops are all more or less busy at the harbor. Like construction workers. Standing around watching one guy try and hunt evidence that explains what exactly went down there.

The drive to the house is also silent because She doesn't try and make any more conversation; she curls her hands a few more times and then wraps her arms around her chest once more, like maybe touching things is going to be a bad idea for a while. At least things don't stick to her. Every battery in the SUV is going to be completely dead by the time they make it but that's a problem for much, much later. There's no fight in her when he opens the door, just a loose pour of limbs and a trundle up the steps. Once she's inside she drops onto the stairs to greet the dog, who comes right up and shoves her nose in the woman's face to lick a couple of times, and to get a few ear scritches in the meantime. And if it gives Lady a bad case of coat static... well.

Myles comes in behind her, closing the door behind them. He watches as Nicasia and Lady for a moment. Still holding his gun. He lets out a low sigh and makes his way away from the door, heading to the kitchen. There's a few sounds from the kitchen. When he reemerges he has a glass of whiskey.

Where did he get the whiskey? Unclear. Usually he goes upstairs for his stash.

How does he even---

The glass is pressed against her knee, held there so she can take it.

How indeed. And where.

Nicasia hasn't moved in all the time it takes him to get that done, though it isn't actually that long. She doesn't move until the glass is right there on her knee and at first she just stares at it. Really hard. But it's real, and what it represents is pretty real too, and when she reaches to take it away from him it is a surprisingly delicate bit of fingerwork. "Myles..."

For one long awful moment it's the opening notes to a familiar tune, one that starts with questions and turns into accusations, antagonism and defense, pleas and demands. The tone is there. And then it isn't because she abruptly lifts the glass and pours the whole thing down, nevermind the burn on her raw throat, the lingering foul taste in her mouth, the wince it frames on her features. Then she tries again. "Myles." Without looking at him. Without even opening her eyes. It makes the question curt, almost professional, but maybe this is better than the alternative. "Are you okay?"

Myles watches her down the entire glass. Taking it from her when it's empty. He doesn't respond to her right away, instead makes his way to the kitchen once more. He returns with a refill promptly and only then does he answer her question. "I'm fine." Myles rumbles low. "I'm fine." He repeats.

"I might have a hard time sleepin' tonight but.. I'm fine." Beat. "Nico..." The new glass is set on her knee and held as he goes to try to manage a spot to sit next to her. "Those people-- The ones that you.." Fried with lightning. "Stretchers or body bags?"

"If you were fine you wouldn't keep fucking saying that you're fine."

But Nicasia isn't in any better shape, as evidenced by the fact that she empties this glass too, like it's water. Or medicine. The alcohol will hit pretty quickly and might take some of the edge off, but in the meantime she's taken to rocking ever so very, very slightly. There is room on the step beside her. Barely. It puts them side by side, presses her leg against the wall, his against the balusters, but it also means that she inevitably leans against him instead of the cold drywall. "I don't know," she admits. "They were still doing triage when I left. Fuck. I don't even know if the kids we were tryin' to save are alive."

"I'll be fine." Myles snaps in retort. "I've been through this shit. I know what's comin'." He frowns down at her. "You haven't." His arm slowly closes around her. He frowns softly, looking down at their legs. "We'll figure it out." He rumbles lowly to her, one hand pulling back to rub over her back. Gently. Soothingly. " And then-- His thumb comes off of the pistol, his hand flexing around it. He lets out a quiet breath of relief, shifting his weight so he can finally holster it. "Thank fuck."

"What's coming?" There's a slight edge there, but it's an unfamiliar one, not turned against him. If Nicasia were going to lash out at him, she wouldn't be leaning into him like she is, soaking up the stroking, leaving him to take some small measure of the weight involved in this. Physically, anyway.

It is indeed something of a relief when he's able to let go of the pistol. A small one. Enough that she echoes the breath he lets out, though she brings her hand up to scrub at her face. "Was gonna say, that's going to be really hard to sleep with, isn't it? Should I've offered to unload it for you?" It is the worst attempt at a morbid joke, but at the moment it's all she's got.

What's coming?

A pregnant pause, that's what's coming. Myles doesn't answer immediately, frowning lightly.

There's a quiet breath of a laugh at the attempt to joke. He focuses on that instead. "You can unload somethin' else for me." But then he's going to move. "Hold the glass." He reminds. One arm around her back, one arm under her legs. He's stepping up the stairs and heading to the master, carrying her rather easily in his arms as he goes.

Lady is immediately at his heels, following the family along

Nicasia should know. Ought to have a guess, but she is awfully good at denial and rationalization and compartmentalization and just wait until something really trips a trigger and she remembers everything she's busy walling off at the moment.

Oh, but Myles scoops her up and she doesn't quite squeak but that is a noise of surprise, even with the little bit of warning she gets. Sure, she'll hold the glass. It's almost empty, and that's the hand and arm that end up around his shoulders, helping to balance her weight. There's no resistance. Just the lean into his chest, mute acceptance of whatever is on offer. Her relative passiveness might be a giant red flag: when is she ever this willing to just go with whatever?

They're in the master soon enough and Myles is laying her down on her own bed before going for the master bath. For once he's turning the water on without intending it for himself. Moving to cork the tub and run the hot water to draw her a bath. As the water begins to flow out, Myles makes his way back out to her, folding those large arms over his chest as he looks down at her.

He steps over to take the glass from her, setting it on the nightstand. "Want me to help you with your clothes, Nico?" He rumbles low. "Or you got it?" It's likely her level of passivity has not escaped him. Though robbing her of a choice on this would likely go a fair ways in getting that passivity to turn in a hurry.

He's gone just long enough for Nic to sit back up. She doesn't get off the bed, but gets exactly far enough as upright before some thought plaguing her spirals around and lands: when he returns, she's sitting there looking at her hand again fingers curling in synchronized asynchronicity, a wavering little ripple that sees the littlest one moving first with each iteration. There's no lightning now, but this same flexation was the herald to an awful lot of it not so very long ago.

And unlike Myles, she can't really put it away.

"I got it," she answers. And probably does, on some level, though in the next moment she's moving... and gets distracted by her other hand, such that stares down into the palms of both, pressed together like the open leaves of a book, or butterfly wings. "Fuck," she says. And, "They're all going to be alright, right?"

Myles frowns deeply when he arrives, looking down as she stares at her palms. When she asks that question. Myles steps forward in her distraction, his hands going down to the hem of her shirt. He lifts slightly, before he glances up to her. Trying to give her a little momentum so muscle memory kicks in and she carries through the rest of the way. He doesn't answer the question.

"I'll get your shoes." He's going down to one knee to start to untie and pull while she hopefully deals with her shirt.

There's a vague swipe at him when he starts lifting her shirt. "I said I've got it." See, Nicasia isn't wholly gone. But her distractions are limited and her choices are kick him while he's dealing with her laces or, "Do you want to talk about it?" The question is almost wary: she already expressed her own desires, or lack thereof, but she is not the sum total of this equation.

The shirt comes off and is dropped over yonder. On the plus side, there isn't even any blood on her. Hers, or anyone else's. No blood, no bruises, no sign at all that she was ever even at the docks: her vest is still in the back seat where she left it hours and hours ago.

He just moves his hands. She does what he wanted, he just had to get her started. Her shoes are pulled off, looks up at her with a knit of his brow. "Not right now." He rumbles, quietly, looking up to her. Not while she's like this. Not while he feels like he needs to keep his shit together as she is falling apart. He slowly stands up, letting her deal with her pants, or at least waiting to see if she'll distract herself some other way.

"Myles..." It's there again. That suggestion that she might fight him over this, one more dumb thing in a long string of dumb things. But it cycles.

Her hands come up as she goes for a different distraction: this time she doesn't look at them, she looks past them, going for the buckle of his belt, like maybe she's going to relieve him with that collection of work-adjacent things variously holstered. But then it cycles away and she gives him the littlest of shoves, pushing him back so that she can get up, because maybe she isn't going to take her pants off while she's sitting down. Or maybe isn't going to take them off in front of him at all.

"Don't start drinking, okay?" It isn't a demand. More of a request, really, with a secondary part back behind it that doesn't quite surface yet.

"Let's just get you in the bath, Nico." Myles rumbles, tilting his head down. Though there's a little surprise when she's going for his belt. He looks down with a knit of his brow. Then he's stepping back. Her glass, now empty is picked back up off the night stand. He goes back into the bathroom to stop the water, then he's moving back out, holding his belt up, though not refastening it just yet.

"I'll go get you some more. I'll sit with you at the bath, alright?"

She makes that request and he pauses, his jaw flexing, shoulders hiking up. There's a quiet grunt that sounds affirmative though it isn't exactly a yes or a no. Just a 'unh' as he heads out of the room.

That grunt is not an answer. It's certainly not the answer Nicasia was looking for, and he can probably feel her stare follow him out, narrow-eyed and full up with those rapidly cycling emotions, moods and responses swirling together like oil on water, liable to ignite and burn at any given moment.

Then he's gone and she's left to pick one and acquiescence is still easier than dealing with her shit - or his, for that matter - so she finishes removing her clothes and goes into the bathroom, gone to sink midway at least in the water. It's only half a moment or so of that before she pulls the curtain shut and then turns the water back on, like the dull roar is going to soothe some of her raw emotions, or maybe drown out whatever is rattling around in her head.

Soon he's returning. Ice clinks in the glass as her third glass of whiskey is set down on the tub where she can access it. Silently, his back goes to the wall and he slowly lowers himself to the ground. His head tilts back against the wall and he stares straight ahead. Lady is behind him, padding her way into his lap, settling down there as his hands go to lazily palm at her head. "Hey baby." He offers weakly.

It's a little like it was the morning he got his hand stuck to all the things, isn't it? Except then he was the one in the tub.

That was sort of the day things went sideways.

She's visible through the plastic. It's a new curtain, almost entirely transparent, but the nature of it distorts whatever's on the other side like rain running down a windowpane. It's likely further complicated by shower water but there's none of that just now, just the faucet, spewing out water hot enough to send steam billowing through the air.

About a minute passes before she finally reaches for the glass. Ice makes the drinking audible, but this time, at least, she doesn't down all of it in one go. Maybe she can't with the cubes in there, maybe they're interfering with her drinking. Maybe not, because when it reappears, in the same spot on the edge of the tub, most of it is still in the tumbler. "We did the right thing, right?"

The right thing.

This isn't a good time for Myles to devolve into 'what is the right thing even' or 'does the right thing exist' or any of the many moral quandaries he has struggled with on late nights and early mornings like this. The questions that always repeat themselves when he's tired. When he lay awake. When he's not drunk enough.

"Yeah, Nico." He gives in that low rumble. "We did the right thing." It doesn't matter if he believes it or not. His voice does. His confidence does.

"Sometimes the right thing can feel real fuckin' messy."

What matters is that he sounds like he believes it. Right now that really is all that counts. It might not later. Not when he's tired. When he's laying awake. When he's not drunk enough. It may not count when she's tired and laying awake, when she's not drunk enough. For now, however, the sound of that confidence is enough to sustain it, like a single light turned on in one window of some tall building. Enough for proof of life.

Of something.

"it was pretty fucking messy," she agrees. The tumbler is taken and another sip had. Three of these in short order is about all she ought to have in one go; four turns a little problematic; five is just another kind of mess waiting to happen. But this one might be enough to further blunt the edge, cold and burning in comparison to the warmth all around her. It might be why, after this sip, she offers the glass to him.

Myles grunts quietly, staring straight ahead. She offers the glass over to him. He looks down to it with a knit of his brows. He stares down at it as if ti may be a trap. He slowly reaches up to take the glass, but hesitates. He stares down at the liquid, then looks over to her. As if asking if she's sure.

Is she sure? No.

What she's sure of is, "I'm going to soak here until that kicks in and the water gets cold, and then I'm going to get out, find one of your old Army t-shirts, and curl up in your bed."

Like the whiskey, apparently what he chooses to do with this is up to him. Nic closes her eyes and sinks down a little and then a little more so that she can turn the tap off with a foot and so that the water itself is up nearer to her shoulders. It's not a big tub. She can't really properly soak. But she can imagine, if she closes her eyes - and if nothing is waiting behind them for her.

The rest of the glass is downed. And set down on the ground.

He looks over at her as she starts to sink. "I'm gonna sit here and make sure your drunk ass doesn't drown." He rumbles low. "Then I'll take a shower." Beat. "A short shower." He quickly clarifies. "Then I'll be with you."

Myles rumbles to her, slowly closing his eyes.

"If my drunk ass was gonna drown it woulda happened by now," Nic sasses back, but it's slow. Slower than normal, because yes, the alcohol is having the intended effect, and for the most part it doesn't make her more fighty or angry. Not on top of everything.

But this may be the end of the conversation. It'll be ten minutes or so of relative quiet, broken only by the sound of the city waking up outside. Water dripping out of the tap. Birds who decide that this is the best hour of the day to serenade the universe. Honestly ten minutes is all she can take before she stirs, pulling the plug and then pulling herself out to find a towel. It may mean dripping on him and the dog, but what did he expect?

Myles blinks as there's suddenly water on him. Having gotten lost in his own little world. He slowly pushes himself up, helping her get that towel. Though he remains as she goes. The water is back on, Lady following her out. It's another ten minutes before the water is off and Myles is standing in the doorway of his own room, looking to the woman who is presumably on his bed.

Ten minutes is enough time for her to have sort've dried her hair, though only the ends were really wet, and to have found one of his shirts. It may not actually be one of the old Army issue but that isn't really the point, or even the thought; it's one he wears frequently, and if she paired it with leggings she could wear it as a dress... but there are no leggings. She's curled up on the far side of the bed, sheet tucked up under her arm, staring at the wall and whatever pinup model occupies that real estate. Like they're communing, or like she's asking Salma for some advice.

Myles wears only basketball shorts. Together, they're fully dressed. He goes to close the door. He goes to draw the curtains of the windows, trying to keep the room as dark as possible with the sun surely lifting soon in effort to wake them. He makes his way over to the bed to look down at her, then look up to her communing with Salma or more appropriately Salma's prominent cleavage which is the main selling point of that particular piece.

Myles crawls into bed next to her, slowly lowering his arm around her. There's a snap of one hand and soon Lady is up on the bed with them, Nicasia being sandwiched between the two, Myles hand going over Lady's back.