nineteen ♢ video

[versusnurture]

[When the feed comes on, the first thing there is is a wall and half of a desk. Those people on board who've been inside will know it as Abigail's room. There's a small blood smear on the edge of the desk, another dark spot on the corner of the lens.]

[She doesn't turn it towards herself, but the camera does move towards the desk, is set down at the edge of it. Two hands appear in the frame, blood-caked, palm-up. There's blood under her nails, too, drier blood that's oxidized to a deep, almost black color.]

[She doesn't say anything. But after a moment, there's a strangled noise, and she knocks the camera off the desk. The briefest flash of dark hair and a pale face; then it hits the floor and shuts off.]

Comments

video / private

[dinosize]

Is he - or she - helping you?

video / private

[versusnurture]

He'll be back. Right now he's busy.

[Because she fucking stabbed him.]

video / private

[dinosize]

...busy with what?

[warisart]

[Ben considers this, is silent and still while she works it out for herself, while she navigates the dangerous path of her memories and her mind. He knows better than most how she is not necessarily more or less likely to be able to know herself than he is; sometimes it's harder to see from the inside. Sometimes it's so easy to get lost.

Carefully, firmly, but not harshly:] I am your warden and it is my responsibility to protect you. You are my inmate, but you do not owe me any manner of behavior. The obligation goes one way: from me to you. You must merely be true to yourself.

[This is important, though he has never said it so plainly. She doesn't have a job. Every ounce of energy expended, every safeguard in place here, every plan and every situation, is for Abigail, not for him. This is not true for every warden but for Ben, it is the only way he knows to be what she deserves.

However:] That does not mean I would not like you to want to listen to me. To feel safe enough to do so. But it is not a requirement, and I won't try to make it one.

video / private

[versusnurture]

Bleeding.

video / private

[dinosize]

[ Well, that explains that. And suddenly makes him quite a bit more averse to speaking with her. But, he's supposed to work through that sort of thing. ]

Sorry to hear that.

[ WHAT DO YOU SAY IN THESE CIRCUMSTANCES. ]

My name is Stephen.

When I track creatures, it's ordinarily so they can be tranquilized and sent back where they came from.

video / private

[versusnurture]

Me too. I didn't mean to. It was just surprising.

['It' in this case being everything, including life.]

Did you ever track people? [Are you going to tranquilize me and send me back? It's a paranoid thought, but she doesn't immediately dismiss it.]

spam

[ichoosefight]

Like I said, I've had that day. I know what it's like to be an inmate when all you really want is to be left alone for a while. I don't know if you've got anyone else you can borrow a bathroom off of, so.

[ She shrugs. If Abigail decides to turn dangerous she's prepared, so why not be generous? She might end up breaking the girl's nose later. ]

video / private

[dinosize]

I don't hunt people.

[versusnurture]

[This is--]

[What is this? She doesn't understand. That is, she understands the words, but the meaning behind them is utterly mystifying. True to herself, what is that? She hasn't been true in so long. She hasn't been honest in so long. She hasn't had a relationship that only went one way in years, doesn't even know if she believes in that kind of thing anymore.]

[Unconditional love is a myth. It has to be. Because otherwise, looking at her life is too painful.]

[She takes a short, shaky breath, wrapping her arms around the bear and digging her nails into her forearms. The pain is slight, but it grounds her to make little half-moons in her skin.]

I hear. But I don't . . . understand. I don't think.

I don't think I can talk about this anymore. It's too--much.

spam }

[semifreakingnormal]

Okay. [She's not crying, he can see that, but it still makes him pause to see her wipe at them. Like maybe she'll start. Like maybe she wants to. He looks down at his hands, wrapping them together because there is only so much he can do for people, even though he wants to do everything.]

I'm sorry. Can I do anything?

[voice ; private]

[walkingmeltdown]

[He meant 'home' in a more colloquial sense - an almost poetic one, really, considering they're already talking about monsters. Isn't that the way those stories go? The wolf at the door. The thing that follows you out of the darkness; sometimes because your were careless, sometimes just because it can.

But for now he hears her unspoken question just enough to decisively avoid answering it.]

No. He's been and gone, Miss Hobbs. You have nothing to fear from him anymore. [His voice is hard, but reassuring in his own strange way.] It's been checked; he's thoroughly scrubbed from the system. I promise.

private/text

[voluntaryapnea]

I don't know! You were gone and now you're back and maybe there's a Ben where you're from!

[warisart]

I understand.

[The two words are an agreement, a pardon, a command to ease. She doesn't need to understand - he does. In asking for quarter, she is doing exactly what he requested of her, responding to her own needs rather than her perception of his expectation. She can change the subject. He won't press.

She folds the teddy bear up, closes down on herself a little, and Ben steps back to give her space. His fingertips itch to pull at the edge of his shirt, to pick at the stiff bloodstain, to seek out the individual threads of the stitched hem, but he schools himself to steadiness. He pushes it away, as he pushes himself away, just enough to hold himself separate.

Abigail. Abigail is the point, here. The fingers of his other hand press small, subtle creases into the cover of the folder, but his questions do not come first just now.]

What can I answer for you?

text/private

[halftheman]

Cabin 2-1. When you remember.

video / private

[versusnurture]

Not even bad people?

video / private

[dinosize]

Not even bad people.

video / private

[versusnurture]

[This seems to satisfy her.]

Ben will be back. He promised. You don't have to worry.

video / private

[dinosize]

You're sure?

video / private

[versusnurture]

I'm sure.

[versusnurture]

[She isn't sure he does understand. But something - her memories and her instincts - tell her that if anyone was going to, it would be him. They're similar, somehow. She knows that's true, not the way she knows someone is telling the truth but the way she knows there are seven continents and water is made of hydrogen and oxygen. Inarguable facts.]

What's that?

[She points at the file. It's a somewhat disingenuous question. She knows, more or less, what it is. It's her life. It's her crimes. But she also doesn't quite know how to ask what she means, which is: what's in it? What has he seen? What does it mean, for her, for him, for both of them?]

[voice ; private]

[versusnurture]

[He's been and gone. A promise.]

[She shouldn't trust it. But she sighs anyway, relieved, reassured. Inexplicably.]

Good. Okay. I believe you.

[She believes in him. Somehow.]

Why didn't you run? Or was he just - faster?

spam }

[versusnurture]

[She shrugs tightly, helplessly. Then she reaches out. She doesn't know what she's reaching for, exactly, just - maybe she wants to touch his hand, or bridge the space between them so there's a little less of it. Impossible to know until it happens.]

[But he never hurt her, to her memory. That counts for a lot, and she's been so alone for so long.]

[voice ; private]

[walkingmeltdown]

[He isn't certain why she believes in him, either. Especially if she can't remember everything. (And he doesn't know why there's a small ache inside him, at the thought of being believed.)]

I mistook him for somebody else.

[He breathes out in an stilted way, trying to force a bitter laugh and utterly failing.]

[warisart]

[He doesn't answer with words; he forces his fingertips to relax on the file, his arm to extend, and he offers it to her. She can read for herself, even if she already knows what's in it. Maybe the question is sincere, though he doubts it; he'll watch how she reacts, he thinks, and be sure to catch any hints there.

Abruptly he remembers the first time they did this, Abigail satisfied and smug in the chapel pew, Ben's skin creeping with discomfort and electricity snapping in the air that he wasn't entirely convinced actually existed; he remembers her pointed, coy questions, remembers her fishing, poking, prying for a weak spot. She hadn't found any because for some reason he didn't understand at the time, she couldn't identify the ones most people did, she didn't know that all of him was vulnerable, that it's how he learned to be strong. They hadn't been friends, then.

He holds the file out, pushes thoughts of its actual contents aside for now, and wonders if they'll be friends now.]