rainwashed | Midpoint Pre-Game

shadowsran posting in

(Continued/deviated from here.)

The silhouette, the tensed mass of A Person, Without Specificity, stills her at the doorway by itself. Easier to tense than venture back already, and clearly moving forward would be unwise. The glint off the barrel pointed her way justifies that line of thought; in fact, perhaps no broad movements at all quite yet.

His lantern isn't in her immediate view, but she doesn't need that highly identifiable object dangled in front of her to recognize the obvious when it's right in front of her. The impossible. Because everything-- because he'd--

"Soldat?" She manages, hardly louder than a sigh. It takes all the air she has left. She'll wait, counting her own heartbeats, eyes darting from menacing barrel to familiar, sorely welcome face under furrowed brows.

It can't be.

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From:

worthallthis

"Christ, Misty." Soldat sniffs again, scrubs at their face as another few tears well up, at that. Just having someone who feels something about them... something positive... it's so good it actively hurts. "We. Yes. Rocket and Groot did it. But. Can't just announce it. Gotta. Shit. Gotta make a fucking scene. And I will. I promise you, I will."

They've always assumed there were cameras everywhere-- even spotted a few. Though they haven't found the ones in their own room, there surely have to be some. There's never been any reason to really think about it before, because no one has ever been in here before-- they never do anything interesting in here besides clean guns and fold paper. They look around, frowning. "Can't talk about it here. Can't-- Jesus. They watch us everywhere, Misty. I'm pretty sure even in here."

From:

"What kind of scene needs to get made, here? How do I help?" Ever hypersensitive to Soldat tears, this comes with a hand bracing his metal forearm. "I don't need all the details just yet. I trust your call on this, I Just want to be sure I'm not dragging it out, or making this worse for you. Us. Anybody."

From:

worthallthis

Soldat thinks for a minute, looking around again. "Just don't. Let on that you know me, yet. Don't know how much attention they pay to what they see. And if Rocket and Nebula know. It'll get complicated." They'll be more wary. Or less wary. Possibly more angry. They're aware Rocket doesn't like them at all.

They give their face one more swipe, then get up again, striding to their bedroom side of the suite, opening the door to display the familiar lantern in all its slightly-cracked glory. "But. Here." There's a crane sitting on the bedside table, which Soldat picks up and brings back to offer her. "Just. For you. To keep during the mission. I always thought the crane was you, anyway."

Which might mean something about there being one sitting on their beside table even before they knew she was here.

From:

She's hardly an actress, but he's experienced. Whatever he says, she'll see it done. Her gaze trails along after him, softening for no one's benefit a the welcome sight of his lantern.

The crane is accepted as if he were handing over a lung. Something vital, something connected directly to him. She's honest to god speechless, for more than a few seconds. The placement hadn't escaped notice.

"I'll keep it safe. Swear on my life. Thank you, Soldat, for--" Thinking of her. Remembering. Caring, even still. "Staying yourself, best you could. You're still the best."

From:

worthallthis

"It's just paper, Misty, I can make a new one, but. I want you to have it on you. Just. So I know." So they know she has something of theirs, so maybe she'll remember to be careful, and think of them in the middle of the mess that's going to happen.

Because they can't tell her, or she'll be complicit. They'll punish her, too.

She does get a small smile, though, for the thanks. It's a little sad. "I haven't been very much myself lately. But I'm going to be better."

From:

"Still something you made, or held onto, or anything like that. Means something." Any and all of his efforts ought to. "That not-very-yourself still remembered. That's a lot to me." Patting his arm isn't nearly adequate enough affection, but it'll do in a pinch. "You're still you. Still good."

This crane will be safeguarded.

From:

worthallthis

It takes them a minute to manage an answer, swallowing heavily. How long has it been since they've been called good? In any way not related to how well they shoot? Probably... probably since Misty, honestly. (I tell you. ... Sarge. What?) It's been at least a year since they heard that, too. Even the Asset would be a relief, inside their own head.

"Sarge is still here," they say with a weak sort of smile. "I really am more like myself."

From:

The wait isn't any bother. She'll be running into mental roadblocks herself. It's an intense surge on her end, and she can't recall years without him. What he's feeling is entirely beyond her willingness to guess. He can work things out at his own pace.

And an answer like that is worth the wait. Slowly, but much more confidently than his own, she smiles back. "That's great. That's terrific. I didn't know how I was going to manage here without all of you."

From:

worthallthis

Their smile warms a bit, gets a little steadier, in the face of hers. "You would've been fine. But I'm glad you don't have to try." They finally come back to the coffee table to collect their pistol, and start putting the rifle back together. "You should settle in. Get dinner, get to know your team. Round starts day after tomorrow, and there'll be travel tomorrow."

They look up at her, actual eye contact again. "I'll be here all night. I'll wait for you."

From:

It's impossible to want to leave, when he's here, but trust is permitted to override fondness in this instance. There are rules to adhere to. A world still new to her. His advice is worth more than base instinct. So she nods, albeit stiffly.

"That's a promise, I hope. Right where I left you, safe and sound once I'm done pretending you're a stranger."

She won't know what to do, otherwise. It's a wonder she hasn't collapsed from relief as is.

From:

worthallthis

"It's a promise," they say warmly, steady again. "Not going anywhere until morning. I even take my meals in here, mostly, if I'm not out scouting or on a mission." They have a bit of a patrol, even here, but it's not the iron-clad routine they developed in Beacon. It can't be, because things change up so damn much here. "North sends them up unless I ask him not to."

From:

"Too much time alone," she murmurs, rather than chides. He had so little choice or support in the matter, after all. "We'll work on that too. I'm gonna be at your beck and call whenever I'm up here, you hear?"

She's making for the door, but a pointing hand lingers in the air. A meek buffer. Walking away is hard.

From:

worthallthis

And they catch that hand briefly as she passes them, giving her a little squeeze. "Thank you, Misty. I'm. I'm sorry you're here, but I'm glad to see you."

From:

And what a fucking week it turns out to be, from then on. What an exciting, draining, terrifying, worrying week. It's a following night well spent, and then days before she sees him again in any proper way. That the first proper meeting to come follows three days' complete absence ought to explain the way she literally drops the clothing she's carting into the suite when she sees him, waiting on the couch.

How she manages to work herself up to a sprint over such a small space, we may never know.

She drops to a knee, immediately, gently taking up his metal hand. Easier to crush her own with, but hopefully less sensitive than the flesh hand. He has his sensory issues, even now she remembers, but she needs solid proof. Needs him to be abundantly physically present.

"Christ, are you okay now? You-- I wasn't expecting all that, I'm so sorry, what happened?" Where he was, she can at least guess. What went on is more her concern.

From:

worthallthis

Soldat looks up as the door opens, can't help but smile a little-- tiredly-- as she quite literally drops everything to get to them. They wrap their fingers around her hand. Carefully. Then drop their head down against the back of her hand. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Just tired. Needed to prove to the game makers that I can't be set against you. Did that."

From:

"And then some," she sputters, unable to even roll her eyes at the understatement for happiness he's present again. "You-- they didn't hurt you, or anything? Starve you out? Mess with your head? You're not just saying all's good to make me feel better?"

The other hand goes to his hair. Careful, encouraging little swipes.

"Anything you need, say the word."

From:

worthallthis

It's so strange to be touched, and to be known, that someone will use the exact right touch. But it's Misty. Of course she'd know. God. Soldat sways a little, seated there on the couch, in time with her strokes. It's not quite leaning in, but it's close. "Hard to explain. It hurts, yes. It's. Everything's distracting and confusing. Can't focus on anything. Don't know how long it goes on. It's punishment. But I come back still me, so."

So it's still not as bad as HYDRA. These people know a lot about them, but not enough. They've never once used the trigger words. Never took their memories.

From:

It's noticed, and her expression goes almost painfully soft. She continues. Will continue, for hours, as long as he's reacting positively to it. Until her arm falls off. "Still you. Still alive. Right here." It's for herself, as much as him. He's alive, she can feel it as steadily and surely as he can hear proof of the same for her. It's a comfort.

"Never on opposite teams means you never have to do that again, right? Smoother sailing, time to just rest..."

From:

worthallthis

It's clear they've had time since they got back to bathe: their hair is clean and tangle-free, so there's nothing to snag as she combs through it. "Going to have to go on missions. If they assign me one. But never against you." Which is the most they can really ask for here, honestly.

Eyes shut, actual leaning now, they add quietly, "Still another week or two until the next one. There's time."

From:

"And I'm not gonna let you so much as lift a finger," she replies, with a smile that's only a little forced. He's alright. She hates the greater circumstances, that this is all they can celebrate, but it's so much more than nothing. To provide even a small comfort is...a relief.

"Nothing but R&R. You sleep well, eat well, and anything you need, I'm right here. Won't skip out on you for an instant."

From:

worthallthis

Soldat actually laughs a little, weakly, eyes still shut against it all but forehead still to her hand, so she probably can't see it. "I can't believe I forgot how much you insist on me doing nothing." It's clearly a sign of care. They remember that, now. It's almost nostalgic.

From:

"Not always, just when you've gone to some huge trouble for me or anybody else." Though she's grinning as she speaks. It's clear no offense is being taken. "You get to do things when I don't have reason to believe you're exhausted, and once I've had my share of spoiling you for the trouble."

From:

worthallthis

"You know. I half-expected you to yell," Soldat admits, finally lifting their head and freeing her other hand. They've got a kind of weak, watery smile on. "Wanting to spoil me is better." Kind of weird, but not bad. Not bad, at all.

From:

"Yelling's probably not a route I'd have the heart to take with you. But there'd be some strong words if you were up to something stupid. Which wasn't this. This was...a lot, but I think I get why. Can't be mad about that."

The hand in his hair stays, until he moves out of reach.

"You got hurt protecting the pair of us. This is what little weight I can pull on the rebound."

From:

worthallthis

That's fine. Pet as much as you like, Misty. Soldat will keep leaning.

"I couldn't tell you," they say, clearly apologetic. "If I did. They'd find you complicit. They'd punish you, too. So this is fine. I'll let you fuss, instead." With not being fussed over for years-- North's brand of fussing doesn't count, he's not a friend, and he has dozens of other players to worry about-- it might take some adjusting. But that's probably a good thing.

Better get re-used to it sooner than later.

From:

Selfless. Decisive. Maybe brave. He's owed a lot of that pampering.

"Won't have to do anything like that a second time, right? Because I understand this, I believe you, but I don't want you to have to deal with it all the time. Don't wanna see you getting hurt."

Which is unavoidable in some capacity here. She understands. But there needn't be extra, not on her behalf.

From:

worthallthis

"Shouldn't have to. Didn't ever happen to Groot and Rocket again." Of course, Rocket didn't plan to go murder half his team to make a point... but the effect is similar enough. "They know what will happen, now," Soldat adds, a bit more grimly, but also a bit more wobbly again, "and it won't make a good show for their viewers. Nobody wants to watch somebody shoot their own team in the back for no reason."

It hadn't been fun. And they've likely made some enemies-- that one in the sci fi armor had gotten a shot off in their direction, they know who killed them. But that doesn't mean it wasn't worth it.

From:

Christ, everything is...just a little horrible. Brows arch, and she searches a moment for any fitting gratitude. Because he didn't have to do that, and were she not currently present he-- well, would have been worse off for himself. There's no winning. She hates the waver in his voice.

"I love you, you know. Still. This place won't ever be great, but we're gonna make it livable for the both of us. Okay?"

From:

worthallthis

Soldat shuts their eyes briefly. They're not alone. They don't have to hurt anyone they love. They're still loved. They have a slow breath, in and out, then nod. "Okay."

Then they turn on the couch cushion and gather her up for another hug. Just for a minute. They can handle it for that minute, and they know she will appreciate it as long as they can. So, face in her shoulder, they say, "I never stopped. Never. I'll still love you even if I'm all the way dead."

From:

There is never any complaining to be done about a hug, is there? She knows better than to return it as wholly as she could. One hand at his back, and nothing beyond that but a marginal lean in.

"That's never going to be the case," she stresses gently, relieved any hypothetically watery eyes at the notion would go unseen. "But I appreciate that, and I feel the same. We're going to be okay. We're going to lean on each other, and this will be bearable."

Maybe they get out. Maybe they don't. Beacon didn't turn out to be inescapable.

From:

worthallthis

They hold onto her for about ninety seconds before it's too much and they have to let go and scoot back, hard against the arm of the ratty little couch. Their expression is pained and apologetic all at once. "Sorry. That's. Let's. Do something. Laundry. You had laundry?" There's a pile of clothes by the door, which had thankfully drifted shut through their little emotion-fest so there's no one peering in from one of the other suites.

From:

Already missing it, she at least falls just as easily back into the habit of being a good sport. It was something, and a very reassuring something. There's laundry to do, which she'd all but forgotten. Which shows. "Oh, right-! Right, yeah." Up she is, retrieving them like the afterthought they are. "Everything gets gritty by the time I make it back here, and they're impossible to wear new."

Never been anywhere she had to beat her clothes into submission before they were comfortable.

Hell, been a long while since she had to wear jeans so much.

"If there's some kind of trick to doing it well, I'm all ears." It's just been a round in the bathtub and a slinging over the drying rack. When she's feeling energetic, a prayer.

From:

worthallthis

"Unless you spend points on it, it's the bathtub," Soldat says apologetically. "Or going out to the community tubs, edge of town, if you'd rather do it outside." They pick themselves up to help her collect her laundry, needing to move again.

They move slowly, though, rather than with their more familiar purposeful stride. Still pretty achy from Bad Jail.

"I've got some soap that better than regular soap, for clothes, though," they offer.

From:

"I'll spot you whatever I use, next time I'm out." A comfortable acceptance, little by way of haggling. It speaks more than it perhaps should that she would accept it with no caveats at all were supply not limited and requiring fees. Her weight will be pulled. If there's any magical freedom-winning number, she won't keep him farther from it than she must.

But she does want her shirts to feel less starchy. Hostile.

To the tub she ventures, a lean armful dropped unceremoniously in.

"I don't mind this, much. The nice kind of mindless. I like upkeep."

From:

worthallthis

"I don't mind it, either. I've got some to wash, too, we can do it together."

Just kneel side by side at the tub and scrub clothes. It sounds restful. Doing something with their hands, with someone they love, with nothing important or awful to think about. With Sarge close behind their eyes again. The Asset is probably still in there, too. They never thought they'd be happy to think of hearing the Asset's voice again.

They detour into their own room for the clothes they hadn't managed to get clean before the last mission, and then cart them into the bathroom.

And smile to see Misty already there, the first easy smile they've felt in... years. This day may have started out horrible, but it's looking up now, at least.

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