[ If she really was as good a person as she seemed, as she tried so hard to be, she wouldn't want the things she did. In the end, she doesn't know, she hopes more than anything he was dead, that somehow she had helped to undo all the awful she had caused.
It's a lot -- in fact, it's too much. Her breath hitches as shakes her head, blinking her eyes against the sudden sting of wet in her eyes. ] I don't know. [ crying is a strange thing, she notes, it's messy, not just that she's sure she looks awful, but that the tears blot oddly between eyelashes, curves around cheekbones. With no idea what else to do, because there hasn't been anyone around her for so long, instead she just presses her face to his shoulder. She doesn't miss Pandora, there's nothing to miss for her, but she worries about the vault hunters and if they managed alright without her to guide them, if they managed to stop Jack, if it changed anything at all. So many variables, in all the instances she's run in her mind, she still can't be certain. It's too much to say, would have to explain it all - so she says none of it. Just shuts her eyes tight and hides herself away where ( he is ) it's safe. ]
[ He peers down at the top of her head again, lips parting as his expression twists in the exact instant he realizes too late that this was the wrong question to ask.
Frozen in his uncertainty there are more memories of Bucky, an eldest child, and his younger siblings. The age gap was significant enough by the time Steve met the Barnes family that he didn't often see an abundance of sibling squabbling (or maybe they were more well-behaved around him). But he had been witness to a number of times when one of the girls would come running to him with her face wet. Bucky had been good with them, he knew what to say or do to calm them down.
With one last flicker of hesitation his arm wraps around Angel's shoulder, pulling her closer so gently that she might as well be made of glass, half expecting and ready to let go if she pulls away. ]
[ She hasn't cried on anyone in -- years. They'd always made Jack uncomfortable, and any other time, so often in excruciating pain, the research teams did nothing but observe her. There had been no comfort, just a cold alienation of herself until she knows no more what to do now than Steve does. But that he tries anyway might as well her own undoing. No one tried, not for years, and it's more than she really expects. Turning into the curve of his arms, taking the small space he gave her and settled in safe.
But it's just that she's tired, and it hurts, it hurts so much and all the talking, the pretty lights, is nothing else but an impermanent distraction, that changes nothing because it will keep hurting. She will never not feel this. She will never not be empty. Doesn't know what else to do but curl into him and keep crying, the hiccupped rise and fall of her shoulders, the wet that stains her cheeks. It accomplishes nothing, she knows, then giving her some break to it, all chips in a damn wall. Says nothing else, it's already been said anyway, just cries and cries until she's really sure there is nothing else left.
Finally gives into the exhaustion of it all, her hand curls in the material of his shirt, her eyes stay shut and in the comfortable dark of it, trickles away, how easily it goes from nothing to weeping to just uneven breaths and in the next and perhaps she shouldn't, so very, very close to sleep. Seems almost natural that way, like there was only so long she could keep this all going before it all burned itself out. Grief was like that, she figured. ]
[ The pain resonates, threatens to trigger his guilt all over again. He can't promise her that everything will be okay after this. It won't. Nothing can change the loneliness that she was forced into as a child, and that empty place inside her, at least the one that once connected her to Parker, won't ever be filled again.
All he can offer is this place to release some of her pain, someone to share it in this particular moment. He only knows how to move forward, tunnel-visioned at times, but his isn't a bitter march to the end.
He lets her sob into his shoulder, arm rising and falling with each shuddered breath and unable to tell how much time passes until he can start to sense that she's getting to the point of exhaustion. That's when he shifts his arm again, gives her a gentle nudge to try to get her to lie down where it would be more comfortable to sleep. ]
[ She's not hard to move, getting better, getting stronger, actually eating these days - but still less than she ought to. Bird boned, so she goes easy to the push. Exhaustion addled brain seeing the logic of it. The bed was soft, she could lay there for awhile, it would ask nothing from her.
In that way, she supposes her pillow will do instead of his shoulder. Groggily she, in turn, reaches for it. Going at his nudge the rest of the way with a fumbled heaviness. One day, one day, the bend and twist of limbs will feel seamless again, she reassures herself. For now, though, she curls up on her side, clutches the pillow into her with a clawed grip. Fixes her eyes, if still tired, on him where the rest of her face is hidden. Might be smiling there, but there's something else to it. Like she cannot quite believe that he'd let her cry on him like that. Like she cannot quite make him out, like a child looking at water ripples.
Or maybe she's still just a skittish animal and still expects a rebuke. But when it doesn't come, she doesn't have the energy to form the words, so it comes in dulled white noise. ]
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circumspector) wrote2016-03-14 03:55 pm
no subject
It's a lot -- in fact, it's too much. Her breath hitches as shakes her head, blinking her eyes against the sudden sting of wet in her eyes. ] I don't know. [ crying is a strange thing, she notes, it's messy, not just that she's sure she looks awful, but that the tears blot oddly between eyelashes, curves around cheekbones. With no idea what else to do, because there hasn't been anyone around her for so long, instead she just presses her face to his shoulder. She doesn't miss Pandora, there's nothing to miss for her, but she worries about the vault hunters and if they managed alright without her to guide them, if they managed to stop Jack, if it changed anything at all. So many variables, in all the instances she's run in her mind, she still can't be certain. It's too much to say, would have to explain it all - so she says none of it. Just shuts her eyes tight and hides herself away where ( he is ) it's safe. ]
no subject
Frozen in his uncertainty there are more memories of Bucky, an eldest child, and his younger siblings. The age gap was significant enough by the time Steve met the Barnes family that he didn't often see an abundance of sibling squabbling (or maybe they were more well-behaved around him). But he had been witness to a number of times when one of the girls would come running to him with her face wet. Bucky had been good with them, he knew what to say or do to calm them down.
With one last flicker of hesitation his arm wraps around Angel's shoulder, pulling her closer so gently that she might as well be made of glass, half expecting and ready to let go if she pulls away. ]
no subject
But it's just that she's tired, and it hurts, it hurts so much and all the talking, the pretty lights, is nothing else but an impermanent distraction, that changes nothing because it will keep hurting. She will never not feel this. She will never not be empty. Doesn't know what else to do but curl into him and keep crying, the hiccupped rise and fall of her shoulders, the wet that stains her cheeks. It accomplishes nothing, she knows, then giving her some break to it, all chips in a damn wall. Says nothing else, it's already been said anyway, just cries and cries until she's really sure there is nothing else left.
Finally gives into the exhaustion of it all, her hand curls in the material of his shirt, her eyes stay shut and in the comfortable dark of it, trickles away, how easily it goes from nothing to weeping to just uneven breaths and in the next and perhaps she shouldn't, so very, very close to sleep. Seems almost natural that way, like there was only so long she could keep this all going before it all burned itself out. Grief was like that, she figured. ]
no subject
All he can offer is this place to release some of her pain, someone to share it in this particular moment. He only knows how to move forward, tunnel-visioned at times, but his isn't a bitter march to the end.
He lets her sob into his shoulder, arm rising and falling with each shuddered breath and unable to tell how much time passes until he can start to sense that she's getting to the point of exhaustion. That's when he shifts his arm again, gives her a gentle nudge to try to get her to lie down where it would be more comfortable to sleep. ]
no subject
In that way, she supposes her pillow will do instead of his shoulder. Groggily she, in turn, reaches for it. Going at his nudge the rest of the way with a fumbled heaviness. One day, one day, the bend and twist of limbs will feel seamless again, she reassures herself. For now, though, she curls up on her side, clutches the pillow into her with a clawed grip. Fixes her eyes, if still tired, on him where the rest of her face is hidden. Might be smiling there, but there's something else to it. Like she cannot quite believe that he'd let her cry on him like that. Like she cannot quite make him out, like a child looking at water ripples.
Or maybe she's still just a skittish animal and still expects a rebuke. But when it doesn't come, she doesn't have the energy to form the words, so it comes in dulled white noise. ]
( Thank you. )