No More Songs [visual |backdated to the morning after Glitch's post]

[hasaheart]

In the movies, or in Other-Side movies that is, the best friend always seems to know if or when something is wrong. Wyatt and Glitch have been friends for years, the best of friends and more: brothers (in-arms and otherwise), partners-in-crime, confidantes, fellow Ozites swimming in a sea of faceless drones and Other-Siders. They were bound to the same fate by oath and duty and magic, and even after their quest was ended their friendship lived on. It wasn't easy. It wasn't perfect - but what would life or friendship be if not for the bumps in the road.

In Taxon, in what poses as real life to those trapped, Wyatt goes about his day like any other day in blissful ignorance of his friend going into the wind.

It isn't until the next morning, when as part of hardly-ever-failing routine Wyatt checks through the list of names on his tablet...and finds one missing.

He stares for a moment; the cogs of his brain halt and squeak and attempt a reversal. No, that can't be, can't have read that right--

By his third painstaking scrutiny of the list of names and residences and shops, Wyatt can't breathe. His kitchen goes from a bright safe haven to a black hole and the walls are closing in and he. Can't. Breathe.

~*~

The face that appears on the tablet is white as a sheet and drawn with tension. Look any closer and you might see that jaw snap clean off his face. It's a moment before he speaks, because like so many times before he doesn't know where to start. He's been over all the rational explanations. He's even gone to Langwe and Gale's. He went to Glitch's shotgun house.

Now he's back, and there's no escaping the fact his world is crumbling. The walls are coming down and his back isn't strong enough to push back.

His lips fold inward. He swallows. "Glitch is gone. I don't know what else to say. I don't know."

Comments

[location]

[smecker]

Shitballyballs.

Paul noticed before Wyatt, technically: noticed just after his morning jog, and had been on his way over because he would prefer to break the news face to face. But Wyatt's broadcast is clue enough that it's too late for that: Wyatt learned it from the crueler communicator of the tablet.

So Paul just rubs at his face and double-times it the rest of the way to Wyatt's location.

He gets to Wyatt's place; he knocks on the door, rat-tat tat-a-tat.

"Wyatt?"

[hasaheart]

The tablet is back in the bottom drawer in his bedroom, and Wyatt doesn't know where to turn or where to go. He should go to Paul, or to Bagoas, actually, because poor guy-- And he should be able to stay still, and breathe, and think before he does any of that.

But then there's a knock on his door, and it's a balm to his senses. He doesn't have to choose where to go next when someone else made the choice for him.

He opens the door, and he doesn't know what to say, so he reaches for Paul's hand instead. He's all out of words. He still can't breathe.

[smecker]

"Hey," Paul says, eyes searching Wyatt's face: picking up the little tells, the tic of the flesh around his eyes, the minute tremor of his lips, the little flares of his nostrils.

"--okay. Hey." Hand meets hand, Paul gives Wyatt's fingers a small squeeze and then a slight, gentle tug to step forward.

Come here. Out of the house. No time for four walls around you, cowboy.

[hasaheart]

I thought-- His mind fires off random thoughts that have no end. I don't think--

I didn't--

He shuffles out the door, holding on to the one point in the multiverse that makes any sense. Paul's hand is warm and calloused and soft and possessing of a strength that Wyatt doesn't have but feels he should.

He's a grown man. He's dealt with loss before. It's part of life.

So he follows Paul a few steps into the clear air and the bright skies, but it isn't long before he's reaching again. Needs to be close, there, right there in his arms, no doubt about it - and there's nothing to stop him from enveloping Paul in his arms. Best of friends, lovers, partners...

"--I'm so glad you're here."

[smecker]

"Easy, cowboy," Paul murmurs, but he lets Wyatt have what he needs right now: something (someone) to hold on to.

Glitch is (was) better at the huggy shit, always was. He remembers watching their easy contact with each other (and over-analyzing the hell out of it, as he tends to), but if Glitch isn't here to be a hugger-and-huggee, well, Paul Smecker will suck it up and be a big gooshy pillow.

Okay, he's not really big and he's not really gooshy, but Wyatt doesn't appear to be fucking complaining so who cares.

He rests his hands on Wyatt's lower back, patting there as if Wyatt were maybe a dog or something, and talks quietly.

"Breathe in and out, you'll be fine. And if you hyperventilate and pass out I'm not carrying you, so do us both a favor and stay on your feet, focus on my voice, keep breathing."

[hasaheart]

In the end it isn't about big and gooshy, it's about tactile response, and having something, someone tangible right there that doesn't slip through your fingers. Someone whose hair smells like it always does, like shampoo and nicotine, someone who doesn't necessarily ask questions but knows what and if or when to ask.

Someone strong and steady like a pillar. Someone good.

He tries breathing. And when that doesn't really work he tries a breathy grin instead. "Did that already. Don' want a revisit."

Is this how his life is going to be? Two steps forward, five steps back?

[smecker]

"I don't want a revisit either. Hence my instructions there."

Paul keeps his voice level and steady. (He flashes back to memories of talking down psych patients, shoves them away again.)

"You want to walk for a bit? Or not just yet?"

[genequeen]

Madelyne shows up later on in the day.

It seems she's brought pie. More than one pie, actually. Truly, she doesn't at all know if any of these are going to be any good but she has to try and it seems fitting to bring baked good for some reason.

Carefully, she knocks on the door.

[hasaheart]

It's only a little while before the door opens, revealing a quiet, subdued Cain. He isn't usually a very talkative guy, but there's a stillness to him now that even on one of his less easy-going days he doesn't come close to.

Most of all, he's just tired.

"Hey," he says. It seems a good start.

[genequeen]

"Hi. I brought pie," Madelyne says as she offers one of them forward to him. "I have no idea if it tastes any good, though."

[hasaheart]

His kneejerk reaction, which spawns at the very back of his mind is to make some really bad, very mean observations. He knows Madelyne's just being her own kind self - and Glitch was her friend too. He knows, but that doesn't stop the spark.

He's a good man, but even good men have bad days.

Instead he attempts a small smile, and opens the door a bit wider. "There's coffee if you want. We won't know unless we try them."

[genequeen]

There is a flickered glance toward him but the small smile does not waver on her face at all. "I would love some coffee. I followed the recipes you gave me," she offers as she steps in.

After she enters and puts the pies down, she turns to look at him, "I'm sorry, Cain."

[hasaheart]

He nods, thinking maybe they ought to have a bake-off of some sort. Nothing like a bit of competitive cooking to bring a small group of people together.

But that's a stray thought brought on by another memory. It was good, showing Madelyne the ropes.

"Yeah," he says. What else can he say, really? "Me too. I know you were good friends with him."

[text]

[untoldtale]

Emma has, really secretly, assigned fairy tale and nursery rhyme characters to several people in Taxon. Part coping mechanism, part "what would Henry do?", part way to pass time and translate folks in her world. Selina's obviously Puss In Boots, Spike...one of the Jacks, it varies, Glitch had been Belle's father from the Disney movie, the inventor instead of the shady florist in Storybrooke.

And Cain's the steadfast tin soldier, stoic and true and all that stuff. He'd been there for her when she'd reached her wits end, she has to try and give something back.

i'm sorry

...lame, Swan, give it another go.

i do better w/giving boots to the ass than comfort, but if theres anything i can do let me know.

Well, there is one thing she knows she can do.

bar will be open or i can bring it 2 you.

[text]

[hasaheart]

Despite everything, the offer makes him smile ever so slightly. It's a good offer, and it takes him back to the first time he met the young sheriff.

Thanks. I need to get out more. See you there.

[text / location]

[untoldtale]

alright.

When she opens the pub she has the music at a lower volume than usual and tuned to a classic rock channel. If anyone decides to use the jukebox that will get overridden, but meanwhile there's a little subdued soundtrack going on. It can't be all drear though, so Emma turns the disco ball over the stage on to its slowest setting before taking her post behind the bar.

[location]

[hasaheart]

The Wyatt Cain that walks through the door to the old bar that he thinks has been here longer than him, is a tired-looking, wearied Wyatt Cain.

He takes off his hat and takes a seat by the bar, looking around. Almost as an aside, he tells Emma, "I haven't been here since karaoke night. Must be two years ago."

Both eyebrows hike up in rueful, dry amusement. "So you see I do need to get out more."

[location]

[untoldtale]

"Karaoke night..." she repeats, and glances at the machine she unplugged and stuck an Out of order. Forever! sign on immediately upon taking over the bar. "Yeah, we definitely gotta work on your socializing."

Emma is not thinking too hard on the two years part, she gets a little vertigo when she considers how long some people have been here. Though now her own timeline's a little murky: does she count the few months she picked up from home? Does it matter?

She pulls herself back and twitches a smile. "Stating with drinks. Or food. What would you like?"

[location]

[hasaheart]

Don't think he doesn't hear that tone, lady. He hears it loud and clear, and for what it's worth, it sends the skin around his eyes crinkling ever so slightly.

"I didn't actually sing. But it was...a step in the right direction."

As for food or drink - he makes a vague gesture with his hand. "Just orange juice, please. Thank you."

[skinandbone]

It takes a bit because Metody isn't sure if these things are done - there are obviously some cultural differences in what you do for someone in grief, or sick, or otherwise pained.

But decency is decency, and so, a day our two later, a basket of foodstuffs is set on Cain's doorstep. This time, she rings the bell, then steps back, fully prepared to just leave it; her encounters with Jason and Nuada have been enough to teach her that this is best done to comfit herself, not other people.

[hasaheart]

Two days later, and Wyatt isn't expecting guests. Regardless, his door is always (metaphorically) open, and today is no difference. This particular time of this particular day, he's in the middle of washing up some dishes that had very sneakily piled up on him. He grabs the towel, patting his hands and arms dry on the way to the open kitchen window.

It is not every day you see what you assume to be a stiff-as-a-board, cop-like person poke out of an open window, shirt sleeves rolled up and a floral-patterned dish towel in hand.

"Oh, Metody, hi! Let me unlock that for you. Come in." He gestures with the one hand before disappearing the short distance to the front door.

Maybe he isn't back to his usual self just yet, but in his own expert opinion, he's at least better equipped to handle guests. "Hi." A beat. "Again. I said that already, didn't I. Sorry. Do come in."

[skinandbone]

"Oh, no, I -" and there he goes. Oh, golly

She offers him the basket when he opens the door, looking awkward. Okay. Maybe she needs to send around a fact sheet about care baskets? "Um. I just came by to drop this off. Are you okay?"

[hasaheart]

That really is the worst and the best question anyone could ask of him right now, because it brings back memories - of DG and Glitch, and he thinks even Raw asked that question back then, before Taxon, and it's the single most stupid question there is.

But it's perfect. And so is the basket full of good things, which fits easily under his arm.

"Thanks, kiddo. I'm good." Oh, okay so that's a blatant damn lie. "...better."

[skinandbone]

"I'm...sorry." She doesn't quite understand what's happened, not really, but she's aware she doesn't understand, and she's gone back through the archives of old recordings to know that he really is gone. "He was...I'm sorry."

Thank goodness, there are words to speak when this happens. Manners are wonderful, giving you a form to follow. "If there is any way I can help, please let me know."

[hasaheart]

Wyatt nods, acknowledging the mingled apology and condolence, and looks for a moment at the basket under his arm.

"Thanks. That's very good of you to offer. You sure you don't want to come in? You've come all this way just to drop this off?"