forthedog | (no subject)

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neil

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It's easier to stay out of everyone's way than you'd think. You just call in sick as far as the building crew goes, you hunt a lot, you keep to your hut and yell at anyone who comes too close. He's barely even seen Eostre, though at some point he guesses he'll at least have to explain himself to her, if to no one else.

If Hobbes hasn't already told her.

It's early evening, and he has a fire going in the little circle of stones close to the hut, and he's sharpening his knife because it's helping him to not think. Not thinking is pretty much the other thing he does these days. He'd told himself that it wasn't a breakup, that it was a step back to get some distance, to allow himself to think more clearly about the problem, but thinking about the problem is exactly what he's not doing, because part of him is sure--so sure--that if he does think about it he'll have to face the fact that it's a problem without a solution.

He and Eostre work because there's no real demands, and not even that many expectations. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe he really can't handle anything more than that. Maybe he was an idiot to ever think that he could, and Hobbes is the collateral damage.

He'd always liked to think he had better aim than that.

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It'd have to be fucking stupid not to notice the tension settled over the area. Hanging like a fucking fog in the air. The hut's half finished, and I can add this to the growing list of fucking stupid decisions I've made lately. Oh yeah, this is a fucking perfect spot.

There's smoke just through the trees, and even though I've been hanging back lately, I wander toward Mike's hut, finding him there hunched over the fire. Playing with a knife. Playing with a gun. It's always the same.

I arch a brow and sit down next to him, without an invite. "You know, I'm gonna start feelin' inadequate, hanging 'round you assholes."

He grunts and doesn't look up. He doesn't really want to have a conversation. He'd said he'd help Neil with the hut and he's utterly failed in that. Just one more thing to feel like shit about.

"Yeah?" He lifts the blade and blows on the edge. "And how's that?"

"I don't have any of the cool toys," I mutter dryly, managing a twitch of a smirk and then going silent. He's about as friendly as a fucking hornet, but then again, he might have his moments but he's never been real warm and fuzzy.

He makes a rough sound that might be a laugh and lowers the knife to the stone again. "Should've joined up," he says. "They hand 'em out for free."

He glances up, just a glance, but it might be faintly apologetic. Very faintly. "How's the hut coming?"

"Not really my scene," I say, maybe a little bit of a tease in my voice, still treading softly like I might set him off.

"'Bout halfway. Looks nice, you should see it."

He glances up again, a little longer this time, and almost smiles. "Wouldn't be so sure about that," he says. "The amount of ass you can get if you know how to be careful..."

He shouldn't be talking like that. Not right now. He clears his throat and looks down again. "I'll stop by sometime."

"Never had any problem with that before," I murmur, brow furrowing, hunched over my bent knees and watching him warily.

What the fuck's up with you, man? I don't say it outloud, but I figure the question's pretty damn clear.

"I bet not." He lets a few minutes of weighty silence go by before laying the knife and stone down and looking back up, sighing.

"What? Look, just ask it and get it over with, all right?" Because he's sure as hell not volunteering anything, and for some reason telling Neil to go the fuck away doesn't seem like it's happening.

I think 'bout blowing it off. Asking him something mundane. Something easy. Seen any good movies lately? Laugh it off and pretend like he doesn't look fucking miserable. For about half a second, I'm almost worried somethin' happened with Eostre or the girls, but for whatever reason, I trust he would've told me 'bout that by now. This is somethin' different.

"What's goin' on?" I ask simply, 'cause he sure as hell can't believe I'm gonna take the hint and mind my own fuckin' business.

He looks at Neil for a long moment. He could just tell him, for once in his life he could just tell someone something without making a big production out of it, without making them pass tests and jump through hoops--but old habits die so damn hard so he just shrugs.

"Why would you think something was going on?"

"Because you're being an asshole," I answer, drawing the words out slow, like it's the most obvious fuckin' thing in the world. I haven't even known him all that long, not really, but I'm already pretty familiar with this game. "You know, more than usual."

He smiles thinly. "Sorry, then." He knows he's being an asshole. It's just sort of what he does, when backed into a corner or confronted with an insurmountable problem, or just for the hell of it. It's like coming home.

But more than usual. Which is also true.

He raises a hand and swipes it slowly down his face. "I guess 'none of your fucking business' isn't the answer you're looking for?"

"Wasn't askin' for a fucking apology," I mutter, rolling my eyes and turning back toward the fire.

"You told me to ask, man. So, I asked. You want me to fuck off, just fuckin' say so." He wants me to dig it out of him, I'm not in the fucking mood.

He's close to actually opening his mouth to tell Neil to do just that, when it occurs to him that maybe he's actually sort of... missing people. Missing talking to people. And being left alone right now feels just about as bad as not being left alone at all.

So instead he says, "I think maybe I lost him," and leaves it there. Because there's really not a lot else to say about it.

It doesn't take me long to puzzle through that one. After the words come, it seems so fucking obvious. I get this flash of Hobbes at the waterfall, asking him if everything was okay between the two of them, and that nervous look on his face I thought I'd imagined.

"But you..." But they what? They were fucked, just like everybody else. I can't quite explain the sudden ache in my chest. It makes no sense at all. He's right, it's none of my fucking business.

"Please don't tell anybody," he says, staring down at the knife. He remembers Neil's face when he'd been talking about all the sympathy, the worried looks and the assurances that everything would be fine, and he doesn't want that. It's not the same thing, not even close, but he remembers looking out from behind a mask of skin grafts and pain at a cheerful nurse chattering about something, and wanting to grab her by the throat and slam her into a fucking wall.

It's better if no one knows. At least for now.

"I won't," I answer, the words coming quiet but without any hesitation at all, promising before I can even think why. I didn't get that luxury, spilling my guts to every fucking asshole who'd listen, only hours after I left our hut -- our home. Then, after that, there was no reason to keep the secret. Everybody on the whole fucking island seemed to know within a few days.

It sucked. It really fucking sucked, in a situation that was pretty fucking shitty all on it's own.

"When?"

"When do you think?" he snaps, and then realizes that hey, he'd mostly missed the truth thing first time around, maybe Neil did this time.

"Few days ago. He couldn't lie to me. Fucking Island did it." He smiles wanly. "Guess it was a little more honesty than either of us could handle." Which says... it says a lot about both of them, but he's wondering if it says a lot about relationships. If all that honesty and communication stuff is really bullshit. If the only way to be happy with someone else is to lie to them.

He's not sure he thinks it's worth that.

"Shit." Of course. I saw him that day. He was worried, said it'd be a fucking disaster if he ran into Mike, and I laughed. I made a joke out of it. Shit.

"Guess that's gettin' to be a pattern 'round here." Whoever said honesty was the best policy can kiss my fucking ass.

"I guess," he echoes, staring down again. It feels so strange to actually talk about it. Makes it real in a way it hasn't been yet.

"We just... we've been through so fucking much together. And now this. I don't even know what the fuck happened." He reaches up, grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Everything went to shit all at once."

It sounds too fucking familiar, but Logan and me probably didn't go through half what they did. And as for it all going to shit at once...

"Have you talked to him? Since that day?"

He shakes his head, dropping his hands again. "What the fuck would I say? Talking's what got us here in the first place." Most of him actually believes that. The rest of him suspects that it might be at least partly bullshit. Too late now.

He sighs, pushing through a sudden tightness in his throat. "This sounds so fucking pathetic, but maybe he's better off." He'd always suspected that. Maybe this is just proof.

"You're right," I say, turning to look at him, blank-faced and calm... but that fragile sorta calm that's right on the edge of being something else, "It's really fuckin' pathetic."

"He's not better off without you. He loves you, man, and you're --" It's not what he wants to hear, but it sounds too fucking familiar, and all the sudden it's all I can do not to punch him in the fucking face.

"And I'm what?" Suddenly he's close to angry again, a bizarre mixture of defensive and self-deprecating, because he knows it's true, he didn't do a lot of things right, but that could be all the more reason to cut it off now before anyone else gets hurt any worse.

"I can't open up and he can't trust me, and don't you try to feed me any bullshit about love, because love is not enough."

"You're an idiot," I snap. It wasn't what I was gonna say -- I don't even know what I was gonna say, but it's as close to the truth as I can manage right now.

"If it's not, then what is?" There's something like desperation in my voice, like I think he can actually answer that question. Never take relationship advice from Mike Pinocchio, he's fucked. But I need to know, and no one seems to be able to tell me.