forthedog: (worried)
Mike Pinocchio ([personal profile] forthedog) wrote2009-07-06 09:27 pm
Entry tags:

Derailment

He's not sure what wakes him. It could be any number of things. It could be the light on his face, the air moving over him, the shift of cloth against skin where before it had just been the cool of the sheets and the heat of two bodies. It could be the hard ground under his back, which would also explain the aches in him as consciousness drifts closer. He's gone soft, he thinks sometimes, fallen out of the habit of sleeping well on the ground, lost in the embrace of Tom's big bed. But he still roughs it sometimes, so at first the fact that he's clearly outside doesn't sound any alarms.

But it's the kind of outside. It's not the light but the quality of that light; not warm and glowing but thin, pale, anemic. When he opens his eyes it's not the trees swaying over him in the morning breeze but what they're like, them and the other plant life, still thickly growing and untamed but bad. Unhealthy. Sparse where it shouldn't be and dense where it shouldn't be. No birds, no fucking birds at all. The hints of a world knocked out of balance and gone horribly wrong.

There's a cold wet nose pressed against his cheek, and a weight pressing into his arm, numbing it. He rolls, pulls it away and sits up, shoving Neil harder than he meant to. Dexter steps back, whining softly, and Mike stares around and then down, absorbing it in quick shocked bursts. The car. The campfire, smoking ashes. Dexter. The two figures, curled together on the ground. Tom's old and ragged sweater. His own pants. Camo. Boots. The itchy feel of clothes that haven't been washed for a while.

His gun.

There's no mistaking what this is.

He doesn't want to wake them. As long as they're still sleeping, this is his nightmare and his alone. Maybe they never have to wake up. And yet he has no idea what's really worse: being back here or being back here on his own.

"No," he breathes, barely above a whisper. No louder, because he's honestly afraid that he might scream. "No. No. Fuck."

[identity profile] doesnt-speak.livejournal.com 2009-09-03 10:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Without looking over at Mike, Florence smiles, but it's twisted and hard, a pained acknowledgment that, whoever they are, however much they still might be Mike and Tom, they aren't the Mike and Tom who belong with her. They're still fighters, but there's a difference now. There's a place where they've changed.

She nods, then finally looks at him. There's no demand in her expression, but she does want to know whatever he's willing to tell her.
little_moons: (Default)

[personal profile] little_moons 2009-09-04 01:55 am (UTC)(link)
My hand lifts to cover his, just a tiny gesture that I suddenly need to make. An acknowledgment that I'm okay, we're both okay, or at least as okay as we can be. Then I pull away, shifting back on the makeshift pallet in the dirt, knees drawn up to my chest and my chin resting on one knee. I'd give them privacy, I probably should, but I'm not sure I could make myself be alone right now.

So just pretending like I'm not listening'll have to do.

[identity profile] m-pinocchio.livejournal.com 2009-09-04 02:25 am (UTC)(link)
He looks back at Neil, a pang of regret at the loss of the touch. But he won't chase it. Won't pursue it. Not right now.

He almost feels as though it isn't his to chase.

You don't have to go, he thinks but doesn't say, and turns to Florence again.

"We're from... somewhere far away from here," he says slowly, wondering how in the hell to even explain this to someone who hasn't at least seen it once. "An island. before that, Hobbes and I came from the Realm... but it was another time. Hell, maybe another Realm. It all gets pretty confusing once you end up there." He smiles ruefully. "You were there too, for a while."

[identity profile] doesnt-speak.livejournal.com 2009-09-06 02:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Florence considers this; the idea that she's been somewhere else without being aware of it now isn't something she can quite accept, but there are things in this world that are inexplicable and she can accept that much. She wonders now if they're going to go back there and she looks at Mike, then glances at Neil, her expression questioning.
little_moons: (Default)

[personal profile] little_moons 2009-09-07 03:20 am (UTC)(link)
It's hard not to smile at that. At how fuckin' crazy it sounds, laid out that way. My lips curl into a smirk, eyes sparkling with amusement, 'til she turns to me for confirmation or more details or any number of things I just can't give her.

"I never been here before. I came from... someplace else. The island's home, though. Is for me, anyway."

[identity profile] m-pinocchio.livejournal.com 2009-09-07 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
"It's home for all of us," he says, glancing at Neil briefly, suddenly grateful that he isn't completely alone. "We just... I don't know how we ended up here. We fell asleep in our house and we woke up here. So I dunno if we'll go back. Could be anytime. Might never happen."

He pauses, looking into the fire again, fiddling with a blade of dead grass by his feet. "I have children back there," he says. "Twin girls. They just turned two." He smiles thinly. "So this has been kind of an adjustment."

[identity profile] doesnt-speak.livejournal.com 2009-09-08 09:49 pm (UTC)(link)
So they have to go back.

If she's surprised by the revelation that Mike has children, she doesn't show it, just a sudden concern for the girls and for everyone who is here when they're supposed to be there. Reaching over, she grasps Mike's arm hard and looks at him. You're going back to them.
little_moons: (Default)

[personal profile] little_moons 2009-09-09 02:21 am (UTC)(link)
It occurred to me, of course it did, but hearing him say out loud that we might never be going back hurts more than I can say. It's a heavy, crushing sort of pain, pressing down hard on my ribs, and for a long time, it's achingly hard to breathe.

I find myself angry -- furious at Tom for leaving, 'cause I know he'd be the one to insist that we're going home. There'd be no question. There's something comforting about that, even if it is naive.

"Their names are Mack and Flo," I murmur, voice quiet and hoarse, distant somehow and muffled by the hand I scrub over my face. He has children back there, but in a way, so does Tom. So do I.
Edited 2009-09-09 02:23 (UTC)

[identity profile] m-pinocchio.livejournal.com 2009-09-09 03:32 am (UTC)(link)
The names and the touch and the look all shake him, grabbing him from the inside out and kicking him up and back into some kind of shape. He still doesn't know what he believes, and he's always found it easiest to believe in the worst of all possible worlds, but when she looks at him like that...

It's very hard to doubt her.

"I don't know what happened to... to your versions of us," he says quietly, and manages another thin smile. "I hope they aren't running around here somewhere, 'cause that'd be really fucking awkward."

[identity profile] doesnt-speak.livejournal.com 2009-09-09 10:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Florence waves that off, because she'll find them eventually and she expects that things will work out the way they need to. These versions of her friends will go home to where they belong and things in Harsh Realm will return to what passes for normal.

What's important now is that he understands that they are going back. She doesn't know how she'll make it work, but she will.
little_moons: (Default)

[personal profile] little_moons 2009-09-10 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
I'm well past the familiar bone-deep tired I've felt a fair share of my life, into a kind of weepy, petulant, incoherent exhaustion. The light of the fire's too bright, their voices are too loud and I'm dangerously close to breaking down in anguished sobs for no specific reason at all. I turn my face away, toward the fire, 'cause I'm pretty sure my cheeks feel wet. Jesus.

Distantly, I wonder if there's another version of me out there, too. There's supposed to be copies of all of us, right?

[identity profile] m-pinocchio.livejournal.com 2009-09-10 12:30 pm (UTC)(link)
He smiles again when she waves her hand like that. He can't help it. It's so fucking typical. All this worry about how he's going to tell her and when the time finally comes, it doesn't even make any difference. He's still tense, still worried, still guilty in an awful way that he's not even sure how to start articulating, but in this corner at least, he's starting to ease.

He glances over at Neil again, sees some of the tightness in his face, something that looks like moisture around the eyes, and his heart breaks a little. "Hey," he says softly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "Get some sleep."

[identity profile] doesnt-speak.livejournal.com 2009-09-12 02:48 pm (UTC)(link)
They all need sleep and with Tom watching, Florence feels secure enough to take it. Gesturing at Mike and Neil, she nods, indicating that she'll head a few steps away should they need anything from her. Privacy isn't exactly easy to come by out here and she doesn't feel safe enough yet to truly leave them alone, but this will do for now.
little_moons: (Default)

[personal profile] little_moons 2009-09-13 05:46 am (UTC)(link)
She doesn't go far, but that doesn't stop the little tiny spark of dread I feel. I've never not wanted to be alone with him, even when things were awkward and it was all I could do not to touch him when I wasn't supposed to, but now... Now, I don't know what to do.

All I've wanted since we got here was to be near them, but now that I've got at least half my wish, I don't know what to do. Nothing here feels right.

[identity profile] m-pinocchio.livejournal.com 2009-09-13 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
He returns the nod, a faint smile with it, grateful and sad. It isn't like it was, or like it should be. If they stay, they won't be her Mike and Tom. She doesn't remember the Island, the girls, anything. And if they leave, he might never get her back again.

Either way, he loses. A little.

He glances over at Neil, feeling an unwelcome tightening in his middle. He hadn't dared imagine this moment, hadn't dared to hope for something that might never happen, but if he had, he thinks he would have imagined more than this. An embrace. Quiet words of reassurance. Something more than this awful feeling of distance.

"Get some sleep," he murmurs again, hand on Neil's arm but clearing his throat and turning away to the fire.