oh why do we run, run, run/so far from each other

[beckstitch]

Who| Beck and OPEN (to Capitolites)
What| Heartbreak
Where| Around the Capitol.
When| After the D11 liberation.
Warnings/Notes| Swearing, some discussion of neglect/depression, other warnings TBD.

At first it's just an echoing disbelief. Beck waits outside Emily's door for hours after the last of the Capitol soldiers have come back. Emily has to be with them. Has to. It doesn't matter what she said, what she was going through, she has to come back. She can't be gone.

Then, it's tears. Tears and curling up in the corner around the aching emptiness in her gut, for once not caring who sees her, not caring that she's balled up foetally in the corridor outside her ex's flat looking (and feeling) utterly pathetic. One person, one person in the world she thought wouldn't find something better and move on... one goddamn person who she thought might stay, and she's gone. Just like the rest of them. Mothers and fathers and friends and lovers and everyone who's meant to stay.

Even at her worst (and her worst has been pretty bad, at times), Beck's never felt so utterly, utterly alone. Isn't this when you're meant to be able to turn to someone? To your mother, or your father, or your siblings? And who's she got, but a couple of Avoxes who aren't even the same Avoxes who raised her, and a whole plethora of friends who were in it for the sex and the glamour and the shoulder to cry on?

After the tears comes rage, and the rage doesn't go anywhere. She runs, runs all through the city with her head down and her heart pounding, not caring who she bulls past. She keeps running until she can't run any more.

And when she's done running, she fights. For the next couple of days, every waking hour, you can find her in the gym, kickboxing, like she can somehow force all her anger and grief and betrayal out into a stupid punchbag, like it makes any goddamn difference to the people who took Emily from her (who took her father from her, took her life from her, who want to take her city from her). She snatches moments of sleep in the gym, or in her office. A couple of times, she tries to pull herself together and get some work done. It's not happening.

What's the goddamn point, anyway? Why bother working to be loved, to make a difference, if all it does is get thrown back in your face?

Comments

[capitolprivilege]

"Whoa, whoa whoa whoa! Easy!" Stephen shifts back and laughs, but it's not unkind -- it's a laugh meant to break tension, not make fun. "What's up? Everyone but you. What're you doing snoozing in the gym in the middle of the day? What, is sleeping in the gym healthier than sleeping at home? Do you burn fat by proximity?"

He knows things aren't sunshine and roses. Stephen's well aware that Beck's going through a really, really rough time. But he's keeping the conversation light and friendly, because you don't open with the heavy shit. You distract, and if someone wants to talk, they talk.

[beckstitch]

Beck laughs in answer, but it's obviously forced, and so it comes out sounding incredibly sarcastic. "You caught me. The thinking woman's weight-loss plan." Grimacing, she pulls herself back up onto the bench and scrubs her hands over her face. "I was just taking a break. Must've dozed off."

[capitolprivilege]

"You look like someone who could use a break. Or, better yet, a drink. What do you say? Want to gain back all the calories you just slept off?" he asks playfully.

Really, it's an offer for company; drink, in this context, implies a listening, sympathetic ear. Stephen's offering to spend time with her, to let her unwind with someone else watching her back, and to take care of her when she's finished.

[beckstitch]

"God, yes." Her fervency isn't remotely faked. She hasn't been out drinking in a while, not the way she used to; Emily stopped her from doing that, made her watch her behaviour too closely. Now Emily's gone (and that thought stings all over again), why the hell shouldn't she? It might even help clear her head a little. "Let's go."

[capitolprivilege]

A brilliant smile flashes across his face, pleased that she's accepted the invitation.

"Right behind you," he says, straightening up. "Where would you like to go? Would you prefer getting privately or publicly smashed?"

[beckstitch]

"I'm not exactly dressed for public outings, am I?" Beck remarks wryly, pulling a face, and pushes herself to her feet. She might frequently dress pretty simply for a Capitolite, but that doesn't mean she's about to go out on the town in dirty workout clothes and no makeup. That's offworlder level lack of regard for fashion. "If we go out, you're going to have to wait for me to put my face on first."

[capitolprivilege]

"Do I look like I'm ready to be seen in public?" Stephen shoots back, aware of his own lack of clean clothes and makeup. "Hit the showers, Beck. I'll meet you by the front desk."

[beckstitch]

Beck smiles a little, gratefully, and nods. "Sure," she agrees, taking a deep breath and scrubbing at her face. "Sure. Twenty minutes?"

It feels like it ought to take twenty years to clean herself up, to scrub off the sweat and tears and grief and make herself look human again. Twenty minutes is a good start, though.

[capitolprivilege]

"You're on."

He'll hit the showers, put his own face on, and be waiting with his hands in his pockets, leaning easily against the desk. Stephen's sporting a Capitol version of the t-shirt and blazer look, effortlessly stylish, casually classic. No, he'll never stop overthinking his own clothing; he wouldn't know what to put on in the morning if he weren't trying. He's texting as he waits, and there's nothing impatient in his posture. If she's a little late, it won't be awkward.

[beckstitch]

It's just as well he's not impatient, because Beck winds up taking ten or fifteen minutes longer than she said she would. When she shows up, though, she looks much more like herself - false eyelashes, gold makeup, and form-fitting clothes. The tiredness is still visible around her eyes, but she's done a good job of covering up the dark circles, at least.

"I need a manicure," she complains, as she heads over to him, and looks down at her hand. She's broken most of her nails punching out her frustration, and she didn't feel up to putting on acrylic ones. "That's tomorrow, I guess."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen turns a critical eye on her hand. "Eh, it's not so bad," he says. "Besides, in that outfit, no one's going to be looking at your nails. Not unless they have a hand fetish, anyway, in which case their opinion isn't worth worrying about." What he's saying is you look very nice, Beck.

[beckstitch]

Beck can't muster up a laugh, but she does smile at that. "Thanks," she says, and means it. It's not that he's complimenting her, so much as that he's complimenting her now. She really needs the reassurance, at the moment. "You shouldn't rule out the hand fetishists, though. There's more of them than you'd think."

She offers her arm, her smile only looking a little brittle around the edges. "Shall we?"

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen's glad he got that smile out of her. She's a girl in very serious need of some cheering up, and a smile is a good start.

He takes her arm gallantly. "Got a particular place in mind?" he asks, strolling out toward the street.

[beckstitch]

"Somewhere with alcohol. And dancing." Beck pulls a face. "I wasn't thinking anywhere in particular. I haven't really been out much lately. Where's all the eye candy at the moment?"

[capitolprivilege]

He bursts into a laugh. "You're asking the wrong man," Stephen says, "or, at least, the right one, but a year too late. Between my job and, you know, everything else--" the war, he means the war, but there's no need to name it when euphemism will do just fine-- "I've not felt all that up to out-on-the-town."

[beckstitch]

She smiles, although less warmly and more wearily, and elbows him gently. "Well," she says, after a moment, and bites her lip. "Well, I guess we're just going to have to figure it out all over again. At least I'm not the only shut-in."

[capitolprivilege]

"I can't have forgotten everything," he says. "There's no way every club I knew wound up obsolete over the past year."

Stephen clicks his tongue in his mouth thoughtfully. "Okay, okay. If any place has staying power, it's .infinity -- they've been relevant since before the Quell. It might not be the most cutting-edge club in the Capitol, but I think we can find ourselves a good time."

[beckstitch]

"I don't know, it must be about ready to come back around to cutting-edge." She smiles at him, a little more solidly, although it still doesn't reach her eyes. ".infinity it is."

[capitolprivilege]

It's the work of a moment to hail a cab (Stephen's not sure why they even call it hailing, since it's done by communicator and has nothing to do with any kind of hail at all) and within a minute, they're zooming off into the early-evening light, headed for the skyscraper .infinity is atop.

"Thank god I found you," Stephen says, crossing his legs comfortably in the backseat of the car. "I needed a break, too. You wouldn't believe the headache this week has been." It's meaningless chatter, idle talk, bitching meant to fill silence.

[beckstitch]

Beck pulls a face, trying to relax into the seat herself and, for once in her life, totally failing. She's still anxious and fidgety, with none of her usual louche grace. Still, she manages to inject a little brightness in her tone, even if it's kind of sarcastic. "Feel like I'd believe just about any headache, these days."

[capitolprivilege]

"I would love to complain about it," Stephen says, "but, you know, my department is absolutely lousy with NDAs and research contracts and security restrictions. I can't sneeze without worrying I'm giving away something illegal."

[beckstitch]

Again, there's a slightly forced edge to her laugh, but only slightly. She's either relaxing a little or (more likely) waking up enough to pull the mask back on. "And here I was hoping for some juicy gossip. Oh, well."

[capitolprivilege]

"I don't know what department you think I work in," Stephen insists, "but there is absolutely nothing juicy about Capitol R&D. It's balancing the wants and needs of over a dozen scientific teams, all of which think their project is the most important discovery since force fields."

[beckstitch]

Beck laughs. "I work in fashion," she reminds him, nudging him with an elbow. "There's juicy gossip everywhere, even if it's just that so-and-so is meeting such-and-such in a dark broom closet somewhere." Not that broom closets factor very strongly in Capitol life, except as points for assignations.

That thought's oddly painful. Thoughts about sex and romance tend to be, lately, and for someone like Beck that's very disconcerting. She sighs, and tries to forget about it. "Oh, well. There's bound to be gossip in .infinity, right?"