I've been walkin' the streets at night

[fuckitall]

Who| Nick, Grantaire, Nill, castmates and anyone else!
What| Nick's still pretty bitter about the arena. There are lots of ways to cope!
Where| Training Center, rooftop, bar, here and there
When| Sometime after Arena 12, day/evening varies
Warnings| Mentions of violence that occurred in the arena



Training Center, castmates and anyone else

He never cared about going to the gym much back when his world was still normal. And when it became a living hell, running away from lurkers had been the best form of fear driven exercise.

Getting into shape isn't exactly the first thing on his mind as to why he's here though. Despite the talks and moments of catching up with those he could after the arena, his emotions still feel raw. He's still angry at himself for not being able to do more, still angry that he's brought back only to see people suffer fates they don't deserve.

And they all have to do it again and again. There will probably never be a point in his life now where he can stop and think life ain't so bad. Life ain't fair, he gets it. If only everything in the god damn universe would quit reminding him so much in the worse ways possible.

He only just realizes how white his knuckles are and unclenches his fist, making his way towards the training dummies with a steel baton in his other hand. He can hone his skills with ranged weapons later. Right now, he just needs to let out all this pent up frustration and disappointment in himself in the healthiest way he can think of: beating the ever living shit out of this dummy.

"Fuck you," he huffs after a hard swing before following up with one after each uttered word. "Fuckin'. Piece. Of. Shit."

Useless.

Luke

Lying in a soft bed has been a comfort Nick learns to never take for granted, but lately he hasn't been able to pull the blanket over himself without imagining lurkers or aliens popping out of nowhere in front of him the second he pulls the covers off. Needless to say, sleep isn't going to come to him easily any time soon. He's still stuck in this nightmare after all.

He hasn't seen Luke since the end of the arena. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe Luke's feeling something similar along the likes, since he hasn't heard from him either. Knowing Luke, he's probably keeping to himself just as Nick is doing right now. But he's been feeling this distance between them for a while. This distance that only closes in moments where Luke isn't acting like a leader whether the circumstances permit him or not.

One thing he does know is that Luke can't shoulder all this burden himself. Is Luke worried that Nick would think less of him if he tells him that? Does Luke think he blames him for what happened?

He slowly sits up from the bed, running one hand down his face while fumbling with the communicator with the other. If Luke's blaming himself for any of this, Nick needs to let him know that it isn't his fault. He sends Luke a ping, feeling the anxiety creeping along his throat.

"...Luke?"

The park, open

Spending hours beating the shit out of things at the Training Center certainly helps, but it can only do so much for the moment and not much else when the moment's over. And for some reason, he doesn't feel the slightest tired. Even if he was, he can't bring himself to sleep for no more than an hour.

For now he'll make do with his guitar. It calms him down, keeping him grounded. Even if he played angrily, which he has done more than a few occasions, he can do it without the shame if it's through music.

He spends a little time wandering around for a while before finally finding a bench that faces away from most of the foot traffic. He plucks the strings and tunes the guitar accordingly. It takes a couple of random strums before he lets his fingers finally decide on a song. He doesn't sing the lyrics despite knowing them. Instead, he whistles an accompaniment to the tune. Eventually the whistling dies down and he just lets his fingers glide along, for once not caring about screwing up a note or missing it entirely. He's too busy staring ahead at the trees ahead of him, reminiscent of days at the park back home or exploring the woods.

Grantaire

The bartender working practically knows Nick's face by now. At least, from what he can tell anyway from the look he gets and the following head shake. As usual, Nick responds to that with his order along with a flippant eye roll. He takes his seat at a corner stool, his preferred place to sit mostly so he could lean against the wall or some sense of bullshit security he can't explain while sober. Drinking with Beth earlier was nice, but tonight is the night where he intends to go all out.

He's not even halfway done with his glass of whiskey, but he's already ordered another.

Nightmares aren't coming to him tonight.

Nill

Nick had only seen Nill in the arena as a portrait painted by the stars. Before that, they only had what Nick recalls as one of the first decent conversations he had since his arrival here. They've only spoken that one time but in the end he decided that Nill's good in his book. It's not often he feels safe enough to talk without feeling like he's being judged for it. He hasn't forgotten that and deeply regrets not trying harder to seek her out in the arena.

The guilt just keeps growing the more he thinks about it. Even if he does find her on the rooftop, he's not even sure if she wants to see anyone. He'd understand if she doesn't, but he wants to let her know that her patience and willingness to listen isn't going to be overlooked.

These two packs of cigarettes he bought might not cut it, he thinks.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

The message awaits Luke when he returns from a long walk through the park to shake off the cobwebs in his head, mildly surprising him. He isn't much in the habit of using his communicator but he recognizes its usefulness for touching base with others -- particularly when face-to-face conversations are inconvenient for one reason or another. Just like owning a smartphone all over again. And just like with his smartphone, his responses via the communicator aren't the most prompt. Not so bad as to leave Nick hanging for days, though; there aren't any distractions of the romantic sort sucking his attention into a vacuum. And times have changed and changed them with it, shifting their priorities.

Luke shakes and hangs his bomber jacket on the back of a chair and claws off his equally wet, snow-crusted hat and scarf before sitting on the edge of his bed with his device, idly scrolling down screens and delaying the inevitable for a half-minute longer. Then he readies his answer and sends it off.

"Hey Nick. Sorry for the hold up." He's flushed, his skin prickling as it thaws. His combs his fingers through hat-mussed hair as if self-conscious, brows lifting a touch at the screen and a measure of concerned curiosity edging into his voice. "What's goin' on?" The elephant in the room aside, of course.

[fuckitall]

Nick runs a towel through his hair, no longer greasy after the proper shower he just had. Waiting for a response from Luke isn't anything new, but the anxiety is still there. He never thought he'd miss those moments with him sitting at home, sending Luke a text only to wait hours later to get a response that he was with a date. He'd rather have that than the reality they're facing now, but life is never that kind.

When the communicator beeps, he slings the towel around his broad shoulders to answer. "Nothin' much." His eyes land on the scar on his neck in the mirror and he move the towel over to cover it like a scarf. He wonders if Luke saw. "Just sittin' here and all."

So much to ask, but everything's too sensitive to say over a monitored call. Luke's better at playing an act than he is too, so he tells himself to better get to the point before blurting out something dumb.

"Think we could...well, you look like you just came from somewhere so - "

Fuck. He should've thought this through.

"...can we meet up? I can head over to your place." And he could use a walk himself.

[burningdaylight]

There'd have been no dancing around it much longer -- a meet-up was bound to happen. And despite the cameras tucked into nearly every corner of the Capitol, he has to admit that it feels marginally more uncomfortable dredging up and airing matters out entirely over the communicator instead of engaging each other in person.

All in his mind, he muses.

It doesn't take a friendship of twenty years to sense the great restraint Nick is exercising and all Luke can do is try to swallow back the sigh gathering in his chest, convinced it'd be analyzed to death otherwise. They didn't need an argument before they had even breached the subject of the arena and the damage it has wrought.

"Sure, man." He takes a moment to scrub tiredly at his face instead. Remembering after the fact, with a twinge in his gut, that the gesture is caught on-screen. "If you want a beer, though, you're gonna have to bring your own." It's an attempt at levity accompanied by the beginnings of a smile ghosting the edges of his lips. How successful it is is to be determined -- but either way it's something. And it takes more out of him than he imagined it would. So much more than he'd readily admit.

God -- he just wants to be normal again. He just wants to push on.

[fuckitall]

They all learned the hard way that nothing is normal anymore. Nick had accepted that a long time ago as much as it killed him on the inside to do so. Now here, they're pressured to put up an act for the sake of amusement. If it weren't for the risk of getting the others into trouble, Nick would flip off all the cameras he has come across so far.

He's had more than enough practice with keeping himself together living under Carver's regime at least. But this world is just different enough for him to be worried that one of them might lose it one day, and as much as he wants to believe otherwise, he's afraid that Luke may reach that point soon.

"Sure thing." He hasn't done his liver much favors lately, though Luke probably could use something anyway. "You brought some last time, after all. See ya."

He lets out a sigh of his own as he ends the call, getting up to grab his coat.

About fifteen minutes later, he shows up outside Luke's door and knocks. Time to cut the silence.

[burningdaylight]

To say that Luke has been doing his homework is an understatement. Since the arena’s end he has thrown himself that much more into planning and research, viewing and reviewing a wealth of footage on Jennifer’s recommendation and penning down notes and relevant time-stamps, sometimes well into the small hours of the morning. Whatever it took to quiet the chatter in his mind enough to sleep.

They all had their ways of coping.

Luke is hunched at his desk over his communicator and an open notepad again when the knock snaps him into awareness, his gut clenching at the sound. He scribbles down the rest of his thought before clicking his pen and tossing it between the pages. And his insides only wind tighter as he pads to the door and unlocks it, drawing it open carefully as if he isn’t sure what he’ll find.

In all fairness, he doesn’t know. They’re looking at each other – taking each other in – for the first time since the xenomutt had wrenched Nick away from him and he feels his ribcage shrink around his lungs, squeezing. His mouth opens but it’s a moment before he can work his voice from the tangle in his throat.

“Hey,” He tries, lamely. It hangs heavy in the air. And he stands there a half-beat too long in the awkwardness it leaves behind - head dipping slightly and an uneasy thinning of his lips - before stepping aside, mutely welcoming him inside. There isn’t much to see right away other than the steady accumulation of crumpled cans littering his desk. But further off, on the nightstand, are a gently-creased family photo and origami crane. The only personal touches to a place much too large and lavish for his tastes.

[fuckitall]

Nick sucks in his stomach when he hears the door click and open. He remains still for a while as they both look at one another. He can already guess what's going on Luke's mind because his is at the same place.

"Hey." He lowers his head as he steps into the room. Despite the ways he's been coping - drinking, training and even talking it out with others, he still feels guilty for Luke to see him fall victim to the arena. The first time back at the trailer, he at least had the chance to spare him the image.

And then there was seeing his best friend die on screen in one of the worst ways anyone could fathom. His knees gave out at the sight but he couldn't bring himself to look away even as his brain was screaming at him to. He pretty much spent that evening in the bathroom vomiting and tearing up until he was dried out.

No amount of alcohol or sleep will ever make the image disappear. He knows he's going to have to live with it as much as Luke does. Still, he barely sets the six pack down before turning around to pull Luke into a hug. It's a hug that tells him everything that they both know they'd say one another in moments of grief. It ain't your fault, is what he's saying. And hopefully by keeping silent about that, he leaves no room for argument though Luke is welcome to try.

He doesn't, nor does he ever, want to be another reason for Luke to doubt himself.

tw: gory image?

[burningdaylight]

Luke’s not ready when Nick sets down that case of beer and turns to face him so much sooner than he expects. He hasn’t the chance to will away the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips for that moment they search each others faces with haunted, worn eyes. But it doesn’t matter, nothing matters in the moment a wall between them crumbles and they find each other with needy, clasping arms, leaning into each other.

He snatches a loose fistful of Nick’s shirt, letting his eyes fall shut and feeling his body carefully relax, little by little. Quietly focusing on what he thinks is the faint thumpitty-thump of Nick’s heart against his chest, the blood-beat of a man who has now died twice over and shouldn’t be here any more than he should. But here they are. Warm and breathing and holding each other longer than they have been able to in years.

It’s been long overdue.

There had been so factors beyond his control. Things for which he couldn’t entirely shoulder blame for: the doors, the presence of the xenomutts, the whims of the Gamemakers. But he had tried, God, had he tried, hoping against hope -- and knowing he had given it everything he had to save Nick and failed, and after watching friend after friend slip away again, is so maddening that he’s on the edge of letting out the scream balled up in his chest and beating his knuckles bloody against the wall until the edges of splintered bone push out his skin. But he doesn't. He never does.

He just finds a place for all the violent emotion, pushing it into the deepest, darkest place inside him until he can twist and transform that energy into something productive. Something conducive to survival. And he keeps on breathing. It’s all he can do.

“M’sorry I didn’t catch up with you earlier.”

Luke draws back slowly. Blank-faced and eyes dark, almost black with tears unshed.

“These last couple weeks, I been lookin’ into some so-called cure the Capitol’s developed – somethin’ that might be able to stop any one of us from turnin’ out there. Managed to get in touch with the district liaison an’, well, the long an’ short of it is is that I plan on bringin’ everythin' I been diggin’ up to y’all soon’s I can so we can figure out what we want to do, if anythin'.”

[fuckitall]

It crosses Nick's mind during the embrace that Luke's doing his best not to crack. Maybe he's afraid to - which Nick doesn't blame him for especially after seeing so many people lose it in the past. Nick barely grazed that path himself because of his impulses and doesn't want to end up going down that way either. So he holds on to Luke for a while, pulling him close enough to feel his heart beat and grateful that it's nothing but. He takes in this moment as long as he can, knowing that this is probably the most Luke is willing to display in front of him. He just hopes the other knows that he'll be there for him no matter what. No Gamemaker will ever try to change that.

"It's fine, man." He readjusts his hat as they pull away, propping the cap enough for his eyes to meet Luke's. "I was worried but...I get it." They both needed that time apart to process everything. And it looks like Luke put that time to some productive use, unlike Nick. The most he had done so far was channeling his frustrations into doing activities in the Training Center. Luke sounds like he has made progress in what seems like a stagnant future for them all. He raises a brow at what is said though, finding it difficult to believe.

"A cure?" That sounds too good to be true, especially after how much time it took for it to finally sink in for them to realize that there wasn't any cure going around back home. Even without knowing the full details from Luke yet, Nick's already distrustful at the mention of the Capitol being involved. "If there's really a cure, why the hell would they even let us know about it?"

[burningdaylight]

This is by far the easiest talking point between them and Luke readily shifts gears from friend to leader, taking a breath before attempting to field the question. The skepticism thick in Nick’s voice was expected – and is mirrored in the thoughtful skew of Luke’s mouth and the lowered brows, his hands folding loosely across his chest as he begins to pace.

“I figure the same reason why they offer jus’ about every kind a’ luxury a guy could ever want.” He punctuates the answer with a long, pointed look, searching for a flicker of acknowledgement in Nick’s eyes. ‘Tryin’ to keep us comfortable an’ complacent’ is left unsaid; given the sheer volume of tributes occupying the tower he doesn’t imagine any suite to be among the safest places to discuss anti-Capitol sentiments. “’sides, I don’ think they’d get much outta watchin’ a herd a' lurkers mill around the arena an’ take forever to get anywhere.”

[fuckitall]

This is going to be the new norm for them, Nick thinks. It's a cycle of dying, coming back, hugging each other maybe and moving on like it's nothing. This isn't so much moving on as it is just plain ignoring the pain, but it's all still too new, too fresh for him to even comprehend. Even when he tries every night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, all he could feel was hopelessness. Luke doesn't need to know that, not right now.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past 'em to want to see someone gettin' eaten by one," Nick grumbles...without much thought, he realizes as he looks at Luke apologetically. "Fuck, sorry." He's obviously not apologizing for his dig at the Capitol, but something else that he wish he hadn't seen in the arena. He turns his head away, pacing across the room to take bits of this weight off. "What's the catch?" The photo on the nightstand gets his attention and while he initially smiles at the familiar faces, a chill runs down his spine soon after. How the hell did they even get this?

"There's gotta be a catch." His suspicion is thinly masked by how spooked he actually is.

[burningdaylight]

The apology comes like a hidden gut-stab and his eyes widen in a look of surprise, boyish and unguarded, before his face falls. Settles into quiet regret. He paces on.

“…Maybe.“ Of course there’s a catch and he knows it - they know it. There’s more to say, always more, but he thinks better of it, hoping that Nick would take the hint. In the silence, he follows Nick’s line of sight as it drifts to the photo and lingers there, his heart clenching. A quick, sharp spasm.

He suddenly wants to tell Nick about R, the guinea pig for the cure. About the disappointment he’d been bracing for and felt crash over him when Luke had realized the guy was nothing like them.

R had already turned, glassy-eyed and slouched, chalky-white skin webbed with a network of veins. A walker through and through. Until it opened its mouth. Luke had watched its – his? - jaws working behind the muzzle, heard it torturously groan-out words through ragged vocal chords. Actual words strung together in a logical order, its swiss-cheesed brain not only pushing them out of his mouth but able to choose and adapt them to every twist and turn of the conversation. To keep up with it. That he was actual privy to a painfully personal moment between friends was something Luke had failed to register on the first, the second, the third replaying, his mind stuck tailspinning around the fact that he was really seeing those gaunt, blackened fingers reach for a pill unaided. Really chasing it down with a swallow of coffee like the human it used to be.

From the start there had been an unforgivingly sharp, defining line in his mind between the living and the undead. Walkers were things possessed by mindless animal instinct. Agents of chaos and destruction. But this anomaly trapped in the prison of its own rotting body, desperately wanting to be human again --

Luke shakes his head, blinking. Eyes full of troubled wonder.

“Man, you ain’t gonna believe some a’ the things I been watchin' these last couple days. Still don’ think it’s sunk in yet." He looks up into Nick's face. "Think you guys'll wanna see it."

[fuckitall]

"There's always a catch. Ain't nothin' easy anymore." No matter how prettied up and disguised the situation might be, like this suite. He doesn't ask Luke to elaborate, instead nodding his head to let him know that he understands. At least, he hopes so, for the sake of communication if nothing else.

Luke is quiet for a while but Nick doesn't get the chance to voice his concern when he speaks up again. The fact that he mentions the others probably means it might be best to talk about it later, in a more secluded place maybe. But Nick's curiosity is piqued.

"Yeah?" He goes back to pick up the beer he left on the floor and returns to take a seat on one of the chairs. "If you think so, I take it it's a good thing?"

He pulls out a can and passes one to Luke before helping himself one. It's a lite variety too - the sort that Nick used to tease Luke about. He makes no mention of it though as he barely tries to hide that old, familiar smirk behind his can.

[burningdaylight]

Was it good to be forced to reevaluate what it meant to be a walker and to now have the memory of R’s struggling humanity firmly lodged in the back of his mind? Was it good that R, through some partial-immunity to the infection or something of the sort, had overcome the violent madness that set in after death? Or that this threw into question just how many people in sloppy flesh-suits for bodies they had unwittingly put down with furious disgust flashing in their eyes?

If there were others y’all did ‘em a favour… the cool voice of reason washes over him, smoothing over the ratty tangle of his nerves in the way it has been needing to for the past few weeks. Trapped like that, shamblin’ to the ends a’ the earth ‘til somethin’ or someone destroys their brain… that’s no way to be. That ain’t livin’.

"I don' know.” Luke confesses, brow furrowing as he reaches for the can in a slow, dazed way. “I jus'... I don' know." There’s the hiss-crack as he clicks back the tab, and the crisp sound of it eases him back into the present. Frothy foam surges up, bearding his upper lip as he slurps at it gently. He licks it away, drawing the can back to study the logo and label a moment -- and then he laughs, suddenly, a huff like a sudden release of pressurized air sounding more like a sigh in relief than a chuckle.

“Well that’s real thoughtful a’ you, Nick.” He catches Nick’s half-hidden smile as he looks up. “Ain't you supposed to be givin' me a hard time?”

[fuckitall]

That answer isn't very reassuring, but they can never be certain about anything anymore no matter how good it probably sounds. As much as Nick wants to hear it, and it's easy to tell with the raised brow he's giving him, he isn't going to push the issue especially if the info seems that sensitive. "S'fine, you can tell me and everyone else later."

As far as Nick's concerned, the idea of them getting the cure so easy (if it even works) is pure bullshit.

He lowers his drink to reveal the smirk he had no idea he was still capable of making and finally lets out a laugh of his own when Luke's eyes fall on the can. "Nah, and I ain't gonna give you shit for being a lightweight. Not this time anyway. I nearly pick up a jar of moonshine for you too."

[burningdaylight]

“Yeah.” He nods soberly, leaving the matter at that. More time was needed to do his homework before he could then round up the others to discuss the cure and allow them make well-informed decisions down the line, when they were ready. "Well, it’s a good thing you didn’t... I mean, I wouldn’t get anythin’ done after a few sips.”

Even now, years after the fact, he still remembers the eye-watering, burning sting in his sinuses and low in the back of his throat after sampling the batch of moonshine they had cooked up one lazy summer with the help of eHow instructions and Pete’s occasional supervision of the distillation process. He had might as well been chugging gasoline. Definitely not his sort of drink, fun as it had been to make. "S'all yours, man."

[fuckitall]

"Nah. You'd still get plenty done with these though, so keep 'em." He gestures at the remaining four in the pack with a smirk. For Nick, drinking lite is for the sake of drinking something. It'd take a lot more to even make a dent on his tolerance. And truth be told, moonshine isn't exactly Nick's first choice of whiskey either. That's something to drink for the sake of getting drunk and nothing else. Grief made the taste bearable the last time he had it.

His smile flatlines at the memory. It was the darkest state he had been in since mom. He looks away from Luke, eyes straying back to the photo earlier. Thinking about the familiar faces that have been long gone brings him back to their present reality. Distractions can only last for so long.

"Hey," he's not sure if it's his nerves or just the beer, but it's lost its taste. He hasn't taken eyes off the photo but he's not really looking at it either. "I got somethin' else for you too."

He takes a long drink before setting the can down and reaches into his pocket to hand Luke a note he had scribbled down earlier. Passing notes like this feels dumb when he knows he can just say it, but considering how many times the Gamemakers threw shit in his path last time, he doesn't want to chance it.

What the note says is already about taking chances. He doesn't expect a good reception from Luke as he waits.

Going for the cornucopia on the next one. We gotta have supplies and not have it be like last time.

[burningdaylight]

Luke’s smile falls and he quirks a brow, helping himself to one last, long swallow of beer he half-suspects he’ll need before setting it down and reaching for the note. The Capitol breeds paranoia – all the easier to keep tributes in line - and it doesn’t escape him that there might be cameras tucked into his room as well, eliminating all the subtlety and secrecy of communicating by writing. But it’s a moot point now while he unfolds the piece of paper, curiosity and the smallest twinge of dread stirring in the pit of his stomach as he does.

Two lines on a piece of paper. That’s all there is. And for the first half-second he thinks it might be some kind of misplaced joke until he looks up and into Nick’s face and realizes that there’s no ‘maybe’ about this. This isn't a suggestion Nick's making. It's a statement of fact made in the hopes of finding approval, maybe. Something Nick wouldn't here.

Luke's eyes come alive, bright and fierce like those of animal backed into a corner.

“Goddammit Nick, no—! Hey--” He can feel heat rising within him and he cuts himself off, breathing and breathing as he fights to wrangle his emotions into submission and iron them out of his voice. Eyes and ears are everywhere.

“...Nobody’s jus’… runnin’ off doin’ their own thing, okay?” He presses on after a while, quieter now. Every word edged with a seething undercurrent of despair and frustrated helplessness. “We discuss this and we decide as a group.”

[fuckitall]

Deja vu. Nick knows better than to assume that Luke would be all for the idea in the first place. It could just be the familiar flow of the conversation, where the second Nick says something, someone else tells him it's stupid - that makes it easy for him to believe that Luke just doesn't have any faith in him. He tries not to believe that and it shows through his brows creasing, maybe even cringing, at the lack of approval. He already feels his resolve wavering but it's still backed by some level of stubbornness he has. Same old feeling.

"Jane and I already talked about it." He mumbles, biting his tongue from countering that it would've been easier if Luke hadn't been so distant, but he knows that isn't fair to say, and like he said earlier, he gets it. He can't help it though, as his tone gradually escalates to a harsh whisper. "I haven't gotten around tellin' Clem yet but - Jesus, Luke...! We were basically sittin' ducks. I don't want what happened back there happenin' again!"

He doesn't feel the need to go into details about the last arena. He doesn't want to. The memories are all too fresh as it is and he's still just barely recovering. Nick lowers his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. If there's anything his posture is saying now, it's that he can't go through this again.

[burningdaylight]

The words wash over him and silence runs thick as he realizes he should have expected this much from Jane, spirited and fiercely independent as she is. But he's sure to his bones that she didn't do any baiting, any persuading. This is a choice Nick has been ready to make for some time.

Luke glances away sharply - for just a brief moment - as if he can’t stand the sight of him, an unforgiving tightness to the line of his jaw. Because this isn't just about Nick risking his life in a desperate bid for access to supplies, he knows it isn't. This is also about Nick looking to prove himself, not wanting to pitch the idea to the group and risk being denied his chance. And Luke knows he would have shot it down for fear of Nick being blindsided by emotion.

"Y'don' think I know what the hell happened?" Luke takes measure of Nick with an unflinching stare, his shoulders square and his chest heaving slowly with barely-controlled anger. "You think I plan on standin’ around watchin’ my friends die all over again and not doin’ a goddamn thing to stop it? Jesus Christ, Nick–-” His voice cracks with all the hopelessness and sick, desperate frustration of knowing that he can’t keep them together, can’t keep them alive forever as hard as he tries, an' he just shakes his head uselessly, looking away again. A slow, creeping tiredness leaches into his bones, aging him. Taking all the fight out of him until his shoulders sag, his dullened, empty eyes just staring across the room.

He's done.

“...I'll hang back and keep an eye on Clem.” He says stiffly after a long moment. Someone had to. “We're not riskin' all of us at once.”

a hundred years later ;n; i'm sorry

[fuckitall]

"Yeah," he says from much practice of trying to dismiss his own surge of emotions. "Yeah, you do that."

If he had been talking to anyone else right now he might be able to keep with looking indignant. Anyone else that hasn't had the opportunity to see past the tough card he plays out to keep himself from breaking down. Hell, he's managed to keep glowering at Luke before when all he wanted to do was to be anything but angry.

This time it's different, and it's apparent as the more Luke's words sink in, the more Nick's face falls. "I didn't...didn't want you to see me." He was going to die anyway - it wasn't so much from lack of confidence but more from just simply knowing that he wasn't going to make it. Everyone in that photo over there is gone and it still stews in his mind that he should be gone too, but he isn't.

He didn't want to put Luke at risk - whether it was at the claws of the alien or Nick himself when he realized that he was close to turning the first time. The fact that he has died twice now has him wondering if he'll only continue to exist here as a personal reminder for Luke about his failures, even as things are out of their control.

His voice finally cracks as he says something he wish he could've said back then. Something that he only was able to tell Luke through an attempted look of reassurance that only came out weak at best before his blood ran thinner.

"...it ain't your fault, all right? Back there or, in that trailer? I was done for either way."

[burningdaylight]

The conversation's inevitably edging into darker places than he’d have liked it to - places that're never far from his thoughts - and it's the abject defeat in Nick’s breaking voice that dampens that slow-smouldering anger. A part of him wishes it didn’t. A part of him wants to stew knowing he’s justified in it even if he might be the only one who understands why, at the end of the day.

But the pain and unhappiness of friends and loved ones always trumps his own, cries for help never failing to reach him in some way. And he hopes they always will. Even if he doesn’t always have the right, most comforting words for difficult situations; even if he doesn’t always know how to handle them. Even after twenty years of knowing Nick and sometimes feeling like he had spent half as many years just trying to pull him out of ruts and not knowing, at points, if he even wanted to come out and see the light of day and grasp at a world of possibilities waiting for him. Maybe that frustration and exhaustion he was inclined to feel around Nick when they weren’t laughing or strumming guitars made him a terrible friend.

Luke’s frown softens and he meets his eyes with some effort, his own gleaming dully, achingly honest.

“I know –“ His voice is low, roughened by emotion. “I jus’ –“ There’s supposed to be more but he gives up mid-sentence with a shake of his head. “…I know.”

But it’ll eat at him, little by little, day by day, until he’d wake up one morning and there’d be nothing left of him but a dead man walking. He can’t help it any more than an animal caught between the jaws of a trap could help struggling viciously and bright-eyed to live. He just hopes, when it happens, that he won’t remember a time when he had the capacity to feel something other than a static, buzzing numbness.

“Stick close to Jane. A’right?” It’s a necessary remark. Not because he thinks Nick won’t -- but because he won’t let him walk past him and slip out of his life again without a piece of advice to take with him. Without something more in the ways of an answer than a helpless glance back. He thinks it might take some out of the sting out of not having the chance, the luxury, to say goodbye for the third time if Nick bled out in that Cornucopia. But then again, maybe it’s just wishful thinking as always.

[fuckitall]

"I'll try." He answers in the most reassuring way he can. Last time he had attempted that it came off as nothing more than a thinly veiled farewell. There's only so much they can plan out regarding the arenas, but he's serious when he says he'll try. "And you stay close to Clem." He doesn't say that to merely echo Luke, but he means it, with a firm level of protectiveness an older sibling would have. They've bonded a lot more recently, more then they did with the time they had back at home. That girl has done more for him than he deserves and if there's anyone of them that deserves to make it out, it ought to be her.

A long sigh escapes him, torn between feeling hopeful or resigned to being caught in this cycle. One of them could slip sometime and end up killing other people. Nick had done it before. What if he actually ends up losing it? At what point is he going to end up being able to savagely beat someone, a person - not a wall or a pillow, into a bloody mess without even batting an eye? Maybe the reason why he agreed to the whole crazy idea was to see if he could avoid that from getting closer to happening.

Nick had expected some sort of argument that he's wrong for not blaming Luke for anything. If there's one other thing they had in common it's the tendency to take the blame while the other would protest otherwise. It had been a thing since they had known each other. To not face an argument about this for once should be a relief but Nick feels anything but.

It tells him a lot about his friend's state of mind right now, and taking it in has never made him feel more useless.

He picks up his drink again and finishes it, glancing over to Luke. He remembers telling Clem that people change along with the whole god damn world. With how much he knows Luke has been bottling up, he also knows there are only so many things he could distract himself with before...Nick doesn't know. He only feels that the more Luke tries to be a leader, the less of a friend he can be for him. Nick has to prove that he can be dependable. At least let him be able to make that happen.

Not knowing what to say anymore but also not wanting to leave, he stands up to put his arm around Luke's shoulder, a gesture not unfamiliar for them both by now. The gentle squeeze he gives is a mixed bag of don't worry about me and I'm sorry. The look he gives though, eyes tired but still wide awake, says I'm still here.