thecapitol | Condensation On the Undersides of Everything I Touch [Closed]

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Condensation On the Undersides of Everything I Touch [Closed]

Who| Eva and Timaeus
What| A tender moment between terrible people.
Where| The Victoria Ascendant
When| Before daybreak after the party.
Warnings/Notes| Alcoholism, mentions of sexual assault.

Eva stares at the wall and lets the bob of the yacht, barely perceptible on a boat this size, lull her into a sense of comfortable, ugly malaise. The alcohol is no longer a chain-link fence she can erect around her mind to keep the memories out; now, it's a blanket in the summer, suffocating, smothering. Her mouth hangs open slightly; her eyes narrow a bit, as if she could follow the lines and angles of the corner of the room into some portal to hell or heaven.

Eventually, being around Sponsors gets to be too much for her. She wipes a hand over her face and leaves a smear of her red blood-makeup down her palm and wrist. She makes a small grunt of dissatisfaction that she's mussed it, but as she's sitting off on her own in the corner, no longer being sociable or charming, no one really seems to pay it any mind. They're all floating around in the background like ghosts, or colorful fish behind blurry, muddy aquarium glass.

She sits back against the couch and rubs her aching forehead with her hand. The room tilts a bit, not moving fast enough to catch up with her brain. Her soaking wet brain, like sponge-cake and rum. She's sure her blood has an alcohol proof at this point.

The party's nearly over, and she rests her head against the back of the couch and slips off to sleep.

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Eva loops her arm around his as if she's a bride about to be given away. She leans slightly, shoulder to shoulder with him, hair coming loose from her updo and trailing along the fine tailoring of his jacket. Her eyelids weigh heavy, never opening entirely, like blinds with the cords tangled up.

"I thought it was a wonderful party. No failure at all." She hopes he's not still sore about that...crap, that was her Tribute, wasn't it? Christ damn it. "But I will happily remind you that you grew up to be quite the attractive young man."

Well. She supposes he isn't too young anymore, but she'll always be a no older than 'young man' to her. He only graduated out of 'child' when he hit thirty-five.

She remembers. "Is it a water bed? Get it...because we're on a boat?"

He waved staff away as he guided her through the party towards the spiral staircase, supporting half her weight as he ensured she made it down to the private deck safely. Her joke and the compliment earned her a slightly forced but still amused laugh, and a chaste kiss into her tangled hair.

"Something like that," he agreed easily enough, opening a door and leading her into the master bedroom. Opulent didn't begin to cover it- the room was dark, rich mahogany and gold, the thick carpet and bed linens in a smooth, warm cream. "Here we are. Lovely, isn't it?"

"Mmmmm." Eva flops forward onto the bed in a fashion bereft of her characteristic dignity. She smushes her face into the heavy pillow, knees bending and neck twisting to touch as much of the cool bed's surface as she can. "Did you pick all this yourself?"

She pats the bed beside her, then splays her hand and runs it along the blanket. "Sit down with me. I don't sleep easy."

He joined her without complaint, chuckling slightly. "I did. Father hardly touched the Victoria Ascendant, I think I may have finally convinced him I can manage to eat without dribbling down myself. I don't suppose you've seen him recently?"

"Well, that's just hypocritical of him, the old lout. He's one step away from drooling into his mushed denture-safe peas." She rolls her eyes and forces herself to sit up, undoing clips and straps in her outfit to get more comfortable.

Timaeus laughed. "I'm fairly certain his business ties are dual purpose these days," he agreed. "I am glad you like her, though. I worked very hard. I think Baron's going to put in an order after tonight, so I can take that back to the old man and make him eat it."

"The Baron," Eva says, blinking a bit. "The Baron."

She makes a groaning sound and lowers her head to her hands. "I didn't see him here tonight, thank God. I can't...I don't want to associate with his ilk any more."

He frowned, looking over at Eva with a face full of obvious concern. He hadn't realised she'd had dealings with Baron, and from that reaction, they seemed like whatever dealings they might have been, they hadn't been pleasant.

"He didn't stay long," he explained. "Did he... he didn't do anything to you, did he?"

"That's not really something you need to be concerned with," she says, though her teeth grit and the lines of age on her face seem to stand out stark against her skin.

When she looks at him again, there's something unloving in her face. Something very nearly disgusted, because she's looking past him, not at what he is but what he isn't; he isn't brave like her son, isn't independent, doesn't choose his friends according to belief instead of these superficial reasons.

Someday he may be a Sponsor just like the Baron, victimizing those bullied into silence. "You're not becoming one of them, are you?"

Timaeus didn't know what to do with that look. It was like someone had stolen his surrogate mother and replaced the woman inside her skin with a pinch-faced, hate-filled stranger. His brow furrowed, he shook his head.

"I'm not-- Eva, I'm not like them," he insisted quietly, wondering if he should call for a doctor. Was Eva's drinking always like this? "What's happened?"

There is no way for her to answer that question. None whatsoever, because it wasn't a single event, it was decades of pressure building up in her head, only leaking out in spurts, like nosebleeds, like...

How does she tell him that she tried to protect her son by letting herself be bought and sold, and that it was for nothing, and now she worries they'll take Timaeus from her too, and so she doesn't fight back when rich old men treat her like cattle?

How does she tell him that she sat in the dark listening to the Baron molest Ariadne and talked about theater and ate shrimp?

How does she tell him that there was never an explosion, never a gunshot, never a sudden break? It wasn't sudden; she just woke up a little less of herself each day, and she covers up the hole that used to be Eva Salazar with anger and with alcohol and with the lies she tells herself about revolting someday.

There's no one in the world she can talk to.

And it's that sad thought that brings her arm up, that brings her hand to his hair, to stroking his beard as her face loses that repulsed expression and resumes a drunken blankness. There may be no one who she can talk to, but for now there is at least a single person who loves her.

"I know you're not. I just...I worry...they don't ask for quick decisions, they eat your soul a little at a time..."

Edited 2013-05-08 05:14 (UTC)

He looked deep into her eyes, the worry and fear of rejection plainly visible on his face as he let her touch him, hoping to find the reassurance that was such a wonderfully unexpected gift when he was a child, and such a powerful motivator every day since then. It was there, struggling to stay on the surface- but Timaeus didn't recognise the darkness it was swimming in. Had Eva always had to struggle like this? He couldn't remember. He lifted a hand and laid it gently over Eva's, holding it to his face.

"I'm not going to disappoint you," he promised her. "You taught me well, remember? I won't disappoint you."

"Alright. I believe you." She slumps forward, lowers herself like a crane, and rests her head on his shoulder. Her hand continues to smooth his hair.

"And you won't die on me?" she whispers. Her voice is a little choked, and tears perch precariously on her lower lashes like drops of dew on morning grass.

He wrapped her up in his arms and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her hair, passing a hand over her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. For all his hunger for intense, blinding emotion, this was far outside of his area of expertise, and left him feeling more helpless than powerful. Eva was his pillar of strength- and something awful, something beyond his control had felled her.

"I'm not going to die on you or anyone else," he assured her. "I promise."

She loops an arm over his neck and down his back to pull him into a hug, to cling to him as she cries into his shoulder, into that nice clothing that costs enough to power District 12 for a month.

"Good. Good. I don't think - I don't want to think you'll leave me all alone." She's selfish, but she needs some form of closeness, with somebody, even someone she only loves for who they were when they were too young to be anything but innocent. "And I'll keep you safe."

"I know you will," Timaeus reassured her quietly, holding her to himself with an oddly tender strength he hadn't really known he was capable of. His heart hammered violently in his chest, though quite why, he wasn't sure. "And I won't ever leave you alone, Eva, I won't. You are always welcome in my house. Or on my boat, come to think of it. Just call me and I will send a car, any time."

"I don't mean that kind of alone." She stifles her sobbing and takes a few deep breaths, lets Timmy go and leans back, straightening her hair in an comically futile attempt to get herself back in order with drunk hands and a tear-stained face. "But don't do anything stupid. Don't make enemies of the wrong people."

She rubs her front teeth against her lower lip in a twitchy, preoccupied expression. "I don't know if you know who the wrong people are."

He shook his head. "I don't really know what you mean," he admitted. "Though if you mean Baron- trust me, he's no real friend of mine. Eva- can I get you some water?"

"I mean a lot of people," she mumbles. She stares at her painted red and bronze nails as if she's just noticed they're attached to her. "Yes, water sounds nice. Tim, I don't know if you can tell, but I've had a little bit of alcohol."

She's not even being remotely facetious.

"There were a few clues," he told her affectionately, his worry still quite visible on his face- if Eva was able to see straight enough to pick out his expression, anyway. Getting to his feet he pulled out a bottle of water from the refrigerator and fetched a glass, pouring a fair amount into it. "I didn't realise you, ah, drink so much," he murmured.

"I only do sometimes. Maybe...maybe four or five times a week. Not often."

Is it that often? She slumps over on the bed, letting her face rest against the surface.

"Only on days that end in a Y?" he asked, his voice soft and fond. "Come on, Eva, could you sit up and drink this for me?

"That's only...that's only all the days of the week. Mm." She sits back up and takes a drink. "Thank you, Marco. It really was a very nice party. I'm so very proud."

Timaeus stopped short, frowning a little. Marco. Eva must really be very drunk to be confusing him with her dead son- and the sick, twisting pleasure in his gut confused him. Being Eva's son.
He'd never realised before how much he'd wanted it.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmured.

"Good boy." She pats his cheek and tries to straighten his collar, which only succeeds in making it stand more askew.

"Will you make sure the door is locked? I don't want anyone coming in while I'm all..." She drops back onto the bed again, grabbing and tugging at the clip in her hair and failing to remove it. "Verklempt."

He nodded. "All right, I'll check. Have you finished your water?"
Standing, he crossed over to the door and locked it, turning back to her with a look of genuine concern. "I worry about you, Eva."

"No." The water's spilled on the bed. Her face crumples up again. "You don't need to worry about me. I don't want you worrying about me. It's my job to worry about you."

"Alright," he murmured, deciding that the most helpful thing he could do now would be to get her to sleep. He picked up the spilled glass and gently pushed hair away from her face.
"Though I think it's quite alright if we worry about each other. That's how it works, isn't it?"

"No," she says sternly. "I'm not that bad a parent."

She'll worry him to death if he starts in on that.

"You're a wonderful parent," Timaeus assured her gently. "I always knew you cared for me. I always felt safe with you. You're perfect."

Eva would cry again, but it seems that her tear ducts are the only things that are dry. Instead she reaches back over and holds his hand. She nestles her face in the pillow and her loose hair.

"I don't want to fail you like this."

"No. No, Eva- listen to me." He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her as best he could. "You haven't failed me. You haven't. You're the only-- you're the only person in my entire life that I know I can trust, and that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

She squeezes back, holds on like he's the rope to a life raft. "You shouldn't trust me, Timaeus. You shouldn't. I'm not..."

She makes a little sobbing sound that turns into a hiccup. "I love you, guagua."

"I will trust who I want to, and I choose to trust you because you love me," Timaeus told her hotly, much like a child would. "And I've always known you do."

"Ugh. I never have any luck telling you what to do." She buries her face in the pillow again. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"

"No luck whatsoever, and no. I have nowhere else I need to be," he said firmly, wondering if he ought to ask if Eva wanted any help removing some of her sharper pieces of clothing. "In fact, if I stay in here, they might not ask me to help clean up."

"You make good excuses to care for an old hag." She smiles a bit, then buries her face back in the pillow. "I'm so tired."

"No excuses," he reassured her, quietly. "I don't need any to care for you, and I never will. You can sleep here- you're very welcome."

"Alright." She caves into the bed, stroking Timmy's wrist with her fingertips, and closes her eyes.

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Condensation On the Undersides of Everything I Touch [Closed]

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