thecapitol | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Condensation On the Undersides of Everything I Touch [Closed]

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