[ Somehow, and somewhat against his will, Ephemera does fall asleep. He's been running on nothing but stubbornness for the past couple days and almost no sleep. That adds up, no matter what's running through his head, and eventually something has to give.
He sleeps. Not well. He's not under enough to have real dreams, but there's an overarching sense of wrong, fear that's spiraling around without settling on a concrete threat. He twitches, good eye closed, and doesn't hear the door. ]
[ When Ephemera doesn't answer and there's no sound of stirring form within, Drake carefully nudges the door open. The other man is actually asleep but twitching fitfully, and Drake just watches for a moment, wondering what's the right thing to do. Wake him for food, wake him to pull him from whatever uneasy rest or dream he's in, let him sleep like this, or....... help him rest?
Yeah.
He doesn't need to know, even. Is that weird? Is he overthinking it? Probably. There's no way this could be considered hurting, even if he doesn't have explicit permission right now.
Drake closes his eyes and focuses on his own breathing, his own pulse, on being calm. Wills it towards Ephemera, and when he opens his eyes there's a glow under his shirt. Good. Any second now....... yeah, there it goes. Ephemera's twitching eases, his hand on the pillow relaxing. Drake smiles faintly, then pulls the door back how it was and retreats to the couch.
[ It goes on like that for a while. Ephemera wakes with a start, clutching at the pillow and realizing he's been out for a while. Longer than he'd intended. Long enough that he's probably missed the window for food and left Drake with nothing to do. But it's also the best sleep he's had in a long time, possibly in weeks, and Ephemera isn't sure how to take that.
He runs a hand down his face, wincing at the drag. His bad eye is starting to itch. He ought to take it out. But doing that means he'll have to get up.
Breathe. See it done, coward.
He breathes. He gets up. Ducks into the bathroom to flush his eye and take out the prosthetic, slapping a bandage over the wound because that would be another thing he'd have to explain and he really, really doesn't want to. Maybe Drake already knows, probably Drake already knows, but this wound was always one that hit Ephemera a little sideways. He used to worry at it, when he was healing. The new prosthetic fits perfectly, but it doesn't help. The weight of it feels wrong in his skull, still.
He's made himself comfortable, it seems like -- maybe more than this Ephemera would like. His sneakers are tucked neatly by the door and the food's been put away for whenever Ephemera's awake and ready for it, and Drake's stretched on the apartment couch with his implant's interface projected in front of him like a screen, scrolling through job listings. The kind of thing he could have gone back to the Safehouse for, sure, but he could also do it here. And he said he'd stay. He wanted to stay.
When Ephemera comes out and calls his name he dismisses the "screen" and sits up, offers a quiet smile. ]
Hey. I figured I'd let you sleep awhile... there's food if you're ready for it, we can heat stuff up.
[ Then he tilts his head, looking a little more serious. Like this answer matters, like he's maybe a little worried about it. ]
[ Drake's expression instantly turns sheepish, almost guilty because it's not like he was going to lie or keep it a secret but. He hadn't asked permission. ]
...it was, yeah. I'm sorry. You looked really restless and waking you up to ask seemed counterproductive.
[ So. That's a thing that happened. Ephemera watches Drake for a long moment, then just nods. He's tired still, but he doesn't feel quite so fuzzy. He's aware of his body, the ache in his joints, the act that he's standing in the apartment he used to share with Angela and the fact that he forgot to take his boots off before he crashed. Small things. But he's starting to think they might matter, because they keep him in the present and not spiraling off into the bad memories. ]
I don't sleep well.
[ Stating the obvious, in all likelihood. He exhales. ]
[ Saying 'I know' seems kind of like a dick move, so Drake just nods his understanding. Hesitates. Doesn't know how to feel about being thanked for something he just used his judgment to do. His power is kind of invasive, they need to establish some ground rules for it. ]
I won't do it again unless you want me to. Not that it'll necessarily even come up again, but it can't hurt to know now if you'd mind or not. Right?
[ He has no idea what the chances are that he'll come across Ephemera sleeping fitfully again, but better to prepare for that possibility, he thinks. And he's probably overthinking again. He really hadn't expected this to get so complicated and fraught so quickly, but it's bad enough he's stuck his nose in where to these people, it really has no right to be. He could tell the way Angela and Washington looked at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" It was a small wonder Ephemera hadn't asked. ]
[ Some vague part of Ephemera knows he would have gotten the sort of angry that usually ends with screaming and violence if Drake had done that to him in a fight, or during the conversation with the Freelancers. But he didn't. He held off, he played witness, and in the aftermath he stayed.
It was kind, what he did. Not something most people would do. Even for a friend.
[ That's not... answering the question. Drake blinks, wondering where he slipped up this time, and sits up a little straighter. He doesn't want to dodge, but this might not be the best time either. He settles for something in between, and will let Ephemera decide what he can handle hearing. ]
Yeah, we were. That's all the more reason I shouldn't assume stuff like this, right?
[ So. Ground rules. And he's sorry. This is just completely new territory for him to navigate. ]
[ So they were close. Ephemera rolls that over in his mind for a moment, nodding slowly. He doesn't make friends easily, or at least not anymore. He can play friendly if he's careful to establish the distance straight off, if he knows the score and has a script at hand. But going deeper than that takes time and trust and for a long time he'd assumed he wasn't capable of that anymore. That he'd killed off that part of himself years ago, when he decided to be Sharkface and swore he'd never touch anyone again except in violence.
Part of that gave. But not all of it. And he knows better than most that trust is hard won. ]
I don't mind. If it helps me sleep.
[ It ought to be spell out, he thinks. So there's no confusion. So the lines are clear. ]
[ He should probably offer a little more, Drake thinks, so he takes a breath and gets up, heading into the kitchen. It'll help to be doing something, he can get the food reheated at least. ]
Two years. We knew each other a little over two years.
[ Drake laughs softly, mostly to himself, as he pulls containers out of the fridge. ]
It was funny, actually. You'd claimed an apartment but didn't leave anything in it, so I thought it was free. When you came back you woke me up with a gun in my face, threatening to shoot me if I didn't get the fuck out. But you were also visibly hurt, so... I took a risk and asked if you needed help.
Once you put the gun down we actually got along really well, and I guess it went from there.
I pointed a gun in your face, and you still stayed.
[ Ephemera huffs just a little, shaking his head. Sounds like him. Goddamn. But his expression is a little softer than before, wondering and close to fond. ]
Yeah... later you said I had nerves of steel, that I could be a Helljumper. You didn't know yet that I was a zombie at the time so unless you actually shot me in the head, I had nothing to be scared of.
But mostly you just really needed help and that's kind of my whole deal.
[ There have been a lot of people who've come into Ephemera's life. Sometimes not for long, and often he only knew them through violence. Some tried to do the right thing. Even at cost. Always at cost.
He doesn't think he's ever meet anyone quite like Drake, though. Someone who would stay through a mess like this and try to ease the hurt. Maybe it's fitting that the other version of him met Drake like that. An telling sort of beginning. He wonders how it ended. If they were still friends at the end. He thinks they were. The empathy bond is intense and hard to sort through sometimes and Ephemera knows he gets so caught up in own stuff that he misses things he shouldn't, but the trust was there. Impossible to miss. And beyond thatβ
Well. They fought together. Drake carried his shield. And when it came down, Drake stayed to see this mess through.
I don't know if I'd put it like that. Not right away, anyway. I want to believe there's good in everyone, so I behave accordingly then go off what they show me. All I did was give you a chance to put the gun down and accept help. You did. And then you had my back, and we--
[ He stops abruptly, not sure exactly where he was going with that, what's safe to get into. The microwave beeps. ]
[ Such a small thing. Lowering a weapon. Letting a moment progress. Staying in the aftermath. And then Drake starts to say more, to β
Ephemera bows his head. Counts to five and then lets it out. There was a psychiatrist who told him to try that after he'd been arrested the first time. He'd thrown a chair at her. Broke the cuffs to do it. Doesn't quite remember what happened next except that she'd gotten him in a headlock and that was the end of his mandated therapy.
Count to five. Hold. Then let it go.
It helps, for a moment. Maybe he should have paid more attention. He feels like he's missing details, that he'd know more if he just paid attention. And more than a small part of him wants to reach out, to stand closer to Drake or hook their arms together, just stand in proximity, but that's a foolish, dangerous thing to want.
Ephemera shivers again. He lets it go. ]
I thought I was done with other people. Before I got here. I was okay with that. But then I got here andβand it felt good, for a moment. Thought maybe I could try again.
[ A mistake, in all likelihood. But he wants it still. That closeness. ]
[ Drake notices, has a pretty good idea what Ephemera is struggling with when he speaks about reaching out to people again, but busies himself making them plates because he doesn't really know what to say in return. Needs the extra time to think about it. ]
You're welcome.
[ He says it softly, wondering if he really did it for this man, or the one he knew. Can it be both? ]
It was a good thing to do, you know. Reach out again. Make connections. That's how you-- you'll be fine if you keep doing that, you're not a loner. You just need more control, have to want to do better.
[ He hands Ephemera a plate and fork, glancing up to meet his gaze as he does. ]
I'm not just talking about the other you, either. I've been there too.
[ It's strange to talk with someone who knows him so well, or at a strange, alternative version of himself. Because sometimes it's a struggle to explain why he does things or catches certain patterns but not others, and somehow Drake seems to know without having to be told anything at all. In some ways that's a comfort, since Drake already knows how to move around him, not to come up on his blindspot and shit like that, but it makes Ephemera feel off balance in others. Unsure of where he ought to stand. He wonders how he measures up to the friend Drake talks about.
Two years. They met at gunpoint. Not for the first time, he wonders how it ended.
Ephemera shivers again. But he takes the plate, and the fork, and he holds his ground. ]
You have?
[ He doesn't mean it to sound so nakedly hopeful. ]
[ The containers get closed back up, and Drake takes his own plate and considers the bottle of liquor he found earlier. Maybe not. They're talking now, just the two of them, and it's nice. Familiar, but also new because these circumstances are, this situation is. He says this here, though, not heading back to the couch and coffee table yet. ]
Yeah. I used to be really angry... and I hurt people. I had to get a handle on that before going back into the world.
[ Anger isn't the firs thing Ephemera would associate with Drake. There's a steadiness about him, a deep center that's easy to focus. Ephemera had assumed that was how Drake had always been, wired into him since the start. But maybe it took time. Maybe it was hard won. ]
But you did.
[ It's not a question. Drake seems solid in a way very few people are. And, perhaps strangely, that helps. Knowing that someone else could manage it. ]
Anger management, mostly. But for me it wasn't grief, just...
[ He hesitates, considers it, and decides they might as well go sit down while he tells this story. He inclines his head for Ephemera to follow him and heads back to the couch. ]
My dad was a monster. And then my ma had a string of loser boyfriends, most of them abusive. Some at me, all of them at her. The last was this really mean drunk, Frank. I was nineteen, didn't know what the hell I was doing with my life, into some sketchy shit that wasn't helping, for sure. Came home one night and ma's crying in the kitchen, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. Frank's just calling out for me to grab him another beer and something in me snapped. We fought like I'd never fought anybody before and well. It's how I got this-- [ he indicates the scar beside his eye, from Frank's switchblade ] --but the judge said I went a little overboard. Because Frank still can't walk. Or feed himself.
[ Drake shrugs, wondering how this Ephemera will take the story. ]
I did about two years for it. Lots of therapy in there but I learned how to control what I was feeling. Anger, fear, guilt. Learned how to let things roll off, and go with the flow. Better methods for when shit gets heated. It's why I am how I am, but I wasn't always.
You never forget that shit, but. It gets easier to handle. Especially with the right people.
[ Drake indicates he should follow and Ephemera does, plate in hand. And he sits next to Drake, and he listens.
It's an awful story, though one he knows the shape of. Not from his own life, no, but it became distressingly clear to Ephemera when he was young that human beings were capable of doing monstrous things to each other. The lesson stung even deeper because his own life had been relatively painless until he enlisted. His foster mother hadn't been cruel. He'd come up with clothes on his back, food to eat, a place to sleep at night. There had just been a distance between him and the adults in his orbit, something he'd assumed would change once he figured out who he was going to be. And even though he'd known the world was hard and violent, he'd assumed everyone else was ultimately like him. That they meant well, even if they didn't always succeed, and that no one would seek to hurt another person just for the sake of doing it. And maybe that was why he hadn't seen it coming.
A hard lesson, at the time. Afterward the sergeant had sat him down and they'd talked about a whole lot of things. She told him how her parents used to beat her. How they'd justified it, saying it would make her strong when all it did was make her cruel, and how it took her years to even begin unlearning it. And she told him how even though some people were monsters and deserved monstrous deaths, the rest of the universe was worth protecting. And she ended it by saying he was worth protecting too, and she would always do so.
Ephemera touches his own face briefly, unconsciously returning to a mark that never scarred. It hadn't mattered, on balance. He'd been young, and trusted the wrong person, and it had changed him in ways he doesn't like to remember. It would have been different to grow up with that like the sergeant did. Like Drake did. ]
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He sleeps. Not well. He's not under enough to have real dreams, but there's an overarching sense of wrong, fear that's spiraling around without settling on a concrete threat. He twitches, good eye closed, and doesn't hear the door. ]
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Yeah.
He doesn't need to know, even. Is that weird? Is he overthinking it? Probably. There's no way this could be considered hurting, even if he doesn't have explicit permission right now.
Drake closes his eyes and focuses on his own breathing, his own pulse, on being calm. Wills it towards Ephemera, and when he opens his eyes there's a glow under his shirt. Good. Any second now....... yeah, there it goes. Ephemera's twitching eases, his hand on the pillow relaxing. Drake smiles faintly, then pulls the door back how it was and retreats to the couch.
Rest, buddy. ]
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He runs a hand down his face, wincing at the drag. His bad eye is starting to itch. He ought to take it out. But doing that means he'll have to get up.
Breathe. See it done, coward.
He breathes. He gets up. Ducks into the bathroom to flush his eye and take out the prosthetic, slapping a bandage over the wound because that would be another thing he'd have to explain and he really, really doesn't want to. Maybe Drake already knows, probably Drake already knows, but this wound was always one that hit Ephemera a little sideways. He used to worry at it, when he was healing. The new prosthetic fits perfectly, but it doesn't help. The weight of it feels wrong in his skull, still.
In the end, he does wander out. ]
Drake?
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He's made himself comfortable, it seems like -- maybe more than this Ephemera would like. His sneakers are tucked neatly by the door and the food's been put away for whenever Ephemera's awake and ready for it, and Drake's stretched on the apartment couch with his implant's interface projected in front of him like a screen, scrolling through job listings. The kind of thing he could have gone back to the Safehouse for, sure, but he could also do it here. And he said he'd stay. He wanted to stay.
When Ephemera comes out and calls his name he dismisses the "screen" and sits up, offers a quiet smile. ]
Hey. I figured I'd let you sleep awhile... there's food if you're ready for it, we can heat stuff up.
[ Then he tilts his head, looking a little more serious. Like this answer matters, like he's maybe a little worried about it. ]
How'd you sleep?
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I slept. Haven't done much of that lately.
[ He slept better than he has for a long time, actually. Ephemera tips his head to the side, wondering at the expression on Drake's face.
Oh. ]
That your trick again?
[ He's more curious than angry. ]
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...it was, yeah. I'm sorry. You looked really restless and waking you up to ask seemed counterproductive.
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I don't sleep well.
[ Stating the obvious, in all likelihood. He exhales. ]
Thank you.
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I won't do it again unless you want me to. Not that it'll necessarily even come up again, but it can't hurt to know now if you'd mind or not. Right?
[ He has no idea what the chances are that he'll come across Ephemera sleeping fitfully again, but better to prepare for that possibility, he thinks. And he's probably overthinking again. He really hadn't expected this to get so complicated and fraught so quickly, but it's bad enough he's stuck his nose in where to these people, it really has no right to be. He could tell the way Angela and Washington looked at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" It was a small wonder Ephemera hadn't asked. ]
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It was kind, what he did. Not something most people would do. Even for a friend.
Ephemera breathes out. ]
We were close, weren't we? You and I.
[ More than just casual friends. ]
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Yeah, we were. That's all the more reason I shouldn't assume stuff like this, right?
[ So. Ground rules. And he's sorry. This is just completely new territory for him to navigate. ]
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Part of that gave. But not all of it. And he knows better than most that trust is hard won. ]
I don't mind. If it helps me sleep.
[ It ought to be spell out, he thinks. So there's no confusion. So the lines are clear. ]
For the rest....ask.
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[ He should probably offer a little more, Drake thinks, so he takes a breath and gets up, heading into the kitchen. It'll help to be doing something, he can get the food reheated at least. ]
Two years. We knew each other a little over two years.
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How did we meet?
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It was funny, actually. You'd claimed an apartment but didn't leave anything in it, so I thought it was free. When you came back you woke me up with a gun in my face, threatening to shoot me if I didn't get the fuck out. But you were also visibly hurt, so... I took a risk and asked if you needed help.
Once you put the gun down we actually got along really well, and I guess it went from there.
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[ Ephemera huffs just a little, shaking his head. Sounds like him. Goddamn. But his expression is a little softer than before, wondering and close to fond. ]
You're something else.
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But mostly you just really needed help and that's kind of my whole deal.
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He doesn't think he's ever meet anyone quite like Drake, though. Someone who would stay through a mess like this and try to ease the hurt. Maybe it's fitting that the other version of him met Drake like that. An telling sort of beginning. He wonders how it ended. If they were still friends at the end. He thinks they were. The empathy bond is intense and hard to sort through sometimes and Ephemera knows he gets so caught up in own stuff that he misses things he shouldn't, but the trust was there. Impossible to miss. And beyond thatβ
Well. They fought together. Drake carried his shield. And when it came down, Drake stayed to see this mess through.
Ephemera shivers a little. Refocuses. ]
You've got a lot of faith in people.
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[ He stops abruptly, not sure exactly where he was going with that, what's safe to get into. The microwave beeps. ]
You earned the faith I have, I guess I'm saying.
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Ephemera bows his head. Counts to five and then lets it out. There was a psychiatrist who told him to try that after he'd been arrested the first time. He'd thrown a chair at her. Broke the cuffs to do it. Doesn't quite remember what happened next except that she'd gotten him in a headlock and that was the end of his mandated therapy.
Count to five. Hold. Then let it go.
It helps, for a moment. Maybe he should have paid more attention. He feels like he's missing details, that he'd know more if he just paid attention. And more than a small part of him wants to reach out, to stand closer to Drake or hook their arms together, just stand in proximity, but that's a foolish, dangerous thing to want.
Ephemera shivers again. He lets it go. ]
I thought I was done with other people. Before I got here. I was okay with that. But then I got here andβand it felt good, for a moment. Thought maybe I could try again.
[ A mistake, in all likelihood. But he wants it still. That closeness. ]
Thank you. For staying.
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You're welcome.
[ He says it softly, wondering if he really did it for this man, or the one he knew. Can it be both? ]
It was a good thing to do, you know. Reach out again. Make connections. That's how you-- you'll be fine if you keep doing that, you're not a loner. You just need more control, have to want to do better.
[ He hands Ephemera a plate and fork, glancing up to meet his gaze as he does. ]
I'm not just talking about the other you, either. I've been there too.
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Two years. They met at gunpoint. Not for the first time, he wonders how it ended.
Ephemera shivers again. But he takes the plate, and the fork, and he holds his ground. ]
You have?
[ He doesn't mean it to sound so nakedly hopeful. ]
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Yeah. I used to be really angry... and I hurt people. I had to get a handle on that before going back into the world.
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But you did.
[ It's not a question. Drake seems solid in a way very few people are. And, perhaps strangely, that helps. Knowing that someone else could manage it. ]
...how?
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[ He hesitates, considers it, and decides they might as well go sit down while he tells this story. He inclines his head for Ephemera to follow him and heads back to the couch. ]
My dad was a monster. And then my ma had a string of loser boyfriends, most of them abusive. Some at me, all of them at her. The last was this really mean drunk, Frank. I was nineteen, didn't know what the hell I was doing with my life, into some sketchy shit that wasn't helping, for sure. Came home one night and ma's crying in the kitchen, bleeding, one eye swollen shut. Frank's just calling out for me to grab him another beer and something in me snapped. We fought like I'd never fought anybody before and well. It's how I got this-- [ he indicates the scar beside his eye, from Frank's switchblade ] --but the judge said I went a little overboard. Because Frank still can't walk. Or feed himself.
[ Drake shrugs, wondering how this Ephemera will take the story. ]
I did about two years for it. Lots of therapy in there but I learned how to control what I was feeling. Anger, fear, guilt. Learned how to let things roll off, and go with the flow. Better methods for when shit gets heated. It's why I am how I am, but I wasn't always.
You never forget that shit, but. It gets easier to handle. Especially with the right people.
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It's an awful story, though one he knows the shape of. Not from his own life, no, but it became distressingly clear to Ephemera when he was young that human beings were capable of doing monstrous things to each other. The lesson stung even deeper because his own life had been relatively painless until he enlisted. His foster mother hadn't been cruel. He'd come up with clothes on his back, food to eat, a place to sleep at night. There had just been a distance between him and the adults in his orbit, something he'd assumed would change once he figured out who he was going to be. And even though he'd known the world was hard and violent, he'd assumed everyone else was ultimately like him. That they meant well, even if they didn't always succeed, and that no one would seek to hurt another person just for the sake of doing it. And maybe that was why he hadn't seen it coming.
A hard lesson, at the time. Afterward the sergeant had sat him down and they'd talked about a whole lot of things. She told him how her parents used to beat her. How they'd justified it, saying it would make her strong when all it did was make her cruel, and how it took her years to even begin unlearning it. And she told him how even though some people were monsters and deserved monstrous deaths, the rest of the universe was worth protecting. And she ended it by saying he was worth protecting too, and she would always do so.
Ephemera touches his own face briefly, unconsciously returning to a mark that never scarred. It hadn't mattered, on balance. He'd been young, and trusted the wrong person, and it had changed him in ways he doesn't like to remember. It would have been different to grow up with that like the sergeant did. Like Drake did. ]
I'm sorry that happened to you. People....
[ He drops his hand. ]
People shouldn't do that to each other.
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