goneawayworld | 3..2...1...CONTACT!

Entry tags:

3..2...1...CONTACT!

Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.

Contact.

It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.

The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.

To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?

And if they were there, who was in theirs?

[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.

They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ She doesn't manage to reign in her disbelieving snort, but she does flinch at herself. She knows he didn't have it any better than her, in a lot of ways; she knows the things their childhood did to each of them, even if she's always been terrible at acknowledging it. It's not that that makes her snort. ]

Did it to myself, really. Became what they all expected of me in the end, didn't I?

[ She flinches again. Fuck. That doesn't help. She bites her tongue and tries to breathe more evenly, gather herself. ]

Maybe. I don't know.

[ He draws closer and puts a warm, engaging hand on her shoulder. ]

South, I don't want to say you shouldn't have let them bother you. Because I know, to a kid, that stuff is important and hard to ignore. But you are you, not some prophecy fulfilled. You can make choices. You can change things, if that's what you thought you needed. You know?

[ She almost pulls away like his touch is burning, and even though she doesn't, not quite, the muscle under his hand tenses the second he makes contact. ]

I can't— I can't hear this from you right now, Drew. I can't—

[ Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths. ]

Y'know what I saw before this? Y'know what this stupid memory shit has dragged me through twice now? Me letting you die. Me just standing there, waiting, not fucking doing anything as you yelled for me. Me just watching that thing fucking stab you because I was too much of a selfish fucking coward to stop it.

[ It's vivid on purpose. No dancing around it, no 'what I did'; not an attempt to explain, like the first time. ]

[ He does not frown but his expression goes a bit more tense. He lowers himself to sit on the neighboring desk, moving his hand to not just lay on her shoulder but encircle slightly around her back. ]

How many times would it take before you felt you'd atoned for that?

[ She curls more in on herself, as if pulling away without pulling away. ]

God-fucking-dammit, Drew, do you fucking hear yourself? Do you think I don't fucking know, by now? You think I don't know you well enough to know what you're doing?

[ Deep breaths. She buries her face in her knees and tries to breathe. Getting angry at him isn't going to help, he's not going to listen to her if she just gets angry and upset, he'll just keep trying to calm her down. ]

[ He shakes his head a little, just a little, since she can't see him now. She can be so singularly exasperating. ]

I know you've already cried about this, already told me what happened, and already asked my forgiveness. So what is left?

[ She grits her teeth. Why is he like this, why does he have to do this? ]

You are so—

[ She makes a frustrated noise, then lifts her head and looks at him in the face. ]

Y'know what's left? You being honest with yourself for once in your fucking life. I saw the way you reacted to Wash when he crossed the fucking line in the sand that you probably didn't even realise was fucking there because you're so goddamned blind to your own bullshit that—

[ Deep. Breaths. ]

I. Know. You. I know what you're doing, even if you don't.

[ That does get him to withdraw his hand. He leaves it on the edge of her desk. ]

What do you mean, honest with myself? I didn't like him threatening you. That's all there is to that.

Seriously? Seriously?

[ Goddammit she should have known it'd never be as simple as getting him to just admit it. She groans, drags her hands over her face. Now the contact's gone, she misses it and she curses herself internally. ]

You were fine with him. You were all buddy-buddy before I came here and after I arrived. He outright threatened to kill me right in front of you, not even an exaggerated threat or anything, the day I arrived, and you didn't react. Because him killing me was all water under the bridge, right? That's what you told yourself and him?

Back in that hell town? I was threatening him right back, none of it meant anything, but you freaked out at him, because you were doing that stupid thing you do where you pretend everything's okay because you don't want to rock the damn boat!

[ He does frown now, raises his hand just enough to prod her in the side once. ]

Stop it.

You're doing it right now. You're trying to get me to stop talking about this, but you promised me when we said we were going to try and do better that you'd fucking listen when I pointed out the shit you do, too!

[ She swallows. Her hands curl around the edge of the desk, knuckles white. ]

The second I saw you react like you did I just— I knew. It made me remember something I was trying to pretend didn't happen, too. When we talked about Wrath, there was this... this moment, after I said I thought she knew about me letting you die, where you just... you do this thing. You get this weird look and— and then I know there's something you're hiding. I didn't get it, then, probably because I was in fucking denial, too, but—

[ She bites her tongue and breathes. Why does he have to be so impossible? This wasn't how she planned this. God-fucking-dammit. ]

We said we'd be honest with each other. You promised me that, remember? That's the whole point, right? That's what we've been trying to do? Open and honest. Checking each other when we do something stupid. Right?

[ He almost bites his lip, he's so unnerved. He lets out a long exhale through his nose. ]

Look, Nat. Look.

[ And he doesn't say anything after that. He just avoids looking her in the eyes for a moment, then turns his head. ]

See! You can't even come up with an excuse!

[ She shuffles forward slightly and for once she reaches out and grabs his hand, first, squeezing tight. ]

Drew. Please. You promised me. We promised each other. I've been more open with you than I ever thought I could be, and— and I know I don't deserve it in return, not really, but you promised.

You can't just ignore your way out of this.

[ She's not sure if he'll remember saying that to her, but it's deliberate. ]

[ His head swivels back in her direction, but not all the way—he looks down into his lap, not yet returning the pressure of her hand.

Then a string of familiar words is directed back at him, and now his gaze snaps to her face. He's frowning, and his eyes are clouded. ]

Nat...

[ He presses his lips together. ]

Please.

[ Her eyes are full of a genuine sense of pleading, of a raw kind of desperation. She squeezes his hand again. ]

You have to face these things. You have to be honest with yourself or you'll never deal with them. You have to be honest with others or how can you ever actually fix things?

We've been by each other's side nearly every day of our goddamned lives. We know each other like no one else does. And I did terrible, unforgivable things. You can't— you can't ignore that. You can't ignore your way through it. You're hurting yourself and me doing it.

[ His eyes widen a bit, sort of involuntarily, since he's trying to avoid tearing up. ]

I don't know how to not— [ he clears his throat ] —not ignore it.

I know. I know.

[ It's surprisingly gentle, for South. She takes a second to compose herself, to stop her voice from threatening to shake, and gives his hand yet another squeeze. ]

S'like me and getting angry, really, isn't it? We don't— we don't know how to do anything else.

[ She almost blew this, getting angry. She still doesn't know what to do, how to get through a wall that he's built so thick over the years he's learned to do this. ]

I'm gonna ask you a question. And you— you need to answer honestly. No matter how long it takes, no matter how much it's gonna hurt me, okay? Can we try that?

[ He shakes his head, and from the way he suddenly stops himself it's obvious that was involuntary. Then he considers for a moment. ]

I've never hurt you on purpose.

[ Her head drops, her hair—it's grown out so much longer than she usually lets it get, now—falling to shield her face. Her shoulders threaten to shake but she stills them. Just those words are enough to almost make her cry. ]

...I-I know.

[ She knows. He won't hurt her on purpose even when she hurt him in a way that she can never truly come back from, in a way that he'd be right to never forgive her for. But— ]

But you're hurting me now, even if you don't mean to. Please.

[ Oh, god, he thinks, they're going to be collapsing all over each other weeping and accomplish nothing. ]

I might be doing it on accident but that still doesn't mean I can do it on purpose.

Is it an accident anymore, if you keep doing it after I've told you you're doing it? Isn't letting it go on deliberate?

[ She squeezes his hand again, raising her head and brushing her hair out of her face. Her eyes are a little wet. ]

I can't— I need to know. I need the truth.

[ He's weak to that, the vulnerability of her tears. ]

It might be.

[ He looks forward again. ]

I can't get out of it now, though. Not answering will be the same as answering. I'll have to be honest, won't I?

[ She swallows again. Her voice is still a little bit thick when she answers. ]

Yeah. Yeah, pretty— pretty much.

I'm sorry, I don't want to trap you I just—

[ Deep breath. She squeezes his hand yet again. Rip the fucking bandaid off. ]

...do you actually forgive me for what I did? And look at me. Please.

[ He does so, the expression on his face going pained and uncomfortable—no, wary. He doesn't want to lie to her, but what she's asked almost makes him feel he'll have to. ]

South...

[ Because that's who she is, when questions of this nature come up. Not Natasha, the girl he'd grown up with—South, the agent who had let him die.

And he can't do it. He can't lie. And neither can he tell the truth. His eyes narrow as they fill with tears. ]

[ Fuck. ]

...I'm sorry.

[ It doesn't mean anything, she knows it doesn't; she can say sorry a thousand times and mean it more every time but it won't change what she did, it won't change the fact she betrayed him, it won't change the fact that he can't forgive her because why should he? Why should he ever forgive her for that? ]

I-I'm sorry.

[ Tears well up in her eyes, too, but she tries to swipe them away, because she doesn't really deserve to cry, either. She doesn't deserve to feel the hurt that wraps around her chest like it's trying to squeeze the life out of her, the sense of betrayal that curls up in her stomach at the fact he'd let her think otherwise for so fucking long.

She betrayed him. This is nothing. This is nothing. This is what she deserved, in the end. To feel even half of what she inflicted on him.

Her shoulders shake. The hand holding his grips on so tight that it probably hurts before she suddenly lets go. She turns around where she's sat, pulling a leg up under her, and goes to hug him.

She expects to get pushed away. She's prepared for it. She just can't do nothing. ]

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cw: reference to violent death

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