Robin is not happy about being awake. He sits on the floor pressed against the kitchen counter with his head back against it and his eyes closed. If he knew... that she would end up here, again. He wouldn't have turned her down in the first place. Or maybe he would have been more mean about it. He can remember what that's like, can't he? Being a complete bastard. It used to be easy.
Ruvin is handcuffed to a radiator on the floor passed out across from him. He's not supposed to take the handcuffs off of her until she's awake, coherent, and calm. He's completely unaware that that is an order he's been given that he literally cannot break (ah, mind control).
He can't think about what she did, what she almost did. It makes him feel pretty fucking miserable for failing at that one simple thing, to get her to leave, to get her to go away. He can't think about it. He can't. It hurts, and all he wants to do is take more tranquilizers and go back to sleep. If there was a drug to make her stop caring about him, he'd force it on her but there
( ... )
She moves before she's really awake. She doesn't want to be awake. The thick fog she's buried under--she just wants to stay there, away from thought and sensation. She doesn't. It wears off, slowly, and she can feel the radiator at her back, her arms twisted uncomfortably. Hot back. Cold side where she's stretched against the floor. Something biting into her wrists--
The last thing she remembers is Wyatt. Wyatt's face. She groans. "No," she mumbles. She's not supposed to be here any more.
Robin opens his eyes when he hears her speak. He's still watching her for a long time before he manages to open up his own mouth. If he could take back ever responding to her in the journals or ever telling her where he was, he would.
"Ruvin," he says. His voice is quiet, hard. There's no anger in it, just a commanding kind of tone. Listen to me. Look at me.
She curls up, away from him. Shame and guilt roar into her. Remind her of what she was trying to do. And Robin knows. Of course he knows. She tugs at the handcuffs, still disoriented, still unsure of where she is or why. She won't look at him. She can't. After what he said and what she did she wants nothing more than to curl up somewhere and die, go back to sleep and never wake up again. Wyatt can do what he wants to her and anyone else because what was the point? What was the point of all that fighting and all that trying when all it brings them is right back to this place again?
Robin takes in a slow, deep breath. He closes his eyes and rubs his fingers against his forehead, wincing.
"Ruvin, look at me," he says in that same tone as before.
He wants so badly to take the handcuffs off of her but he can't. He's not allowed, not until she speaks to him and shows him that she's calm.
"Please," Robin says and for once, there's emotion in his voice. Pain. Desperation. It seeps out before he can pull it back. He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He doesn't know what to say to her or what's right and what's wrong.
She obeys. This apartment--she hates it already. It must be the one next to Wyatt's office. Ruvin closes her eyes again. She gives a useless little tug at the handcuffs.
"I could make them go away," she mumbles. It's only half-coherent, the remains of the tranquilizer making her feel heavy and out-of-focus, like she's a blur surrounded by reality.
"I know," Robin says, wondering if maybe it will all end here if she's so easily thinking about what she can or can't do. And there's so much he never should have said. "You could make me go away, too."
He opens his eyes again and looks at her.
"You can make a lot of things happen but that doesn't mean that you should."
"I get to-" Robin locks his jaw, and there's the familiar rage breaking through his exhaustion giving him strength. It's horrible to talk to anyone when he's this angry. It's never stopped him before. He gets to his feet, wrapped up in his head. "No. No. No. No, I do not get to give up. I have not been able to give up except the one time and that was taken from me. I tried but I wasn't allowed it. I thought I had no reason to stay here, no one that needed me, nothing holding me here any longer, and too much grief to try to start from scratch, and I did it. I would be dead right now if it wasn't for that asshole."
He paces across the floor. He doesn't look at her. He doesn't give her the chance to speak.
"I've wanted to die for fucking fifty years but I'm still here, aren't I? I'm still breathing. Dying is giving up, but I'm not dying. I'm not deciding my own fate. Not again. I'm living until this world decides that I've suffered enough, and then it will be finally, solidly over. Me telling you to leave me alone is not me giving up
( ... )
"You're so stupid." She's sobbing again. She doesn't want to. She can't stop. She wants to get away from here and never come back. She wants to hit him. She wants to hug him. "You're so stupid."
She screams it at him, yanking against the cuffs until they cut into her wrists. "I hate you. I hate you."
She doesn't. She couldn't. "It's not good! You stupid-- It's not good. Making everyone-- We lived. We lived. Why is it all like this? It shouldn't be like this."
The fight goes out of her, like it always does. She can't stay angry. She can never stay angry. She wishes so much that she could. "It's not fair. You shouldn't have to live this way. You shouldn't have to be here with him. You should be with us. I hate..." She can't say she hates him again. She can't get the words out when there's no truth behind them. "I hate this," she whispers.
Robin winces when she says she hates him. He knows she doesn't but that doesn't stop it from hurting anyway. It would be better for her if she did. And then a part of him reminds himself that that's not right. Anger, hate... there's no strength in them despite what he's always felt. Rachel taught him that.
God, he wants to remove the cuffs from her wrists but he can't. Why can't he? Wait until she's calm. She's not calm. She's screaming. He has to wait. He doesn't want to wait. The handcuffs are hurting her. He can tell, and it hurts to see but he remains standing.
His arms are folded over his chest. He doesn't know what to say in response. And then he winces again when she says 'us'. His arms are folded over his chest.
"If... when you say us... if you mean Rachel that's... that's already over." It's been that way for awhile. Before he decided to live here. "...I'm sorry."
Because that was his fault, too.
"Would- Are you calm?" He wants to take the handcuffs off of her but he can't. He can't until he knows. He can't.
"You're- You didn't say if you were... calm." Robin winces because he hadn't meant to say that. He can hear the emptiness in her voice. He can tell. Obviously. She's calm. Too calm. He can see it in her face but something holds him back like he's not quite sure.
He pushes past whatever it was that's holding him back or maybe it finally registered that she is calm. Robin unlocks the handcuffs with the key and steps back and doesn't look at her. I'm sorry gets caught in his throat again. He hates those words. He hates them because they make no difference. They make no difference at all. They're useless, terrible words from someone not strong enough to fix whatever's gone wrong. He locks his jaw, looks away from her, and doesn't say a thing.
Maybe she does hate him. He hopes that she does even if it's impossible to describe the overwhelming levels of pain that threaten to knock him over at the thought. It doesn't matter. Stop being selfish for once and be happy that she doesn't have to deal with you anymore. Be glad no one will give a
( ... )
She gets up, slowly, rubbing her wrists, staring at the marks on them. She looks up at him, and in the same calm, commanding tone he used when she started to wake up, she says, "Look at me."
He tenses. And God, he's afraid of her. Not because of what she can do with her abilities. No, not at all. It's because of the power she holds over his heart. Every inch of him already hurts so much that he's not sure how much more he can take even if he deserves it.
He winces, breathing unsteadily, and he looks at her, forcing his gaze to remain on her, to not look away as much as he would like to. He owes her that much, doesn't he? He owes her more than that.
"You’re a liar." She lets the sentence hang, lets it fester for a moment between them. "You said you didn’t give up. You have. You can tell yourself whatever you want, that this is noble, that you’re helping the people who come after you by submitting to that sadist--" Ruvin stops.
"You’re wrong. You aren’t helping anyone. Least of all people like you. Look at how long you've lived without Wyatt. Look at what you had without his help. You keep acting like this will fix things. Like somehow other people having happiness will make your life mean something. A family, love--you had that. You had that. You could still have it. We’re both still here. I’m still here
( ... )
Ruvin is handcuffed to a radiator on the floor passed out across from him. He's not supposed to take the handcuffs off of her until she's awake, coherent, and calm. He's completely unaware that that is an order he's been given that he literally cannot break (ah, mind control).
He can't think about what she did, what she almost did. It makes him feel pretty fucking miserable for failing at that one simple thing, to get her to leave, to get her to go away. He can't think about it. He can't. It hurts, and all he wants to do is take more tranquilizers and go back to sleep. If there was a drug to make her stop caring about him, he'd force it on her but there ( ... )
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The last thing she remembers is Wyatt. Wyatt's face. She groans. "No," she mumbles. She's not supposed to be here any more.
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"Ruvin," he says. His voice is quiet, hard. There's no anger in it, just a commanding kind of tone. Listen to me. Look at me.
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"Ruvin, look at me," he says in that same tone as before.
He wants so badly to take the handcuffs off of her but he can't. He's not allowed, not until she speaks to him and shows him that she's calm.
"Please," Robin says and for once, there's emotion in his voice. Pain. Desperation. It seeps out before he can pull it back. He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He doesn't know what to say to her or what's right and what's wrong.
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"I could make them go away," she mumbles. It's only half-coherent, the remains of the tranquilizer making her feel heavy and out-of-focus, like she's a blur surrounded by reality.
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He opens his eyes again and looks at her.
"You can make a lot of things happen but that doesn't mean that you should."
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He paces across the floor. He doesn't look at her. He doesn't give her the chance to speak.
"I've wanted to die for fucking fifty years but I'm still here, aren't I? I'm still breathing. Dying is giving up, but I'm not dying. I'm not deciding my own fate. Not again. I'm living until this world decides that I've suffered enough, and then it will be finally, solidly over. Me telling you to leave me alone is not me giving up ( ... )
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She screams it at him, yanking against the cuffs until they cut into her wrists. "I hate you. I hate you."
She doesn't. She couldn't. "It's not good! You stupid-- It's not good. Making everyone-- We lived. We lived. Why is it all like this? It shouldn't be like this."
The fight goes out of her, like it always does. She can't stay angry. She can never stay angry. She wishes so much that she could. "It's not fair. You shouldn't have to live this way. You shouldn't have to be here with him. You should be with us. I hate..." She can't say she hates him again. She can't get the words out when there's no truth behind them. "I hate this," she whispers.
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God, he wants to remove the cuffs from her wrists but he can't. Why can't he? Wait until she's calm. She's not calm. She's screaming. He has to wait. He doesn't want to wait. The handcuffs are hurting her. He can tell, and it hurts to see but he remains standing.
His arms are folded over his chest. He doesn't know what to say in response. And then he winces again when she says 'us'. His arms are folded over his chest.
"If... when you say us... if you mean Rachel that's... that's already over." It's been that way for awhile. Before he decided to live here. "...I'm sorry."
Because that was his fault, too.
"Would- Are you calm?" He wants to take the handcuffs off of her but he can't. He can't until he knows. He can't.
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He's not coming back. He's not changing his mind. He's going to live and die with Wyatt and the man she admired--
Robin Rice is--
They didn't all make it. They didn't all make it after all. "Let me go."
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He pushes past whatever it was that's holding him back or maybe it finally registered that she is calm. Robin unlocks the handcuffs with the key and steps back and doesn't look at her. I'm sorry gets caught in his throat again. He hates those words. He hates them because they make no difference. They make no difference at all. They're useless, terrible words from someone not strong enough to fix whatever's gone wrong. He locks his jaw, looks away from her, and doesn't say a thing.
Maybe she does hate him. He hopes that she does even if it's impossible to describe the overwhelming levels of pain that threaten to knock him over at the thought. It doesn't matter. Stop being selfish for once and be happy that she doesn't have to deal with you anymore. Be glad no one will give a ( ... )
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He winces, breathing unsteadily, and he looks at her, forcing his gaze to remain on her, to not look away as much as he would like to. He owes her that much, doesn't he? He owes her more than that.
God, he's going to be sick.
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"You’re wrong. You aren’t helping anyone. Least of all people like you. Look at how long you've lived without Wyatt. Look at what you had without his help. You keep acting like this will fix things. Like somehow other people having happiness will make your life mean something. A family, love--you had that. You had that. You could still have it. We’re both still here. I’m still here ( ... )
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