Robin does not want to have to deal with these emotions. He busied himself... since he learned the truth. He spent time taking care of whatever needed to be taken care of with Jo, dealing with whatever items were left in her room and making sure that cleaners came in the next.
It might seem like it would be too hard for someone who loved her to do. Robin honestly couldn't do anything else. He had failed her in life, at least he could make sure that what's left of her would be properly taken care of.
He hasn't said it out loud, hasn't written it on paper. It exists in his heart like a knife, but getting the words out would make it too real. And he doesn't trust his own reactions to the flood of emotions that would come when he finally admits it.
Robin opens the door to their apartment. His gaze is drawn immediately to Rachel, and he swallows thickly, painfully, looking down instead. It's near impossible to have those walls up around her. He managed it all day, distraction after distraction, but he can't here
( ... )
Rachel stands when he finally walks in, letting out relieved breath at seeing him back in one piece. The worry doesn't leave, not entirely, because of the way he looks. She can sense how hard he's trying to reign it all back in.
She hasn't seen him look like this in a while and it scares her.
The first time she ever saw him like this he was slumped in a hallway and nothing but painful truths followed the sight of him.
Rachel is taking one lonely step forward when the words leave him and she stops in her tracks.
It's not at all what she expected, and it's terrible all the same.
"Robin."
His name is a whisper, and it carries so many things as she starts walking toward him again. Concern, shock, sorrow, love.
"Robin, I'm--"
She's close enough to reach him, to hold him, and she doesn't hesitate in doing so. Her bare feet rise on tiptoes, a hand cupping the back of his head.
Robin's jaw tightens more when she reaches for him. His whole body He doesn't mean to. It's his initial reaction, after a day of trying to keep those old walls back, shoving them forward to prevent hurt, to make it through, to not lose his mind. All of those emotions that he'd been holding back are lodged so painfully in his throat, and he can hardly breathe.
It takes him a little while to manage wrapping his arms around her, too. His arms move slowly around her waist, and he holds her tightly, burying his face against her hair.
Robin can't speak. He's running through the memory of the last time that he ever spoke to Jo. She hugged him. She said that she loved him. She believed him when he told her that it was okay when it wasn't. It wasn't okay. And he told her that he loved her too, that there was hope... but there wasn't enough. She was a girl. A girl who should have been protected and looked after, not treated the way that she'd been treated, not left alone
( ... )
Rachel doesn't let go, despite the fact he doesn't immediately reciprocate. She won't let go unless he actively pulls away. She can't give him an I'm sorry. No when she knows how he feels about them.
God, and she remembers why he was in that hallway in the first place all those months ago.
A girl named Jo. A young girl.
A vengeance angel named Jo.
Robin doesn't have to say anything. He doesn't have to explain, unless he wants to, until he wants to.
The actions are what matter and she doesn't need the words yet. She's there and she's not leaving him to deal alone with it, she's not leaving him to deal with anything.
Warning: Possibly triggery. Hi.despite_myrageFebruary 22 2010, 01:34:04 UTC
The emotions remain in his throat. It's like trying to swallow back a heavy, jagged stone. His jaw remains tight. It feels like it will break if he should try to speak. The emotions are all right out of reach, and he didn't even need drugs this time. Isn't that hilarious or horrible? Robin doesn't know which.
"She killed herself. Slit her wrists in her room. It was the smell that-- that made them look."
He doesn't recognize his own voice. There's a large part of him here, kept here in this room by her hands wrapped around him, by her presence pressed against him. There's a part of him that always belongs with her. There's another part of him entirely that isn't here. There's a part that's remembering. It's knowing. It's the cold finality of knowing.
He knows what his body wants. It wants a tranquilizer. It wants to destroy alcohol and every person like his mother. It wants blood. It wants to kill. It wants, but it will never let him be. Never. Not until it's over.A deep sink. A steak knife. Blood pooling from torn skin. Pain that
( ... )
Rachel isn't surprised. If she should be, she's not. Hasn't he told her this before? Those who know of vengeance angels are aware they don't usually live a long life.
The fact Robin is as old as he is now is a rarity.
A miracle.
If it hadn't been for Wyatt Jameson, Robin wouldn't be here at all because he'd made the same choice. The reminder of that stings. She doesn't think of that day in her room at the Conrad after the plagues. Not if she can help it.
She can't help but think of it now.
It's a sharp and vivid memory that resurfaces with a crackle, and she doesn't want to tense in his arms but she does as she remembers. The emptiness inside of him, the defeat in every bone of his body. Every time it makes me angry, it's controlling me. More. And I know it and I can't-I can't stop it. I've tried. I tried. I did.
They try so hard, don't they? More than she'll know.
More than anyone will know.
At least it's over.Rachel bites down on her lip. She is not going to disagree with something she can't possibly understand. And as
( ... )
Robin takes in a deep, heavy breath that doesn't take any of the pressure away from his chest. It feels like it's a struggle to even do that, to breathe. He swallows again, locking his jaw and shutting his eyes tightly.
It's a struggle to breathe.
I know you loved her.
"I did." For the first time, there's emotion in his voice. It cracks. It's desperate. It's like he's trying to convince the world of it, trying to remind Jo, even though she isn't here anymore. He did love her. And he should have done moreRobin closes his eyes, when she pulls back to look at him. It's a wince, and he can't say out loud what she already knows. And he's glad that she knows it, because his emotions are fighting with him. Yes, he's tired. He's more tired in this moment than he can remember being for a long time. The weight of all those years presses down on his shoulders, and he feels heavy
( ... )
It breaks her heart and she lets him. There's underlying panic clogged in her throat. It keeps her rooted to her spot. It all feels like it's suspended in such a thin rope.
She doesn't want him to go back to that place.
That dark, bottomless place where he couldn't be reached, where nothing could change his mind about the future and where he belonged. Watching him walk out of her room, knowing the choices he could make after. Watching him leave, give himself over to.. who knows what that man was, and all but destroy himself.
She doesn't think she can go through it all over again.
"You weren't lying if you believed it," Rachel says gently, well aware he might not listen or agree, not right now, and God, can she blame him? Please believe me anyway."What's happened tonight doesn't change the fact what you've believed in is still true. You just can't make someone else have the same hope you do. You can't make them believe something they don't see for themselves, whatever the reason. You can't
( ... )
Robin's hand slips over his face, into his hair. He can hear her but he can't. All of her words are fighting to get through the wall of rage that has shoved up through the grief and guilt. He's so angry, at the people who did what they did to Jo, at this world for making angels like him and her.
He wants violence and pain. He wants something physical that he can touch, some physical pain somewhere. There's too much within him, and he can't deal with it. It's so fucking heavy. His fist trembles, and he swallows tightly, locking his jaw again and trying to reign the anger in. She doesn't need it. He knows that but he can't-- The walls are so weak when he's around her. They're so weak.
"I should have done more. I understood, but I didn't fucking--" A sharp pain shoves its way through his chest so suddenly that he can't speak. It's almost like it shoves him back against the door with the force of it, and he swallows again, trying to fight past it. "I understood better than anyone else. I talked to her about all of it. I was the only
( ... )
There's a pressure building slowly between the back of her eyes, and Rachel has to close them. It's nearly impossible to argue with his angry words and she doesn't try to.
She doesn't want to be right and she doesn't want to prove a point. She wants him to stop hurting, and hurt is inevitable and so is grief. His anger is inevitable. It's a part of him, intricately woven throughout the years, forced upon him when he was so young.
Only a little younger than Jo was.
WasThis is not the first time Rachel has seen him furious and tired and disdainful. The intensity of it still never fails to surprise her, and she knows it can't be helped. What he carries begs to be released and he fights it, fights the moment where if he falls, he will never get back up
( ... )
The silence is enough to make the anger fade. It doesn't go away completely. Does it ever go away? It's enough to make it fade. Other emotions dislodge themselves and take its place. There's exhaustion so heavy that he can't stand up straight. There's grief and guilt that feel like blades resting in his chest.
She hates it sometimes, too.
They all do, don't they?
Hasn't the world given her enough to hate about it as well? There's more than that, of course. Vincent said that life was built on people he couldn't save. It's more than that. He knows that, but it's so hard to reach that knowledge in all this darkness, in all this pain.
He should have done more, and Jo is dead now because he didn't do more. Robin will have to contact Wyatt again. He knows that to think he could live a normal life was foolish. Robin has to do more. He has to reach out. His desire to help those like him doesn't leave, but he has to-- He has to figure out how to do that without compromising what he has with Rachel, what he's made for himself
( ... )
"I know you are," Rachel says in a thin whisper, pushing past the lump in her throat as she slides down against the door to join him on the ground. Her knuckles brush gently against his wet cheek before she overturns her hand, cupping the side of his face and bringing him closer.
She knows he must be so tired, and the world doesn't really have a right to ask him to keep fighting, and it still does.
She still does. It isn't in her to do anything else.
I don't want to be alone.
She shakes her head; a sad, tearful smile, and she says, "You're not."
Rachel was there in that hallway all those months ago, and she was there in his room as they slid to the floor like they have now (everything you are is safe with me), and she doesn't ever plan to do anything differently
( ... )
It takes him a few moments. It takes her kissing him before he really seems to register that she's there, and then he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. Robin closes his eyes, breathing her in and letting her presence and her touch center him. It's keeping him from spiraling into an something that would be so hard to pull himself out of again
( ... )
It doesn't matter to Rachel. It could take Robin five minutes or five hours. It could take him all night and it wouldn't make a difference. She wouldn't think to leave his side, not for an instant. It's what they've always been able to do for each other and now is no different.
Her hands curl into the hair at his nape, lips lingering on his neck, brushing a kiss there. It's a gentle touch, done for no other reason than to assure him of her presence, of everything she cannot seem to say in words.
"I love you, too," Rachel whispers there into the silent skin, closing her eyes and allowing him to feel the truth of it.
Safe and warm and steadfast.
She knows it isn't over, not by far. She knows there are many things he has to deal with. None of which he'll have to deal with alone.
She doesn't like jumping to the worst conclusion, as hard as Chicago has tried to instill the belief the worst conclusion is often the right one.
There are so many possibilities running through her mind and she doesn't want to contemplate any of them.
Rachel isn't going to jump to a conclusion at all.
She waits for Robin in their living room sofa, knees brought to her chest as she bites on a nail.
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It might seem like it would be too hard for someone who loved her to do. Robin honestly couldn't do anything else. He had failed her in life, at least he could make sure that what's left of her would be properly taken care of.
He hasn't said it out loud, hasn't written it on paper. It exists in his heart like a knife, but getting the words out would make it too real. And he doesn't trust his own reactions to the flood of emotions that would come when he finally admits it.
Robin opens the door to their apartment. His gaze is drawn immediately to Rachel, and he swallows thickly, painfully, looking down instead. It's near impossible to have those walls up around her. He managed it all day, distraction after distraction, but he can't here ( ... )
Reply
She hasn't seen him look like this in a while and it scares her.
The first time she ever saw him like this he was slumped in a hallway and nothing but painful truths followed the sight of him.
Rachel is taking one lonely step forward when the words leave him and she stops in her tracks.
It's not at all what she expected, and it's terrible all the same.
"Robin."
His name is a whisper, and it carries so many things as she starts walking toward him again. Concern, shock, sorrow, love.
"Robin, I'm--"
She's close enough to reach him, to hold him, and she doesn't hesitate in doing so. Her bare feet rise on tiptoes, a hand cupping the back of his head.
Reply
It takes him a little while to manage wrapping his arms around her, too. His arms move slowly around her waist, and he holds her tightly, burying his face against her hair.
Robin can't speak. He's running through the memory of the last time that he ever spoke to Jo. She hugged him. She said that she loved him. She believed him when he told her that it was okay when it wasn't. It wasn't okay. And he told her that he loved her too, that there was hope... but there wasn't enough. She was a girl. A girl who should have been protected and looked after, not treated the way that she'd been treated, not left alone ( ... )
Reply
God, and she remembers why he was in that hallway in the first place all those months ago.
A girl named Jo. A young girl.
A vengeance angel named Jo.
Robin doesn't have to say anything. He doesn't have to explain, unless he wants to, until he wants to.
The actions are what matter and she doesn't need the words yet. She's there and she's not leaving him to deal alone with it, she's not leaving him to deal with anything.
Not as long as she can help it.
Reply
"She killed herself. Slit her wrists in her room. It was the smell that-- that made them look."
He doesn't recognize his own voice. There's a large part of him here, kept here in this room by her hands wrapped around him, by her presence pressed against him. There's a part of him that always belongs with her. There's another part of him entirely that isn't here. There's a part that's remembering. It's knowing. It's the cold finality of knowing.
He knows what his body wants. It wants a tranquilizer. It wants to destroy alcohol and every person like his mother. It wants blood. It wants to kill. It wants, but it will never let him be. Never. Not until it's over.A deep sink. A steak knife. Blood pooling from torn skin. Pain that ( ... )
Reply
The fact Robin is as old as he is now is a rarity.
A miracle.
If it hadn't been for Wyatt Jameson, Robin wouldn't be here at all because he'd made the same choice. The reminder of that stings. She doesn't think of that day in her room at the Conrad after the plagues. Not if she can help it.
She can't help but think of it now.
It's a sharp and vivid memory that resurfaces with a crackle, and she doesn't want to tense in his arms but she does as she remembers. The emptiness inside of him, the defeat in every bone of his body. Every time it makes me angry, it's controlling me. More. And I know it and I can't-I can't stop it. I've tried. I tried. I did.
They try so hard, don't they? More than she'll know.
More than anyone will know.
At least it's over.Rachel bites down on her lip. She is not going to disagree with something she can't possibly understand. And as ( ... )
Reply
It's a struggle to breathe.
I know you loved her.
"I did." For the first time, there's emotion in his voice. It cracks. It's desperate. It's like he's trying to convince the world of it, trying to remind Jo, even though she isn't here anymore. He did love her. And he should have done moreRobin closes his eyes, when she pulls back to look at him. It's a wince, and he can't say out loud what she already knows. And he's glad that she knows it, because his emotions are fighting with him. Yes, he's tired. He's more tired in this moment than he can remember being for a long time. The weight of all those years presses down on his shoulders, and he feels heavy ( ... )
Reply
It breaks her heart and she lets him. There's underlying panic clogged in her throat. It keeps her rooted to her spot. It all feels like it's suspended in such a thin rope.
She doesn't want him to go back to that place.
That dark, bottomless place where he couldn't be reached, where nothing could change his mind about the future and where he belonged. Watching him walk out of her room, knowing the choices he could make after. Watching him leave, give himself over to.. who knows what that man was, and all but destroy himself.
She doesn't think she can go through it all over again.
"You weren't lying if you believed it," Rachel says gently, well aware he might not listen or agree, not right now, and God, can she blame him? Please believe me anyway."What's happened tonight doesn't change the fact what you've believed in is still true. You just can't make someone else have the same hope you do. You can't make them believe something they don't see for themselves, whatever the reason. You can't ( ... )
Reply
He wants violence and pain. He wants something physical that he can touch, some physical pain somewhere. There's too much within him, and he can't deal with it. It's so fucking heavy. His fist trembles, and he swallows tightly, locking his jaw again and trying to reign the anger in. She doesn't need it. He knows that but he can't-- The walls are so weak when he's around her. They're so weak.
"I should have done more. I understood, but I didn't fucking--" A sharp pain shoves its way through his chest so suddenly that he can't speak. It's almost like it shoves him back against the door with the force of it, and he swallows again, trying to fight past it. "I understood better than anyone else. I talked to her about all of it. I was the only ( ... )
Reply
She doesn't want to be right and she doesn't want to prove a point. She wants him to stop hurting, and hurt is inevitable and so is grief. His anger is inevitable. It's a part of him, intricately woven throughout the years, forced upon him when he was so young.
Only a little younger than Jo was.
WasThis is not the first time Rachel has seen him furious and tired and disdainful. The intensity of it still never fails to surprise her, and she knows it can't be helped. What he carries begs to be released and he fights it, fights the moment where if he falls, he will never get back up ( ... )
Reply
She hates it sometimes, too.
They all do, don't they?
Hasn't the world given her enough to hate about it as well? There's more than that, of course. Vincent said that life was built on people he couldn't save. It's more than that. He knows that, but it's so hard to reach that knowledge in all this darkness, in all this pain.
He should have done more, and Jo is dead now because he didn't do more. Robin will have to contact Wyatt again. He knows that to think he could live a normal life was foolish. Robin has to do more. He has to reach out. His desire to help those like him doesn't leave, but he has to-- He has to figure out how to do that without compromising what he has with Rachel, what he's made for himself ( ... )
Reply
She knows he must be so tired, and the world doesn't really have a right to ask him to keep fighting, and it still does.
She still does. It isn't in her to do anything else.
I don't want to be alone.
She shakes her head; a sad, tearful smile, and she says, "You're not."
Rachel was there in that hallway all those months ago, and she was there in his room as they slid to the floor like they have now (everything you are is safe with me), and she doesn't ever plan to do anything differently ( ... )
Reply
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Her hands curl into the hair at his nape, lips lingering on his neck, brushing a kiss there. It's a gentle touch, done for no other reason than to assure him of her presence, of everything she cannot seem to say in words.
"I love you, too," Rachel whispers there into the silent skin, closing her eyes and allowing him to feel the truth of it.
Safe and warm and steadfast.
She knows it isn't over, not by far. She knows there are many things he has to deal with. None of which he'll have to deal with alone.
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