G.I. Joe: Yuuzai (Culpability)
Title: Yuuzai (Culpability)
Summary: Sometimes, guilt is more complex than just taking the blame... (SE/Scarlett)
Fandom: G.I. Joe
Rating: PG
Notes: Yes, I am actually incapable of writing anything under a thousand words...
Disclaimer: The Joes are, by the way, still not mine. And yes, actually, the next drabble ISN'T SE/Scarlett. Shocking, I know.
Yuuzai (Culpability)
Scarlett wondered if she would ever quite get used to the sharp tightening in her gut whenever Snakes stripped off his mask.
Ironically, it wasn’t because he was ugly, scarred-though he was. The pain was… rolling, up and down, like a sand dune. A little nauseating, and it took a few deep breaths before it subsided. But it wasn't because of how he looked.
God, she hated that this had happened because of her-because of stupid things like sand filters and caught webbing. Because of bad luck. She'd blamed herself in the beginning, but only for awhile. Truthfully, they'd been tiptoeing tentatively towards more, but they hadn't known much more about each other than simple things. Birthplace, siblings. Military tours. Things they'd found, and things they'd lost. Not strangers, but not lovers. Not yet.
But now... now, she knew that he'd have done what he did for anyone, any member of his team. She was fortunate enough to know the mettle of the man underneath the black battle uniform and visored mask, knew just how fine and bright he’d been forged.
Would she have known that without the fire that had taken his voice and his face? Without the events that had followed? Would she have ever known just how deeply his devotion to his teammates, to his cause, and to her went, if he hadn’t stayed on the mission, despite his terrible injuries? Would she have understood just how deeply his trust in her went, that she was basically the only person he let see him unmasked?
Maybe-voice or not, visor or not, Snake-Eyes was the same man he’d been before. She truly did believe that. She’d liked him then-loved him now. If none of this had happened, perhaps she’d have learned these facets of him all the same-not as showy, but just as real, like a beautifully beveled hand-mirror rather than the iridescent, unmistakable flash-and-fire of a diamond.
But would she have known to look for them?
Ultimately Scarlett just didn’t know.
It was hard not to hate herself, a little, for thinking that anything good could come of something so horrible. Something that had hurt him so badly.
So when she touched him, put a hand on his shoulder or carefully cradled his cheeks in her callused hands, she reminded herself: she would have been lucky to have him, no matter when it was. Even the way he’d been before the accident-even if the accident had never happened. She’d have been lucky no matter what.
She didn’t tell anyone that sometimes, she thought this. No-one would have believed her, or even understood.
Snake-Eyes no longer pulled away when she ran her fingertips down the grisly spiderweb of burn scars of his cheeks, the thicker, purplish lines of keloid, but he did close his eyes. He’d had long eyelashes, before, she remembered-incongruously long, with white tips. They’d gone the way of the fire.
Strangely, if anything, him closing his eyes made the scarring appear more grotesque, without the aquarian blue of his eyes and the steady personality behind them.
“What does it feel like, when I touch your face?” she asked him, softly, in the stingy half-darkness of the library. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, and she smiled, absently-he still had a small dimple in his left cheek.
His eyes came half-open, and he shook his head, his lips brushing her fingertips. Her hand tingled as he tilted his head, kissed her wrist. He reached out for the pad of paper that they kept lying between them, between the books they were both pretending to read. [I don’t mind it.] They were both learning sign language, but when they were sitting together, they often just passed a pad of paper back and forth. She thought it was oddly endearing that his pointy scrawl was always exactly between the lines, and was as regular as anything a typewriter ever produced.
But that was a strange thing to say. She raised an eyebrow, and poked his shoulder gently, before cradling his cheek in a hand so she could make him face her. Scar tissue, she’d found, felt strangely smooth against her skin. “You know, I am in Intelligence-I can tell when someone’s avoiding the question.”
Snake-Eyes flashed her a half-smile, before he sobered. One shoulder moved in the barest touch of a shrug. [It feels… odd. Numb. Mostly numb,] he wrote.
Scarlett blinked at him. He’d never said-but she knew she’d never asked. “Bad?”
His hand hesitated on the pen for long enough that she knew he’d be lying if he said it was all right. Finally, he wrote, in his neat handwriting, [Not… good.]
On the one hand, she appreciated his honesty. But when she tried to yank her hand back, he caught at her wrist, and shook his head. [I don’t mind,] he wrote, again. This time, he underlined it.
Scarlett blinked, and tried to tug her hand away. For all that he was an amazing, complex man… he really confused her so much sometimes. “Snake-Eyes,” she chided, softly. “How can I not mind, if it hurts? I don’t want to hurt you. Why would I?”
He just shook his head again, and, finally, after a moment, let her fingers fall away. She didn’t lift her hand again, and was more confused than ever when, after a long moment, he simply sighed a little and turned away.
In the end, it took her years to understand-it did hurt, at least in the beginning, when she touched him.
But it hurt him more to have her not.
~fin~
May 16, 2009
Summary: Sometimes, guilt is more complex than just taking the blame... (SE/Scarlett)
Fandom: G.I. Joe
Rating: PG
Notes: Yes, I am actually incapable of writing anything under a thousand words...
Disclaimer: The Joes are, by the way, still not mine. And yes, actually, the next drabble ISN'T SE/Scarlett. Shocking, I know.
Yuuzai (Culpability)
Scarlett wondered if she would ever quite get used to the sharp tightening in her gut whenever Snakes stripped off his mask.
Ironically, it wasn’t because he was ugly, scarred-though he was. The pain was… rolling, up and down, like a sand dune. A little nauseating, and it took a few deep breaths before it subsided. But it wasn't because of how he looked.
God, she hated that this had happened because of her-because of stupid things like sand filters and caught webbing. Because of bad luck. She'd blamed herself in the beginning, but only for awhile. Truthfully, they'd been tiptoeing tentatively towards more, but they hadn't known much more about each other than simple things. Birthplace, siblings. Military tours. Things they'd found, and things they'd lost. Not strangers, but not lovers. Not yet.
But now... now, she knew that he'd have done what he did for anyone, any member of his team. She was fortunate enough to know the mettle of the man underneath the black battle uniform and visored mask, knew just how fine and bright he’d been forged.
Would she have known that without the fire that had taken his voice and his face? Without the events that had followed? Would she have ever known just how deeply his devotion to his teammates, to his cause, and to her went, if he hadn’t stayed on the mission, despite his terrible injuries? Would she have understood just how deeply his trust in her went, that she was basically the only person he let see him unmasked?
Maybe-voice or not, visor or not, Snake-Eyes was the same man he’d been before. She truly did believe that. She’d liked him then-loved him now. If none of this had happened, perhaps she’d have learned these facets of him all the same-not as showy, but just as real, like a beautifully beveled hand-mirror rather than the iridescent, unmistakable flash-and-fire of a diamond.
But would she have known to look for them?
Ultimately Scarlett just didn’t know.
It was hard not to hate herself, a little, for thinking that anything good could come of something so horrible. Something that had hurt him so badly.
So when she touched him, put a hand on his shoulder or carefully cradled his cheeks in her callused hands, she reminded herself: she would have been lucky to have him, no matter when it was. Even the way he’d been before the accident-even if the accident had never happened. She’d have been lucky no matter what.
She didn’t tell anyone that sometimes, she thought this. No-one would have believed her, or even understood.
Snake-Eyes no longer pulled away when she ran her fingertips down the grisly spiderweb of burn scars of his cheeks, the thicker, purplish lines of keloid, but he did close his eyes. He’d had long eyelashes, before, she remembered-incongruously long, with white tips. They’d gone the way of the fire.
Strangely, if anything, him closing his eyes made the scarring appear more grotesque, without the aquarian blue of his eyes and the steady personality behind them.
“What does it feel like, when I touch your face?” she asked him, softly, in the stingy half-darkness of the library. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, and she smiled, absently-he still had a small dimple in his left cheek.
His eyes came half-open, and he shook his head, his lips brushing her fingertips. Her hand tingled as he tilted his head, kissed her wrist. He reached out for the pad of paper that they kept lying between them, between the books they were both pretending to read. [I don’t mind it.] They were both learning sign language, but when they were sitting together, they often just passed a pad of paper back and forth. She thought it was oddly endearing that his pointy scrawl was always exactly between the lines, and was as regular as anything a typewriter ever produced.
But that was a strange thing to say. She raised an eyebrow, and poked his shoulder gently, before cradling his cheek in a hand so she could make him face her. Scar tissue, she’d found, felt strangely smooth against her skin. “You know, I am in Intelligence-I can tell when someone’s avoiding the question.”
Snake-Eyes flashed her a half-smile, before he sobered. One shoulder moved in the barest touch of a shrug. [It feels… odd. Numb. Mostly numb,] he wrote.
Scarlett blinked at him. He’d never said-but she knew she’d never asked. “Bad?”
His hand hesitated on the pen for long enough that she knew he’d be lying if he said it was all right. Finally, he wrote, in his neat handwriting, [Not… good.]
On the one hand, she appreciated his honesty. But when she tried to yank her hand back, he caught at her wrist, and shook his head. [I don’t mind,] he wrote, again. This time, he underlined it.
Scarlett blinked, and tried to tug her hand away. For all that he was an amazing, complex man… he really confused her so much sometimes. “Snake-Eyes,” she chided, softly. “How can I not mind, if it hurts? I don’t want to hurt you. Why would I?”
He just shook his head again, and, finally, after a moment, let her fingers fall away. She didn’t lift her hand again, and was more confused than ever when, after a long moment, he simply sighed a little and turned away.
In the end, it took her years to understand-it did hurt, at least in the beginning, when she touched him.
But it hurt him more to have her not.
~fin~
May 16, 2009