your grace is wasted in your face

[turkinabox]

Who: Veld Dragoon [chief_mendacity], Vincent Valentine [turkinabox] { closed }
When: A while after this.
Location: Veld's place, Junon.
Rating: R for inevitable profanity and possible descriptions of Hojofuckery.
Summary: He just couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

Comments

[turkinabox]

Vincent withdrew slightly at the thought of Veld trying to read them, mind racing in a thousand directions, wondering how far he'd gotten and what sickened him too much to keep going while something in him cackled that Vincent had always known he was disgusting, what part of hearing it from someone else was so bad

[turkinabox]

That was one of the things that made this so difficult. Deep down a piece of Vincent felt that maybe, just maybe, he could be fixed. Emotionally, psychologically, if not physically. He'd done great things, he'd made up for the wrongs he'd done, and he'd accepted that not all wrongs were his. This condition of his--this wasn't a punishment, but it was something that was never going to change.

And deep down that piece of Vincent knew that fixing him would take years--decades, maybe even centuries. And by the time he was something close to whole again, everyone, all the people he wanted so badly to be whole for, would be gone. And once they were gone, he would never see them again.

Death was a gift Vincent Valentine was destined never to receive, and he knew that with far more certainty than he felt for his ability to heal

[chief_mendacity]

He couldn't do anything to fix it.

That was what bothered Veld the most. He was the one who was entirely in the wrong and as usual, his mistakes had dire consequences for other people. In this case, someone he cared for.

Guilt was overpowering and nearly crushing.

Veld nodded. "You're welcome to stay as long as you want." It was the very least he could do. With a heavy sigh, Veld stood. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to bed. Wake me if you need anything." He debated taking a sleeping pill or a shot of whiskey, but Veld didn't want to worry Vincent. Instead, Veld just went to bed.

[turkinabox]

Vincent nodded and let Veld take his leave without another word; for quite a while, longer than he could say, he stayed in place, still and silent and thinking

Stress brings somniloquy

[chief_mendacity]

Veld spoke then, but it was in Wutain. Tempered with his slang and a little disjointed. Veld had always been a light sleeper. "'sbout time you came back. Wish you'd stop leaving. "

[turkinabox]

Vincent blinked, sitffening a little, and turned. But the tempo of Veld's heart, his breathing, it was still far too steady.

...Veld did talk in his sleep once or twice when they were young, didn't he? When he was under the most stressed.

Right before the fight.

Vincent swallowed, took a deep breath, and looked back to the book. He was asleep. It didn't matter.

Vincent's voice was exceedingly low, below Veld's ability to hear, but at least he spoke. "I don't have a lot of choice."

[chief_mendacity]

Veld curled a bit on his side. His voice was muffled with sleep and the fact that his back was turned. "My fault. Wish it would have been me".

[turkinabox]

Vincent closed his eyes and took another breath. He was just going to have to tune this out, wasn't he? Or...leave.

The thought of going back to the living room made his stomach lurch, and Vincent went back to his book, determined to leave Veld's sleeping conversation unanswered.

[chief_mendacity]

Whoever Veld was having a conversation with was either poking him or maybe Veld was just rambling what had been on his mind that was stressing him. either way, he continued as though someone had spoken to him. "I know. No business with him. Should have followed procedure".

There was a muttered set of self directed cursing, but it was husky and dialect laden.

[turkinabox]

Tuning this out wasn't going to work. Maybe Vincent could talk--whisper him down? He hated the thought of Veld sleeping so fitfully because he was here. If it kept happening he would have to relocate.

"None of this is your fault, Verudo."

[chief_mendacity]

"Started it, my fault. Should have been honest. Should have followed procedure. Shoulda... didn't."

There was a long, long pause, it was almost as though he'd settled, but then Veld spoke again. "glad you don't hate me."

[turkinabox]

The fact that Veld believed Vincent could hate him, even subconsciously, was a little insulting. More concerning, however, was this constant thread of Veld believing this was his fault.

It wasn't. Vincent was the one who read the letter, started the fight, accepted the mission to Nibelheim. What would it take to get Veld to understand that?

He closed the book and set it aside, moving to lay on his side, facing Veld, close enough to smell his hair. "It's never been your fault."

[chief_mendacity]

"Who else started it, Vince?" The accent wrapped around Vincent's very non Wutain name. It was almost jarring. Typically Veld could swap accents out like hats, but this was obviously different. There were a few words that Vincent didn't exactly know before Veld continued. "Shouldn't have fucked around. Shouldn't have sent you away. You were alone. Shoulda been there."

[turkinabox]

A long moment passed in silence after Veld's last muffled statement.

Vincent moved down a little bit on the bed, leaned his forehead to the back of Veld's neck, and put his human arm around his partner's midsection, up around his chest.

He closed his eyes, pushing into a much more formal dialect of Wutain. "You're here now."

[chief_mendacity]

"But I can't do anything. I know you can't be fixed, but you aren't coping. Can't be content and I'm-" there was a crack then, in Veld's voice. A hitch that could have been from sleep, it could have been. "-Can't fix it, can't make it livable. I don't deserve to die in my sleep after what I did to you."

Veld took a long sort of shuddering breath. "I am so tired of losing the people. Missed you."

[turkinabox]

Vincent just lay there, eyes closed tight, breathing forced even, steady meter and measure demanding that he stay calm, sick-slow heartbeat struggling to push harder but thankfully still too drained from Galian.

This...he wasn't supposed to hear this. Veld would be mortified if he knew Vincent was hearing this, the younger man was certain.

But maybe he was supposed to hear it. Maybe he had to. Vincent hadn't realized how crippling Veld's guilt over his condition was, how completely and utterly he blamed himself, the hate that came as a result. Vincent wasn't supposed to hear this, but deep down he knew he needed to.

He wasn't fixable. Wasn't consolable. He couldn't function, couldn't cope, couldn't be content like this--every time he came close with something, anything, one facet of his life, something went wrong and it all came crashing down.

And Veld blamed himself for all that?

The former Director's own words came echoing back--"How in the fuck can you run to me after all of this? I did this to you!"--and Vincent had to