[ That's an excellent question, and one that Wash doesn't have an easy answer for. Because the truth involves explaining more than he wants to share with Sharkface, even if in theory he already knows what happened.
Moments pass, in silence, while Wash deliberates. He decides to keep it simple. ]
Because I'm not that person anymore. You should be able to relate to that.
[ ...Wash is stunned for a moment. He can't believe that actually worked, but maybe. Maybe Drake was right and the person standing in front of him wasn't just Sharkface anymore. Maybe he can relate.
Maybe here he can finally reach back.
And god help him, he actually believes Sharkface. Ephemera. Whoever. ]
All right.
[ He steps forward, extending a hand to shake on it. On something more than a truce. Wash doesn't really have people here yet besides maybe Eleven and Kyna, both of whom can fend for themselves, but. This doesn't hurt. He certainly doesn't trust Ephemera to have his back, but he'll protect the girls.
[No part of him wants to shake Washington's hand. No part of him wants to stand quietly and let this happen, but Ephemera promised and so he's trying. Counting his breathes on the exhale, holding steady, and thinking about what this place could be for him. What it will be if he takes Washington's offered hand as an opportunity to hurt him. Get the fucker off balance, knock him down, break him.
It might feel good, for a moment. But after?
It's the after that Ephemera wonders about.
He takes Washington's hand gingerly. Like they're civilized people after all. Like they haven't both tried to ruin each other.
[ This is the most on guard Wash has ever been during a handshake, but Ephemera doesn't attack. Sort of acts like Wash has some horrible contagious disease, but doesn't use the grip to haul him forward or knock him down. He just grips Wash's hand briefly, dropping his arm back to his side when he lets go.
This is going too well, he shouldn't push his luck. But curiosity gets the better of him. ]
[Ephemera twitches, putting his hands back on the counter. He's left scratches there from gripping too hard. He didn't feel it at all. The counter did.]
[ He lifts his hands in a show of innocence, crossing to the door. Ephemera's lucky to have somebody, Wash thinks. Especially here. He'd tell the other man to appreciate it, but it's not necessary. He obviously does or he wouldn't be so protective.
[ Wash dodges, lightning quick, and the can thumps hard against the door instead. Opens and splatters everywhere, including across his boots. At least it's just acrylic, it'll come right off. ]
Fine, do it yourself! God.
[ He'd ask what the hell Ephemera's problem is but he suspects he wouldn't get an answer beyond 'you, you motherfucker' or something similar. So much for offering to help. It was okay in one context but not in another? Whatever. He suspects he knows where he went wrong, anyway, and they've been in each other's company too long. Wash yanks the door open to leave, knowing that the clatter would have gotten the attention of the two civilians outside. Nothing to worry about, nothing to see here. ]
[ Sure enough, Drake is right in front of the door when Wash opens it -- in fact the knob was tugged right out of his hand. He blinks up at Wash, taller than him in the armor, and nudges past him to see where and in what state Ephemera's in. He steps in paint, leaves a boot print.
Everything else looks okay? He glances between the two soldiers, wary.
[The paint is dark blue, the same shade as that one Sim trooper's armor. Splattered all over the door, onto the ground, Washington's boots tracking through all of it. What a fucking mess. Ephemera wonders if they're still alive, the Sim troopers. Felix hated them. Would have hurt them before he killed them, given half the chance. Locus almost, on occasion, seem to respect them.
Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
Ephemera jerks his helmet off, nearly dropping it. He wants a fucking cigarette. And now Drake is looking at him.]
[ Drake just steps in and closes the door on Wash, looking at the mess. If they move fast they can clean this one up, at least? But he's more concerned with his friend, at the moment. ]
Yeah. It's just paint.
You guys talked for awhile, though...?
[ He wants to know how it went but doesn't know if it's his place to ask. Ephemera looks like he's going to crush his helmet and might not be up for any company at all right now, even his. ]
[They have an understanding now. A truce. Ephemera almost laughs. He feels insane, caught on sharp edges because of a fucking conversation, what the fuck is wrong with him. It's not supposed to be like this. They're supposed to fight, he and Washington, one of them is supposed to die.
He doesn't remember deciding to sit down. One moment he's leaning against the counter, glaring at his helmet - the paint is chipped - and then next he's on the floor.
Right. He's sitting down. That was a decision he made.]
Drake leans down and unlaces his boots, steps out of them so he doesn't track paint all over the kitchen floor, and goes to Ephemera. Sits beside him on the floor so he's not alone. Doesn't ask, doesn't push, just... is there, solid and quiet. Waiting.
[There were times in prison where he'd blank out. Lose a few minutes. Sometimes a whole day. Like a magic trick. Snap your fingers and its gone. Abracadabra. There was probably a reason. One of the other prisoners, a former corpsman, thought he was having microseizures. Ephemera told him to fuck off. It wasn't important, anyway.
Breathe, idiot.
He breathes. Watches the paint gathering on the floor. Comes back slowly. He's not sure how long it's been. A few minutes, probably.
Drake is there. Sitting next to him. Just waiting. Watching him.
[Kyna tenses when the door flies open, and before she can react to much of anything Drake and Ephemera disappear back into the apartment. Just pain. Okay. She doesn't look entirely comfortable, but she doesn't cast any spells. Instead, she steps forward, her hand going for one of Wash's automatically. She doesn't even think about it.]
[ Wash glances over his shoulder when Drake closes the door, then turns back to Kyna and shakes his head. He was going to pull his helmet off for her, but she takes his hand and that's okay too. He curls armored fingers around hers carefully. ]
Nothing. He threw a paint can -- I think he just got tired of me.
[ I don't like him, she says, and makes it seem so simple. For Wash, it isn't about liking the guy or not. Of course he doesn't like Sharkface. Doesn't know if he'd like Ephemera, but doubts it. That part's really irrelevant, though, because it's about whether or not they were safe to each other. And they definitely weren't.
But he thinks -- no, he believes -- that he can trust the promise they just made. That Kyna will still be safe here, even associated with him. ]
He's... [ How does Wash explain this? How does he explain that he's been in that place, broken and alone, all edges. That he knows firsthand the only way to put yourself back together is to accept it when people reach out? And how hard that is. ] ...he's reaching back.
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Moments pass, in silence, while Wash deliberates. He decides to keep it simple. ]
Because I'm not that person anymore. You should be able to relate to that.
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Finally he nods.]
Nothing happens to my people.
[Nothing happens to Drake.]
You need backup looking after yours, I'll be there. All right?
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Maybe here he can finally reach back.
And god help him, he actually believes Sharkface. Ephemera. Whoever. ]
All right.
[ He steps forward, extending a hand to shake on it. On something more than a truce. Wash doesn't really have people here yet besides maybe Eleven and Kyna, both of whom can fend for themselves, but. This doesn't hurt. He certainly doesn't trust Ephemera to have his back, but he'll protect the girls.
Okay. ]
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It might feel good, for a moment. But after?
It's the after that Ephemera wonders about.
He takes Washington's hand gingerly. Like they're civilized people after all. Like they haven't both tried to ruin each other.
He promised. So he'll try.]
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This is going too well, he shouldn't push his luck. But curiosity gets the better of him. ]
...how long have you been here, anyway?
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Almost four months.
[He almost asks what the fuck Washington is doing with Kyna, but he might tell the truth. Ephemera isn't sure he wants to hear that.]
The fuck are you staring at?
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[ Huh. He would've thought it was longer than that. ]
Only four months?
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He wants a cigarette, suddenly. Really bad.]
That's what I fucking said.
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[ Because the person in front of him really is different and he can't think what else would have done that but having people.
Some seriously invested people. ]
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He didn't expect that question.]
Get out.
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[ He lifts his hands in a show of innocence, crossing to the door. Ephemera's lucky to have somebody, Wash thinks. Especially here. He'd tell the other man to appreciate it, but it's not necessary. He obviously does or he wouldn't be so protective.
Then he pauses, hand on the doorknob. ]
If you want your armor fixed, I've got a kit.
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It's not meant as a taunt, but Ephemera doesn't want to hear it. He's feeling twitchy, uneasy, waiting for an attack that hasn't come.
He grabs the nearest thing - a can of acrylic paint - and throws it hard at Washington's head.]
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Fine, do it yourself! God.
[ He'd ask what the hell Ephemera's problem is but he suspects he wouldn't get an answer beyond 'you, you motherfucker' or something similar. So much for offering to help. It was okay in one context but not in another? Whatever. He suspects he knows where he went wrong, anyway, and they've been in each other's company too long. Wash yanks the door open to leave, knowing that the clatter would have gotten the attention of the two civilians outside. Nothing to worry about, nothing to see here. ]
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Everything else looks okay? He glances between the two soldiers, wary.
What's going on? ]
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Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
Ephemera jerks his helmet off, nearly dropping it. He wants a fucking cigarette. And now Drake is looking at him.]
I didn't hurt him.
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Yeah. It's just paint.
You guys talked for awhile, though...?
[ He wants to know how it went but doesn't know if it's his place to ask. Ephemera looks like he's going to crush his helmet and might not be up for any company at all right now, even his. ]
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[They have an understanding now. A truce. Ephemera almost laughs. He feels insane, caught on sharp edges because of a fucking conversation, what the fuck is wrong with him. It's not supposed to be like this. They're supposed to fight, he and Washington, one of them is supposed to die.
He doesn't remember deciding to sit down. One moment he's leaning against the counter, glaring at his helmet - the paint is chipped - and then next he's on the floor.
Right. He's sitting down. That was a decision he made.]
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Drake leans down and unlaces his boots, steps out of them so he doesn't track paint all over the kitchen floor, and goes to Ephemera. Sits beside him on the floor so he's not alone. Doesn't ask, doesn't push, just... is there, solid and quiet. Waiting.
Just tell him you're okay, man. ]
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Breathe, idiot.
He breathes. Watches the paint gathering on the floor. Comes back slowly. He's not sure how long it's been. A few minutes, probably.
Drake is there. Sitting next to him. Just waiting. Watching him.
Ephemera takes a breath. Lets it out slowly.]
Hey, Drake.
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What the hell was that?
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Nothing. He threw a paint can -- I think he just got tired of me.
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[She frowns towards the door.]
I don't like him.
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But he thinks -- no, he believes -- that he can trust the promise they just made. That Kyna will still be safe here, even associated with him. ]
He's... [ How does Wash explain this? How does he explain that he's been in that place, broken and alone, all edges. That he knows firsthand the only way to put yourself back together is to accept it when people reach out? And how hard that is. ] ...he's reaching back.
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Reaching back how? Did he agree to chill out or something?
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[ He's almost at a loss, here, struggling to put his thoughts into words and have them make sense. ]
That guy I just talked to? Wasn't exactly Sharkface.
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