ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

"I'm here enough to see the fucking mess you leave. I'm done with you." She's not going to be able to sleep, not after this bullshit and she turns away from him to head towards the closet to get warmer clothes on.

"You're--you're done with me? Just like that. You're done." He's incredulous, and tired, and angry, and fucked up, and hurt. All this because he was actually doing shit for once. "Isn't that rich. It must be nice to be able to just walk away from someone when you decide you're done. What next, are you gonna ship me off to some middle of nowhere, huh? Gonna go chasing after ghosts the rest of your life while I'm always left chasing after yours?"

There's a desperate bite behind the serrated edge of his words. There's an itching again that has been tapping it's way into his psyche all week long, and he still doesn't know what it is, but he does know that sometimes being incomplete and knowing it is worse than never having known it at all.

"Fuck, Tex, sometimes it's no wonder he was trying so hard to bring her back instead of you."

What the hell is he going on about? It's enough to stop her in her tracks and she stares at him in disbelief. She can almost feel her heart sinking, but hell if she's giving him any satisfaction in showing it. The look of hurt that flashes across her face is replaced by one of quiet anger.

"I was going to go for a fucking walk, but if that's how you really feel then maybe we are really done. Get your shit and leave. Now. I don't need to put up with this crap after everything I've fucking done to keep you safe and take care of you."

Oh shit. Oh shit. He fucked up. Why did she say that? Why did she say it like that, to make him think they were done done? Why did he have to say such stupid bullshit?

"Maybe--maybe the guy I was did before he got his memories ripped out of him, but I never asked you to do that for me. Just like I never asked York or Delta or any one of those Freelancers I disappoint to come find me. If you're keeping a promise to a dead man, you can stop."

It claws its way out of his throat like something that needs coughed up instead of swallowed back, but he already wishes he could take it all back. Shame she had to go ruin the whole fucking evening being angry at nothing.

"I'm staying," he adds with more determination, if shakier. "I live here. This is our bed, and I'm sleeping in it. Fuck you for telling me to leave."

"No. You don't live here. Not anymore. You've lost the right." She's keeping her composure despite everything boiling beneath the surface. He didn't get to say that kind of shit to her and then try to smooth it over like it isn't a big deal.

"If you think I've been doing what I have because of some promise to whatever you were before, then you don't know me that well. Maybe you can move your shit back in when you finally get it."

He's very, very tempted to be petulant about it. To take a seat on their bed and force her hand, to figuratively stick out his tongue and say 'make me'.

She would, of course, bodily haul him from the bed, down the stairs, and out the door. Hell, she might not even bother with stairs and go for a window instead. So it's a losing choice for him. Everything has always been a losing choice when it comes to her.

Maybe if he gives her space, a couple hours, maybe until sun up, maybe a day, and she'll stop being such a godforsaken unholy bitch. Maybe he'll fucking wise up and watch his betraying tongue for once.

Maybe maybe maybe.

The safest choice, besides forcing his mouth to stay closed despite the pained rising rage boiling up, is to go grab his shit and go. It's more than he left D4 with, but once he puts the rest of his armor back on, it's still only enough to fit in a bag. He's steadfastly silent through the quick job of packing up, silent through resetting the pieces of armor he's left scattered, silent through picking up his shit and going.

And going.

And going.

She stands quietly by while he packs up. She could stop this at any moment, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him he can put his shit back. That it's not a big deal. Except it is. There's so little he seems to understand and whenever she thinks he gets it, his mouth spews out shit that proves her otherwise.

Space is needed among other things. All while he's packing her mind is racing with what she needs to do next. A change of locks is the best route to go, a sure-fire way to make sure he doesn't come barging in tomorrow because he thinks he owns the place. A place he has contributed very little to and hasn't shown appreciation for. She's worked her ass off since they got here to make sure they have enough, that he has enough and he throws it back in her face after barging in late at night.

So she let's him go. She doubts she'll be in the house for much longer, but she'll give him a good head start so he doesn't see her leaving.

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