blowfish | IC CONTACT

[He does not remember the walk home. He does not remember meeting Doctor Impossible and speaking with him, he does not remember these things because his brain is too saturated with blood. With blood that is not his own, warm and wet and pooling across the ground in a message even vocal than Cecil's usual messages were.

His laboratory coat, his face, his hands, his entire self is baptised in blood. But he does not take a path to the bathroom, to a place where he can wash the night away from him, he instead halts his footsteps in the lounge. He looks, and feels, lost.

His hands seek out the radio and fiddle with the knobs, until the silence and static fill the air around him. Until he is suddenly sat with his head resting against the speakers, letting that static fill his world as he waits. As he waits for a voice that is familiar, that is normal, to come onto the air and reassure him that everything is okay.

But it is not okay.]

[ The blood is hard to miss and completely unexpected. His roommate's only been gone a couple of hours, he thinks? But now Jesse's eyes are wide on Carlos, who wandered in drenched in the stuff. Loud static from the broken radio, Carlos crumpled against silent speakers. He remembers doing something similar once before he got here, turning the volume as high as it would go and hugging himself against the outer frame.

The shock of what he's seeing gets him to abandon whatever he was doing, and he skitters closer, frowning with bright eyes. Crouching close. ]

Hey - [ Concerned. Is that his blood or someone else's? He can't spot any prominent injuries, but some bad shit obviously went down either way. ] Hey, Carlos. What the hell happened? Should I get some help?

[ The healer he met when he first got here. Ciel. He could always call Ciel. ]

[He doesn't move. His head remains touching the speakers of the radio, leaving sticky and ominously red stains across the front of it, his eyes remain closed, and his ringing ears try to block out everything but the sound of static.

He does not want to acknowledge Jesse, he does not want to talk. He wants Cecil back, he wants to erase the last few hours and make a different decision, make an unscientific decision.]

I killed him.

[It is a quiet confession that seems to echo like thunder.]

[ Shit spirals downwards in Haven, too fast. Jesse glances at the ground, at the red trail, brow furrowing. He doesn't know who it is that Carlos killed or why, but it doesn't take a genius to put together the impact it's had on him.

He barely knows this man. They met a week ago and they spend time together because of the chance of proximity, but he knows so little about him and vice versa. That doesn't mean Jesse can't be empathetic. He knows -- in particular, he knows what it means to kill someone, without even wanting to. It fucks with you like nothing else.

There's only one question he can respond with, but his voice is quiet and cautious. ]

Who?

[The question seems too monumental to be only one word, too great to be confined to three small letters and take up only one syllable. It's small and sharp, like the tip of a knife blade, keen and harsh and painful, and it wounds exactly the same. Except not exactly, emotionally and not physically.]

Cecil.

[His head presses further into the speakers, letting the static surround him and comfort him. If he listens long enough, if he waits, surely Cecil will come on the air.]

[ That name again, Cecil Palmer. Can't forget the guy who knows way too much about Jesse for his own comfort. Or used to know, apparently. He chews on his lip, indecisive about what to say and what to do. ]

You knew him?

[ That seems obvious. He just doesn't have the context, and having to ask these question makes that uncomfortably obvious. He wonders if he can't convince Carlos to move away from the floor and towards the bathroom, where he can clean up and slowly start to piece himself back together. There's a tentative hand on Carlos' shoulder and a look on Jesse's face like the overwhelming presence of the blood is making him feel ill. ]

Shouldn't stay like this, man.

Edited 2014-05-11 00:17 (UTC)

[Knew.

Knew he says, putting Cecil so casually in the past tense. Knew he says, and Carlos cannot refute it. It is a horrible word, bringing with it a finality that he can hardly stand, a complete end to a life in a single change from present to past tense.

He shakes his head.]

I know him. He is a radio host, and he is an observer, and he is... he is my boyfriend. And he still exists, and he will not be gone for long, he will return in a day or two days or less. He will return and live again, with a beating heart and breath in his lungs and a voice in his throat.

[ Fuck. ]

Of course, yeah, of course he will -- that's how it works around here. He'll be back in no time. [ Did Carlos say boyfriend? It flies over Jesse's head for the moment, a creature of emotion first and foremost always. The reassurances are breathy, rushed. He's sensitive to just about everything about this... the blood and the stench of it, the killing, the dying, missing someone. ] But --

[ Why did Carlos have to kill him? It's a question he's reluctant to ask. He stalls. ]

Jesus, that's... [ Nothing but an apologetic exhale in the end, words failing him. He doesn't know Cecil very well (and honestly gets the creeps from him on a regular basis) but what a shitty situation, one Haven probably forced them into. Christ.

... boyfriend?? ]

[He does not know that Jesse and Cecil have met, know one another's names, or have exchanged a slightly meta and very disturbing conversation. He does not know that Jesse is homophobic, and he honestly would not care if he did.

Not now.

His knuckles are white where they are gripping the radio, where they hold to the lifeline of crackling and spitting nothingness that tie Cecil to this place.]

He will. He must, because he said that he would. He chose this death, he asked me to kill him, because he knew that he would return. He knew that his binding and restrictive contract would benefit him, it would bring him back faster, it would make his pain stop. So... so he must. He must.

[ That's messed up. Really messed up. Jesse looks down, lets go of Carlos' shoulder and rubs the blood between his fingers away. ]

He'll be back. [ And he looks back up, nodding determinedly. He still feels sick and this new information doesn't help him mask it, but he's not about to just leave Carlos on his own with this. ] You did him a favor. He asked you to.

[ From the sound of it, Cecil was suffering and Carlos made the difficult choice about putting him down. ]

I seen guys spring back up all the time, and I was dead before too. He'll be back.

We have all been dead before.

[His voice loses some of the pleading intensity that it had gained when the grief for Cecil needed an outlet. It becomes quieter, and a little calmer. A calm gained by falling back on the comforting support of science.]

Death is an absence of life, it is defined by a lack of heartbeat, of breathing, of pulse. Before the particular egg and the particular sperm bearing our DNA collided, we all exhibited these signs of death, these signs of an absence of life. But we have not all been dead such as is so common here, a more violent and bloody death, with a different sort of rebirth.

But... there is a rebirth. And Cecil has told me before, more than once, that his contracted employment with the ever present and often ominous Yao Corporation would afford him a definite and swift revival.

[ Jesse lets him ramble, does nothing but watch him with worried eyes. ]

Right. You're right. [ Not just humoring him-- yes, there is death and rebirth and Haven. Yes, Cecil's contract with Yao will afford him special privileges, along with special consequences. Pointing that out now is, of course, a stupid idea. Jesse's hand finds Carlos' shoulder again, an awkward pat meant to guide him back to the present. ] In the meantime, why don't you clean up and get some rest?

[ Spoken with all the tact and sensitivity he can muster up, definitely a little awkward, but definitely genuine. ] It'll help.

[It is sensitivity enough.

Carlos is a scientist, and a scientist is self reliant. He has always been this, he has never been anything else. It is new to him to have Cecil to rely on, to need to think of and consider, he does not think he is ready for his friends to be bastions of sympathy and sensitivity too.]

Clean?

[He's covered in blood. He barely noticed, and now that it has been drawn to his attention, he can't take his eyes off the sticky red fluid drying all over his hands.]

Yes, I will do that. Thank you. While I am gone, please... please continue to listen for me. When he returns, it will be over the airwaves, I know that much.

[ Whether he's ready or not, Jesse will continue to attempt to offer it. Carlos offered him help despite barely knowing him; he's not about to forget that anytime soon. ]

I'll stay right here. [ Radio's broken. When Cecil returns he'll be in his apartment, and if he chooses to broadcast anything, it'll be through the network. These are the facts that he won't point out. There's a soft edge to his voice, one that is trying to be reassuring. ] If I hear him, I'll tell you right away, okay?

[ It's not empty reassurance. As soon as Carlos leaves, Jesse will dig his phone out and watch for Cecil. But-- ]

You gonna be okay? Alone?

A scientist is self reliant.

[He murmurs the words by rote, in a voice which is dry and barren as the scrublands he misses dearly. He murmurs them as a half hearted reassurance that he will be fine alone, he murmurs a lie.

But he does not stay any longer to discuss it. He leaves Jesse with the radio hissing static, and he goes to the bathroom to wash away the evidence of Cecil's silent plea from his skin.]

IC CONTACT

[action] : backdated to after Cecil's death

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