6th Jam / We'll Always Have Paris

[babyfacedkiller]

[Spam for Letty]

[Something bad went down in Paris, Lloyd is convinced of it. The first day he couldn't reach Letty, he tried to write it off as her reconnecting with her wild girl side and probably going a little overboard with it, but then he recognized the car she stole on the news, and a rapid sinking feeling came over him, a realization that something must have gone wrong. Maybe badly wrong. He found a newspaper in English with a quick summary of what happened: there was a police chase -- which was pretty typical for Letty, he was finding out -- that ended in crash, but the driver wasn't found. It didn't necessarily mean something awful had happened -- maybe Letty was laying low, hiding from the cops, or maybe she hit her head and got fucking amnesia or something, like they always do on TV, and she ended up with sharing a bed with a French Fabio. Stranger things have happened. But the pessimist in Lloyd had darker thoughts. It was no good thinking about it, though, so he tried no to, just stuck to the practical solution of looking for her in every police station and hospital in the goddamn city.

Nothing. He couldn't find even a trace of her.

Right after the Barge takes off, Lloyd goes down to her cabin. The door to her place is still there and that gives him a second's relief, but there's only a long silence when he knocks, and the relief trickles away, and dread takes its place. He almost doesn't want to open the door, afraid of what he might find on the other side of it, but he does. He has to. And when he steps into the living room, he freezes in place. He sees the fallen, broken shape on the floor, and it's like the world is suddenly drained of color. He doesn't need a closer look to know she couldn't be anything but dead. Whoever did this did a pretty thorough job. Lloyd doesn't want to imagine what must have gone down, but he has an idea, knows she must have been hit over and over.

It must have hurt a lot.]

N-- Letty-- [The words tumble out of his throat, thick and useless. It's not like he hasn't seen dead bodies before, and in pretty gruesome shape, but God, he doesn't want to look at her. It's terrible to look at her like this, when just a few days ago she was laughing, having an awesome time being kind of nuts, in her special high octane Letty way. But he can't look away, either. He's remembering that moment in the Jaeger when the monster slammed into them and he thought he'd lost her, the desperate panic he felt, but it's not the same. Now it's already too late. She's already gone. This isn't Letty -- it's what's left of her.

It's not fair. Nothing about this is fair. She can't be gone. He forces himself to think, to remember that they're on the goddamn Barge, and dying isn't the same here. She died before, and so did he, more than once. It's not forever. Sometimes it is, but not this time. He kneels down next to her and finds her hand, grips it hard enough that it would hurt her if she could feel anything, if any part of her was here at all.]

Letty, come back. [It's desperate, insistent, like he's somehow both begging and ordering her at once.] This isn't fucking happening. You need to come back. Jesus Christ, Letty. Please.

[He keeps urging her, but the pleas lose their vigor as the edges of his vision start to dim, a slack numbness spreading through him. Soon, he's not even entirely aware of where he is and what he's doing. His grip on her hand loosens, and he doesn't notice her injuries fading away, or her pulse when it starts again.]

[Public, backdated to yesterday, a few hours after the end of the port]

Letty got hurt in Paris. She's back now. She's resting in her cabin.

[Lloyd's voice has a listless, dull-edged sound to it, like he's not all the way there.]

It was Roderick that did it. He killed her.

[He cuts off the connection a second later, and he isn't planning on replying. He's got something more important that he needs to do.]

[Spam for Roderick]

[Lloyd doesn't waste any time after making the announcement. Letty is asleep and he's on his feet, heading out. Some of the exhaustion from bringing her back has faded, but there's still something dead in him, an uncharacteristic lack of fear. He's not worried what Letty might think when she wakes up, or how Horatio will react to him coming after his inmate. He's not scared he might end up getting killed by a man who obviously has some experience with murder, or of getting thrown in Zero. Even his anger is muted, cooler and more detached than it would normally be, but enough of it boils under the surface. He knows what he needs to do.

He's no expert on justice, but that's okay, because he knows one thing: Letty didn't deserve what Roderick did to her, but the son of a bitch deserves everything he has coming. He and Lloyd only really talked the once, and it was a nice, friendly conversation. He seemed like a pleasant enough guy, said some things Lloyd could relate to. That just makes it worse. Better be an upfront asshole like Arthas, he thinks, than a monster hiding under a smiling face.

Lloyd ends up in the library, not entirely sure why, but knowing he's in the right place. He comes in unarmed, not wanting to alarm any of the staff -- they're pretty uptight, traditionally, in libraries -- but on the second floor, the comforting weight of a baseball bat rests in his hand. He doesn't give a damn anymore, about being careful what you wish for.

He finds Roderick in a secluded corner of the library, bent over a book. He grips the bat with both hands and comes up behind him, not particularly concerned about giving a heads up. He's not looking to make it fair -- he's looking to make it hurt. As he closes the few feet left between them, he momentarily considers swinging the bat at Roderick's head, bashing the motherfucker's skull in and having it over and done with. It's not anything to do with morals that stops him, but something as plain as math. A bashed in skull takes at most a week to heal on the Barge, but broken bones might take longer. He brings the bat down, hard, on Roderick's shoulder.]

Comments

[tucky]

[Tiffany likes Letty. She likes Lloyd. She adores Roderick.

And she feels like she could have stopped this. She'd found out in Paris that Roderick was a killer. She'd gotten an inkling that he wanted to keep killing, but the idea had made her uncomfortable so she'd told herself that maybe it wasn't true; maybe she was just misunderstanding. He'd said he wouldn't hurt anyone she didn't want him to, and she'd really wanted to list the whole Barge - but she hadn't. She'd just given him a few names.

Letty hadn't been one of them.]

loyd im sorry im really sorry shes came back ok

were are you, you should go find somebody

[babyfacedkiller]

[Sorry Tiffany, he's already gone to find somebody, with the noble intention of beating the crap out of that somebody with a baseball bat.

There's no reply.]

[babyfacedkiller]

[He calls a couple of days later, when he isn't feeling as exhausted and his head is a little clearer.]

Hey. Letty said you been askin' about me.

[tucky]

Hey!

Yeah, just wondering if you been doing okay. I mean... not okay, 'cause you wouldn't be. You know what I mean.

I know what it feels like to see your warden get killed.

[private]

[babyfacedkiller]

[He switches to private, not wanting to discuss this stuff in public, especially when Roderick might see and jack off to it or something. Although that particular activity might be difficult for him right now.]

I been doin'... I dunno. Wasn't me who got murdered, you know?

I didn't see her get killed. It happened in Paris. She wasn't answering my calls, and I went looking for her, thought maybe she got arrested or something. Letty, she knows how to bring the heat down better than I ever did. But she wasn't anywhere that I looked. I only found her once we were back on the ship.

[ Spam ]

[leavetreadmarks]

[Letty can't feel his grip on her hand. She can't feel anything in the place she's gone, beyond pain, beyond fear, beyond anger, beyond thinking, knowing, being. That happens gradually, as gradually as she went away from it, but she doesn't remember. No time at all passes for her between when she knew she was going to die - alone, again, always alone - and when she draws a deeper breath on the floor of her own cabin, on the living room floor of a house she practically grew up in as much as her own.

No time at all passes for her memory and when her consciousness gains traction again, when she comes back, when she gulps in a breath and adrenaline kicks at her pulse and her eyes snap open, she's still expecting to be hit again. Her body aches, it hurts to breathe, she can't really see what's around her but her body jack-knifes anyway with a great sob of effort, stiff and awkward in a way she isn't in life, but apparently is in death. This time. She slams into the phantom pain of the injuries her muscles and bones remember even if they're no longer there and her breath catches, frozen in her lungs, which is why she doesn't scream, doesn't yell, doesn't curse.

She wants Dom so bad she could die again, and the knowledge that he's not there cuts through her as sure as any blow from a fucking crowbar.

But she's not alone. Her first thought is that it must be Roderick, that he's not done, and she has to figure out a way to keep fighting, has to find a weapon, has to take his, has to dig her nails into his face like claws, has to break his fucking jaw; there's no energy in her to do that, though. Instead she shoves at the floor with her hands where she stalled out halfway to sitting up, begins to push herself back, doesn't understand what happened, where she is, who's with her; people are not meant to die and then live again. She's still stunned.]

Don't - [She manages the protest anyway, a harsh, forced sound. Her voice barely sounds like her own, too bright with pain, too dark with some nightmare mix of fear and anger and shock.] I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you. I'll-...

[ Spam ]

[babyfacedkiller]

[It's the first sound she makes that breaks Lloyd out of his daze, but he doesn't feel even shallow relief that she's back. He doesn't understand it at first, just looks down at her with his mouth hanging half-open and face set in confusion, trying to remember how they got here, why they're on the floor like this.

Somebody hurt her, it comes to him finally. Somebody hurt her and she died.

When she tries to push herself up he reaches out, puts his hands on her shoulders, wanting to steady her, to make her realize it's him, and not whoever hurt her.]

Hey -- Letty, it's all right. He's not here. It's just us here. Nobody's gonna hurt you. It's okay.

[He's trying for soothing but his speech sounds funny to him. It's quiet, a little slurred, a little flat. Everything in him feels dull and distant, like listening to an old radio station behind a wall of static. He doesn't know who he's talking about, who she's scared of and wants to kill. It doesn't feel like it matters very much right now, and he can't grasp the extent of her anger. He can't feel any on his own. He just knows it's his job now to calm her down, to make her okay.]

[ Spam ]

[leavetreadmarks]

[If she were remotely herself, the way she recoils from him when he touches her, the way one hand swings up automatically to shove him off, would be vicious; he'd probably get a broken nose or a crushed windpipe for his trouble, and she wouldn't even hesitate, not while she thought he was someone else. But as it stands she doesn't get very far at all, she's not strong enough to break out of his grip, and her hand lands without much force at all on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt, ready to try and shove back.]

Lloyd...? [That stops her cold, lets her feel everything else trying to stop her cold, and she feels like she can't breathe. Abruptly instead of pushing him away she's anchoring herself with her hold on him, and she realizes that the shudder of relief that runs through her like a shiver is dangerous; it drains her energy with it, and as she lets him hold her steady, as she searches the room and realizes she recognizes it but not how that could possibly be, not how she got her, not how Lloyd could be here, she doesn't know if she can afford that yet.]

Roderick, he - is he - [There it is again, that sound, that gulping breath that sounds like she might lose it at any moment, that she already has, and another violent shudder.] Shit, shit...

[Nothing makes sense, and everything hurts, and she doesn't know what to do about any of it, can't make her brain or body work at all; so she lets Lloyd hang onto her shoulders, hangs onto his shirt and his wrist where he's holding onto her. Normally, her grip would be painfully tight, her hands strong and sure. Just now there's barely enough strength in her to hang on at all.]

[no_tell_belle]

[Venus has been feeling a bit low since she found herself back on the barge. She assumes it's because she was having so much fun in Paris and she really wasn't ready to come back.

She's really, really not ready to hear Lloyd's message.]

What? She.... Who? [She's shocked and devastated...and pissed off. Especially once she realizes Lloyd has cut the feed. She decides to go with pissed off because that's easier to deal with than sadness.]

Lloyd, answer me. Lloyd. Goddamnit, Lloyd, don't make me come find you. [She doesn't know if she'll go find Letty first or look for LLoyd but she knows can't just sit around. One friend has already been killed. She doesn't want it to turn into two.]

[private]

[babyfacedkiller]

[Venus is the first person he bothers answering, and the reply comes a few hours too late. He sounds pretty beat, but not as weirdly distant as he did making the announcement.]

I'm at Letty's. Under house arrest, I guess.

[private]

[no_tell_belle]

[Honestly, she half wants to jump through the communicator and smack him upside the head, and half wants to hug him. Fortunately, since she can't actually jump through the device, she doesn't have to decide which reaction to go with.]

You should be grateful it's no worse than that. What the hell were you thinking, running off after Roderick like that?

[Yes, she knows what he was thinking but apparently the urge to smack him is winning out. It's for his own good.]

[chillestrogue]

And here I thought I was getting onboard a nice, peaceful cruiseship.

[babyfacedkiller]

[The reply comes with a great delay. Lloyd had to take a break to take a baseball bat to a dude, and he's still not in a particularly chatty mood.]

You must've picked up the wrong fucking brochure, man.

[chillestrogue]

Must have.

Having trouble controlling your inmates?

spam

[characterdefect]

[Roderick is at peace. Not perfectly, of course; he still hasn't pinpointed his perfect method. But this was better, more accurate, more emotionally fulfilling than Joe's way. Maybe because it was self-determined. Maybe because he really had to fight for it. He doesn't know.]

[Either way, he's contented as he sits in the library reading an old tattered copy of The Waste Land, chewing absently on the pad of his thumb. He doesn't hear Lloyd coming, but if he had, he wouldn't have moved out of the way.]

[He expects this to come eventually. He knows there are consequences.]

[They're worth it.]

[With the crack of the bat on his shoulder, pain blossoms, and Roderick drops his book. He curls up, bent over his knees and gritting his teeth against the swell of it, struggling to stand. He only gets halfway to his feet before he sags again, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Looks up, sees Lloyd - grins.]

That all you got?

spam

[babyfacedkiller]

[Lloyd has no method to dishing out violence, sure as hell not a perfect one. There a moment of dull satisfaction when the hit lands and Roderick doubles over in pain, but only a moment, and then it's gone, and it feels empty and pointless. He can't roll back time and keep Letty from getting killed. He can't fix anything that happened, and all he can do is take swings at this asshole who doesn't curse or cry out or fight back, who just grin at him like it's all a funny joke.

It's not all he's got, and he doesn't need to be goaded to keep going, but it sure helps. He nearly aims the next blow at Roderick's face, wanting to wipe that fucking grin off it and maybe take a few teeth along for the ride, but in the last moment he swings lower, at the same arm but closer to the elbow this time.]

What the fuck are you smiling about, you piece of shit?

spam

[characterdefect]

[He can hear his upper arm snap, an ugly, too-fragile noise, and doesn't look at it; he can feel bone stabbing through skin and he doesn't want to see it. Not that it would be enough to make him give up, but it'd make him lose whatever edge he still managed to have, his last dregs of strength.]

[At least for now he's still standing. At least for now he's still smiling. That may not last too long.]

You. The way you think this matters.

[As if beating him up is going to make this un-happen. As if it's going to make Roderick any less happy about what he did. As if it'll make him un-discover what he's discovered, the new way of killing, the new road.]

[Nothing can take that away from him now.]

[bodilesswarrior]

[Her lips twist into a snarl, before she smoothes herself out, shoves the anger safely into a corner.]

I should really tell you that vengeance won't help her. [She should, but she can't really bring herself to, at least not yet.]

Do you know how it happened?

[private]

[babyfacedkiller]

[He checks the messages a few hours later, once he's back in Letty's cabin, now under house arrest. He replies with the private setting on, because beyond the very basics, he doesn't think Letty would want this stuff discussed in public.]

's too late. He's in the infirmary.

[He doesn't sound proud of it or anything, but he did it, it's done, and he's not sorry.]

And I dunno if I should be tellin'. I guess it should be up to her if she wants people to know how it happened.

[private]

[bodilesswarrior]

[Her grimace is wry, frustrated, a little guilty.]

You really shouldn't have, but I get it. [Vengeance makes you feel less helpless.]

[routemistress]

[Iris is feeling fucking terrible. For weeks now she's been putting everything she has into keeping the ship whole, into landing it safely. She'd just been able to relax and breathe easily again, and then the ragged, urgent departure from Paris threw her right back offbalance. She's been curled up with her dogs around the tree in the eighth floor common room, weeping inexplicably over absent friends: and now one of her present friends has done this. She doesn't even have the energy to be properly angry; just flatly disappointed.]

Oh, bugger. Lloyd, I'm so sorry; there anything I can do?

[babyfacedkiller]

[Lloyd's reply comes a few hours late, and he doesn't have the energy to be angry anymore, either. Beating the crap out of Roderick with a bat wasn't a particularly invigorating experience, and now he's just tired and frustrated and wanting to stick by Letty's side.]

I dunno. Venus said you got some kinda special soup, for the death hangover. [He thinks he remembers Venus mentioning something about that.] Maybe you could bring Letty some. I bet she'd like that.

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[It's a little while after Horatio takes Roderick to the infirmary, when he finally forces himself to go and see Lloyd again. He's questioned whether or not it's right for him to come over. Whether Lloyd will even be willing to speak with him, considering the animosity that has recently blossomed in the other man's feelings for him.

Finally, he decides to force himself out of his comfort zone, and goes to Lloyd's cabin. Whether Lloyd wants to hear from him or not, Horatio hates having lost the beginnings of the friendship that he felt growing between them, and if he can traipse through a dozen parisian strip clubs to try and rekindle it, then at the very least, he should be able to risk a little more rejection for the same cause.

Which is how he comes to be knocking lightly on Lloyd's cabin door, a few days after they last crossed paths.]

[babyfacedkiller]

[Animosity might not be the right word to describe what Lloyd's been feeling towards Horatio. Lloyd has never had trouble making buddies, but real friendship, the kind that lasts and matters, has always been a pretty elusive thing, usually meant for other people. With Horatio, Lloyd had felt an admiration and a genuine affection for the guy from just about their first meeting, and like a fucking moron, he'd fooled himself into thinking Horatio may have actually respected him in return. So much for that theory. It might've looked and felt like anger, what Lloyd was feeling for a long while, but what it was, really, was plain old hurt.

Now he doesn't know what he feels. He doesn't know where he and Horatio stand now, except, he supposes, pretty much nowhere. It's easier to blame everything on Horatio's stupid curiosity, on his apparent inability to trust Lloyd enough not to rummage through the file that holds all the details of his life -- the bad, the worse, and the ugly -- than to admit to himself who he is, and that there's a reason he's never been picky about his friends. He stuck with the people who'd have him because, frankly, not a lot of people would.

It was bad enough when Letty read his file, and she did it because it was her job. It made things awkward for long time, and while they seem to have come out of it okay, Lloyd is still never really sure how much of it is obligation, on her end. How much she can truly accept the person that he was and maybe still is. He doesn't know if he can, half the time.

When he answers the door, his shirt is poorly buttoned, and he smells lightly of booze and cigarette smoke, because it's been one of those evenings. His look immediately turns wary when he sees Horatio.]

The fuck do you want?

[It's more dry and unhappy than genuinely angry. He couldn't really fake it right now, but he sure as hell doesn't try to sound welcoming, either.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Its not that Horatio expects Lloyd to be happy to see him, but somehow despite his natural negativity, he still hasn't been able to regiment his thoughts into an appropriate reaction to the mans obvious weariness with having to deal with him. A kind of sudden, silent panic strikes him, and in that moment, a dozen answers come swimming up his throat. He wants forgiveness. For things to go back to how they were before. For Lloyd to forget what he did. For Horatio to forget all the things that Lloyd wants forgotten.

The answer that comes out though, is more basic than that. It's almost pathetic.]

I want to be friends with you.

[a pause. Then in a rush:]

And if that is entirely out of the question-- then, I'm sorry that I caused that between us. I won't pursue you any further if there is no way to make amends between us. But, please know that I regret my actions very much. That I wish we had remained on fonder terms.

[he drops his gaze, and every fibre of him wants to carry on. To apologise for not stopping Roderick, for not finding Lloyd in France, for. Not being more respectful of his privacy. For not impressing him more... But he bites his tongue. He could tear himself to strips in front of Lloyd, but there's a limit to how much pressure he can bring himself to put on he other man. He bites his tongue hard, and nods respectfully.]

And that is all.