sirenspull_logs | this needs to stop happening

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this needs to stop happening

Who: Gilbert Nightray & whoever wants to visit
When: afternoon of the 17th
Where: Skye Medical
Summary: Xigbar's creepy monster dog-thing messed him up good for his part in the newcomer hunt raid. He never saw it coming.
Warnings: slight spoilers for PH, mentions of blood and injury

Gil has been overcome by the darkness a few times in the last few years. For the most part, every time he's gotten out of the situation with scratches and bruises, a couple larger wounds, a bullet wound once. But this time had been different. This time the monster seemed far more interested in hurting him; in killing him. And it was quick enough to do damage while he floundered through attempting to use Raven and failing, miserably. The familiar pain in his left hand told him that he was putting too much strain on the Hatter and B Rabbit's seals, and he'd hesitated as he'd been struck.

Again. And again.

If he'd been conscious, he would have told whoever transported him to take him home. If the Core reacted the same way that it did last time, he'd be healed in no time. A day or two, and he wouldn't have to waste time away from his master in the meanwhile. But he stays asleep during the pick up, transport, and the initial check-in to the hospital. He doesn't wake until halfway through the day, several ribs shattered, a wrist and ankle broken, a concussion, bruises and cuts and gashes up his neck and across his chest and legs.

And every single one of those injuries is healing, slowly but surely, without anyone needing to lift a finger to help him.

Crap.

His eyes snap open at the sound of familiar, rhythmic beeping. That's all it takes for him to realize where he's ended up, the memory of this morning rushing back all at once. Crap, crap, crap! Not good!

He doesn't bother to check if anyone else is in the room first before throwing back the blanket and attempting to run as fast as his healing feet will take him, no matter how many wires and tubes are currently attached to him. Stop him, egg him on, catch the aftermath upon failure. He'll be here for a couple of days.

[ooc - have at it, visitors. also I'm still sick, so tags will probably continue to be slow, but I promise I'll get to them all! thank you for putting up with me!]

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He doesn't want a lecture right now, another explanation on how he's clearly not strong enough to be able to manage both seals on top of his own contract. His good hand moves up to cover his eyes as he takes in a few deep breaths to calm himself down, preparing himself to snap back as soon as Break is finished saying whatever it is he's going to say.

But those words that he expects don't come. What falls into their place are words that he'd definitely never expected to hear.

Shocked into silence, the hand falls away from his eyes, but he remains staring at the sheets and tubes and discolored skin beneath the disgustingly thin hospital gown that they've dressed him in. Is sealing the Chain really the only thing that he can do? The two of them had always meant to be of use to one another; a mutual forced friendship for the sake of meeting their own respective goals. He'd never used to think about how he could be of use to Break, only how he would have to follow orders and learn to deal with it. But now...he has spent time pondering the use that he could be to the man, how he might help lessen his burden and keep him alive. Let him live a life without existing underneath that painful strain of a second contract, wondering which breath might be his last. It wasn't just duty, it was...

Alice had said it, hadn't she? Friendship.

A knot clenches in his throat, but he doesn't cry. No matter how pathetic and useless he feels right now, he won't cry in front of Break. He coughs instead, weakly, and gasps through a shaky breath, "It's still - the best thing that I can do for you..."

Even as he winces at the sound of Gilbert's weak cough and his gasping, Break has the idea that might be starting to get through to his dull-witted subordinate. Well - perhaps it's not so much that Gilbert is an idiot; perhaps he is simply the sort of person who can only understand things with his heart, rather than his head.

"I appreciate your concern, Gilbert."

Speaking to him like this - kindly, honestly - is difficult, because it puts Break's own carefully-cultivated persona at risk. Gilbert worries him, in so many ways; he is loathe to reveal it. Gilbert's provenance, his present injuries, his fate - all of them cause a sense of uncertainty and foreboding that twists at his gut.

But this mask, this persona is essentially false, and perhaps this is the reason Gilbert has never listened to him. He senses the artifice and gets angry. And then he can't hear anything. So perhaps the thing that Break does not want to say is precisely the thing he must admit.

He lets the mask slip. His features crumple. He reaches out, to brush his fingers across the top of Gilbert's head.

"But... the truth is... I am worried about you. Now more than ever."

His breath catches in his lungs as he feels Break reach out to touch his head. His superior has given him these random displays of affection and appreciation in the past, of course, but somehow they always felt tainted with teasing, mockery or ridicule. Only now does it feel genuine, like he's finally earned the right to be fretted over, to be cared for by the man. It's terrifying to think that he could allow himself the luxury, and he shudders and dips his head to hide his embarrassed expression, even though he knows that Break can't completely make it out.

"There's no need...I'm fine. Just like before, everything is..."

He swallows, shivers again.

"I've already started to heal," he admits, quietly.

It's a small gesture, the tips of his fingers sweeping across that seaweed-head of hair, as Gilbert bows his head. When was the last time he touched him, except to hit him? He can't remember.

"Yes, yes. I know."

And he remembers, just at that moment, why he keeps his mask in place, why he keeps Gilbert always at a distance. Because - what if Gilbert is a Baskerville, what if someone is controlling him? What if the person who put words in his head can force his actions also.

What if he - what if he tries to hurt Oz? He might have to stop Gilbert...

...

And if he can't bring himself to do that, then he'll have to watch Gilbert tear his seaweed-hair, blaming himself and falling into despair. He'll have to stand by and witness Gilbert becoming... himself.

No. Killing Gilbert would be preferable to that. For both of them, actually. He draws his hand away. His expression hardens.

"I'm very well aware of that, idiot!"

"--Huh?!"

Break had lived inside of his body for several days; he knows that the man has looked over the scars from the past and new ones gained here, but that tone of his voice is unexpected. He winces away from his superior, eyes narrowed in confusion which is mirrored in his voice.

"What are you upset about?!"

This is going nowhere; if this keeps up, they'll be back to where they started. Nothing will change. Moreover, keeping Gilbert at a distance and forever in the dark means that he might never get stronger, at least not in the way that's important.

And yet - Gilbert had pulled off Duldam's strings. He'd put his gun against Break's head, but he hadn't pulled the trigger. Perhaps there's hope, after all. But he needs to get to the heart of the matter.

Break's fingers twitch at his jacket, drawing out a cellophane-wrapped candy. Perhaps the comforting rush of sugar will clear his mind.

"Look. Gilbert."

He rolls the candy about on his tongue, finally biting into it. Crunch! It has an effect, apparently, because his voice is calmer and more gentle.

"Ahiru asked me a question, several weeks ago. I didn't tell her the answer - because I didn't know it. I wonder if you might enlighten me."

The candy doesn't go unnoticed. Somewhere in the back of his clouded mind he sees Break slipping back into old habits now that his Chain is no longer sealed. Whether or not the two things really had anything to do with each other or not, it still makes him feel more useless, in a weird way. And makes him wonder if Break will ever request sandwiches over cake if he never allows him to reseal the Hatter.

"Ahiru?" he repeats, sounding suddenly more alert. "What did she ask?"

And more importantly, what does it have to do with what they're talking about?

"She asked me..."

He opens his hand, letting the empty wrapper fall from his fingers and flutter to the floor, and reaches out once more - this time, it's not for Gilbert's head, to pat him, as though he were still a little boy. This time, he means to grasp Gilbert's shoulder, man-to-man.

"She asked me why you think so little of yourself."

His face goes pale, and all words die in the back of his throat. He can't even think of an answer, let alone articulate one properly with words. Why does he think so little of himself? Because it's a fact that I'm a useless person who only ever thinks of himself and can't protect anyone. He's too afraid, too weak, too pathetic to ask himself the right questions to answers that he's too scared to face. A person like that doesn't deserve to believe in themselves.

His eyes stay on his lap, but his breathing audibly strains as he stumbles nervously over his words.

"W-why would she - ask you that...?"

This isn't just about Gilbert's weakness, Break realizes. It's about his own: his own passionate foolishness. He had come unglued when he thought Reim was in danger. How can he keep his head if Gilbert too…

He squeezes Gilbert's shoulder, probably too hard. Who knows what injuries he's got where, he'd been just a broken mass of blood and gore when they'd picked him up.

"Because she's worried about you, obviously!"

He grunts a little at the harder squeeze, not because the muscles underneath are hurt, but because tensing the arm against it jars his injured wrist. Still, it's not enough pain to move himself away or shove Break away from him.

"She doesn't need to be! There's no reason for her to worry at all! Why couldn't you just answer with something like that!"

"Because she's not a fool! Little girls are more perceptive than you give them credit for, they always--"

Er, right. Bit of oversharing, there. Break loosens his grip on Gilbert's shoulder (he heard that grunt, probably it was a bit too hard!) and pats it hesitantly (sheepishly?) before drawing away and straightening up.

Start again. Calmly. Evenly. Don't let Gilbert get worked up, his limited intellect can barely cope, even under the best of circumstances...

"You have to admit she's right. Even on one of your good days, you're the most gloomy, depressed person I know, and that is saying something. So what I want to know is--why?"

He never thinks much of it, but it's true that Break is more familiar with the mindset of a young lady than he ever will be. He's known Miss Sharon most of her life, and the little girl from before...

Regardless of that, however, it's nothing that he wants to burden another person with. His failures, his inability to reach his goals; there's no reason that anyone else should have to bear the weight of his flawed existence.

"...Then I don't have an answer," he finally grumbles in reply, rolling his shoulder before reaching up with his good hand to run through his filthy hair.

"If she asks you again, just make something up."

Now that he's started to think about Lady Sharon again, it's a problem. Not only that he's embarrassed; but also that he has been assiduously keeping her out of his thoughts, because being parted from her, his own not!daughter, hurts his heart.

So he forces a smile, puts on his fool's facade once more. It's counterproductive, he knows, but he can't help it.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell her it's because you're the sort of person who prefers to wallow, rather than face facts!"

"--Something better than that!"

C'mon, do him a favor here! Make up one of your wild stories that scares women off but somehow still doesn't tarnish his reputation at all! He knows you can do this for him, Break!

The facade cracks.

"Something better? All right, how about this: I'll tell her you're a--"

He just manages to stop himself, despite his heartache and his fury. Is he really going to drop this bomb on Gilbert right now, while he's recovering from wounds that should have been fatal?

Moreover, is it better to keep the truth from Gilbert? What will he do? Will he break down completely? Will the knowledge make him even more vulnerable to the forces here at Siren's Port?

"A...?"

He sits up, moves the stupid hospital sheet out of the way as though he's ready to stand up. It's the strange, sudden urgency in Break's voice that brings him to proper attention; something is wrong with it.

"A what?"

This is the man who had expressed "kindness" by revealing Oz's fate as an Illegal Contractor to him, unexpectedly, in the most graphic and disturbing way possible. Thus if it were simply a matter of Gilbert's feelings, Break wouldn't spare him, not even in present circumstances.

"A... a spoiled brat."

He sighs, heavily. His shoulders slump. He feels defeated, futile, useless, pointless - because he's certain Gilbert won't understand a word of his next sentence:

"A person who is physically strong but mentally weak - it's a bad combination. You're a disaster waiting to happen."

A disaster waiting to happen.

Some day, that loyalty will become a blade that pierces through what's most important to you.

They aren't words that are new to Gilbert, but to hear them like this, while he's uselessly attempting to heal and unable to walk back to his master's side, they somehow hurt worse than before. He can deal with telling himself that he's failed, but to hear it from someone like Break, it makes him feel sick.

Because he knows that Break is telling the truth, and it's that truth that he despises.

"Then...tell her whatever you want."

"Idiot!"

His fingers clench over the head of his cane as he briefly contemplates whacking Gilbert out of his self-pity... but no, that's too much, even for Break, given current circumstances.

With a sudden sort of clarity, Break realizes that this is how Reim and Sharon must have felt, all those years ago, confronted with his wallowing... Hang on, no. What is he saying? His last outrageous wallowing episode was mere weeks ago!

"If...if you could only see yourself, how miserable and pathetic!"

Stop resembling me, you moron!

He grasps the blankets between his fingers, tugs in opposite directions as though he's attempting to rip right through it.

"So what if I am?!" he snaps back. "I already know all of that! But I don't want her to have to listen to an explanation on why I'll never be a person worthy of protecting her - especially from you!"

"So what - so what? Is that all you've got to say for yourself? Miserable creature! Will you give up so easily?"

WHACK! Break's cane swings in an arc and strikes the metal railing of Gilbert's hospital bed.

The swing and accompanying loud clang surprise him enough to jump and gasp and, as Gilbert is the most graceful lad of them all, choke on his own saliva. Which wouldn't normally be a big deal, except half of his broken ribs still haven't healed properly, so ouch, that smarts.

He groans in pain and curves his spine up to try and lessen the ache, but his voice still comes out strained.

"I'm not giving anything up! I just don't want to make her upset!"

[ That clang was loud, Break realizes, probably loud enough to get the attention of that truly terrifying head nurse, which is principal reason he doesn't keep hitting the railing or even Gilbert himself. It's more than he can bear, however. How on earth did Reim and Sharon and Lady Shelly manage to refrain from hitting him repeatedly all those years ago?

Suddenly Reim's incessant yelling and finger wagging make sense. Good heavens - he'd always thought of Reim as being an excitable sort of person, but from his present perspective it's clear: the man has the patience of a saint.

...which gives Break an idea. He can't get through to Gilbert, he's tried for ten years, they're too alike (URGH! Every part of him recoils from this idea, even as he knows it's true. They're both fools, in the ways that truly matter). But maybe... maybe Reim can make him understand.

Yes, this is a good plan. As is beating a hasty retreat, before Nurse Helga looks in. He twirls his cane through his fingers and plants the base of it down on the floor with a satisfying click. ]

Get some rest, Gilbert.

[ He turns on his heel and leaves, his oversized boots galumphing noisily. He'll go and be useful and tell people to be quiet and generally fret and seethe silently and make himself even more upset--

No. No, he won't. He'll go to the children's ward and do magic tricks. ]

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retraced - 2012-11-03 23:44 (UTC) - Expand

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this needs to stop happening

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