[ William's frown deepens. He pulls on the door; it flies open with such force he has to make a frantic grab for it before it bounces closed again. He's quick—not graceful, but quick—to put his body between it and Travis. ]
Scoot over! [ He yells, trying to out-blare the horn and giving no consideration to how ridiculous this request is. ]
[This clumsy-ass drunk motherfucker. Travis gives him a deadpan look that does not matter at all with his sunglasses on, and he keeps his finger on the horn. The bird becomes a gesture to the passenger seat. As if this possibly needed clarification, he shouts back:]
Fuck you, I'm driving!
[Which he isn't, but it's the principle of the matter.]
[ For a stubborn, sullen moment William contemplates flinging himself inside. Landing wherever the fuck. Then—leaving the door open—he walks around the front of the car to the passenger's side. Opens the door and slides in.
His ears are ringing. It's hard to separate from the drunkenness, his lurching emotions. ] What now? [ It's snippy, to the extent that anything hollered at the top of one's lungs can be.
Only belatedly does it occur to him to look Travis over, make sure he's okay. ]
[Holding the horn like this is giving Travis some combination of a finger cramp, a looming headache, and spiking frustration, and no matter how stony he tries to be about it, he’s getting increasingly pissed about it. There’s a tension in him even just sitting there, one foot hovering over the gas pedal, his jaw squared. Two empty beer bottles lay abandoned at William’s feet; nothing, Travis imagines, to whatever this guy has pounded back.]
I don’t know! Maybe we—- [actually, fuck this. He releases the horn. Louder than necessary in the sudden silence:] You kill your sister or something?
[ William sits back, head bumping the headrest. ] Thank Christ. [ For a luxurious few seconds he does nothing but savor the silence, the relief palpable. Then he shakes his head, wordless. Looks sidelong at Travis. ] They're not usually that literal.
[ His gaze shifts away to stare out through the windshield; his hands settle in his lap. He thinks, of all things, of a secondhand memory—Larry's son's birthday. The way he'd recoiled when William attempted to share in turn. ] I have a daughter. I didn't talk about her for months on the—on the fucking Barge.
[ His voice is slight and focused, as if he's speaking to no one at all. ]
[Travis leans towards the dash, eyes dead ahead, his spine curved forward like he might want to rest his nose on the top of the wheel. He curls his fingers around the wheel like it could be an anchor.]
Because who wants to tell a bunch of lunatics on a space ship about their kids, right? [As if anyone here is so dangerous, so capricious or conniving to track them down across space and time. Bunch of people who can't even look past their own problems, and some dutiful would-be saviors. It makes him sour, mulling it over, and his tone comes out sharp:] Figures, though. You've got "dad" written all over you. What's her name?
They were crazy about kids. [ He murmurs, not meeting Travis' eyes—not that they're available to be met. ] Crazy. Like someone decided to convene a PTA meeting in hell.
[ His posture locks up, compresses, knees and shoulders stiff—as if he's trying to fathom how to wedge himself into Travis' description. A wave of unspoken objections pass through him, but in the end he says: ] Emily. She'll be eleven soon. [ He breathes out and twists clumsily in his seat, drawing a leg up underneath himself and facing Travis as best he can. ] I didn't think about her either. That whole time.
[For a hot minute, he's sitting with Sylvia in a 7-11 parking lot, straddling Schpeltiger and considering how much easier it would be to hit the gas than process the idea of having kids. Whether being a father is supposed to make you feel like a freak.
In reality, he's setting his jaw. It's the wind up run to a jump.]
I think about them all the time.
[Compared to what? Anime? He can't imagine how often other parents think about their kids. Not thinking about them, however, feels like an impossibility. He laughs, a single scoff of disbelief.]
But you left your CEO job, yeah? Big mistake. You're gonna have a hell of a time paying for her therapy.
[ He looks hurt; looks as if he'd been hurt all along and just now caught sight of the gaping wound. He imagines Emily waiting alone at a black door. Behind it the condescending props that had cluttered the Barge's counseling office.
But he doesn't retreat. Fragile as he seems, his gaze doesn't falter. ] I want her to know me. Really. [ He shrugs, the gesture more in his hands than his shoulders. As though he's splaying them for Travis, showing how empty they are. ] I wanna be worth knowing.
[Travis turns his head sharply, his fingers sliding down the curve of the steering wheel. Fuck you sits on his breath, but it doesn't feel like there's time for that.]
Your kids don't have to really know you. Hell, it's better for them if they don't. They should know the best version of you, even if it's not the whole picture. That's protecting them. [He almost breathes, but he barrels on instead, with a finger in William's face:] Have your feelings about this shit, but keep it together. I'm not spinning out about it and it's my fucking life.
[ At first he barely reacts—a matter of dulled reflexes rather than nerve—to the finger jabbed in his face. Then he thrusts his head toward Travis, the finger poised to poke just left of his nose if Travis doesn't move it. ] I'm in your life. And [ —he snaps, as if it's some killing blow and not a borderline non-sequitur— ] this isn't even your car.
[ He sits back, still askew in the seat. ] You know it's bullshit. [ He says, voice low—the fire in it banked. ] It's lying, it's a lie. You just want to give them someone to miss.
[Travis pulls his finger back, just an inch. He argues, carelessly loud:]
It’s not a lie. They’re like, four! Put on an episode of Backyardigans and I might as well not exist. They got some abstract concept of Daddy and that’s about it.
[The hell does anyone remember of being four, anyway? Seeing a movie in theaters for the first time, getting shushed for every noise? Skinned knees? Crying because you don’t want to eat peas and your mom won’t let you leave the table?
He could vibrate right out of this seat.
He impulsively puts a palm to William’s forehead to shove him back.]
Bullshit! [ William repeats. He's shoved, falls—it has a lot in common with a flop—back, but snatches at Travis' wrist as he goes. Chances are he ends up grabbing a fistful of air or digging his fingers into Travis' arm. In any case, whether he's using Travis as leverage or scrabbling at the seat behind him, he tries to haul himself back into a sitting position. ] You think they don't know? They don't know who holds them after they cry? [ Voice rising to match Travis': ] You sleep with a fucking pillow!
[ Silence falls, sudden and complete. Taken aback by his own outburst, William crosses his arms. After a shamefaced pause: ] I don't wanna fight. I wanna talk.
[Tussling with a drunk guy is always a little harder than it seems, and Travis grits his teeth as he's grabbed. He's never been the yelling type, but it feels tempting to just go with it, shout about low blows and what's really bullshit, but––
He drags himself into some semblance of maturity, yanking himself from William's grip to sit back in his own seat, his expression an unrepentant scowl. Frustrated, but with his ~indoor~ voice:]
So fucking talk. You think I don't know how shit this is for everyone? How hard it is? But either I'm a shitty dad or someone's dead –– maybe them. Take your fuckin' pick.
[ William opens his mouth to object, quickly shuts it. Looking equal parts indignant and disquieted. He's not about to fix anyone's life with a single drunk conversation, but—this is the crux of things, isn't it? ]
How retired are you? [ He knows about Travis' life out in the woods, has the measure of his loneliness: knowing people only for the span of time it takes them to die. Not entirely unfamiliar.
[Travis shakes his head, and his answer comes easy.]
Retirement's a dream. You go back eventually or you're forced to. I did what I set out to do twice over, but you know, if some asshole went after Sylvia or the twins... shit, I'd go back.
[He gives a hard wave of his hand. With a particular screw to the side of his mouth, he thinks about how his death means no one has reason to go after his kids, but nah. He's not staying where he'll never live the life he wants.]
Did the file talk about Alice?
[Maybe not. They'd talked for thirty seconds before getting down to business, but if there's a mention...]
[ William watches him—listens watchfully, his reactions muted as Travis engages in a kind of blood-soaked accounting. ]
No. [ With an air of intense and futile concentration he shuts his eyes: the file, its neat lines of text, swimming in his mind's eye. Several seconds later his eyes blink open. ] Maybe. If it did, it didn't say much.
[Guess it can't have. Travis shifts in his seat, finally turning his head to really face William.]
We met for our match. She knew it was the end. She was sitting by a fire, burning photos. Then I went and had a look. [He'd been shaking in anger, and he feels a shiver of it now.] They were of her family. Her kids. The fight was all she had left. She didn't even tell me her name until it was almost over. She wanted someone to know she existed.
[He pauses, and then his voice grows insistent:]
Do you get it? Once you're in this life, it's all you're going to be left with.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2022-06-03 09:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-06-04 01:26 am (UTC)Scoot over! [ He yells, trying to out-blare the horn and giving no consideration to how ridiculous this request is. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-04 01:43 am (UTC)Fuck you, I'm driving!
[Which he isn't, but it's the principle of the matter.]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-04 03:06 pm (UTC)His ears are ringing. It's hard to separate from the drunkenness, his lurching emotions. ] What now? [ It's snippy, to the extent that anything hollered at the top of one's lungs can be.
Only belatedly does it occur to him to look Travis over, make sure he's okay. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-04 03:48 pm (UTC)I don’t know! Maybe we—- [actually, fuck this. He releases the horn. Louder than necessary in the sudden silence:] You kill your sister or something?
no subject
Date: 2022-06-07 10:41 pm (UTC)[ His gaze shifts away to stare out through the windshield; his hands settle in his lap. He thinks, of all things, of a secondhand memory—Larry's son's birthday. The way he'd recoiled when William attempted to share in turn. ] I have a daughter. I didn't talk about her for months on the—on the fucking Barge.
[ His voice is slight and focused, as if he's speaking to no one at all. ]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-08 03:38 am (UTC)[Travis leans towards the dash, eyes dead ahead, his spine curved forward like he might want to rest his nose on the top of the wheel. He curls his fingers around the wheel like it could be an anchor.]
Because who wants to tell a bunch of lunatics on a space ship about their kids, right? [As if anyone here is so dangerous, so capricious or conniving to track them down across space and time. Bunch of people who can't even look past their own problems, and some dutiful would-be saviors. It makes him sour, mulling it over, and his tone comes out sharp:] Figures, though. You've got "dad" written all over you. What's her name?
no subject
Date: 2022-06-08 09:58 pm (UTC)[ His posture locks up, compresses, knees and shoulders stiff—as if he's trying to fathom how to wedge himself into Travis' description. A wave of unspoken objections pass through him, but in the end he says: ] Emily. She'll be eleven soon. [ He breathes out and twists clumsily in his seat, drawing a leg up underneath himself and facing Travis as best he can. ] I didn't think about her either. That whole time.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-08 10:24 pm (UTC)In reality, he's setting his jaw. It's the wind up run to a jump.]
I think about them all the time.
[Compared to what? Anime? He can't imagine how often other parents think about their kids. Not thinking about them, however, feels like an impossibility. He laughs, a single scoff of disbelief.]
But you left your CEO job, yeah? Big mistake. You're gonna have a hell of a time paying for her therapy.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-09 09:26 pm (UTC)But he doesn't retreat. Fragile as he seems, his gaze doesn't falter. ] I want her to know me. Really. [ He shrugs, the gesture more in his hands than his shoulders. As though he's splaying them for Travis, showing how empty they are. ] I wanna be worth knowing.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-09 09:39 pm (UTC)Your kids don't have to really know you. Hell, it's better for them if they don't. They should know the best version of you, even if it's not the whole picture. That's protecting them. [He almost breathes, but he barrels on instead, with a finger in William's face:] Have your feelings about this shit, but keep it together. I'm not spinning out about it and it's my fucking life.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-09 11:59 pm (UTC)[ He sits back, still askew in the seat. ] You know it's bullshit. [ He says, voice low—the fire in it banked. ] It's lying, it's a lie. You just want to give them someone to miss.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-10 12:16 am (UTC)It’s not a lie. They’re like, four! Put on an episode of Backyardigans and I might as well not exist. They got some abstract concept of Daddy and that’s about it.
[The hell does anyone remember of being four, anyway? Seeing a movie in theaters for the first time, getting shushed for every noise? Skinned knees? Crying because you don’t want to eat peas and your mom won’t let you leave the table?
He could vibrate right out of this seat.
He impulsively puts a palm to William’s forehead to shove him back.]
Stay on your half.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-10 05:40 pm (UTC)[ Silence falls, sudden and complete. Taken aback by his own outburst, William crosses his arms. After a shamefaced pause: ] I don't wanna fight. I wanna talk.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-10 06:05 pm (UTC)He drags himself into some semblance of maturity, yanking himself from William's grip to sit back in his own seat, his expression an unrepentant scowl. Frustrated, but with his ~indoor~ voice:]
So fucking talk. You think I don't know how shit this is for everyone? How hard it is? But either I'm a shitty dad or someone's dead –– maybe them. Take your fuckin' pick.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-14 06:36 pm (UTC)How retired are you? [ He knows about Travis' life out in the woods, has the measure of his loneliness: knowing people only for the span of time it takes them to die. Not entirely unfamiliar.
But what would it take for him to go back? ]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-14 08:31 pm (UTC)Retirement's a dream. You go back eventually or you're forced to. I did what I set out to do twice over, but you know, if some asshole went after Sylvia or the twins... shit, I'd go back.
[He gives a hard wave of his hand. With a particular screw to the side of his mouth, he thinks about how his death means no one has reason to go after his kids, but nah. He's not staying where he'll never live the life he wants.]
Did the file talk about Alice?
[Maybe not. They'd talked for thirty seconds before getting down to business, but if there's a mention...]
no subject
Date: 2022-06-16 12:59 am (UTC)No. [ With an air of intense and futile concentration he shuts his eyes: the file, its neat lines of text, swimming in his mind's eye. Several seconds later his eyes blink open. ] Maybe. If it did, it didn't say much.
no subject
Date: 2022-06-16 03:52 am (UTC)We met for our match. She knew it was the end. She was sitting by a fire, burning photos. Then I went and had a look. [He'd been shaking in anger, and he feels a shiver of it now.] They were of her family. Her kids. The fight was all she had left. She didn't even tell me her name until it was almost over. She wanted someone to know she existed.
[He pauses, and then his voice grows insistent:]
Do you get it? Once you're in this life, it's all you're going to be left with.