"It doesn't matter." He repeats it back to him, slowly and icily.
Trevor can take his sorry and choke on it. In the grand scheme of things, he would have killed her anyways if his plan plays through. It just happened earlier with someone else to blame for it.
But Varker's breathing hasn't let up, short and quick as it was, and the conversation isn't helping. A second or two ticks by, the pressure gage of his self control is hitting the top of the glass before he tries to get both hands on his cloak and slam him into into the wall with a scream.
He allows this, because Varker has to rage against something. The odds of him being able to kill Trevor are small to nonexistent, not when he's death tolling without a weapon, although if he's grappling him, he might have a knife stashed somewhere.
Either way, he positions himself to where when the hit comes, it's not so bad. He stares down at Varker, at the suffering man he killed not even a week ago.
"I meant," He says, slow, "That my apology doesn't matter."
Collins took his gun, and like he'd said to Rawne, who owes him a gun that he intends on using when he gets it later, a knife in his hands is just a danger to himself. All he is right now is a fucked up mutant with a scared monster above his eyes and his own two hands, shaking Trevor against the wall.
"It doesn't, and I hope you fucking choke on it." Varker is often emotionally compromised, its an unfortunate side affect, or perhaps an intentional one of his mutation. But even still he can still feel shame as the anger pulls tears from him.
Truly, both ways were true. Ellie was here and then she wasn't. Nothing he did to help her mattered at all. Every ounce of empathy he managed to scrape up, the brave faces he pulled for a child who'd lost hope, lost into the fucking ether.
"It means nothing, you're- god you're practically a fucking kid yourself. L-look at you..." he slams Trevor against the wall again but the strength he'd called up to punch him is failing. He's so tired.
Trevor watches Varker's face, even as he's being hit up against the wall. It doesn't hurt, not really. And if it did, who cares? Honestly. This wasn't an attack. This is...something else. Something he can recognize in himself.
Grief. Depression. Anger against something he can't get a hold of. Fuck, maybe Vincent was right about Trevor's most hated nickname. Despite that, he never, ever liked anyone suffering. Even enemies. Even people he actively was hurting, hunting, or killing.
He feels the hits weaken and without quite knowing why, he grasps Varker's elbows to pull him in.
"I know." He says, to the other man. He's not hugging him enough to hurt or suffocate. But he isn't letting him go, either. He's terrible at comforting words, but fuck if he's going to let him feel as alone as Trevor himself does.
There is some resistance, and Audrey shrieks in both their ears, the smell of Trevor too close for her comfort, but her upper lip trembles instead of biting. She doesnt even poke her tongue out, just retreating as best she can from this position Varker has put them in.
When he isn't gripping Trevor's cape and now sobbing into the man's shoulder, he'll have to make it up to her, but the closeness is something he craves, that human connection he gave up for his own comfort, because he was a coward.
"I- I don't want to die a liar." Its broken up, potentially hard to make out through the stuttering breath, crying and the lisp. But he'd promised her he'd find her a cure, not just for her but her world. "I just need more time." Time that he doesn't think he has, time that Trevor's goal will erase if he succeeds.
He holds the sobbing man tight to his shoulder, gazing ahead at the wall in front of him. In a way, Trevor feels envious. He hasn't been able to cry in well over a decade. Maybe that part of him's gone forever.
It goes against everything he wants to do. He hates the Admiral more and more in that moment as he feels his resolve start to weaken. He asks, soft;
Varker would give it to him if he could. He honestly hates how easy it is to swing him one way or another, or the fact that he can get so angry he blacks out. He'd been emotionally vulnerable with his close friends in life when it wasn't so hard, but now the flood gate is broken.
But the soft question has him sucking in a breath, shaking his head. "Longer than you'd give me." For Ellie, perhaps another year, for the people he's lost for his selfish cowardice? He can't say, and he wont say to Trevor, even as he's clinging to him in the hallway.
He might not be such an asshole that he has no empathy for a broken man, but that doesn't earn him stories of his sins.
Varker's weight leans into him, exhausted from the day and emotional labor. He's not a small man, but Trevor is still bigger.
He tries to regulate his breathing, wiping his face on his own shoulder rather than into Trevor's cloak like a child.
"Why do anything if that's what you're afraid of?" Like a lizard he isn't quite moving from the warm against the younger man's chest. "It won't though... I know because I want it too much."
He nods, his cheek resting against the top of Varker's head. Fuck if that's not the most dangerous position to be in, given Audrey, but if it's a trap, then he'll die knowing he died a good-hearted fool.
"You're right." He says, with some solemnity. "Your pain is...I think it's interesting to him. Noise, or psychic intrusion. I tell everyone who worries about disappearing, to cause commotion. Even if it's just to prove to him they're still fighting."
Trevor tried to grow quiet and forgettable but people here kept bringing him back.
It is dangerous, and Varker finally does move away from Trevor almost violently as Audrey's fear spikes from Trevor touching her and Varker feels it through their connection. The snap of her jaws barely misses Trevor's throat as he stumbles back onto his ass.
He sits there a long moment, stunned and stares up at Trevor.
The man is a fragile mess, pulling his knees up to his chest and rubbing his face into them.
"for fucks sake..."
The moment had been nice, genuine human connection over grief, and then Trevor ruined it. Probably not on purpose, but even Varker tries not to shove his death wish on other people who live in board.
"I can taste what she puts in her mouth." Which, okay, he had been okay with her trying to bite his face off in a fight to the death, but- "I have enough problems as it is, being touched, I'd prefer to not add 'one time I ripped a man's throat out while I had a fucking breakdown in his arms' to the list, asshole."
He is glaring with tears still in his eyes, pushing himself up off the floor and hushing Audrey as she growls at Trevor, "good for you." It wouldn't be the first time Audrey had, but that didn't mean it wouldn't upset him.
He sniffs, rubbing at his own eyes before stiffly hugging himself, "I told Norton I would actually use my brain to kill you next time, so don't call him. He won't like that I attacked you." At least he's honest.
His gaze falls to the floor. He wants to drink. He's been slower at it with the toll, but he wants to get plastered and Oscar won't like that. But at least he can be around him for a little bit.
"Are you trying to tell me I suck at punching? Because I've known that since the seventh grade." He was a nerd, though he had punched people before, but not as often in the past thirty years.
"I'm perfectly sane, thank you. Or at least I like to believe I am." He glances back into the empty room, at his comm on the ground. He hesitates to get it for having to walk back in the room.
"She was going to be brilliant, you know. Curious, creative...I would have sent her somewhere that would have valued that if I could."
"I'm trying to tell you that you're not going to kill me by punching." He replies back. "At least, not that way. If you want to get good at punching, I could give you a few tips but I doubt you'd want them from me."
A nod. Relaxing, letting the mournful quiet take over again.
And there came the worried, hurried steps of a priest coming in. By the smell of him, he had been working with cleaning supplies, particularly since he was wearing slacks and a silken shirt that was Hawaiian ish with its flower pattern.
He also had a baton in a loop over his hand.
"Trevor- what can I do to assist?" He was breathlessly polite as he slowed, looking around for the Problem.
Varker, having disappeared for the moment into the cabin, can't help the soft exhale as he hears the Scottish man's breathless question.
He stands, rubbing at a few scuff marks on his communicator, but still functional.
"You can join me in the memorial room," he sniffs as he slips out of the cabin, probably a little surprising that neither of them are too badly banged up.
Again with the fucking shirts. Trevor resists the urge to roll his eyes. Like a baton would stop anyone determined enough to hurt him. Like a baton could stop a bullet.
He nods towards Varker, moving to squeeze past Oscar in the hallway.
"Send me the picture when you bruise, it'll make me feel better," Varker calls after him, giving the other man the finger just so he's sure this changes nothing about attempting to stop him.
He isnt strong enough to ask him to change his mind, but what he is strong enough for is taking Oscar by the wrist instead and pulling him towards the lift.
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Re: Deck 6 - waiting
Trevor can take his sorry and choke on it. In the grand scheme of things, he would have killed her anyways if his plan plays through. It just happened earlier with someone else to blame for it.
But Varker's breathing hasn't let up, short and quick as it was, and the conversation isn't helping. A second or two ticks by, the pressure gage of his self control is hitting the top of the glass before he tries to get both hands on his cloak and slam him into into the wall with a scream.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
Either way, he positions himself to where when the hit comes, it's not so bad. He stares down at Varker, at the suffering man he killed not even a week ago.
"I meant," He says, slow, "That my apology doesn't matter."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"It doesn't, and I hope you fucking choke on it." Varker is often emotionally compromised, its an unfortunate side affect, or perhaps an intentional one of his mutation. But even still he can still feel shame as the anger pulls tears from him.
Truly, both ways were true. Ellie was here and then she wasn't. Nothing he did to help her mattered at all. Every ounce of empathy he managed to scrape up, the brave faces he pulled for a child who'd lost hope, lost into the fucking ether.
"It means nothing, you're- god you're practically a fucking kid yourself. L-look at you..." he slams Trevor against the wall again but the strength he'd called up to punch him is failing. He's so tired.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
Grief. Depression. Anger against something he can't get a hold of. Fuck, maybe Vincent was right about Trevor's most hated nickname. Despite that, he never, ever liked anyone suffering. Even enemies. Even people he actively was hurting, hunting, or killing.
He feels the hits weaken and without quite knowing why, he grasps Varker's elbows to pull him in.
"I know." He says, to the other man. He's not hugging him enough to hurt or suffocate. But he isn't letting him go, either. He's terrible at comforting words, but fuck if he's going to let him feel as alone as Trevor himself does.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
When he isn't gripping Trevor's cape and now sobbing into the man's shoulder, he'll have to make it up to her, but the closeness is something he craves, that human connection he gave up for his own comfort, because he was a coward.
"I- I don't want to die a liar." Its broken up, potentially hard to make out through the stuttering breath, crying and the lisp. But he'd promised her he'd find her a cure, not just for her but her world. "I just need more time." Time that he doesn't think he has, time that Trevor's goal will erase if he succeeds.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
It goes against everything he wants to do. He hates the Admiral more and more in that moment as he feels his resolve start to weaken. He asks, soft;
"How much time do you need?"
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
But the soft question has him sucking in a breath, shaking his head. "Longer than you'd give me." For Ellie, perhaps another year, for the people he's lost for his selfish cowardice? He can't say, and he wont say to Trevor, even as he's clinging to him in the hallway.
He might not be such an asshole that he has no empathy for a broken man, but that doesn't earn him stories of his sins.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"If you can't get it done in time," He hesitates, but then presses on;
"What guarantee would you have that you're not next on the Admiral's chopping block?"
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He tries to regulate his breathing, wiping his face on his own shoulder rather than into Trevor's cloak like a child.
"Why do anything if that's what you're afraid of?" Like a lizard he isn't quite moving from the warm against the younger man's chest. "It won't though... I know because I want it too much."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"You're right." He says, with some solemnity. "Your pain is...I think it's interesting to him. Noise, or psychic intrusion. I tell everyone who worries about disappearing, to cause commotion. Even if it's just to prove to him they're still fighting."
Trevor tried to grow quiet and forgettable but people here kept bringing him back.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He sits there a long moment, stunned and stares up at Trevor.
"W-what the fuck is wrong with you?"
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"I don't know what kind of answer you're looking for."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"for fucks sake..."
The moment had been nice, genuine human connection over grief, and then Trevor ruined it. Probably not on purpose, but even Varker tries not to shove his death wish on other people who live in board.
"I can taste what she puts in her mouth." Which, okay, he had been okay with her trying to bite his face off in a fight to the death, but- "I have enough problems as it is, being touched, I'd prefer to not add 'one time I ripped a man's throat out while I had a fucking breakdown in his arms' to the list, asshole."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"Sorry. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have been upset about it if you had."
He rubs at his eyes, and takes his communicator out.
"D'you want me to call Oscar, or Norton?"
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He sniffs, rubbing at his own eyes before stiffly hugging himself, "I told Norton I would actually use my brain to kill you next time, so don't call him. He won't like that I attacked you." At least he's honest.
His gaze falls to the floor. He wants to drink. He's been slower at it with the toll, but he wants to get plastered and Oscar won't like that. But at least he can be around him for a little bit.
"Call Oscar."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
“We’ll call this a…whatever you want to call it. Temporary lapse of sanity.”
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"I'm perfectly sane, thank you. Or at least I like to believe I am." He glances back into the empty room, at his comm on the ground. He hesitates to get it for having to walk back in the room.
"She was going to be brilliant, you know. Curious, creative...I would have sent her somewhere that would have valued that if I could."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
A nod. Relaxing, letting the mournful quiet take over again.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He also had a baton in a loop over his hand.
"Trevor- what can I do to assist?" He was breathlessly polite as he slowed, looking around for the Problem.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He stands, rubbing at a few scuff marks on his communicator, but still functional.
"You can join me in the memorial room," he sniffs as he slips out of the cabin, probably a little surprising that neither of them are too badly banged up.
"I'm holding another fucking funeral."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He nods towards Varker, moving to squeeze past Oscar in the hallway.
"Just that."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
"Right. Thank you Trevor, for calling. Varker-"
He came forward to clasp the blond on the shoulder. "Let's get going."
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
He isnt strong enough to ask him to change his mind, but what he is strong enough for is taking Oscar by the wrist instead and pulling him towards the lift.
Re: Deck 6 - waiting
But he will.