08-14-2013, 11:18 AM
"Sera!"
Of course he sounds jubilant, jarring and bright and off-key like waking up past noon when you thought you were waking up before dawn and find the light searing your eyes, then breaking over you so new and glorious and unabashed that you hate it a little, and maybe feel a little guilty for hating it, or maybe you just feel grateful that the sun keeps coming up no matter what fucking thing happens to you.
Sera doesn't say a goddamn thing, and on his end, Hawksley frowns, his brows tugging together and the corners of his mouth turning down and he takes his phone from his ear to look at it to make sure it wasn't a butt-dial, Call Ended, all that. He puts the phone back on his ear and listens very closely until he hears a breath in, a breath out, distant and shallow, and that frown deepens and that mouth of his flattens out.
Quieter then. The sun is just a molten line of gold on the horizon, then, or feels like it should be, when he quiets down. "Sera?"
--
Jim she tells: go. It is a plea, and it is also a demand.
Justin she tells: things but gives him no order, makes no request.
Hawskley she calls last, or at least third, and doesn't tell him a thing about what's going on, and she tells him: come.
And so he does.
--
There's a bit of back and forth while he's getting on his shoes and grabbing his keys and briefly taking the phone from his face because he's yelling COLLINS. WHERE'S MY WALLET? but mostly he's asking Sera where she is and ferreting the information out of her with surprising patience, considering the way he so robustly snaps and shouts at his-man-Collins.
It takes him fifteen minutes to get to her. Maybe a bit less, but time is fluid and all time is Now, so perhaps she hangs up the phone and there he is, that low dark raptor of a car landing not with a rustle of feathers but a purr of the engine. It cuts off. Hawksley gets out and
his stomach drops. Justin is there, and he is stitching something up on Sera. But say this for Hawksley, or for Hawksley's past, or just something in him: he doesn't freak out. He has that little frown on his face, a thoughtful-tight furrow to his brow. He shuts the door firmly. He walks from lot to bench with a stride that is neither hurried nor lax and then just. Well. Stands the hell back. Note this: out of the light, what light there is, until Justin has tied that quick and tidy knot. Then he walks over, and sits down on the bench to Sera's side, his keys dangling from one hand, his shoulder to her shoulder.
His face may as well be carved in stone, but not because he is hiding some otherwise overpowering emotion, and not because there is a lack of it. He has a stoicism and deliberation to him that Justin, at least, has never seen before, and may not be interested in seeing now.
Perhaps one of them tells him what the hell happened.
Perhaps they don't.
--
Hawksley gives Justin a nod, and it's greeting and goodbye and how-you-doin' and whatever else, but when he goes, his hand slips under Sera's, and his fingers lace with hers, and he walks back to the car. He hasn't said much, if anything. What would he say? Tell Pan and Lena I said 'sup. or I wonder if Shoshannah would explode if you tickled her. or Dude, field stitching? Who are you? Let's get dinner.
But he doesn't say any of that. He takes Sera's hand, he gets her in the car, which happens to be a 911, and -- because of her arm -- he reaches over and clips her safety belt into place. Normally he wouldn't. Not unless she were so drunk and high she can't make her hands work. Not unless she were, as she is now, covered in someone's blood and wounded and maaaybe a bit in shock. So tonight he does, and drives her home. Her home. It doesn't occur to him to take her anywhere else unless she changes her mind.
Dan and Dee are more than capable of dealing with some pretty fucked-up stuff. Dan is a consor. Dee is friends with derby dolls who would roll their eyes at Sera's wound and tell her about the time they saw their shin-bone poking through their skin and then brag about their scar. All the same, he gets out of the car with her and walks her to the door. He goes inside because he takes it for granted that he's welcome to hang out there whether he's with Sera or not (nevermind that someone like Hawksley takes it for granted that he's welcome to hang out just about anywhere). And he's useless when it comes to Taking Care Of People and some part of his mind assumes That's What Dan Is For, so he's likely not involved in any cleaning-off-of-blood or changing-of-clothes or any of that, but:
he goes upstairs with her unless he's told not to. There's a chair-shaped pile of clothes over there and he's pretty sure if he digs long enough he can excavate a chair-shaped chair, and he has a phone and that phone has games and the internet, and
Sera can tell him what the fuck when she's slept a bit.
Of course he sounds jubilant, jarring and bright and off-key like waking up past noon when you thought you were waking up before dawn and find the light searing your eyes, then breaking over you so new and glorious and unabashed that you hate it a little, and maybe feel a little guilty for hating it, or maybe you just feel grateful that the sun keeps coming up no matter what fucking thing happens to you.
Sera doesn't say a goddamn thing, and on his end, Hawksley frowns, his brows tugging together and the corners of his mouth turning down and he takes his phone from his ear to look at it to make sure it wasn't a butt-dial, Call Ended, all that. He puts the phone back on his ear and listens very closely until he hears a breath in, a breath out, distant and shallow, and that frown deepens and that mouth of his flattens out.
Quieter then. The sun is just a molten line of gold on the horizon, then, or feels like it should be, when he quiets down. "Sera?"
--
Jim she tells: go. It is a plea, and it is also a demand.
Justin she tells: things but gives him no order, makes no request.
Hawskley she calls last, or at least third, and doesn't tell him a thing about what's going on, and she tells him: come.
And so he does.
--
There's a bit of back and forth while he's getting on his shoes and grabbing his keys and briefly taking the phone from his face because he's yelling COLLINS. WHERE'S MY WALLET? but mostly he's asking Sera where she is and ferreting the information out of her with surprising patience, considering the way he so robustly snaps and shouts at his-man-Collins.
It takes him fifteen minutes to get to her. Maybe a bit less, but time is fluid and all time is Now, so perhaps she hangs up the phone and there he is, that low dark raptor of a car landing not with a rustle of feathers but a purr of the engine. It cuts off. Hawksley gets out and
his stomach drops. Justin is there, and he is stitching something up on Sera. But say this for Hawksley, or for Hawksley's past, or just something in him: he doesn't freak out. He has that little frown on his face, a thoughtful-tight furrow to his brow. He shuts the door firmly. He walks from lot to bench with a stride that is neither hurried nor lax and then just. Well. Stands the hell back. Note this: out of the light, what light there is, until Justin has tied that quick and tidy knot. Then he walks over, and sits down on the bench to Sera's side, his keys dangling from one hand, his shoulder to her shoulder.
His face may as well be carved in stone, but not because he is hiding some otherwise overpowering emotion, and not because there is a lack of it. He has a stoicism and deliberation to him that Justin, at least, has never seen before, and may not be interested in seeing now.
Perhaps one of them tells him what the hell happened.
Perhaps they don't.
--
Hawksley gives Justin a nod, and it's greeting and goodbye and how-you-doin' and whatever else, but when he goes, his hand slips under Sera's, and his fingers lace with hers, and he walks back to the car. He hasn't said much, if anything. What would he say? Tell Pan and Lena I said 'sup. or I wonder if Shoshannah would explode if you tickled her. or Dude, field stitching? Who are you? Let's get dinner.
But he doesn't say any of that. He takes Sera's hand, he gets her in the car, which happens to be a 911, and -- because of her arm -- he reaches over and clips her safety belt into place. Normally he wouldn't. Not unless she were so drunk and high she can't make her hands work. Not unless she were, as she is now, covered in someone's blood and wounded and maaaybe a bit in shock. So tonight he does, and drives her home. Her home. It doesn't occur to him to take her anywhere else unless she changes her mind.
Dan and Dee are more than capable of dealing with some pretty fucked-up stuff. Dan is a consor. Dee is friends with derby dolls who would roll their eyes at Sera's wound and tell her about the time they saw their shin-bone poking through their skin and then brag about their scar. All the same, he gets out of the car with her and walks her to the door. He goes inside because he takes it for granted that he's welcome to hang out there whether he's with Sera or not (nevermind that someone like Hawksley takes it for granted that he's welcome to hang out just about anywhere). And he's useless when it comes to Taking Care Of People and some part of his mind assumes That's What Dan Is For, so he's likely not involved in any cleaning-off-of-blood or changing-of-clothes or any of that, but:
he goes upstairs with her unless he's told not to. There's a chair-shaped pile of clothes over there and he's pretty sure if he digs long enough he can excavate a chair-shaped chair, and he has a phone and that phone has games and the internet, and
Sera can tell him what the fuck when she's slept a bit.
my whole life is thunder.