and they won't let us outside anymore {for

[at_one_blow]

They smile when they say things like 'stable.' 'Healthy.' 'Improving.' He smiles back because he doesn't know what else he's meant to do with his face.

It's the only time he smiles these days.

It's a nice facility, really. The government hadn't skimped on making his prison a comfortable one. Some piece of his mind that hovers in 'stable' and 'healthy' and 'improving' appreciates that--or finds it ironic.

Most pieces of his mind are still quietly screaming, quietly scrambling to cling together over the cracks realization had left. Looking for six more pieces of himself that shouldn't be missing.

But they smile. They smile and tell him he can have visitors now. He smiles back absently and returns to his sketches as he sits in the common room, waiting for visitors who won't come.

Not allowed shears. Not even allowed needles.

The dresses he draws are beautiful and completely unsatisfying.

Comments

[spintosurvive]

"Because we're friends," she repeats firmly, hoping that it will stick in before she takes another chance, "Because-- because we're family, Aaron, okay?"

[at_one_blow]

It's a touchy word these days. Learning that--after years of having the Project as his family--he had literally no one at all, biologically, and hadn't since he was a young child had come particularly hard.

"...they said... I don't."

Have family. The Project wasn't a family. It was a squadron. And his parents were dead.

[spintosurvive]

"...They lied." And she hates them more than she thinks she's ever hated anyone before for it, "You've got the best sort of family, I think. Th'sort that you choose."

And, more importantly, that's chosen him.

[at_one_blow]

This is... nervous. He thinks he remembers this particular tickle as 'nervous.' It's skirting lots of lines, after all, smudging and blurring and he's not supposed to let things blur anymore.

"...I didn't... chose anything in..."

In his entire life.

[spintosurvive]

"Maybe not... directly, yeah?" Another careful squeeze of his knee. "But your-- your heart did some choosing, I think."

Likes to think, anyways.

[at_one_blow]

It's too much. It hits something overwhelming that wants to rush out but can't. He can't feel now. His mind won't let him. The drugs in his system won't let him.

So he shuts down instead. Curls in closer around his legs and drops his attention to the floor.

[spintosurvive]

It's too much. She knows that now, at least. Can brush carefully at his hair when his gaze drops and he goes silent again.

She can take a moment to maintain the quiet. Let the both of them try to settle with what they have to work with, now.

[at_one_blow]

Having his hair smoothed isn't horrible. It's something to focus on while he tries to breathe properly.

"...Erica."

Not a question. Not a request for attention. Just a quiet attempt to solidify that this feeling is the feeling that comes with... Erica.

His... friend.

[spintosurvive]

Her response is little more than a quiet hum as she continues to smooth at his hair in a calm, easy rhythm. She wants to do more-- wants to hold him, really, but that's not going to be something that will help things along at this point.

It's okay. She can be patient.

"...Aaron, I'd like-- to visit you more often. Is that okay?"

[at_one_blow]

"...visit me?"

He can't help sounding mildly incredulous. Someone whole, well, stable surely didn't actually want to come to a place like this, right?

He's still not properly 'well.' He still can't go outside. What's he worth, coming to such a cold place to visit him?

[spintosurvive]

"Yes. I want to visit you."

Maybe it's because she's not entirely whole, while he's still in here. Maybe it's because she's not well, with everything wrong with him. Maybe it's because she's not stable, with their entire world having gone topsy-turvy beneath them.

It's definitely because he's worth it.

"You're-- important to me, okay?"

[at_one_blow]

Important. It's important that he keeps calm. It's important that he gets better. It's important that he become a stable, productive member of society.

"...okay."

If this will help with the other important things, how can he say no?

[spintosurvive]

She can't help but smile at the agreement.

"Good. Thank you."

[at_one_blow]

"...why?"

Why would she thank him? What had he done except submit like he'd done to everything else?

[spintosurvive]

"...I'm always grateful to you, Aaron."

For so many things.

[at_one_blow]

It's strange, really, having so many people say they know him when he doesn't know himself. At least this time, he feels...

He doesn't know what the word is for being Known by Erica. He just knows it's different.

"...you'll really come back?"

[spintosurvive]

A firm nod.

"I will. Promise."

[at_one_blow]

"...I'll make you a dress."

A simple sort of promise on his own part, but one that will keep him focused. Keep him remembering her while she's not here.

[spintosurvive]

A soft smile, "I'd quite like that."

It'll mean he's doing something a little more like his old self, after all.

[at_one_blow]

It's not his old smile. It's a dull, drugged sort of smile.

It's still more than just blank. Hopefully that counts for something.

[spintosurvive]

It counts for enough, for now. It's something she can keep smiling back at, something she can carry with her when they finally have to part again.

It's a smile, and even if it's not quite his, it's a hopeful sign nonetheless.

[at_one_blow]

Next time will be a little better. Next time, he'll recognize her properly when she comes in--have a name for her face.

This time, he'll slip back into the silence, exhausted from the ordeal of being someone.