Oh, trust me, they do. You can hear Ivan snoring all the way down the hall.
[ the comment doesn't have quite the usual cheerful irreverence, more quietly muttered than anything else, but it's an attempt at chipping away at the tension. miles gives her a tired smile with a faint tilt of his mouth and shrugs with one shoulder in agreement. ]
No, it isn't. But I'm glad I did. And I thought you deserved to hear it from -- [ me? rein it in, boy. ] A friend.
Perhaps we should petition the captains for more of that ice cream.
[ She hesitates. Wants to offer her help somehow. Wants to... Not necessarily even the score, but ease a little of the burdens she worries that she's adding to. She'd like to apologize for always losing herself a little when he's around, but she's not sure how that would go over. She steeles herself and leans forward, pressing a kiss, light and quick against his cheek.]
I-- I haven't had a lot of friends. I didn't expect to finds the ones I have here, but-- [ She's fumbling a little with words. Affection came so easily to Sam and Jonah, she wondered how they did it. It feels a confusing jumble in the still raw grief of Sans' death. ] I'm glad I have you.
[ miles hums vague agreement that suggestion -- in retrospect he is hardly pleased with ivan for slipping him that ice cream without telling him what it was, and being in such a relative state of relaxation was almost jarring, compared to what an unmitigated mess he's been lately. but it had been nice. being with lara had been nice too.
he goes a little pink at that kiss to his cheek, a small and slightly idiotic smile touching his face before it mutes itself. ]
I'm glad I have you, too. [ he reaches to take her hand and give it another little squeeze. ] I didn't expect to find half the friends I have here, either, but I don't regret a single one.
And, ah, on the note of conversations I wanted to have today... [ he clears his throat, and a relative of that pleased smile resurfaces, although it's oddly diffident, unusual compared to miles' usual unabashed energy. ] I very much enjoyed last night.
[ he'd like to say and i'd very much like to do it again, and he nearly does, but he cuts himself off there. he's not going to barrel into that topic when lara's still reeling from the blow of grief. he just...wanted her to know, rather than letting last night go unacknowledged entirely. ]
[ It's almost a physical relief to see him smile again, a real proper pleased smile, even when it returns almost shy. A strange look for him. Lara shifts their hands so she can entwine their fingers, squeezing his back gently, while wondering if this it's all right to do.
I enjoyed it too.
[ It's all she can think to say, but it's sincerely meant.
Going for the jugular with that one, you're a piece of work all right, chuckles a relentlessly familiar voice, How long you gonna string this one along, kiddo?
She glances to Miles' desk where... It's not Sans. Sans never looked at her like that. Casually cold and cruel. Nice alliteration. Never the less, there he is, blood stained and cracked, leaning casually across the top of Miles' desk. Her mouth thins and she stiffens, all the tension slamming back into her. The Not-Sans' smile widens You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easy, did you? ]
[ miles brightens at that, obviously thrilled with the one thing going right in all this murky mess. he tightens his grip on her hand, absently rubbing his thumb along the heel of her hand.
but then she goes stiff, that tense look on her face returning in full force. miles looks alarmed, concerned, but he doesn't let go of her hand. ]
[ miles follows her gaze to his desk, brow knitting just slightly. his chest goes a little cold with recognition. ah. ]
Unless you're talking about my empty desk, then no, I don't. [ there's no trace of skepticism in it, just acknowledgment. his face sobers. ] What do you see?
[ She doesn't want to say, because it's entierly mad-- Just like you, huh, kiddo.
Damn it. ]
It's Sans. [ She looks at Miles, her voice even. ] I know he's dead. I know what I'm seeing isn't real, they just-- They normally go away after a moment.
[ miles gazes at the desk a little longer with a look of consideration. he rubs briefly at his jaw, although his other hand hasn't let go of lara's. ]
Huh. [ it's a thoughtful noise. miles tilts his head to the side slightly. ] Yeah, they do that sometimes. It's a real bitch when they stick around outside of a nightmare.
[ Lara attention snaps back to Miles, even as the bloodstained Sans' at his desk snorts derisively. The only way this guy could get laid is if he crawled up a chicken's ass and waited.
Lara ignores him. ]
Do you have them? [ She's more grateful than she can say that he doesn't let go of her hand, doesn't tell her she's crazy or ask her to leave. ]
Sometimes. [ his voice is just as level, bordering on conversational if it weren't for the thin strain in his voice, born out of wounds still healing rather than reluctance. dagoola wasn't all that long ago. barely a year, now. he attempts a shrug, but it aborts halfway through. ] Losing people under your command is always difficult, but sometimes -- sometimes they just...stand out.
[ he's been through hell and back more than once, but never anything like dagoola. nothing like dagoola. the sight of sergeant beatrice as she slipped away, brilliant red hair fading into the distance -- murka, lieutenant murka who'd been personally promoted by miles himself, whose head is the only thing miles sees anymore. whoever said dead bodies don't talk obviously never saw any combat. he's not quite aware that he's talking too much, saying too much, or at least saying the wrong things. lieutenants don't see command. lieutenants don't oversee extractions or evacs. but miles did, and his mind -- his soul will never let him forget it. ]
It wasn't even that bad of an op, if you just looked at the numbers. Ten thousand POWs in that camp, and we got nearly all of them out. [ he's not quite looking at lara, his gaze slightly distant. ] Usually it's just nightmares -- bad ones -- but, well. Sometimes not so much.
[ He's gone somewhere else, she can tell just from the barest shift in his expression. Is that what she looked like? It's a little unnerving. Somewhere just beyond her attention, the Sans-who-isn't laughs, loud and derisive.
But that's all right. Miles can't hear him. Whatever he's seeing now, it's just the two of them in this room. She just wishes, rather desperately, that she knew what to say. She squeezes his hand. ]
Do you-- Do you ever lose track of what's real? [ And is that even a question she should have asked? She wishes she knew how to be like him, how to tug him back from whatever edge he's listing towards. ]
[ miles isn't so far gone that a squeeze of his hand doesn't bring him back to the moment, and he blinks out of the memory up at lara. he opens his mouth to answer but he hovers in silence a moment instead, closing his mouth to frown slightly in thought. ]
Sometimes, in a sense. Maybe -- maybe not so much what's real and not real so much as what's real in context. What's real right now.
[ he's rambling again without even realizing it -- he often doesn't -- but this time he looks more in danger of getting lost in thought than in memory. this is about the point in the conversation where he ought to be shutting his mouth and changing the subject, but he's been increasingly lost on this topic in particular. and today has just been so damn exhausting -- he doesn't quite have the energy to remember to check himself where he should. ]
It can get hard to remember, under the right -- wrong circumstances. It's a parallel process, keeping track, and when the tracks run too close together... [ he waves a hand vaguely and tilts his head up at lara, tapping a finger lightly to his temple. ] It's all about context, y'see. Context keeps you grounded. It's easy to lose track when you lose your context.
[ He's lost her entierly, though she does try to follow along. He's looking at her at least, that's... Probably a start. She is entierly out of her depth here, but she forges ahead anyway. ]
I don't understand... What do you mean by context?
Context is everything. It determines how you act and when, the words you use, who you are -- you can't just exist in a vacuum. It's impossible. And it's so easy to lose track of who you're supposed to be when you're neither here nor there...
[ miles lets himself trail off as he realizes where he's going with this, and he coughs, embarrassed. dammit, he's supposed to be helping her here. he lets out a self-conscious laugh. ]
Sorry, I've lost you. I don't usually wear my crazy on my sleeve like that. [ he gives her a rueful smile with a touch of well-worn self-deprecation. ] Don't worry about it.
[ he glances back at his desk where he assumes not-sans still is, seeing nothing, but not without understanding. he clasps lara's hand a little tighter. ]
Anyway -- you can stay here as long as you like. If you like. I mean -- I'm not going to make you stay, but if you need... [ anything? ] If you need to, you can hang out in here. I don't mind.
[ She smiles, a ghost of the ones she gave him last night, but still there. ]
You're my friend. I'm afraid worrying about you comes with the territory. [ She's said it already, but it bears repeating, because being a friend to her means.. So many things. More than she knows how to put into words. Not-Sans voice pushes at her mind, but the words don't break through. Lara lifts their joined hands and presses a soft, dry kiss to the back of Miles'. A confirmation and a promise of all the things she can't put into words (Like he wants that from some crazy chick). ]
[ ah, that smile -- he'd like to bring it out of her in full again, watch her face bloom with warmth like it had last night. it teases a faint echo of his own smile, his chest swelling a little at the chaste press of her lips to the back of his hand. oh, he's well-versed in hearing the unspoken. ]
Likewise. I've resigned myself to it.
[ he gives her a wry little smile, a quirk of the lips. he returns the gesture, lifting her hand to his lips to press a light kiss to the backs of her knuckles. but he wasn't expecting that entreaty from her, that honest desire to know -- most people don't. largely because when miles is crazy in other people's direction, they tend to steer away, which is fair. there's a moment of muted surprise on his face before he blinks it away with a little twinge in his chest, because he knows he's said too much now. dammit. but that someone else to know...
he wonders if lara would like admiral naismith. ]
I don't know how much I can really say about it, but -- I'll try. [ there's no lie in those words. he'll tell her everything he can without giving himself away any more than he already has. he smiles just faintly. ] Thank you, Lara.
[ She nods, understanding. If she notices his surprise, she doesn't say anything. Given the amount of times Miles has unwittingly plunged feet first into the tangled mess of Lara's own mad grief and trauma, she wants to do something to ease a little of the weight of his own. ]
You're welcome.
[ From Miles' desk comes Not-Sans' derisive snort. Neurotics build castles in the sky, psychotics live in them, psychiatrists collect the rent. Lara resists the urge to pull a face at him, but the desk still gets a slight frown. ]
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[ the comment doesn't have quite the usual cheerful irreverence, more quietly muttered than anything else, but it's an attempt at chipping away at the tension. miles gives her a tired smile with a faint tilt of his mouth and shrugs with one shoulder in agreement. ]
No, it isn't. But I'm glad I did. And I thought you deserved to hear it from -- [ me? rein it in, boy. ] A friend.
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Perhaps we should petition the captains for more of that ice cream.
[ She hesitates. Wants to offer her help somehow. Wants to... Not necessarily even the score, but ease a little of the burdens she worries that she's adding to. She'd like to apologize for always losing herself a little when he's around, but she's not sure how that would go over. She steeles herself and leans forward, pressing a kiss, light and quick against his cheek.]
I-- I haven't had a lot of friends. I didn't expect to finds the ones I have here, but-- [ She's fumbling a little with words. Affection came so easily to Sam and Jonah, she wondered how they did it. It feels a confusing jumble in the still raw grief of Sans' death. ] I'm glad I have you.
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he goes a little pink at that kiss to his cheek, a small and slightly idiotic smile touching his face before it mutes itself. ]
I'm glad I have you, too. [ he reaches to take her hand and give it another little squeeze. ] I didn't expect to find half the friends I have here, either, but I don't regret a single one.
And, ah, on the note of conversations I wanted to have today... [ he clears his throat, and a relative of that pleased smile resurfaces, although it's oddly diffident, unusual compared to miles' usual unabashed energy. ] I very much enjoyed last night.
[ he'd like to say and i'd very much like to do it again, and he nearly does, but he cuts himself off there. he's not going to barrel into that topic when lara's still reeling from the blow of grief. he just...wanted her to know, rather than letting last night go unacknowledged entirely. ]
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I enjoyed it too.
[ It's all she can think to say, but it's sincerely meant.
Going for the jugular with that one, you're a piece of work all right, chuckles a relentlessly familiar voice, How long you gonna string this one along, kiddo?
She glances to Miles' desk where... It's not Sans. Sans never looked at her like that. Casually cold and cruel. Nice alliteration. Never the less, there he is, blood stained and cracked, leaning casually across the top of Miles' desk. Her mouth thins and she stiffens, all the tension slamming back into her. The Not-Sans' smile widens You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easy, did you? ]
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but then she goes stiff, that tense look on her face returning in full force. miles looks alarmed, concerned, but he doesn't let go of her hand. ]
Lara?
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Lara let's out a slow, careful breath and doesn't move, doesn't let go of Miles' hand. ]
It's all right. [ She nods to his desk. ] You don't see that, do you.
[ Sans-- Not-Sans twiddles it's fingers at Miles in a wave. ]
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Unless you're talking about my empty desk, then no, I don't. [ there's no trace of skepticism in it, just acknowledgment. his face sobers. ] What do you see?
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Damn it. ]
It's Sans. [ She looks at Miles, her voice even. ] I know he's dead. I know what I'm seeing isn't real, they just-- They normally go away after a moment.
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Huh. [ it's a thoughtful noise. miles tilts his head to the side slightly. ] Yeah, they do that sometimes. It's a real bitch when they stick around outside of a nightmare.
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Lara ignores him. ]
Do you have them? [ She's more grateful than she can say that he doesn't let go of her hand, doesn't tell her she's crazy or ask her to leave. ]
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[ he's been through hell and back more than once, but never anything like dagoola. nothing like dagoola. the sight of sergeant beatrice as she slipped away, brilliant red hair fading into the distance -- murka, lieutenant murka who'd been personally promoted by miles himself, whose head is the only thing miles sees anymore. whoever said dead bodies don't talk obviously never saw any combat. he's not quite aware that he's talking too much, saying too much, or at least saying the wrong things. lieutenants don't see command. lieutenants don't oversee extractions or evacs. but miles did, and his mind -- his soul will never let him forget it. ]
It wasn't even that bad of an op, if you just looked at the numbers. Ten thousand POWs in that camp, and we got nearly all of them out. [ he's not quite looking at lara, his gaze slightly distant. ] Usually it's just nightmares -- bad ones -- but, well. Sometimes not so much.
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But that's all right. Miles can't hear him. Whatever he's seeing now, it's just the two of them in this room. She just wishes, rather desperately, that she knew what to say. She squeezes his hand. ]
Do you-- Do you ever lose track of what's real? [ And is that even a question she should have asked? She wishes she knew how to be like him, how to tug him back from whatever edge he's listing towards. ]
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Sometimes, in a sense. Maybe -- maybe not so much what's real and not real so much as what's real in context. What's real right now.
[ he's rambling again without even realizing it -- he often doesn't -- but this time he looks more in danger of getting lost in thought than in memory. this is about the point in the conversation where he ought to be shutting his mouth and changing the subject, but he's been increasingly lost on this topic in particular. and today has just been so damn exhausting -- he doesn't quite have the energy to remember to check himself where he should. ]
It can get hard to remember, under the right -- wrong circumstances. It's a parallel process, keeping track, and when the tracks run too close together... [ he waves a hand vaguely and tilts his head up at lara, tapping a finger lightly to his temple. ] It's all about context, y'see. Context keeps you grounded. It's easy to lose track when you lose your context.
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I don't understand... What do you mean by context?
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[ miles lets himself trail off as he realizes where he's going with this, and he coughs, embarrassed. dammit, he's supposed to be helping her here. he lets out a self-conscious laugh. ]
Sorry, I've lost you. I don't usually wear my crazy on my sleeve like that. [ he gives her a rueful smile with a touch of well-worn self-deprecation. ] Don't worry about it.
[ he glances back at his desk where he assumes not-sans still is, seeing nothing, but not without understanding. he clasps lara's hand a little tighter. ]
Anyway -- you can stay here as long as you like. If you like. I mean -- I'm not going to make you stay, but if you need... [ anything? ] If you need to, you can hang out in here. I don't mind.
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You're my friend. I'm afraid worrying about you comes with the territory. [ She's said it already, but it bears repeating, because being a friend to her means.. So many things. More than she knows how to put into words. Not-Sans voice pushes at her mind, but the words don't break through. Lara lifts their joined hands and presses a soft, dry kiss to the back of Miles'. A confirmation and a promise of all the things she can't put into words (Like he wants that from some crazy chick). ]
Tell me later? Please. I want to understand.
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Likewise. I've resigned myself to it.
[ he gives her a wry little smile, a quirk of the lips. he returns the gesture, lifting her hand to his lips to press a light kiss to the backs of her knuckles. but he wasn't expecting that entreaty from her, that honest desire to know -- most people don't. largely because when miles is crazy in other people's direction, they tend to steer away, which is fair. there's a moment of muted surprise on his face before he blinks it away with a little twinge in his chest, because he knows he's said too much now. dammit. but that someone else to know...
he wonders if lara would like admiral naismith. ]
I don't know how much I can really say about it, but -- I'll try. [ there's no lie in those words. he'll tell her everything he can without giving himself away any more than he already has. he smiles just faintly. ] Thank you, Lara.
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You're welcome.
[ From Miles' desk comes Not-Sans' derisive snort. Neurotics build castles in the sky, psychotics live in them, psychiatrists collect the rent. Lara resists the urge to pull a face at him, but the desk still gets a slight frown. ]