Los Angeles, Sunday Night
Feb. 28th, 2016 08:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spin_kick_snapBanzai flipped over the edge of the rooftop, landing in a graceful crouch with her rainbows fluttering around her. She stood easily, not a single bruise or sore spot remaining from her time in Cyseal. It was good to have a healing mage in her back pocket.
Her pleased smile vanished as she wondered how many times Regenerator's wife had thought the same thing.
Poor Regenerator. She wished she could do more for him; just covering his patrol hardly seemed like enough when he was faced with the loss of his wife. But Banzai was hesitant to call the number in her phone, unwilling to intrude on the private grief of a man whose real name she didn't even know. What was she supposed to say? She'd been lucky enough to never really lose anyone close to her; all she had was a few platitudes about being terribly sorry and that time healed all wounds.
Maybe she could bring him some tea later? She was perched on the rooftop of the small teahouse that Regenerator liked to frequent at the beginning of his patrols. He'd introduced her to it over Christmas break, explaining the proprietors were actually happy to serve the masked set, since it meant criminals tended to give the store a wide berth. They'd sat and talked over a few nice cups of Ceylon and Banzai'd told him all about her plans to become a doctor. He explained he was a medical resident for his day job. They laughed at the idea of one day working together in the wards and the streets. She should have given him her real name then, when he'd joked about commandeering her as an intern when it was time.
Maybe if she had, she'd feel less lost now. What was she supposed to do? Well, other than take his patrol and hope that somehow, he'd know that it was taken care of?
[NFB, NFI. Some text taken from Chapter 24, "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You", from Peter Clines' Ex-Heroes. OOC welcome, warning for oblique suicide mention.]
Her pleased smile vanished as she wondered how many times Regenerator's wife had thought the same thing.
Poor Regenerator. She wished she could do more for him; just covering his patrol hardly seemed like enough when he was faced with the loss of his wife. But Banzai was hesitant to call the number in her phone, unwilling to intrude on the private grief of a man whose real name she didn't even know. What was she supposed to say? She'd been lucky enough to never really lose anyone close to her; all she had was a few platitudes about being terribly sorry and that time healed all wounds.
Maybe she could bring him some tea later? She was perched on the rooftop of the small teahouse that Regenerator liked to frequent at the beginning of his patrols. He'd introduced her to it over Christmas break, explaining the proprietors were actually happy to serve the masked set, since it meant criminals tended to give the store a wide berth. They'd sat and talked over a few nice cups of Ceylon and Banzai'd told him all about her plans to become a doctor. He explained he was a medical resident for his day job. They laughed at the idea of one day working together in the wards and the streets. She should have given him her real name then, when he'd joked about commandeering her as an intern when it was time.
Maybe if she had, she'd feel less lost now. What was she supposed to do? Well, other than take his patrol and hope that somehow, he'd know that it was taken care of?
[NFB, NFI. Some text taken from Chapter 24, "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You", from Peter Clines' Ex-Heroes. OOC welcome, warning for oblique suicide mention.]
(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 11:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 11:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 11:59 am (UTC)Then, in a rush, she added, "Josh, please, don't do anything stupid, okay? I know you're hurting and you're reeling and everything is just so overwhelming right now, but--"
(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 12:02 pm (UTC)The silent I've already tried hung between them.
"I'll text you the details sometime tomorrow," he said, turning to go.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 12:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2016-02-29 12:12 pm (UTC)***
He turned and left her on the rooftop, making his way to his car where he'd left his civvies, turning once more from immortal superhero Regenerator into the broken and beaten Josh Garcetti. And he drove home in silence, letting himself in his back door, Lewis twining around his ankles and meowing pitifully. "I know," he whispered to his cat. "I miss her, too."
Rather than going directly upstairs the way he would have done had Meredith still been alive, he went into the living room, snagging a bottle of bourbon on the way. He passed the side table that already held the urn that he'd purchased; it was knocked on its side and he didn't bother to right it as he went. Clarke was curled up on the newest piece of furniture to be installed there and the blackout curtains remained drawn.
For an hour, he drank steadily, keeping up a one-sided conversation. At one point, he even pulled up Banzai's number in his phone, starting to type out a message: I'm about to do something stupid. But in the end, he deleted it and tossed his phone across the room. Lewis chased it. Clarke remained on his perch.
Clarke was always the more affectionate of the two anyway. He'd been happy to stay curled up on Meredith for hours, back when she'd been alive.
"It isn't fair," Josh whispered into the darkness. "It's not right, so anything I do can't be wrong. It's just not fair."