Life is Short and Pain is Long

Damien is angry. So, so angry.

His old temper is flaring and he wants to punch something. Not Mouse, he would never, but he wishes suddenly he were in a boxing ring just to have something to hit.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me, Mouse. I know my business, you know yours. Liv isn’t any of your business. You think this will swallow her? You might as well be the one pushing her headfirst into the pit.”

Another low blow, probably. But he thinks it’s justified.

“You let yourself be alone. You tell yourself you don’t give a shit. You don’t have ground to stand on to tell us what we should give a shit about.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done, Damien ...”

Her jaw sets. And she lets out a sigh after a moment, shoulders dropping as she glances across the mill house. He was right, really.

She knew full well what she was doing. That she was taking advantage of Liv’s ability, and Tomas’s, with little regard to their actual well being. But if they didn’t keep up -- if they didn’t stay ahead of things -- they’d all burn anyway, in the end.

She’d seen it happen.

Carlos isn’t sure how Peter can promise it’s okay, when Carlos isn’t sure that anything will be okay ever again. But at the same time… being held, by Peter, finally asking for that hug, it makes things feel marginally more okay. Like maybe it will be okay, at least, even if it isn’t then.

So while he’s being… held like that, Carlos tries to regain something of his humanity again.

Something shifts. Something feels more manageable, controllable.

Something shifts.

It’s like taking a deep breath.

He can feel it, actually. It’s like the room gets a bit more oxygen, all at once. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s better. He’s easier to grip. So he stays, adjusting as he needs to, to keep Carlos pulled in.

“There he is ...”

He smiles, briefly, giving Carlos a tight squeeze as he waits.

Maybe it’s not complete, but it’s better. And that’s all he could ask for, really. As much movement as possible. It gives him enough hope, at least, to keep holding on.

Carlos nods, an awkward gesture when he’s barely human at all. It’s a human gesture for an inhuman body. It’s…

Maybe there is something human in there, then.

This grief is human. He needs to feel it.

Is that it? Is that the solution?

Carlos comes a little closer, creeping through the half-shadows until he’s properly in front of Peter. And he reaches out again, both arms this time, asking for Peter to come to him.

There’s a brief hesitation. Only because it’s new. Because it feels like the first time Carlos had even come out of the corner since he’d gotten there.

And he waits, just for a half second, to make sure that he’s interpreting the movement as he should. Inhuman or not though, the gesture seems fairly universal.

So he’s decisive, after that. Setting his bourbon aside on the steps so he can stand. It’s awkward, for a second. Only because it’s new. But it hardly matters, he steps in closer anyway, and does his best to pull him into a hug. Or at least give him something to lean in to.

“I–wasn’t–there–”

Every word is a struggle. His vocal cords aren’t meant for this, no, but nor is he feeling all that great about saying it. At first, it feels like he’s just repeating Peter (you weren’t even there), but he wants Peter to know that that was the problem. That’s exactly why it’s his fault.

He wants to fucking cry. He doesn’t have the tear ducts for it.

“I–should have–”

–been there.

Do you understand? he wants to ask Peter.

He just doesn’t know how to grieve Liv when he had still been grieving himself. And Liv had been one of the only things pulling him through.

He sighs. Heavily. Let’s the silence sit for a minute, because yeah. He does understand. It’s harder though, somehow, to address it when he can’t just ask Carlos to tell him about it.

“You can’t stay with someone all the time, Carlos, it’s just not possible. Besides, Marcus says the house was practically a fortress, there’s no way anyone could’ve ever known -- there’s nothing anyone could have even done ...”

He pauses, letting out a brief huff as he shifts uncomfortably on the step.

“Look, you lost ... a lot this year. And I know it’s hard to manage when things change so much, but --”

He stops again, chewing on the words for a moment before he continues.

Well, now Damien is angry.

“You listen to me,” he snaps at Mouse, suddenly more angry than before. More willing to fight than before. He balls his hands into fists, though he’d never strike anyone who wouldn’t be a fair fight. Mouse deserves better than that, but the threat display in his body language is definitely evident: his hands scrunched, his eyes narrowed, the turn of his mouth. “She can’t make her own choices about this. These aren’t the kind of circumstances she can properly consent to anything under, let alone hurting herself. You’d be coercing her. For God’s sake, Mouse, she’s even still on pain medication!”

Count backwards, Damien, he tells himself. Do something to calm yourself before you say something you regret.

“And don’t you dare hold my relationship with Jasper over me. I’m the closest thing to a father Liv’s ever had. Just because you keep yourself miserable and alone and with nothing but the fight doesn’t mean we all have to.”

“Damien --”

It should upset her more.

It does upset her. Enough that it causes her to waiver, for a moment. But not enough for her to back away. Not entirely. Not as much as she knows she probably should. It’s obvious enough now that it’s a losing battle. But she’s heated. Enough that she can’t quite keep it all contained.

“ -- Why do you think I’m alone? Do you think it’s because I enjoy it? You don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way you --”

She cuts herself off after a moment, jaw clenching as she huffs a breath out.

“We both know it’s easier to make choices when you aren’t as attached. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve crossed a line, but -- this will swallow her some day. Just like it will the rest of it. Maybe you won’t be around to see it, but it will.” She pauses, lips pressing into a thin line as she shifts, trying to hold her ground.

Carlos doesn’t know how to respond to that at first. If he can respond to that, either.

But his hand—not quite human, but a hand nonetheless—is in Peter’s, and he’s listening.

He understands the nightmares. The thought of her dying in his arms. But even that would have been better than the truth.

So when Peter asks what he does, Carlos decides to try to admit it. Admit why he’s really hiding.

“My—fault—”

After all, he’d left her for such a short time. He could have been there.

He could have saved her.

“Carlos --”

It catches him off guard. More than it should, really. It’s not like  guilt was an uncommon response to grief. But he still doesn’t expect it, for some reason.

But it’s enough to give him something to focus on, at least for a minute. Some kind of thread to pull. And that’s enough to let him take a breath. Blink the tears out of his eyes.

Because that, for once, was something he could help with.

“You weren’t even there. It wasn’t -- you didn’t have anything to do with it ...”

Not that it matters. He hadn’t be there with the boy in Kosovo either, but the guilt had been so heavy it had practically made him sick. Sometimes it was with Liv, too.

“Look, I -- one of the things they taught us when we got back -- Guilt is a common response to grief. It’s easier to process, so sometimes people lean into it. It’s --” God, maybe he was over-explaining.

Carlos would frown, if he had real lips.

He understands. He hears, at least, and he tries to understand. That they need to keep moving. That they need to try.

It feels a bit pointless without Liv.

But again–that gives Peter too little credit. Peter, who is crying on the step and trying not to, and trying to work through his own grief and pain.

And still, he’s there for Carlos.

Way to be a fucking selfish dickbag, Carlos thinks at himself in the most human thought that he’s had in some time.

He crawls a little closer, out of the shadows, and reaches out a hand to Peter.

It takes a moment for him to pull his head up. Because he can’t shake the tears, and wiping them away seems to obvious. And there’s all but a momentary crisis, while he struggles over whether he should continue to try and hide them, or give up on the thought entirely.

But Carlos is reaches out. And that feels like a win. Some kind of a win. And it feels logical -- to just let himself be human, in front of him. So he sighs, mustering up a smile as he reaches to take Carlos’s hand. Settles with it in his grip for a minute.

God, is he tired.

“Look, I get it. I keep having these nightmares where she’s right in my hands, and I can’t --” He stops, heaving a sigh before he shrugs the rest of the statement off. “And then I wake up in the morning, and I want to dip into the bourbon before the day even starts, because it doesn’t feel like there’s anything I can fix anymore.”

He pauses.

The scent patterns were muddled on the doorstep and it drew his ire more than it should. Too many personal scents coming and going, he’d be able to sort it all out better in wolf form, but then he wouldn’t be able to ask questions. And questions definitely got him farther than tracking by scent. Especially when it came to a pup who was avoiding being found. Alex cast a look to the side of the house as he waited for an answer, for all intents and purposes it looked like a simple acreage. Interesting.

He was already reaching up to remove his black cowboy hat from his head when the door finally opened. The sound of steps towards the door had caught and pulled his attention away from his surveillance. His hand halted midway at his chest at the smell of another wolf – dominant. The old wolf had to shove his instincts down deep and put on one of his halfway decent, charming, good ol’ cowboy smiles.

“’m certainly hoping you might,” he drawled, Southwestern accent lighter than when he’d been a young one but still ever present. He was stubborn; all old creatures were. “I’m mighty sorry to bother you. I’m lookin’ for a young girl who mighta come your way. About yea high, mousy brown hair and matchin’ eyes?” Alex held the hand holding his hat out to measure exactly 5′ 6″ without breaking eye contact, “Has a habit of throwing stuff with her mind when she’s upset.”

“Mm ...” Eyebrows lift. And his arms cross in about as casual a fashion as he can manage, as he leans into the door frame. He was big. He knew that. He’d spent years working to keep his own stature from being too intimidating, but sometimes it was best to just ... let it be what it was. Now, suddenly, felt like one of those times. He smiles, regardless of his own questions, and hesitates as he thinks over the question.

“You’re a little far from Oklahoma, aren’t you?”

He laughs. Just lightly. It’s more of an attitude than he’d normally greet a stranger with, but most strangers didn’t come looking for people he was currently housing. Certainly not unannounced. And definitely not when that person was practically still a child. Still, he shrugs. Long enough for it to seem like he’s truly giving it some consideration before he takes a breath.

“Look, this is a halfway house. We contract with the state. If you’re looking for someone, I’m gonna need a warrant.” Which was true enough. They did have some placements from the state. And asking for a warrant seemed reasonable enough, legally speaking.

Carlos is listening. Halfway, anyway. Because he’s only half human at any given moment, these days.

It was like Liv had been his anchor to humanity. And now she’s gone.

It’s ridiculous to think about, but it feels true. That Liv had been keeping Carlos sane on some level, keeping him human, keeping him in control.

And now Liv’s gone.

But that’s doing too little credit to Peter, who is trying his damn best to keep his head above water. For everyone, including Carlos.

Fuck.

So when Peter asks him to come talk to him, he does come closer. He feels monstrous because he is a monster, so he stays mostly in the shadow. But he looks at Peter with bright eyes, eyes that can see Peter clearly even in the half-darkness.

“I’m–here–”

“Thanks ....”

For a moment, it’s all he can manage.

He gives Carlos a tight lipped smile. But a genuine one. It’s effort, that’s something. But it’s hard. It gets harder the longer he looks at him. It’s not like it was normally a problem. Sure, the kid was hard to look at, but he’d gotten used to it. And even if he was half a monster, he was still Carlos, so ... the image didn’t matter, really.

But Christ, today it was hard.

“Uh --”

He pauses. And it feels like something cracks in his chest. Like something had been waiting to give out, and he can’t quite keep it back. He does it best to hide it though, dropping his gaze to his feet. Rubbing his temples to cover the tears in his eyes. Because fuck this whole thing, honestly.

He was only getting older. And it’s hard not to think about -- what would happen if he died, or his health declined, and Carlos was still half a person, in the basement, because he couldn’t pull him out.

It feels like a looming failure to Liv and Carlos both.

“Look, I know it’s hard -- I know it’s really hard, and that it’s gonna take time, but we need to -- ... we need to figure out how to move towards something normal, yeah? Just a couple steps at a time, maybe?”

He pauses, letting out a rough breath. Because he still can’t stop the fucking tears, no matter how hard he pretends they aren’t there.

             “They keep saying my blood pressure is out of control, so ....” He trails off, for a moment, scratching idly at his eyebrow in silence. It feels ... strange, to try to have a conversation this way. Sitting on his basement steps, with a glass of bourbon, leaned into the wall so he can pretend it’s casual somehow, when it’s not. “They limited me to two glasses of alcohol a day. No coffee, everything’s gotta be decaf, which is -- ...”

He shrugs. Sighs. Nearly laughs, because it feels ridiculous, all things considered. He’d never really been all that heavy a drinker, not since he’d gotten his PTSD under control. But he wanted it more, now. It was like an itch. But that’s not the kind of thing you say to people. Not in this situation. So he takes a breath. Lets silence linger.

Honestly, he’s not even sure Carlos is listening, anymore. But he can’t just let him sit in the basement for days on end, being ... half a person. And this is the closest to normal he can get, he’s pretty sure. “Harper wanted to come say hi. Verity’s doing a good job of keeping her from asking too many questions, though, at least. Which ... helps.”

He trails off.

“I don’t know,” Carlos admits, which he hates admitting. He finishes the drink, set the glass down, then covers his face with both hands and sits back in his seat. He doesn’t want to face the world right then, so he doesn’t. It feels fucking childish, but who the fuck cares? For all he knows, he’s never been a child.

What does that mean for him?

“Thanks,” he says after a moment. Because Peter’s words are helpful. A little comforting. To know that Peter thinks he matters, even if Carlos isn’t one hundred per cent convinced that Peter’s right. He does believe that Peter means it, though. So it’s still… nice.

“I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t even know what my options are. I feel fucking awful. I’ve–I’ve always hated things that aren’t human. I don’t even know what the fuck I am.”

“Hey ...”

He hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough to debate if it was really a good idea to reach out, but he does anyway. It’s slow. He does his best not to catch Carlos off guard, shifting forward until he’s close enough to crouch in front of the couch.

“Look, it’s okay. Hm. It’s okay not to know.” He stops, long enough to take a breath. Reaches out to touch Carlos’s knee. Just to try and get his attention for a second.

“It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what you are. Liv loves you. And you will always have a place here, even if Marcus puts up a fuss about it. Nothing about you changes just because you have to find a new label for yourself. I promise. You’re the same you that you were last week, just with new information.”

He pauses, lifting his eyebrows. Waits until he’s sure Carlos is listening to continue on.