the loving hand of death

the pond.

as most other people in this er, she didn't know what she was going to do with him. no one seemed to want to take care of themselves. she supposed she was a hypocrite, but that didn't mean she wouldn't stop scolding all of the people she considered family for putting themselves in dangerous situations and getting themselves hurt. she couldn't exactly say what emil got up to ( most of his files were confidential ; go figure ), but she'd seen him come through enough times to give a shit what happened to him. much to her dismay. 'steep. and extra for you,' dana held back a grin as she started his iv, looking over his veins, the bag, the tube, before standing back to her regular height with her hands on her hips. 'if you think pie's gonna make up for your blood on my hands, you're outta your mind,' knowing eyes landed on emil's, though they softened just so. 'you're real private about your life, kindell, and i can appreciate that. i can. but at some point, if i'm gonna keep sewing your limbs back together, i'd like t'know what the hell i'm doin' it for,'

emil grins up at her with an impossible mixture of sheepishness and audacity. ❝ what if it was ice cream with warm pie? ❞ he sighs and settles back in the hospital bed like a discomfited child looking for the opportunity to bolt. he knows he has become a bit reckless. maybe he has always been that way, but it's second nature. the mission comes first. even now. he still has so much to atone for. ❝ thought you medical types were all about distance and not getting attached. ❞ he shrugs slightly and studies dana for a moment. she seems far from detached to anyone or anything around here. he's observed her, maybe a little too much, but it doesn't take a guy with his skillsets to recognize someone a bit married to their job. ❝ what would you like to know? ❞ he inquires simply. he likes coming here more than being stuck in the infirmary at any given government office. maybe that does make him out of his mind, but he never claimed to be in his right mind.

she remains still as @klarsynt enacts his method of revenge, his desire for concocting some kind of truth. if this is how he processes his emotions, ahsoka will not stop him. his hands shake and his chin quivers, and she can see the bulk of his emotional load looming in the glassy shine of his eyes. she knows what that's like; once, she felt things to emil's degree, all battered and brawling and fearful of failure, but now? she stops him. he scrambles backwards at her command and seems to sift through her words with a fine tooth comb. we shouldn't be seen leaving, is what he musters, and the togruta nods. "that would be for the best." it would look bad, the two figures exiting an area with a half-dead man crumbled beside his droid. he's still breathing (ahsoka can sense the life within him — thin, but alive), and knows someone will come upon him soon. that's why they should go. before then. "follow me." ahsoka tilts her head, then readjusts the cloak around her shoulders. silent steps carry her through the nearest passageway, narrow alley, and low tunnel before they reenter a wide-open space and feel the newly fallen rain on their faces. "you felt a great deal in that moment," she comments once they've created some distance. "though you'll tell me you turned your mind off, i know you still felt what you did. how did it feel? are you... upset?"

he silently stalks after her, broad shoulders slightly bent inward as if he could somehow make himself less imposing, take up less space, feel a little less anger. maybe it was a mistake. it probably was. but he can't take it back and it felt good, it felt right, deserved for once. so little of the violence he doles out is anywhere near justice but every once in a while, doesn't he deserve to claim a little something back for himself? his gaze darts around them silently. with her abilities, he supposes she'd be just as likely to sense something amiss as he would, but it's a habit not easily ignored. a sigh passes from him when ahsoka speaks. ❝ yeah no shit, ❞ he mutters. of course he felt a great deal. it certainly doesn't mean it's worth talking about. muscle pulses in his jaw. emil wipes a hand over his face, gathering rain droplets. ❝ i didn't turn anything off, ❞ he grumbles in discomfiture, his voice growing gruffer. he's not used to sharing, not in the way she always prods. ❝ i don't control when that shit happens. i don't... ❞ he shakes his head and quickens his pace as if he could outrun the question. ❝ doesn't matter. we'll just get the fuck outta here and i won't let it happen again or—compromise any missions. ❞

she'll always believe in a necessary evil for the greater good. it means survival. and it's the biggest reason she got into this game – started as nothing but some dealer's girlfriend then forced to being a drug mule. she got out  by taking control and now runs one of the largest cartels. this life was never made for having a partner, especially when secrets come out. ❝ how is what i do any worse than the life you live? ❞ 

❝ it's not, ❞ a mumble, shoulders rising and falling in a resigned manner. maybe the only real thing that bothers him is the thought she might not have ever told him unless he had found out for himself. unfortunately, there's no secret he has the privilege of not knowing. they all become a part of him in the end. sometimes he thinks it would be nice if the world could hold more mystery to him. he's tired of it. he's tired of this being how he always learns about skeletons in the closet and the story behind scars. not because someone trusted him enough to share but because he is a walking lie detector. ❝ i never said it was worse. in fact it's... ❞ he trails off. the last thing this situation needs is his own self pity and drowning guilt. it's a road he cannot let his mind focus on right now. ❝ i mean, what did you think was gonna fuckin' happen? you'd just skip in and out of my life without me noticing what's actually going on in yours? ❞

the starling has spent many years flying away from things. fleeing when anyone thought they could get too close to her. seems unfair, to those who actually believed they meant something to clarice. she does try to open herself up, but it seems impossible with her current lifestyle. with her current traumas and dedication to her work. emil came into her life at an . . . inopportune time. he witnessed her in a moment when her walls were already crumbling down, and he was quick to break down the rest of it. not even on purpose, she assumed. now, he says he's leaving, and clarice simply can't let him go. she won't fly away, this time, and she won't let him, either. 'wait,' without thinking too long about it, clarice reaches out to grasp tightly at emil's hand, pulling him back just a step toward her. brow creases a bit, the woman taking a breath before looking up at the man. 'don't go. stay. i want y'to,' @klarsynt.

her touch burns. her fingers close around his hand and he stops immediately. there are traces of surprise in his eyes when they flicker back towards her, searching the depth of the those emerald-hued irises. her touch burns. but he is a moth to flame. or icarus. or whatever else the fucking poets write about doomed souls drawn to the very thing that could burn all the way through them. emil's expression softens, head tilting. ❝ okay, ❞ he murmurs gruffly with a nod. he steps closer. he can't say no to her. not that he wants to, but even if he did he wouldn't be able to do anything that would make the look on her face any worse. he's not sure how to make it better either. but if staying is a first step, then he won't leave. he gently disentangles his hand from her grasps just so he can slip off his jacket. he meant to set it aside but on instinct it he drapes it around clarice's shoulders instead. ❝ i'll stay. ❞

shackled like a beast for too long and suddenly finding his captor is now playing hero. he doesn't even allow the other to explain before the chain of his wrist cuffs is swung around the other's neck and elias is pullinghim against his chest. ❝ what game do you play? ❞

❝ no games ❞ hands held aloft to show he intends no harm, voice filled with an earnest need to be believed and seen for who he is not the monster they shaped him into. his chin tips towards the sky to try to get some kind of space between the bite of cold metal and his throat. but he doesn't struggle against the other's hold. he wants him to feel in charge. ❝ just gimme a chance to explain. if you still wanna snap my neck after, be my guest. ❞