#* self para.

will had jumped off the chopper and onto the bay area with a tide of confidence going through him. having previously cleared up things with zia had left him with the clearest possible headspace -- years worth of suffering ceased to weigh down on him. he carried this boldness into the mission, as if it were another one of his weapons. so this is what it felt like to think straight. 

he shouldn’t have let it get to him. he didn’t blame zia, of course, because there was nothing that deserved it on his behalf. but he should’ve known the mission wasn't going to be easy, or that their bodies wouldn’t go back to their 20-year-old selves overnight. he didn’t know whether this loss of ability came from 15 years of withering away, or if he was not focusing on what he ought to.

but whatever the reason behind this was, of course it brought dreadful results. he lost track of time, as he usually did on other missions. and he missed things, which was in no case good -- especially when they placed civilians or team members’ lives at stake. tonight, unluckily for them, brought forth both cases. the night was a blur by now -- any night that failed was. he felt like part of him left him, and that it made him freeze & force him to observe from afar. while untethered to himself, he watched in sheer horror as the kaiju drew nearer, and how laura dove to save the one person present. 

will was no longer will, but laura wasn’t laura either. laura, suddenly, was evelynn, falling into the water and getting dragged along. he didn’t remember screaming their names out, either of them. it was as if his voice box had broken, and he was rooted to the ground. not again, the fear in him that he was sure had been buried along with evelynn ambrose, uttered. not again, please god, not again--

“beloved friend”. that’d been one of the ideas for evelynn’s epitaph. will wasn’t sure about it, especially the second word. sure, he had considered eve a friend (not as close as other team members, but a friend nonetheless), but friends didn’t get each other killed. friends didn’t allow for each other to get hurt. how good of a friend had he been to evelynn? how good of a friend had he been to laura, failing to do his only fucking job and ensuring her injuries in the process? 

it was an instinct to stretch out his arms and catch the teen, then get them to safety as protocol stated. but at some point, it only felt like going through the motions, like being brave for the sake of it. that made him an idiot, he knew that now. still, he clung onto hope. of course he told himself zia and laura would make it. he said it over and over, because hearing anything else would be unbearable.

the darkness of the bay area blended into the stark white of the hospital. he saw the doctors carry laura away and hoped they could help her more than he had. she was safer here than they’d been back out there, so maybe there was some consolation to be found. 

“sorry, i-” he began, barely managing as he stuttered. his voice faded into a whisper- “i gotta go.”

  bathroom. he need somewhere quiet, somewhere where the smells weren’t as sharp and the colors weren’t as loud. he found one down the hall, barged in and locked himself in a stall.

his chest hurt, it felt as though it were compressing inwards like a pop can being crushed. he could see it rise and fall, but there was no air. his face was burning, and covered in tears of equally boiling water. no matter how much he gasped, it was all too tight. the walls, the clothes, his own skin. 

the man instinctively sent a fist hitting the wall. it hurt, and it made his knuckles throb but he couldn’t shake the numbness from his hand. so he did it again, then again. his airways were still blocked, like when he was nine and tried challenging himself to run a full lap around the field adjacent to the house. upon remembering, he reached out for the non-existent inhaler, groaning as he grabbed but air. he could’ve sworn he had brought it with him, but his eyes would be of no use filled to the brim with tears. 

he went through the instructions in his head. inhale. exhale. like a robot, like a machine, like a clueless idiot. inhale. 

zia had dove in for laura. exhale.

but laura had been injured. she’d seen the mass of white coats and blue uniforms take her into another room. another inhale. 

but she was alive. laura wasn’t evelynn. she was alive. exhale.

it seemed to go on forever. his eyes were blurry still, there was no use looking at his watch. but he felt his chest ease gradually, though the pain and pressure seemed to rise up to his head. now his temples were throbbing so much will sunk his fingertips into his eyes. 

he ought to have done better, he needed to be better -- a better friend, a better leader. he knew everyone on the team was capable of defending themselves, but if they were following a misguided leader, it’d screw them over because of him. 

one last inhale. he wanted to stay there forever, locked in the stall with his eyes fixed on the tile walls. it felt like this had lasted hours, but if that was the case, he hoped he’d be able to see a recovered laura when he stepped outside. he knew cesare would come soon, then maybe even moira or the press. and he’d be there, facing them like he was as composed as captain kick when his insides were shambles. 

one last shiver ran down his spine. laura was not evelyn, laura was alive. she was alive, she would be fine. 

            belgium’s darling princess ,       the youngest of the royals ,       the family jewel ,     paraded around like a porcelain doll .              quiet ,      quiet and gorgeous ,     quiet and peaceful .       like their nation .                    right under their noses ,        agnes had done just about everything .                  gotten on trains and left in the dead of night ,     returning with the rise of the sun ,     sweat that wasn’t hers stuck to her body ,      several substances of dubious origins in her bloodstream ,      the hazed expression and yet the sharpness to know exactly how to make it all disappear ,      how to keep it all under wraps .

              her cellphone lights up ,          beethoven’s fifth symphony rings loud and clear .                she could let it go to voicemail ,      afterall she’s in the middle of sorting through her stash ,      doing the math of how much she can get and how much she has to sell ,       how much she already has sold for the upcoming night .                 the music stops short and she exhales ,      ignoring the way her heart had started racing .                her father had sworn he would never look at her again after her naked pictures had made it to the newspapers ,      physical and online .              tmz ,      e!news ,       what - the - fuck - ever ,      she’d never given a damn about it ,      even rejoiced in       the good angle     the pictures flattered her from .                belgium’s darling princess had been brutally murdered ,      by herself .                   the media had gone crazy ,     there had been paps following her more than usual for a few weeks ,     and as much as she would’ve wanted to stir the pot even further ,     some sort of duty to her parents hadn’t allowed her to do so .

             mindless chatter in her brain that leads nowhere .             keep counting .                  HER PHONE LIGHTS UP AGAIN ,        like her thoughts keep drifting back to the issue of her parents .               and why did they keep calling her ?            they’d made their feelings quite clear a year ago ,     and she didn’t need them .             if it hadn’t been a matter of speculation of her finances ,      agnes would be paying her college tuition and rent by then ,      along with all the earthly pleasures she so enjoyed ,     which weren’t those of riches considering she gave away a percentage of her money .            books ,      concert tickets ,       antiques to collect .               things that fascinated her went to her collection and that’s where her money leaked onto .                 her business could finance her everything she wanted ,      she needed ,      but that’d spark too many questions .                beethoven’s fifth kept ringing through the room ,      and she kept ignoring it .               her father could send her a fax ,     or text her ,     or speak to her through ilyas ,      she didn’t really care .              the music dies away only to return a couple of seconds after .                   exasperated ,     the royal picks up the phone and answers .

             ‘        what ?        ‘                      for a moment ,      the silence is deafening .                          ‘       if you want to know if your daughter’s still a     slut ,      the answer’s yes .       ‘                        more silence .                        ‘      so ?         was that it ?        i have things to do ,      i’m busy .        ‘                              in her free hand ,        a medium sized bag full of pills of varying colors and shapes .                              ‘        SPEAK !       ‘                         her father’s silence was always like that ,       a blade in her spine and a hand twisting it .                  he seems to snap out of some trance ,        and the thought that not having heard his daughter’s voice in a year could impact him doesn’t even     cross    agnes’ mind .                           we’ve finished the last details of your betrothal .                           agnes stops short in what she’s doing ,       leaves the bag aside and stands up .                                 ‘        OH .        so ...      who is it ?        ‘                              her voice remains even casual about the matter ,        she was long used to the idea that she’d be someone’s wife once the summit was there .               and hell ,     it was .                            christian meyer ,      of luxembourg .             you remember him ,    don’t you ?                        his father knew of agnes’ photographic memory ,       but leave it to him to underestimate her .                                 ‘       yeah ,        you’d send me away to luxembourg several times a year .           of course i r ---------     YOU’VE BEEN PLANNING THIS ?!       ‘                             she’d considered it as a possibility through those visits ,      otherwise why would she be sent away so often ?           but it just now landed on her the complexity of all her parents had been planning for her .                             ‘       he      is what you meant when you said my      NAKED PICTURES       would ruin my prospects for a    future ?!      ‘                                  

                 agnes .                     her father’s voice tried to soothe her ,      but it was to no avail .                                ‘       did the king say     shit ?           bet he    jerked off      before being worried ,       bet he jacked it to your        DAUGHTER ,       but trash me !        ‘                          agnes was seething and her father was still repeating her name like a goddamn curse over and over .                           ‘          oh quiet now ,       bloody hell .            quiet because i’ve heard     enough .                 was that all ?        ‘                            give me your word you’ll marry him ,    agnes .                       and she had to stiffle a sigh ,       though her eyes rolled so far back she thought they might just stay there .                        ‘         i give you my word i’ll marry him when the time comes .                done ?          ‘                           thank you .                there was a particular kind of devil in agnes’ father’s voice sometimes ,       and the princess could practically see his pleased smile ,       she could practically      see     his gesture done to his wife who was surely listening to all of this and putting a pin on every out of place thing agnes said .                     how’s co--                           ‘      you don’t care .      ‘                             and she hung up .

              immediately ,      the guilt .                  oh ,      the terrible guilt gnawing at her insides would kill her someday  ------  if she didn’t manage to kill it first .                    tossing her phone onto the bed ,          the princess stuffed the drugs back into their hiding spot ,       the money once again under the mattress ,       and reached for the pack of marlboros on the vanity ,      sticking one between her lips and watching it burn as she took a deep drag from it .

             the lighter ,       a zippo she’d had for years ,        engraved with her initials ,        kept shining that firey light that somehow comforted her .            the window ,     once open ,      let a cold as    fuck    breeze in but agnes ,       even though she barely had anything on ,       didn’t        feel       it .                        there were no tears ,        no ragefit ,      no longing to be sat on her father’s legs with the fireplace burning before them because that had     never happened .                    there was only the quiet of her room ,      the sound of the wind ,      distant voices that came from below somewhere in the gardens ,            and not much else .

             so she was to marry someone she’d known since she was ten ,      at least he wasn’t some asshole with no drive nor intelligence .                       thanks ,    dad .                 bounced in her head ,     though she had nothing to thank him .                   many ,       and that was        most of the other royals ,          had it worse than her .                         it wasn’t shocking ,      she’d been trained for this .