#levxvasile

Open to: Lev and Nadia ( @levxvasile​, @adashofnadia​ )

She’d nearly died. And if Jackson hadn’t found her when he did Kit was sure that she would be dead. Only flashes of the previous days lived in her mind, flicking back into consciousness long enough to be rushed through emergency and then waking up in a hospital room. Again she only remembered bits, screaming at nurses that she wanted to go home and being the worst patient that she could. That she wanted a few specific people. Leo and Zed, not a surprise to her at all but in the rush of the adrenaline-- even Lev. Those three at the front of her mind. They’d given the instructions she was sure before the brunette had been allowed to come home, under the watchful eye of medics every second that she didn’t have a visitor. It was tiring, really.

The pain in the side of her belly worse than she imagined, not that she’d ever really imagined what it would be like to have a kidney removed. It hadn’t even been on the scope of her dreams. She didn’t know how long she’d been staring at the wall, what it would bring. Maybe if she stared long enough she’d be able to go back in time. Leave the room with someone. But then Kat also knew she had been a target for a reason. So out of it she almost missed the sound of the door opening, rolling her head over slightly to see the pair. “What’s on fire?” The question out of her mouth without another thought, if the two of them were there. “Wait... before anything one of you is going to have to help me to that chair. I’m not staying in the bed.” Her hand coming up to point, “And before you pull a face,” Pointing at Lev, “and you try to be a bitch,” this time at Nadia, “yes, I do need help. I physically can’t do it myself.” It took a lot in her to ask for help. Never wanting to seem weak, especially not in front of her older brother.

eli vogel’s therapist told him about the concept of resurfacing memories. her voice soothed him through the idea that, at any given time, he would be thrown back-- ten, twenty, thirty years in the past-- and forced to relive whatever sequence of events his brain deemed too offensive to do anything but lock away for an indefinite period of time. and even better? it was a ‘ good ‘ thing. a way to achieve ‘ catharsis ‘. to ‘ recover from prior trauma ‘. 

the thought bubbled up word by word first and soon, it was a fully fledged image: or lack there-of. a closet, lit only by the inching in of light through the crack of the door. a towel shoved into the slit from the outside. a little boy, half starved and trembling-- begging please, dad.

She was on her third coffee of the day, nursing it as she watched from a distance, half focused on what she was going to tell Lev to get her out of this. It seemed as though the universe had plans for her to tell him right now, because she saw him crossing her path steps ahead of her. Guess we’re doing this now. “Lev.” She whisper-shouted at the man. “Get your ass back here.”

Open to: @levxvasile​

Kit really couldn’t say she was surprised to hear that her brother had decided to get stoned, hell most of her stash had been stolen from Lev as it was. Though she just had to hope that he never figured that part out, or did and just let her keep doing it. What had surprised her was Walt agreeing to everyone coming over and getting high together. She’d shown up to the main house on Easter stoned and that had been the last time she had seen any members of her family so Kit was looking forward to something not in the house she wanted to avoid. As soon as Lev opened the door for her she held up one of the bags she was holding, “I brought snacks. Mostly so we can look slightly considerate before we eat all of Walt’s food anyway.”

this is weird. all of it. weird, awkward, and entirely out of eli’s hands--- and god that makes his skin crawl nearly as much as the reason for such a strange confrontation in the first place. it’s amazing, isn’t it?--?? they can torture a man with his son in the next room, but god forbid someone be a little ignorant. but whatever. eli isn’t going to think about that-- he’s going to pretend it never happened and move on to more important things: a bottle of whiskey, a pack of playing cards, and a stack of hundred dollar bills. 

the sound of the door prompts a turn of his head and for some fucking reason, he realizes his heart’s beating a little faster than usual. his therapist would tell him to take a step back from the confrontation to catalog your feelings and analyze the insecurities that lead you to make assumptions. if eli had a handy dandy little daily mood log, he would have written inability to form long lasting relationships with males and inability to admit defeat due to father’s instilling of admitting failure = admitting weakness = less worth. 

the sound of the basement door opening and closing pulls him back into the uncomfortable reality---- 

his mind is blank and the world is beginning to shift--- everything is sort of... fuzzy. out of focus. the grip on his steering wheel is white knuckle, but he can hardly feel it below the tremble. the churning of his stomach is only growing stronger by the second. the fleeting feeling that he may pass out cold the moment his feet hit the ice forces him to pause. that grip loosens slowly as he begins to count one steering wheel, two side mirrors, three--- 

he opens the car door and tries one heavy boot on the ground and when it doesn’t falter, he takes one final breath. he isn’t aware, but when he looks back on this moment he will observe a permanent shift. this is the moment that defines the turning point of eli vogel’s life.

eli vasile, now, actually. 

the sound of his car door slamming shut grounds him. the crunch of ice below those heavy footfalls are inconsistent. crescent moons form themselves in his palms, fists wrapped so tightly that soon, he won’t be able to easily unfurl them again. tense is a modest word for the acting pakhan’s posture. 

“Get rid of it.” he doesn’t know who he’s speaking to as he stares down at the corpse--- a coward? or is this another message? when his eyes snap up, they lock on a guard. poor guy. he’s going to be dead as the messenger if this doesn’t go well. “Get the fuck rid of it--- we don’t have much time.”

attention drifts to the sealed box. 

“Axel, take it to the basement.”

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