#limitsimposed

@limitsimposed ;;

Darrow had hardly made eye contact with Sarif since he entered the room, both filled with shame and exhausted physically and mentally. Using his crutch, he made his way over to a chair, half-collapsing in it before tilting his head to look at Sarif while he ranted and paced. He hadn’t expected this to be easy (considered himself lucky that Sarif hadn’t actually attacked him) but it wasn’t something he could have truly ever prepared for. Darrow knew what he had done. The lies, the betrayal, the blood on his hands.

“I don’t hate you, David. Not anymore.” Darrow’s words were soft, almost gentle, but firm. “I did. I was jealous and bitter and resentful of you, of what you could be, of what they could be–I just wish–” His voice heightened in pitch, pained, and he paused, brows knit, looking at Sarif with the air of a broken man.

There were no excuses for what he had done but he felt himself tensing at the onslaught of his old friend’s words. He wanted to defend himself, to explain. But how could he? The only explanation was his own petty jealousy and fear that he would be left behind while the rest of the world advanced.

“I am sorry, more so than you’ll ever know. I know that those words won’t raise the dead, but–” Darrow gestured vaguely. “I know what I’ve done, David. I know what I’ve done.”

     “No, you don’t,” Sarif replied, his glare venomous. He didn’t want half-assed apologies or admissions of guilt. “You killed fifty million because of what? Jealousy? We were on to a breakthrough, Hugh -- and now politics has its hands all over it. Jealousy... Jealous of what -- augmentation? Everyone would have been on the same playing field if you didn’t happen!”

     He didn’t care how sorry Darrow felt. Everything since Panchea was the man’s fault. He needed to be made aware of it. Sarif wanted him to feel all the pain and shame he’d felt. Only then would he be close to content. 

     He still wasn’t fully certain he was actually speaking to the man. But even if it was a dream, he felt the need to explain, to let out everything. Every nightmare was ice water and crushing darkness. This was the first time he’d seen the man’s face beyond a photo since that day. He had to tell him. He had to tell him how wrong he was.

Whisper in my ear ;; @limitsimposed

     “Y’know, that’s rich – coming from you,” Sarif snapped, his hands clenched fists at his sides. He had no idea how Hugh had survived, why he was there. Part of him wondered if it was some hallucination, or some dream. A punch in the face would convince him otherwise.

     “I’m not the one who killed fifty million people, Hugh! You really wanted to hit me hard, huh? Was that it? Was that why? Well, congratulations – my company was blown apart, and every aug on the planet has to pay for what you’ve done!” He pointed at Darrow to emphasize, a sharp jab of a gesture. 

     The walls were thick. He could shout as loud as he wanted to. And he did. He paced, needing some sort of movement to keep his agitation somewhat under check. He was angry – furious. How dare he come back, just to tell him this?