milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sometimes disappearing into one's room for a few days to work on an idea is a good thing to do. And that's what April's been doing the past few days. That and teaching a certain troublesome kitten to use the litterbox.

However, she is downstairs now, sans notebook and kitten, and is sitting by the observation windows with a mug of hot chocolate, sipping on it slowly while she watches the universe end.

She is more than open to conversation.

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April closes her eyes, hugging herself lightly, her mug of cocoa forgotten (for the time being). Deep breaths. It's over, you don't have to be scared anymore. Deep breaths. "There is a disease, in my world. It... it destroys your body, sort of. It destroys your body's ability to fight illness and infection. It eventually gets so bad that... the slightest illness that even an infant's body could handle could kill you. It's called AIDS." then, softly. "And I found out that we had it."

Faramir slips out of his chair and into the one beside her instead of across. He rests a hand gently on her shoulder.

"Was it painful?"

April laughs a little - a choked sort of laugh, the kind you make when you're trying your damnedest not to cry. "It probably would have, if I'd stuck around for it."

It's a simple motion, pushing up her sleeves, but it takes a bit of effort, mentally. Her arms aren't lacking in scars, though most of them are thin faded lines of shallow razor-cuts, and on her left arm, there's faint track marks still visible. But what stands out on the inside of both arms is a raised scar from an obviously deep cut, running from her wrist to the crook of her elbow. "I got scared," she explains softly. "I didn't want to die like that. So I wrote a note and... and ended up here." What happened in between the note and the arriving is pretty self-explanatory.

Faramir lowers his hand, slowly, the way he would approach a frightened animal, until his fingers brush against the line on her arm.

"Fear," he says in a low, rough voice, "is... a great motivator. Even to the end of life. That is where my own story starts. I think you know it."

April shivers when he touches her arm, but doesn't pull away. "I know... the facts," she says slowly, her voice a little shaky. "I know what anyone would know if they were there. But there's a difference. Just like there's a difference between someone seeing the facts of my life and... and hearing me tell it." It's the best she can do to explain what she means and she hopes Faramir understands.

Faramir pulls his hand away. He becomes instantly and expertly alone within himself.

"What... part would you like me to recount?"

"I don't know," April says honestly. "Whatever part's... whatever shadow's holding on the tightest."

Faramir closes his eyes.

"Lately I have had... dreams. Call them nightmares, or visions -- I do not know which is closer to the truth. But I have seen through sleeping eyes my father's death. I have felt again the fire in my flesh, and smelled the smoke and the ashes -- not merely those of the fire I was saved from, but the ever-present plaguewinds bearing ashes from Mordor into Ithilien... my own land now, Ithilien..."

He opens his eyes, pale and grey. "And then I dream of my mother."

April knows that his mother's dead. That's... pretty much the extent of it. She leans forward intently. "What do you dream about her?"

"I dream that we stand upon a high wall overlooking the sea in Dol Amroth, and the gulls circle above us. It is like another dream I have of the wave that covers everything. It comes, oh yes. And it rushes towards us, but the wall his high, and we are safe. She is afraid for me, but even as she stands to protect me, I push her into the surging water. I look down at my hands, and they are my father's, wrinkled and old." He pauses, breathing deeply. "I hardly remember my mother's death. I was too young. But she always longed to be near the sea, where she was born. But for the River Anduin nearby, Minas Tirith was landlocked."

April thinks about that silently for a moment. She doesn't know him too well and she doesn't know what he's thinking. She can hardly even guess, really, not knowing him. But...

"What we dream... if it's a recurring dream, especially, it's... supposedly it's a dream about something that you need to work out. Something that's..." she sighs. "I had a lot of dreams about people... people leaving me. After I got here, I mean. Still do, sometimes." She pauses. "I think it's... either 'cause I'm scared people are gonna realize that I'm not worth hanging around, or because I feel guilty for leaving."

"The dream ends," he says softly, "in darkness. I flee from all things and am alone. And that is all. Loneliness."

He cannot look at her. He dislikes confessing any pain that is so deep to him.

April is an impulsive person. That's why she bussed out of Hartford at 3 am on her 18th birthday, that's why she killed herself, that's why she hung mistletoe around the bar and went around kissing people.

So, if you know April at all (which Faramir doesn't as much), it should be no surprise that she does something impulsive now.

She hugs Faramir. A tight, sisterly hug that Mark and Collins and Angel - hell, even Benny - have received many times. She can't think of anything to say, so that's... the best she can do.

At least she does it well.

He freezes. It's so unexpected a thing, and he is so unused to physical affection. He's not sure whether he should sit still and thank her, or return the gesture... but eventually, slowly, automatically, he finds his arms around her, and his head against her shoulder.

And it's just a little harder to breathe.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. She knows that feeling, of being utterly alone with your demons, and as much as she hates it, she hates that other people feel it.

She's just sweet like that.

He takes a deep breath and slowly, painfully, wrenches himself away from her.

"Thank you," he says, his own voice slightly unsteady.

April flushes a little. "I didn't really do anything." Didn't work a miracle.

Faramir isn't sure what miracles are anymore.

"You... are a good friend. I am happy that Boromir has found you."

April smiles a little. "I'm pretty happy he found me, too."

She wants to say more, to say something better that'll... make him crack. Let it go, let himself react the way he wants to. But she doesn't know how to do that. She's too used to being the one cracking.

Faramir sits quiet and still and peers hauntedly at the window.

His hands in his lap twist the hem of his tunic with silent desperation: the only crack in his otherwise calm mask.

She sees it. She can tell that... whatever it is, it's eating him up. Ripping him apart and tearing him down and that's not good. But she can't do anything.

Except she's going to fucking well try. After everything that people have done for her, she is going to try. And if it doesn't work, she might try again.

She reaches out and grabs one of his hands.

"Faramir... it's alright to... not be all cool calm and collected sometimes, y'know?" She's not sure if this'll work or if she sounds stupid, but... well. She's trying.

The Prince squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

"I should go."

He doesn't move.

She notices.

"Why?"

He does not, as a habit, lie.

"Because it's exactly the opposite of what I think I want to do."

And it has nothing to do with attraction. Nothing to do with anything like that. She's Boromir's, and somewhere out in space and time, he has an Eowyn who he is loyal to not because he is honor-bound to be, but because no other woman in this or any other universe could ever satisfy his heart the way she did in their short time together.

It's all to do with the fact that she's the one who took his hand. He feels like a child awakening from bad dreams...

...but it's been 33 years since the last time he was a child awakening from dark dreams and had anyone to go to but his brother.

And that's 33 years too many. In the short time they've known each other, April has grown very fond of Faramir. Really, he's going to very quickly be one of the brothers she's picked up over the years - Collins originally and Adrian more recently.

She tilts her head, not quite understanding. "Would that be such a bad thing?" Staying. Talking. Letting her help.