milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Two figures emerge from the corridor that leads to the Security Office, moving slowly. It's Ava Wilson and Andrew Wells; they seem tired, or stiff, or dizzy, or possibly all three.

Wait.

Make that three figures. Sort of.

Perched on Andrew's shoulder, alert and looking around, is a familiar arachnoid shape.

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He takes another drink. "Yeah."

He's pretty sure he knows where this is going, and is trying to decide whether or not he should make it any easier for her.

She takes a drink.

"Who'd you murder?"

"My best friend," he says, to the glass of beer.

... Yikes.

Huh.

Damn.

Ava nods.

"Okay."

He glances back up at her.

"Not really." He says it quite calmly. "But yeah."

She snorts.

"Hey. You know me. This is not the corner for judging when it comes to killing people."

He tilts his head in silent acknowledgment of that, and takes another drink.

"I think I told you once," he says, "that I get why you wouldn't want to tell people something like that."

"Rings a bell," she admits.

And Sam told her, didn't he, that Andrew might understand her better than she thought?

(That part she still doesn't believe.)

He glances up at her. "Do you wanna know why, or ... not really?"

Ava's lips quirk.

"Why you didn't tell me when it was really relevant, maybe."

She shrugs.

"I'm curious. But if you don't want to share, I'll-- it'll be fine."

A beat.

"When it was really relevant?"

"Murder reveals."

She takes a sip of her drink.

Should she not be drinking right now?

"Mine. Awhile back."

His gaze drops to the table.

"Would it have helped?" Quiet. "Right then?"

"Not much would've, I guess," she admits, shrugging.

That was a bad time for her.

Looking back, she can't even be happy about Riley.

"I didn't know helpful was the point."

He lifts one shoulder, half-echoing her shrug. "Not the point, necessarily. Just ... I don't know. I wasn't in great shape that night."

... Which.

Fair, as she recalls. He kind of spent it learning that she was a huge manipulative liar who did not return his feelings.

Still, if there's any time for 'we have so much in common,' it's when you're discussing homicide.

"Yeah, well," she says, tone soft but casual.

"That was my fault."

"Not all your fault," he says. "There was other stuff going on too. With Sam, and ..."

He shakes his head. "But, yeah. I was ... it's not an easy thing to talk about. And right then it didn't seem like telling you would have done any good. For you or me."

Ugggh. There is always stuff going on with Sam.

And admittedly, Ava's not sure she would have been all that impressed by the revelation. It just feels like something she should've been made aware of, somehow.

She nods.

"You remember I said something about ... what you believed you had to do?" Slowly. "And you thought I was calling you crazy?"

"... Yeah?"

He traces a pattern with one fingertip in the condensation on the side of his glass.

"I was talking about me."

"You thought you had to kill your best friend."

There could be derision here, or disbelief, but there's not. There's not much of anything.

Ava'd like to think she'd never have killed Brady on purpose.

But she really doesn't know about 'never' anymore.

"More or less." Quiet.

He's got to know this one's coming.

"Why?"

Andrew takes another swallow of beer.

"Another friend of mine was killed the year before that." He sets the glass down. "And something that looked and talked like him came back, and told me that it was him. And that getting killed was all part of his master plan, and he'd come back even more powerful. And if I did what he said, we'd all three of us become gods."