logsinthenight | O LIGHT THAT FOLLOWEST ALL MY WAY, I YIELD MY FLICKERING TORCH TO THEE;

( well, probably not. he’s been careful — Matt has always preferred to save his obvious animosity for when his face is covered. there’s only one person in particular in Beacon that had earned his genuine distaste, and Crowley wasn’t so much an active threat as an accidental one when his stupid bullshit capsized and caused splash damage on everyone else.

(Matt is still super pressed about the ferry.)

it’s only after she’s sitting on top of her bag that he muses they should have stacked them, it’d be moderately more comfortable for the one sleeping. maybe it’d still be worth trying, once one of them is actively trying to rest. for now he just adjusts his to be parallel to hers and lies next to her, close but not on top of her.

she’s right he doesn’t really want to talk. talking hurts more than he’d like. he stares at an empty sky he can’t see, and it might seem like he doesn’t intend to answer until suddenly he does. )

Teenager. Barely 18, if that. He left behind a world where all adults had disappeared, and he spent most of his time hating himself for being here and not being there where his friends still needed him. ( relatable. maybe that’s why he’d connected so closely to the kid, Matt has been feeling the same since he arrived. ) He offered to read to me. Just out of the blue.

( clearly that had left an impression on Matt. )

[ he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to, but she's getting the feeling that he needs to in order to accept this, to maybe move past feeling guilty about it. (although knowing him, probably not.) there's a quiet smile that forms on her lips as she listens to matthew recount his memories of him, especially when he mentions the offer to read. ]

I can understand why you got on with him. [ there's a long moment as elektra pulls at a loose thread in her bag, still watching what she can see of his face. her legs fall to the side and she reaches for his hand, fingertips resting on top of his knuckles. ] I'm sorry we haven't found him.

He's the sort of kid that got on with everybody. ( which isn't so much a commentary on Matthew's own inability to get along with others (he's good at it, whether he's genuine about it or not is another story), so much as a further reflection on Grizz himself. he'd been a sweet kid. careful. caring. thoughtful. way too young for all the worries he carried, and certainly too young to end up in Beacon in the first place.

far, far too young to just be gone entirely. to wherever they all went if they never ended up revived on a church pew.

his fingers flex, just underneath her touch, the only hint he gives that he's noticed it at all. i'm sorry we haven't found him. Matt's sorry too, that much is clear. )

I doubt we will. ( there it is, the ugly reality that he's been carrying since they started, heavier than any of the supplies they'd been dragging along. Matt isn't dumb, he knows the chances of Grizz just wandering in the dark are nominal. Matt had warned him against it, the kid had seemed to take it to heart. it's been a pointless gesture since they started hiking, but he can't help himself. he has to try. )

[ her fingertips rub twice over the ridge of his knuckles before curving around his fingers, and she'll keep them there if he lets her, squeezing lightly as her thumb runs over the side of his hand. in the meantime, she nods in agreement with his doubt, the doubt she hasn't voiced yet because she's sensed that this was something he'd needed to do. he'd have done this with or without her, he'd made that clear. she's glad he'd decided to let her join him for a few reasons, not the least of which being the ever-present potential danger of spirits turning on them, but she's also glad he's allowing her to help him through it. he'd done it for her, through much worse. ]

I'm sorry about that, too.

( he lets her. of course he does. he presents as someone who doesn't need or invite much contact, and that's a learned skill. a carefully managed projection. based on a kid that was stubborn enough to never cry out again when a nun didn't show up to hold his hand, and a mentor that was so insistent that connections were dangerous that he'd been willing to disappear the second it seemed like Matt was making one.

it's so much easier to remain distant if he keeps his physical distance, too.

of course, that doesn't mean it is his preference. it's a conditioned response, a self defense mechanism that he almost doesn't realize he's doing any more, he's been doing it so long. of course in actuality he likes touch, he likes to be close to people, he craves that reminder that he's not alone in an undeniable, grounding way. he pulls her hand over his chest and idly traces out lines in her palm, staring off towards the dark skyline he can't see. )

You don't have to be sorry. You have no control over it. ( which is just about equally upsetting as the boy being gone in the first place. the next person he cares about, whether he wants to or not — hell, Elektra herself, the person here he cares about most — the next person to disappear could happen at any time, even if he's careful, and protective, and checks in as often as his paranoia mandates. and it won't matter how long he searches or how badly he wishes things were different.

they won't be. )

You should lay down, ( he suggests, finally, pulling away from his circling and depressing thoughts. ) I'll take the first shift.

[ as the person who's always left, elektra knows something of what it's like to not want to let herself form attachments. she'd just been doing it for the opposite reasons, up until she'd met him. stick had conditioned her well. but she always found herself craving physical affection after it had been given to her. so much of what she'd learned had been meant for violence.

he doesn't let go, pulling his hand over his heart. she feels it beating beneath the back of her hand as he traces the lines of her palm and her fingers curl slightly inward, catching on his fingertips.

he's right. she has no control over what happened to the boy or what could happen to either of them. neither does he. this isn't his fault, and she doesn't know if he'll accept that, but maybe he can come to terms with it being the world they're living in.

god, that sounds bleak.

he offers to take the first shift and she shakes her head - she wants to make sure he rests, and she doesn't think he will if she doesn't take the first shift. ]

You're already laying down. I'm okay with taking it.

( it is bleak. Matt probably doesn't have it in him to not blame himself for what happened to Grizz, and likely this isn't the first desperate and hopeless search he'll plunge into the dark. she might be right that he has to accept the conditions they're trapped under. maybe, in a way, he is. it's forcing him to let go of things usually he'd hold onto with both hands. it's making him desperate to make what he can of the little he has.

and it is starting to push him to do as much as he can to find out why Beacon is the way it is — on the desperate hope that maybe if they find some answers, they'll siphon back some measure of control. that when the end comes, they'll get more of a say over it happens.

Matt saw that one coming a mile away, blind and all. he sighs, closing his eyes. )

I'm not sure I'm ready to sleep. ( sometimes it's not as easy as just being exhausted, because he's surely that. his head has to be in step with the rest of him, and while his body is ready to tap out, his brain isn't quite ready to let him off that easy. )

[ unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, neither is she. she's not as tired as she can see that he is (she notices he hasn't moved to sit up, in spite of his offer and protest), and if he doesn't rest she doesn't think she'll be able to, anyway. she reaches out with her free hand, brushing his hair off of his forehead, stroking back and forth over his skin. ]

We can keep talking, then, if you want. [ she doesn't think he does, but it sounds better than 'we can sit here in silence til one of us falls asleep'. ]

( definitely unfortunate. he'd love a chance to ignore what his body demanding of him, to have the silence and loneliness to rake himself over the coals of his own guilt. if she's awake, there's not a good chance of that. she clearly won't let him travel too far down the treacherous path of his thoughts before she drags him back.

he's not particularly keen to talk, either. she probably knows that. his eyes close, for a moment, at the brush of her fingers. she might have a point, even if he's definitely too stubborn to admit it. Matthew isn't incapable of sleeping, though he's determined not to pass out right away. )

Come down here, ( he suggests instead, nodding at the blanket she's still sitting on. because if she's going to make him sleep, he's apparently going to get connive a cuddle out of it first. once he's actually starting to fade, he'll release her. until then... having her close might be the only reassurance he has that she's not going to disappear next. )

[ she nods, giving one final brush of her thumb over his forehead before shifting her position, curling against him on her side. the hand he's holding over his heart remains where it is and she pillows her other arm beneath her cheek. her forehead tucks against his shoulder as she settles.

this isn't his fault, and she'd tell him that but she knows he won't want to hear it. she's honestly not sure if hearing it will be better or worse; yes, that means that this isn't his fault, but it also means that their time here could be finite. it's one thing to be told that and another to have proof of it shown to you. it makes it real, and frightening. it's something she's thinking about, too. ]

( it's one of those uncomfortable situations where there's probably nothing she can say that can really make him feel better. there's not anything that will erase the weight and the heartbreak of knowing a kid is dead, whether Matt is as responsible for that as he feels or not. telling him not to blame himself won't make it easier, in the end, even if she could convince him (and she probably couldn't). Grizz would still be gone, the life of a good kid suddenly extinguished, and there's just no helping that reality.

words might be a lost cause, but having her close helps. and true to his word, he doesn't fall asleep right away. there's a good stretch where Matt just holds onto her and relishes that he can, lets himself indulge in that rather than fixating on anything else. it takes awhile but slowly he does start to tire, and she'll know it because his grip starts to slack.

he doesn't just pass out on her, though, letting her go to settle onto his back. )

Wake me up in two hours. ( or if anything happens, but, he figures that part goes without saying. the indulgence of closeness is over — she'd only be slowed down if something happened if he was hanging on to her. )

[ there's not, and she knows it, which is why she remains silent except for her heartbeat and breathing. the thumb of the hand that rests over his heart starts to rub back and forth in the same pattern her opposite had over his forehead. it's as much as a comfort to be close to him as it is for him to have her close, to repay the same kindness he'd shown her during her hallucinations and just to know that he's close, that they're both still alive. so to speak.

she's not sure exactly how long it is before he starts to fade, but she makes sure to remain alert, listening to his heartbeat and for whatever might be out there with them. it's sooner than she expects before his grip starts to loosen around her body, arms going heavy and slack around her waist. she slips free of them when he lets her go, rolling fully onto his back, and she props herself up as he asks her when to wake him. ]

Try not to dream. [ she smiles lightly, bending to kiss the corner of his mouth, before fully sitting up, pulling her knees to her chest as she turns her focus to the forest at night. ]

O LIGHT THAT FOLLOWEST ALL MY WAY, I YIELD MY FLICKERING TORCH TO THEE;

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