may catch all

[policier]

characters: javert & ota
location: the invincible
date/time: may 22
content: javert drinks and is a miserable bastard
warnings: self-loathing

name day

( He hadn't paid much thought to the day, occupied as he is with reparations to the armory, and the patrol he keeps so faithfully. It wouldn't have mattered much. Javert has never had a reason to celebrate, nor would he care to. Many would consider the day of their birth to be a joyous event, but for him, it is only another reminder of how ignoble and wretched he is.

The son of a galley slave and a gypsy, born in a jail and raised behind bars, does not belong in proper society, and so Javert continues to keep to himself to the outskirts. He doesn't attend the daily meals, preferring instead to eat his meager supper by himself. He lingers on the edge of gatherings, keeping an eye out for troublemakers, but never socializing. It's almost as if he's a phantom, appearing only when he is needed, teaching others combat and keeping the town safe.

Being useful is the only purpose he's ever had in his life. He's never allowed himself any indulgence, save for today, when he pours himself a second glass of wine at supper. It doesn't seem like much, given how terrible the taste is, but Javert cares little for that. Right now, all he desires is a respite from his thoughts, and the maelstrom of emotions that have not given him peace in nearly a year. He's seated at the far corner of the tavern, donned in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his hat and coat draped over the chair beside him. It doesn't seem as if he desires company, with his back turned to the rest of the room, but that's never stopped anyone before. )

Comments

cw: suicide mention

[policier]

( He doesn't attempt to reach for him, although it is a close thing. It's easy to forget himself when he's not in control of his facilities, drunk as he is, but he keeps his hands at his sides curled in fists. When he answers, though, it is shaky, his voice cracking only slightly, )

I will try.

( They still have one year yet. He need only keep himself alive long enough to it through to the end, whatever that may be. )

There is a duty yet I must see through. I will not take my life again so soon.

[worthallthis]

[A pause. That's... a thing, isn't it. Soldat can't help the moment of fear. The idea of Javert not being there is actively painful.]

I. Would rather you not do that at all, sir. I promised I won't leave. I. Don't know what I'd do if you did.

[policier]

( Javert looks back at him, then, his expression bewildered and uncertain. A look of recognition crosses his features, and for a moment, he seems to have come back to himself, understanding his words. He touches Soldat's sleeve. )

You needn't promise me anything. I've forgiven of you for your misdeeds long ago.

( As for the other matter, Javert can't help but feel guilty. He had not meant to scare him, merely to reassure him that he's not going anywhere, and he chastises himself for choosing his words so carelessly. Perhaps he will not feel such a way once the lanterns are able to repaired again, but for now, )

If you wish it of me, I would have no other reason to live.

[worthallthis]

[The long-ago order hardly matters anymore-- that turned into a full mission that Soldat is still living. Help the people here. What matters is Javert asked them not to go, and they're not going anywhere.

They do appreciate the confirmation, though, and give a very little smile. Maybe having one person to live for (well, "live" for) and a duty isn't much, but it's a lot better than nothing. Soldat will take it. They'll even clearly state a want, to make it clear their hope for Javert.]

I do wish. What I did when Aziraphale and Crowley left. It'd be worse if you left.

[policier]

( It's more than Javert's ever had before. Up until this point, his life has only been centered around his duty — first to the police, and now, to defending Beacon against the World Eaters. He has nothing else. The admission that Soldat makes to him strikes like a knife to the heart, and Javert finds it intolerable. )

I don't want to cause you any more pain.

( He can barely stand to feel it himself. It's the most human he's felt in nearly a year, and he doesn't know how anyone can stand to live in this way. He pushes off the counter, tears still in his eyes, but facing the other man fully. )

You've already been through enough. Should we not perish in the battle to come, then I will stay.

[worthallthis]

[Beacon is the only home Soldat knows, now. The old apartment in Brooklyn is long gone, and HYDRA gave them nothing like a home. If they don't all disappear into nothing, this is where they'd want to stay.

The metal arm gives a shivery little calibration loop, more from relief than stress, and Soldat nods.]

Thank you. And. I'm also being careful. I know it would hurt you, too.

[policier]

( An odd, but not unfamiliar feeling wells up in his chest, twisting and curling around his wooden heart like a vine. He doesn't know if he will ever stop weeping, and were he not so inebriated, perhaps he would have willed himself to stop, but Javert does not anything by halves, and so he cries.

He doesn't know if he deserves such consideration. )

It did. ( He manages, speaking of that night at the courthouse. ) When you died, I felt your absence clearly, and the feeling of it frightened me.

[worthallthis]

[The situation probably calls for another hug, but Soldat is hugged out. So they chew on the inside of their cheek for a moment, and finally say,]

Never had anyone to be sad to lose. Rather have someone and be sad sometimes, I think. Than never have anyone.

[Then they turn away to grab the kitchen towel and get it wet, to offer for Javert's face. Crying makes the eyes sore. They know this from personal experience.]

[policier]

( He wipes his eyes and his cheeks, discarding as much of the tears as he can before taking the cloth and pressing it there. He hasn't cried since he was a boy, and even then, it was because only he was too young to know any better. The guards would frequently yell at those convicts who cried, and so Javert had learned not to. )

It was easier before. ( He admits, several moments later. ) It may not have been better, but it was much simpler when I didn't feel anything.

[worthallthis]

I know.

[And they do, truly, know. It was easier to just follow orders, do as they were told, be HYDRA's Asset. To have nothing and no one. Simpler. Things made sense, then, in their own awful way. But. But. It was also terrible.]

I'll help. If I can.

[policier]

You have.

( He says it before he can stop himself. Javert may not a man inclined toward self-examination, but even he would be a fool not to realize how much Soldat has changed him. He taught him empathy, and made him realize that taking away another person's autonomy is wrong. He gave him a Christmas present and made him happy. He is here, comforting him. It's more than Javert ever thought possible for himself. )

You are. ( He adds, and then, ) I cannot ask you to give me any more than you already have.

[worthallthis]

[Aw, Javert. They smile a little more.]

Ain't asking for it if I'm offering. But I will remember. And try not to smother you too much.

[They're already pretty careful about Javert's privacy and sensibilities, but in the face of the man living alone in this room... they might have to be a little less careful, and a little more present. Jesus, this can't be good for him.]

[policier]

( His expression is torn between that of sadness and affection. Too much kindness may be a little too overwhelming to him, but Soldat's words are just enough. He doesn't feel as if he deserves it, though the least he could do is be grateful. )

Thank you.

( He says, wiping his face one last time with the cold towel, and pressing it to his sore eyes. He goes to the couch, sitting down before the world gets too dizzy for him again. )

And in turn, I will try not to drink so much next time there's something to celebrate.

( He's only gotten drunk twice in his whole life, and that is on Christmas Eve and today. He's not about to make a habit of it. )

[worthallthis]

[Soldat brings more water, too, and sits as well, just barely within arm's reach, to set the glass down on the coffee table for him.]

What are you celebrating?

[Surely not having an empty room. They're missing something there.]

[policier]

( Javert sighs deeply, slumping back against the couch, in a manner that is most unlike him. His hair is mussed a little, his eyes still red and sore from crying, his shirt rumpled, and his necktie hangs undone against his collar. He continues sadly, )

Perhaps that is not the right word for it. I'm told that is how some people celebrate their birthdays, though I have never had reason to do so before.

( He's never celebrated Christmas either, until he came here. His life has never felt so lonely before. )

[worthallthis]

[Soldat twitches in surprise and some dismay.]

It's your birthday? I. Happy birthday?

[Everything they know about birthdays says it should be happy, spent with people whose company you enjoy, preferably with cake.]

I didn't know or I would have made you something.

[policier]

There's no need.

( He doesn't want anything. The only thing he wants is for Rosalind to come back, but since she is dead, Javert will just have to settle for being miserable. He'd probably be miserable even if she was here, and that isn't any of Soldat's fault. He shakes his head, explaining, )

It's not a day that I look forward to. That is why I never told you, because I don't wish to mark the occasion.

[worthallthis]

Why not? It seems like a good thing. People coming into the world.

[Misty and Sora are both so enthusiastic about birthdays. Though they suppose if someone was going to not be interested, it would be Javert.]

I don't even know mine.

[policier]

( What's there to celebrate when you hate nearly everything about yourself? Javert was born in a prison, and the day itself is nothing but an unhappy reminder of that. Javert broods silently for a moment, before Soldat speaks and he says without a thought, )

You know your name. There's nothing to stop you from celebrating your name day.

[worthallthis]

[They almost ask, "Which name?" because there's been... a lot, it feels like. The original name, that they can't use. The one Steve gave them, that they can't use. The code name, that they hate. The name of the thing that was HYDRA's, that now lives in their head, not quite a friend but no longer an enemy. Now Soldat, once a title but now reclaimed. They do at least know the exact day they decided to use that as more than just a cover.

Instead of that, after a moment of though, they ask,]

Is that a thing? Naming days? I'd thought. Maybe. If people really wanted a date. It'd be the day I died and came here. Got free. But if naming is a thing people celebrate. That's a thought, too.

[policier]

Must it be one or the other? Both are celebrated in my country.

( It's a Catholic tradition. Javert's mother may not have been, but his father was, and so his mother had named him as the wife of any good Frenchman would — after that of a saint. It feels wrong to possess such a name, and that is why Javert doesn't use it often, if ever. )

You have a biblical name. Would you ever wish to be called by it again?

[worthallthis]

[Shoulders twitch, then hunch a little. Javert didn't even mention that name when he saw the memory. Why bring it up now?]

No. That's. Even if I could stand to hear it. And I can't. The person you saw. That's not me.

[They'd at least have to work up to "actual person", first. And they can never be a person who has never taken another person's life again.]

[policier]

( Perhaps it's the wine that's making him bolder, and his tongue loose. Seeing the other man twitch almost makes him regret mentioning it, however, and Javert cannot hide the guilt from his face. He turns his gaze away, looking down at the floor. )

You're right.

( The man he saw in the memory is not much like the man Javert knows. Javert isn't the man he used to be either, completely changed and unrecognizable from his past self. He understands the feeling. )

Forgive me. It's not my wish to upset you.

[worthallthis]

I know. I know. It's. Fine.

[And it is. They know Javert only wants what's best, and it's not an unfair question to ask, after all this time. It's not his fault Soldat can't handle it.

They breathe slow a few times, thinking of folding paper, and then suggest,]

You should sleep, sir. You'll feel better. I can stay, still, if you want.

[policier]

( Javert's not quelled by the other man's reassurance. He can tell Soldat's still upset, and he cannot hide the guilt from himself. Perhaps it is best that he retire for the night, then, before his loose tongue says anything else he may later regret. )

I do.

( He says, grasping the other man's forearm briefly, his hand curling just long enough for him to squeeze gently. Words have always been a bit difficult for him, but gestures are easier. )

Allow me to be selfish, just this once.

( He carries himself across the apartment slowly, mindful of his feet, to the bedroom with two beds separated by a wooden partition. He's silently grateful for obstruction — he doesn't know if he could stand to see Rosalind's empty bed so soon after mourning her. He leaves the door open, so as not to feel completely alone as he discards his trousers and pulls himself under the covers. )