even if I come back, even if I die

[codeofiron]

WHO: Brandon Heat and various (semi-open)
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: January 5th and after
WHAT: "I canon updated and all I got was a missing eye and even more emotional damage thanks to being murdered"
WARNINGS: references to death, violence to eyes, and quite possibly more rough stuff that will be added if it comes up


The first thing Brandon does once he gets back to the apartment in Maurtia Falls is get rid of the clothes. One of the Porter guards had been kind enough to lend him a spare shirt, after seeing the state Brandon's had been in, but the rest of it is beyond saving as well. Or not worth the effort. Too much blood, all of it completely dried by now. That accomplished, he collapses into the bed and (thankfully) actually manages to sleep.

He can't stand to rest long after that first day, though. He has a job here, he has obligations. It's impossible to ignore what happened, but he can try to work around it. To focus on tasks. So he takes care of necessary errands. Groceries, a trip to a nosy optometrist who eventually gives up when met with stone-faced silence. Brandon doesn't bother with his hair, letting it hang in a shaggy frame around his face, and he uses the winter chill as an excuse to turn up the collar of his coat. He isn't sure how many people he could stand talking to, yet, and would rather not be recognized easily. (Though, he supposes, the fresh scar stretching down the left side of his face from the middle of his forehead to close to the bottom of his cheek should take care of that problem from some angles.) Still, he passes by a few of the places he visits regularly in this world - a coffee shop, a diner, the canal - in an attempt to make things feel familiar again. Like he has a place.

In the following days, he seems to pull himself together more. There's no real way to hide the scar from the loss of his eye, at least until the new glasses with a black lens on the left come in and he can grow his hair out further. So he continues to make do with the broken glasses, combs his hair back, ignores any lingering soreness in his chest, and starts an even more rigourous training routine than his normal one. Hours at the shooting range and the gym, glaring as bullets and punches don't land quite where he'd intended. He's determined to get back to his usual level of skill as quickly as possible. The extra work has the added benefit of making him tired enough to sleep through at least some of the nightmares.

Maybe he's pushing himself. But it's not like it will kill him.



((Brackets are fine too. Feel free to hit me up at ElspethVimes if you'd like a starter or to plot!))

Comments

[ct_7567]

[ After this long into their acquaintanceship, Brandon and Rex share enough of the same haunts that they should run into each other at one of their specified locations. They're not the sort of people that plan to meet each other, necessarily, but they've run into each other long enough for it to be a habit, that he instinctively looks around for Brandon's silhouette once he arrives.

And then Brandon had stopped arriving, and that had been that. It had been... disappointing, he supposes. It didn't feel quite right. But he's no stranger to walking familiar places and noticing the familiar faces who are no longer there. And so it goes.

Until he runs into Brandon again, though not at any of their usual meeting places; Rex is out for a run when he thinks he sees a familiar looking back, though his hair looks carelessly mussed in a way Brandon's seldom is. He speeds his gait. ]

Brandon?

[codeofiron]

[It's strange, that a voice you'd forgotten existed for months can immediately register as familiar. Brandon slows automatically, though he hesitates to turn.

If he had to run into someone, better Rex than most. Rex has always been easier to communicate with, easier to understand in spite of how different their backgrounds are. Brandon can't say anyone is exactly welcome, right now. But Rex isn't unwelcome.

So he does turn.] Rex.

[ct_7567]

Brandon. You're back.

[ But not unchanged. Rex finally gets a taste of his own medicine: is this how people felt when he'd come back, skinny and battered? He doesn't like it very much. He's not unaccustomed to seeing others in distress, but he certainly isn't accustomed to seeing Brandon like this, nor does he know what could have spurred something so severe. ]

...you're hurt.

why so many shots from the left, animators

[codeofiron]

[Brandon expects questions. "What happened?", "are you alright?" The bald statement catches him off guard, a moment of surprise flitting across his face before his expression rests, nearly blank. You're hurt. Of course, Rex tends to be direct.

It's harder to brush off a statement. That doesn't stop Brandon from trying.]

Not really. ...The nanites helped. [As if he can get away with that. The majority of his wounds aren't visible, but they don't need to be when he can't hide the worst of them just by putting on a shirt. (Right up against his eye, shattering the lens before the shot was even fired.) It does still hurt, though much less than it should.

But it's not important, in the end. Brandon's hurt because he failed. What matters is not failing again.]

it's his good side

[ct_7567]

[ Not really. That's rich, coming from someone who looks the way Brandon does - but then, Rex said more or less the same thing upon his return. In fairness to him, however, he didn't look nearly as bad off as Brandon looks now. He finds that he doesn't quite know what to say - what is welcome, and what will just put Brandon off. He's a terribly private person. He always has been. It's why Rex knows so little about him. ]

The nanites can only do so much. [ There's a pregnant pause where Rex clearly wants to say something else. He doesn't. ] How long have you been back?

well, it WAS

[codeofiron]

[Brandon almost winces as Rex points out the limits of the nanites. It's a pretty transparent lie, especially to someone who's also returned injured. (It's just injury while he's here. He can think of it that way.)

He feels guilty, seeing Rex struggle to find what to say, seeing Rex concerned. It's more effort than Rex should expend. But Brandon doesn't know what to say to say that would make things easier. Doesn't really know what to say about what happened to anyone but Tokioka and Asagi. At least the question Rex settles on is simple to answer.]

Since yesterday. [That is, of course, going to make the nanites excuse even weaker. But lying about when he arrived, making it seem like he's spent more time without informing anyone of his return, would add to the guilt.]

ZING

[ct_7567]

[ There's much that Rex has to ask him. And he will, in time. He knows that it may be the kinder thing to do, to let it be without comment, much like Brandon did for him, but this is no stranger he's talking about. Brandon is his friend, a friend that he knows precious little about.

He would like for Brandon to want to tell him. To tell anyone, quite frankly; he's not entirely certain what the man does with his time, or which others he considers among his chief confidants. But that's not the tack he takes. ]

What do you need?

[ That's the most important bit. Rex knows what he needed. Time to digest things. Silent company. Someone to help put things back in order. Bland food and tepid tea.

He doesn't know what Brandon needs, but whatever it is, he's certain he can provide the basics. ]

I HOPE THIS IS OKAY

[baetiful]

With Brandon having disappeared an entire week, Baelish hoped for the best but assumed the worst -- that he was without a bodyguard yet again. This world had a tendency to give him someone he could rely upon, only to remove them. Hange had also disappeared.

But Brandon returned. And as soon as his name appeared on the network, Baelish expected to see him in his office -- brisk and ready to work as though nothing had happened. When Brandon had taken the day to himself, however, Baelish knew there was probably a more serious reason.

So the following day, Baelish finds Brandon before Brandon can come to work (with the aid of his mockingbirds across the city, of course) -- opting to visit the man right in his home with a light knock on the door. And whenever Brandon does make an appearance, Baelish pauses -- definitely making note of the newly missing eye.

"You returned to your world, did you not?" Holding up a bottle of wine. "I thought you could use the drink." But if Baelish had known the state of Brandon, he might have brought more than one bottle.

ABSOLUTELY

[codeofiron]

Brandon hadn't expected anyone to come to him. There are people he planned to contact, of course, as soon as he worked out how to handle the inevitable questions. Baelish was at the top of the list.

It's a surprise, to check through the peephole of the door and see that Baelish has beaten him to it. Not just with a call, but a visit. Brandon should have said something already, shouldn't have inconvenienced Baelish like this. But he's...grateful. He's still sorting through a year's worth of memories from here, on top of what had happened back home. He remembers, though, that Baelish had said they're friends.

The surprise lingers in his expression as he opens the door. He relaxes just a bit, though, as Baelish refrains from asking directly about the state of Brandon's face. Nods in agreement with both the question and the statement. "I'm sorry. I was going to call."

[baetiful]

"Understandable that you hadn't. And even more understandable if you need more time to yourself. I trust in my ability to keep myself alive for at least a week longer. Though if we're going two weeks, I am not so sure." Baelish says jokingly, offering the wine into Brandon's arms. Levity will always go a long way. Someone like Brandon does not necessarily want someone to stew over his injuries and dole out concern. Baelish imagines his head of security would rather act as though things were normal.

"May I come in?" The question is casual, but what he's really asking underneath it is if Brandon needs company. There would be no hard feelings if he refused.

[codeofiron]

Baelish has always reminded Brandon a little of Harry. The way Baelish attracts people, sees the potential in them. The vision and ambition. Brandon would really, really prefer to avoid thinking of Harry for a little while, as much as that's possible. To gain some small measure of distance, if he can.

But Baelish and Harry aren't the same, and it's the difference that's a comfort at the moment. The joke, the offer of more time rather than jumping immediately into plans. (Brandon won't take more than another day or two, of course. He needs to occupy himself, and needs a sense of purpose even more than that. But suggestng it is...kind.)

He doesn't deserve the consideration. But he can't let himself fail the people here too, and the first step in that is just seeing them again. Maybe it's better not to be alone with his thoughts for long, anyway. So Brandon accepts the wine with a nod, stepping aside to let Baelish in. "The kitchen's straight back."

[baetiful]

He nods appreciatively, stepping into Brandon's home and glancing around the surroundings. You could glean a lot about a person just by catching a glimpse of how they lived. But its the directions toward the kitchen he follows, heading straight back toward it and casually claiming a seat of his own.

"What awaits most of us in our own worlds is often not pleasant." Says Baelish, carefully. His eyes are on Brandon, gauging his response -- if he seems as though he does not want it brought up or if he does want to get it off his chest. He won't force him either way, but does offer some insight into his own universe.

"I am from a world at war. Men like me tend not to survive bloody, gruesome battles. Particularly not those with dead ice men who will kill anyone and anything in their path. I do not know what awaits me there, but I've built enough of a world here where I have a chance to do the things I may not be able to accomplish back home. And I hope you can take some comfort in that you have this world....in spite of what you lost. You have me, and I've no plans to go anywhere."

[codeofiron]

There's not much to see, in any case. The open door to the living room shows a framed photo of the ocean at sunset on the wall, a stack of the newspapers that piled up over the last week on the coffee table. The kitchen is spare as well, without many tools visible, though the half-open bag by the coffee-maker shows that there's at least one thing that gets regular use.

Brandon busies himself at first - getting a pair of glasses out of a cabinet and pulling a corkscrew from a drawer. He moves carefully, more slowly than usual. He has to avoid stretching too far or too quickly yet, needs to be mindful of distance. Not pleasant, indeed.

He turns back to Baelish, though, as Baelish mentions his own world, and sets the glasses down on the table. It seems that a lot of imPorts come from worlds at war, or with other problems on a larger scale than those in Brandon's own. (The mention of dead men gets a brief curious look, before Brandon settles back into serious neutrality.)

He doesn't respond immediately, the silence resting more heavily on him than it usually does. Brandon does have plans, back in his world. But at this point the question of whether they'll work or not is out of his hands. And for now, he's here. Maybe for another year, maybe less, maybe even more. The chance to do things you may not be able to back home... He wants to protect who he can, here. The people who have given him a chance. It's not a comfort, exactly - what he's lost has been because he failed, and he could fail again. But it's a direction. And he has to try.

"You can count on me."

[darkov]

[there's not been enough time to pass for Martin to get suspicious and wonder about Brandon's whereabouts: their relationship is odd, comprised of serendipitous and unexpected encounters. that he'd vanished at all isn't even on his register, for Brandon isn't high on the list of names he would pour over and check.

perhaps that's a good thing. perhaps someone still so very immersed in living here is good to have for realignment. or perhaps it's jarring, and more likely to give the man a feeling of displacement.

these aren't in the boy's mind as he enters the diner, blasted by the heat and smells that filling the place and huffs, thankful for it. it's gotten so much colder -- biting cold, winds that he's never experienced before. even bundled up with the coat and hat and gloves he'd been gifted, it seems to stab right through him!

so that's why he's no rush in getting up to the counter and climbing onto one of the stools, blind to the familiar shape of the man he knows as Brandon while his attention gets fixed on one of the servers prompting him.]

Um--yes. Sorry. I'm picking up. For...under, uh, Rex? Thank you...

[codeofiron]

[Brandon's been paying attention to who comes in and out, positioned with his right side to the door so that he can. He recognizes the hat almost before he recognizes Martin, bundled up as the boy is. It's...nice, to see that Martin does have a use for it. Something like a relief, or maybe Brandon just feels grateful he could help in some way, however small.

He's not certain he should say anything, though. Martin is nervous at the best of times, and Brandon's current appearance isn't exactly reassuring. He stays silent as the waitress checks the waiting bags of to-go orders. She turns back to Martin.] It'll just be another few mintues, hon.

[With that, she pivots to Brandon, who's expecting a check. Instead he gets-] It's on the house today, Brandon. No arguing.

[So much for not drawing attention.]

[darkov]

["Brandon"...?

Martin blinks, then, unable to contain his curiosity, peers over, eyebrows lifting.]

...Brandon? Sir?

[it's him, right? his profile. but without seeing his face fully, he might be wrong...]

[codeofiron]

[If the profile isn't definitely Brandon, the nod in greeting is.] Martin.

[Brandon doesn't turn much, but it's probably enough to show hints that something's wrong. He could say something normal, at least, to indicate that things aren't that bad (they are, but that's not a concern for anyone here, and definitely not Martin). Of course, he's a poor conversationalist at the best of times.]

Happy new year.

[That's...a normal thing to say, at this time of year.]

[darkov]

Ah...Ye-yes...

[what's this atmosphere? it's...different than usual. Brandon's not a warm person, not really, but the vibe Martin's getting is...it's off. he doesn't know how or why.

did he do something wrong?

he fidgets on the stool, looking down at his hands on the bar, chewing on the inside of his lip.

then, peeking out of the corner of his eye Brandon's way:]

Are you going to come back to the house again? The next time there's another dinner.

[codeofiron]

[That's...not a question he had expected, and it causes him to turn a little further, unthinkingly. Brandon had stayed for Christmas almost by accident. He hadn't anticipated anything further coming of it, in spite of what Lester said. ("These guys have a way of making everyone part of the family." That had stood out.) Brandon's not someone to get close to, most of the time. He's usually more help from a distance. If he's a help at all.

He doesn't want to just say no, though, when it seems to make Martin so nervous just to ask. Martin doesn't seem to ask for a lot, Brandon thinks.]

The next holiday?

[bindsthedead]

"Brandon?" Sabriel doesn't normally shop for groceries in Maurtia Falls- her home is in De Chima, and it's generally not worth the trouble of dragging several bags through the Porter. But she wants to have some snacks to keep at Helix Station- and that's when she spots Brandon. He looks... bad, and Sabriel's mind flashes through all the things that might have happened. It's really not her place to pry into personal matters.

"Are you all right? I haven't heard from you for a bit."

[codeofiron]

Brandon's trying to be even more aware of his surroundings than usual, if possible, doing his best to compensate for his limited vision. He attempts to remain unobtrusive, but he's not startled when she does notice him.

Which isn't to say he responds immediately. It's a moment before he explains, "I Ported out."

As if that answers everything, and not just the second part of what she said.

[bindsthedead]

"Did you return to your own world?" Even as she says it, Sabriel realizes that such a thing isn't always good, and what starts out friendly ends on an awkward tone. She frowns, looking at him more carefully.

"If you were hurt- I know some healing spells?"

[codeofiron]

It's an unexpected offer, one that makes him feel simultaneously grateful and guilty. He's reflected, before, on how good many of the people here are, how much they try to help. He admires it, even if he knows he doesn't belong to it. But it hadn't sunk in as much how kind they can be.

"The nanites helped." It's a second before he adds, sincerely, "Thanks."

He may not want to take advantage, but he won't let the offer go unrecognized.

I'm sorry this is so slow

[bindsthedead]

"I see." Well, if he's well enough to go out shopping, perhaps he's all right.

"If you... want to talk about what happened, I wouldn't mind hearing it."

I'm sorry I ended up even slower

[codeofiron]

That's kind as well - offering without insisting.

Brandon's never been one to talk about things, of course. He doesn't see the point - it's better to find a course of action, to do things rather than say them. People will ask, though, so he's considered what to say. How to respond to others' concern without making it worse, or giving too much away. "I was injured at work." He shrugs, slightly, with his right shoulder. "It's a risk."

(He'd known it was a risk.)