maskormenacelogs | One day we will run out of tomorrows

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One day we will run out of tomorrows

WHO: Mia Fey and Godot
WHERE: Public Defenders' Office
WHEN: Lunch time, March 18.
WHAT: Mia drops by her roomate's office to take him out to lunch and runs into a familiar face and an unexpected blast from the past.
WARNINGS: Angst. Coffee Metaphors. Manpain blacker than a cup of Godot blend #101.

There was nothing more buoying to the spirits than to be told by a doctor that you were not about to keel over and die from a serious head injury. Having had that dubious pleasure once in her lifetime- her first lifetime to be exact- Mia wasn't in any rush to repeat the experience. So with her doctor's note signed and with her papers dropped off at the personnel office of the university, Mia was quite ready to proclaim her morning a productive one and was feeling in the mood to celebrate.

After taking a break to seek out some recommendations for a place to eat, Mia made her way over to Phoenix's workplace to surprise her former protege with a thank you lunch. He'd been invaluable and more than attentive while she'd been feeling less than stellar, and it was only right that she treat him. Besides, she was long overdue shouting him for the burgers she had promised as a celebration of his first case.

Hopefully he wouldn't mind them being a decade overdue.

Ten minutes later, she arrived at the Public Defenders' Office and followed the directions given to her by the lady at the front desk (who reminded her vaguely of Wendy Oldbag for some reason), she found herself at the door to the office Phoenix was working in and knocked on the door.

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It had been a long time since he'd touched defense. A lifetime ago, in fact. That attorney had once held high regard for and a deep belief in the right to be defended. So Godot supposed it wasn't so hard for him to muster up at least a little bit of give-a-damn for this job he was assigned by a shadowy government on the conditional that he register, of his own free will-- which he technically didn't.

Circumstances and time added a dingy patina to it all. The truly desperate and criminal for clients of defense; the special touch of civic red tape of prosecution... Truly, an acrid blend.

And then there was the cosmic joke that was Phoenix Trite, cosmic joke, assigned as his paralegal. Godot was actually a nicer boss than Phoenix probably expected him to be-- mostly because he'd hardly said a complete sentence to him. He'd been handed stacks of paperwork and filing to do, and other than that, Godot kept to himself in his own office, tinkering with his six coffee machines in between actual work.

He wasn't expecting anyone that day, though if he had to guess, he'd say it was probably another representative of the city coming by to drop off another case involving some idiot who couldn't get a real lawyer.

"Come in," he called, somewhat apathetic. After all, his next pot was about done brewing.

Mia opened the door on instinct, barely registering the muffled voice from behind it. Just as she was about to apologise for the interruption, she was suddenly hit by the strong, achingly familiar waft of freshly brewing coffee that one would normally associate with walking into a coffee house. It was then that she caught sight of the white haired figure standing by one of the six - six!- different coffee machines that were positioned around the office. He appeared utterly transfixed on his machine, and it was only down to that that Mia was able to get a good, uninterrupted look at him from where she stood in the doorway.

It wasn't the first time she had seen him, and she recognised him instantly. The strange mask was a distinctive enough accessory after all. Prosecutor Godot, that was what he had called himself. It had been brief, and Mia hadn't been sure then, but now...

She took a step back in surprise, still clutching the door handle, and tried not to gawp but there really could be no other explanation. It had to be him, it had to. There was no way it could be anyone else. Who but Diego Armando had such an unsettling obsession with coffee?

"You want to cut back on drinking that stuff," she said when she was able to find her voice again. "I hear too much of it will kill you."

He didn't bother turning around when the door open, figuring whoever it was could wait until he was through pouring himself a fresh cup of #77. It was painful being without all of his blends here, but as he acquired more pieces of his truly monstrous blending collection, he could start replicating them a little at a time.

He was just finishing pouring himself a cup and setting the carafe back down when she spoke, and the cup abruptly slipped out of his fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling all over.

Let this be sanity finally slipping out the back door, that was fine. But if he was going to lose his mind, could he at least do it in a way that didn't invoke her?

He did his share of staring as well, unable to speak or even breathe for a second or two that felt like hours each. He didn't even have a pulse for all he knew just then. When it became apparent that she wasn't a dream, wasn't a hallucination, that he was here in another version of the world and it was a world where Mia Fey was alive and well-- that she was looking right at him-- that's when he felt his heart began to pound a mile a minute.

Finally he exhaled and replied.

"Only mostly."

Mia had never intended for him and his coffee cup to part ways, and flinches when it hits the floor. In retrospect, perhaps there might have been slightly gentler ways to announce herself, but if she had harboured any doubts in her suspicions about Prosecutor Godot, his reaction had certainly kicked them to the curb.

She crossed the room and bent to pick up the coffee cup, frowning at the mess she had had inadvertently caused and feeling somewhat responsible for the clean-up. It didn't help that her heart seemed to be in her throat, and she suddenly found she didn't know quite what to do with herself, or with him for that matter.

How long had she been wishing for this exact reunion to happen anyway?

"Well, 'mostly' just so happens to be too much for me."

She got to her feet and stood looking at him, at that strange mask on his face and the way he seemed to be utterly transfixed on her, and she offered him a shy smile, suddenly feeling self conscious.

"You know, you'd get a better look at me if you took that stupid mask off, Diego."

He thought he had seen a glimpse of her, once, in the courtroom with Trite. But that could have been chalked up to family resemblance between Maya and her deceased older sister. Here, it was unmistakably her-- older, more collected than the young lawyer who'd come to work at Grossberg's.

How long had it been since he'd heard her voice? He was completely unsure. He remembered that last conversation, but there were bits and pieces after that, almost like he'd been dreaming-

With that, he caught himself, and like machinery being jammed, his thoughts ground to a halt. He redirected them in the proper direction, though never in a million years did Godot think he would have to steel himself against something like this. He didn't even know if he could; Diego's feelings were hard to block out, no matter how much of a nuisance they were.

He felt a knot grow in his chest as she spoke of his "mask." "I'd rather keep it on," he said simply, quietly.

"Is it- really you?"

"It took me a while to figure that out," she replied, equally quiet. "I wasn't sure at first. But yes, it's really me. Alive and kicking."

The air between them felt charged and heavy, as though something might shatter and break into a thousand pieces and right now Mia wasn't sure whether it might be one of them. It was too strange, too surreal to be standing there with someone who she could once say anything to and now finding herself lost for words.

It suddenly struck her that she'd known him longer asleep than she had known him awake.

Come on Mia, say something she told herself. You two have been having one-sided conversations for too long now.

"And it's really you under there? You're okay?"

He hesitated before answering her question.

"That depends on your definitions," he replied quietly. Of "really you." Of "okay."

How many times had he pictured this exact moment? How often had he dreamed what it would be like to see her again, how quickly it would push away all the torment of his existence just to have her near? In his darkest moments, he had imagined that just the sound of her voice would be like a balm, soothing away the bitterness and pain that had come to define him.

Of course, in all those dreams, he stood strong before her-- a man, not a carcass like he was now. He looked her in the eyes with all the confidence of the man she had fallen in love with years ago. He was someone else entirely in those dreams.

It had been foolish to think it would be so easy.

He stood as though he didn't know what to do or say with himself, or with her, merely watching her from behind the glowing visor. Or perhaps not. It was impossible to tell where he was looking.

His hands were shaking, however. That much was obvious.

"Diego..."

She couldn't miss the way that his hands were shaking and she closed the distance between them, reaching for his hands.

"I know it's a shock, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have just-" She brushed her fingers over his knuckles and looked up at him. "I don't know, I always thought I'd know exactly what to say to you when I got the chance to see you again. Looks like I messed up."

His hands were warm, and in spite of everything it was a novelty to be looking up at him and getting some sort of response other than the slow, regular beep of his heart monitor. Even knowing that, something felt off and she knew what it was that felt so odd; looking at a metal grill with glowing red lights that hid half of his face was anything but reassuring.

"Won't you take that off? Please?"

His palms were sweating, and he still seemed almost frozen as she took his hands. He should pull his back, turn around and step away, but god help him, he couldn't stop himself. Back then, Diego had chided himself for getting so worked up over one person-- for letting a solitary woman snare the lion so helplessly and utterly.

It seemed Godot had not steeled himself against that as well as he should have. But how could he? Mia Fey was dead.

He swallowed, and against his better judgment, squeezed her hands a little before he let them go.

"You must be tired," he said, in what he hoped was not an entirely obvious way to change the subject. "Coming all this way, from the other side."

One moment he was squeezing her hands, the next he was pulling away from her. Mia frowned a little, not understanding his hesitance.

"No, not anymore. I was at first, and confused. I still can't work out how they did it." She swallowed, looked away guiltily. "And I can't find it in me to get angry about it, even if everything else about this situation stinks."

Mia looked back at him and touched his arm, determined to regain some of the closeness he had sacrificed. None of this was going the way she hoped it might have gone, everything seemed wrong... and most alarmingly, so did he.

"When did you wake up? What happened?" And then suddenly she was reminded of something, not of Diego Armando but of Prosecutor at the bench across the court from Phoenix. "And why did you go over to prosecution?"

His face stayed perfectly straight below the metal mask, a half-stoic, half-frown that was impossible to read without the view of his eyes. His voice was even too, as calm as he could possibly make it-- quite a feat, given the way it felt like his whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

He thought he was completely unreadable, but could not have known what Mia could see clearly around him and within him, secrets locked up tight.

"I'm- glad you're well," he said calmly. "You look amazing, as always."

Bam.

For just the briefest moment, all Mia could focus on was the way that Diego had tensed, and she could swear that she could chains and locks about him. She blinked, and realised that it hadn't been her imagination.

There. Plain as day. Five locks, and chains that coiled around him like silvery serpents. It had been years since she had seen Psyche Locks but here they were, keeping parts of Diego Armando hidden from her.

"Swee- Diego what's wrong? What is it?" What are you keeping from me? "Why won't you give me an answer?"

It was stupid to think that his evasive answers and obvious avoidance would fool Mia for even a second. The young attorney had always been inquisitive and sharp. She would ask a thousand questions, if need be, to get to the bottom of whatever mystery was vexing her.

Even when he may have wanted the mystery to stay buried. Breaking the news to her was going to hurt, and he knew it. But there was no other choice. Not anymore.

He shook his head, and slowly turned away from her, stepping over towards the window. "Some things are better left in the past, kitten," he said quietly.

That answer wasn't going to suffice either, and he knew it. But it bought him time to think of what answer he could possibly give her now.

"Yes, like you treating me like a child and acting aloof when you don't want to tell me something," she retorted. "Because if you won't answer that question then I've got a few more that I'd like to ask you."

Why didn't you tell me? Why did you go alone? Why would you ever leave your damn coffee unattended around a woman you knew was a poisoner?

Why did you leave me behind?

She didn't follow him; she stood where he had left her and took the opportunity to look at him from behind. With the glare from the window throwing him into contrast, she could almost see him as he had been all those years earlier, before Dahlia Hawthorne had ruined everything.

Before Redd White had dealt the final blow.

"Please, Diego."

He was glad to be looking away. Even if she couldn't see his eyes, he was pretty sure that unbreakable expression on his lips was twisting into a distressed frown.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, once he'd gotten control of his voice again. "I hate to disappoint you."

Why did she have to find him here? If she was going to appear in this place, in this twisted situation, it would have been better if she'd never known he was here. If he'd never had to explain to her the bitter truth that still hurt to think about, even after he'd steeled himself to it.

"The truth of the matter is--" He sighed, and turned around to look at her. He needed to see the look on her face when she heard the news. Needed to use it to seal away these troublesome, lingering dredges that were floating back to the surface.

"Diego is dead."

She flinched. She couldn't help herself, those three words had dragged up an uncomfortable memory for her.

Diego Armando is dead. We need you to come to the hospital and formally identify the body, Miss Fey.

Mia squared her shoulders and looked straight at him.

"You know, someone tried to tell me that once. I didn't believe them then, and I don't believe it from you now when you're standing right in front of me." She took a fortifying breath before she continued. "I didn't believe it when they said you wouldn't wake up, or you'd be better off dead even if you did. So try again, Diego. What are you so afraid of telling me?"

Better off dead-

He exhaled slowly and steeled himself again, shoving one hand into his pocket in that old nervous habit. Maybe he looked like Diego, or had his unmistakable voice. But the sad truth was as plain as day to him, as plain as the mask that covered his eyes.

Perhaps he needed to be more specific.

"Diego Armando never woke up," he said again. "He was arrogant and foolish. And because of that, he's gone from this world. I'm all that's left of him now."

"Is this supposed to be your idea of a sick joke? Because it's not funny."

Mia balled her fists at her side but refused to back down. How dare he stand there, alive and existing in the world, and telling her that he was gone from it?

"Don't you tell me that. Don't you dare. Being arrogant and foolish has nothing to do with what happened to you and it didn't kill you. Don't stand there and have the nerve to tell a dead woman that you're gone from the world because you have no idea what a terrible thing that is to have happen to you."

If only it was a joke. If only he could just shed the facade and open up to her, embrace her like he'd always wished he could if she had only been alive. The fact of the matter was that there were many kinds of death. And it was undeniable that a large part of the man she fell in love with was terminally destroyed all those years ago, and could never be made right again.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and turned to look away from her. Sorry he had to be the one to break the news. Sorry Diego wasn't here to greet her. Sorry he had to exist at all, and thus disappoint her.

Mia took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing herself to calm down. This wasn't going right at all, it wasn't how they were supposed to reunite after all these years and against all odds.

"Don't be sorry, be honest with me."

Why did he keep turning away from her? He had never been this withdrawn from her, never. She knew things had changed, knew that they could never go back to what they had had before August 27th 2012, but she had thought she'd at least be able to get some sense out of him, especially after seeing him in court.

And now he was hiding things from her, and even if she hadn't been able to see those Psychelocks about his person she'd have been able to guess that.

"What's wrong? Please, don't shut me out." She waited for a moment before adding: "I missed you so much."

If anyone would be able to rattle him to the core like this, it was obviously going to be one Ms. Mia Fey. She'd apparently been born with a special talent for rattling him like no one else, and even his carefully constructed facade was shaking under her words.

He still couldn't look at her, reaching forward to put his hands on the windowsill as he faced out the window. He couldn't see out, the glare of his visor reflecting off the glass and right in his way.

"Everything is wrong," he answered quietly. "Like I said. I'm all that's left. There isn't anything here that's worth your time or trouble, kitten. You deserve better than leftovers."

"I think I'd like to be given the benefit of my own opinion on that," she said softly.

There was something so unsettlingly odd about the situation, about him evading even the simplest of questions and leaving her in the dark about how best to proceed. Even as he looked out of the window at everything other than her rubbed Mia the wrong way. He was exasperating in his avoidance.

"The least you could do is tell me why. I've waited for you, everyone told me to move on and write you off as a lost cause but I wouldn't listen. Don't make them be right. Don't tell me I waited in vain."

Tentatively, she took a step forward and touched his elbow.

"I've never stopped loving you. Not even for a second."

Of course she waited. She waited longest of all for a man who never arrived. The apropos of the statement weren't at all lost on him. How unfair that he finally arrive for her, looking like this, being this broken man not worthy of the wait.

He lowered his head a little as she touched his elbow, and despite himself he knew she could probably feel him shiver.

"Why?" he repeated. Well... that was an easy enough answer.

"Because it was easier to start over than to pick up from nothing."

"What do you mean?"

Mia frowned, then stepped around to try and get between him and the window. She didn't like this avoidance, didn't like to feel she was talking at him rather than to him.

"Why would you start over? Why give up defense when you love it? Diego you're an amazing lawyer, I know you'd been out for a while but you'd have got back into it in no time. Grossberg would have had you back in a second!"

He shook his head at her questions. If only it was so simple as a change in career. That might be understandable, but Godot had come about when an entire life was too broken to put back together.

"When the blend you're holding goes bad in the cup... dump it out and make another," he said. "That's a rule to live by."

He already knew she wasn't going to buy that cryptic response, so he provided a rare clarification.

"I couldn't. There was nothing left. Nothing at all."

Edited (spleling) 2014-03-25 13:57 (UTC)

"What are you talking about? Of cou-"

And then she stopped and considered something that hadn't occurred to her before.

"Oh god." She took a step back, forgetting how close she was to the window and hitting the sill with the small of her back. "You mean me. You don't mean me, do you?"

What an utterly ridiculous, egotistical notion for her to even have, but now that the idea was in her head... She looked up at him, face stricken.

"Diego..."

He couldn't hide the frown that crossed his lips upon seeing her expression, though as always, it was impossible to tell what sort of frown it was without view of his eyes. It was enough to stir him from stillness, though, taking a step towards her and shaking his head again.

This was why it would have been better if he'd never seen her again. If she'd never had to lay eyes on this broken corpse that she must have been so happy to see.

"It isn't your fault," he said softly. He reached out and took her hand, carefully toying with her fingers as he lifted it up towards his face.

"It wasn't you who failed. It's his sins that sent him to hell, and his suffering is his only penance. If it wasn't for him, none of this would have happened to you."

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and held them there for a moment, like he couldn't bear to let them go.

"It was all his fault," he murmured.

She let out a shaky sigh as he pressed his lips to her knuckles. Again, she was struck by a sense of wrongness about this whole situation.

"Maybe it was my fault. I got reckless and stupid and I thought I could handle him." She sighed and brought her other hand up to touch his cheek. "And I did. I just did it too late. Justice was served and Redd White got to feel its reach."

But that didn't help them here and now, in an office that smelt strongly of coffee in the middle of Florida.

"I am so, so sorry, sweetheart. I would have given anything to have been there when you woke up. I'm so sorry."

That apology left his guts tied up in knots, twisted and painful to where he felt like he might choke.

"No, Mia." He was insistent, shaking his head. "You can't apologize. None of it was your fault. He should have been there. He wasn't. And that's why it's all his fault."

It was tempting to let her keep touching his cheek, gentle hands that hadn't touched him in so long he nearly forgot what they felt like. But that would be too far. It was bad enough that he'd faltered this much, and it would only mean more pain for her in the end.

He had to pull away before he slipped any further.

With one more kiss to her knuckles, he let her hand fall and stepped away from her reach.

"Don't waste your chance at life and happiness on a dead man. Don't carry his sins, Madame Fey," he said, steeling his voice. "That's my only purpose now."

Being pushed away was like being smacked in the face. And then he called her 'Madame Fey.'

"It's good to see you again, Madame Fey."

It had been years, but still the memory of Dahlia Hawthorne's too sweet, syrupy voice on the stand had the ability bring the bile to the back of her throat.

"Mia," she said stubbornly, squaring her shoulders as she stared him down. "Call me Mia. Or Kitten. Call me anything except that."

If he was going to be difficult then he would have a fight on his hands.

"And stop calling yourself a dead man or I swear to god Diego-" she didn't even know what to threaten him with, it shook her so badly. "Because we've been through this, and you are anything but dead."

"Ms. Fey, then."

He could feel his pulse in his ears, pounding harder because he knew he had no choice but to push things further, now.

"And there are many different kinds of death," he said, turning away again. This time he stepped over to his desk and began to fiddle with a stack of papers there. "There is no doubt in my mind that the man you knew is dead, in some sense of the phrase."

He exhaled slowly, and like a switch was turned, his voice was steel and stoic again.

"Like I said, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But it's time we meet properly. My name... is Godot."

"Oh for god's sake- Look, we've seen each other naked. There was a time for Ms. Fey and introductions and we are way beyond that. Why are you acting like this?"

She walked over to his desk and slammed her palms on top of the papers he was distracting himself with.

"Your name is Diego Armando, you drink more coffee than any normal person should, you like jazz, your favorite color's red, you took me out for burgers the day of Terry Fawles' funeral and that was the day I began to fall for you. You were poisoned on the 27th August 2012-" Her voice cracked for a moment but she didn't let it dissuade her. "And for thirty minutes I felt like I had died because they told me you had. For two weeks I slept in a chair by your bed because I was terrified I'd miss you waking up or you'd die and I wouldn't get you back. So yes, there might be many different types of death but the one that really puts a stop to everything doesn't apply to either of us right now."

He should have known better than to expect her to accept it. He should have known she would fight, and fiercely-- Kitten always had claws, in the courtroom or otherwise, and he should have known she would turn them on him if he tried to pull away from her like he did everyone else.

He didn't look up at her, face tilted downward at her hands atop his papers. Every word stung, making him feel sick inside, like a suppressed memory struggling to come back to the surface. Hearing about her waiting by his bedside sent a shiver through him, and in Mia's sight only, the chains of his psychelocks trembled and rattled, then tightened.

"I can't be him anymore," he said simply, after a long silence. "I can't."

He abruptly turned then, stepping out from behind his desk and heading for the door. Running? Perhaps. But he couldn't stand here and take her disappointment any longer.

"Why?"

What was he doing? Mia wasn't content to let it go that easily, especially having seen the chains that held the truth in place rattling under her assertions. It had been a long time since she'd had to deal with a psychelock, but that didn't mean she was about to give up on the first attempt.

"You're not making any sense."

She waited at the desk and turned as he started heading towards the door. Why would he run from her, after all this time?

"You're you, it doesn't matter what color your hair is or what you go by in a courtroom, you're still you and you're still here. Why is that so hard for you to see?"

He grabbed his briefcase from the hook beside the door. There were papers he probably needed at his desk, but like hell was he going to stick around for them. He couldn't bear to look back at her again, not now, not when he felt rattled from the inside out, like the careful mask he wore had been cut straight through to the core.

All he could do was shake his head as she spoke to him, and finally, answer her one more time with a voice that sounded like he was trying very hard to hold it in check.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. But there are some things better left in the past, to live on in untainted memories," he said. "Diego Armando is one of them."

With that, he hurriedly stepped out into the hall and down the corridor to the elevator and out.

Mia just stood blinking in stunned silence as he left and didn't know whether to be angry or upset. Part of her wanted to knock all his paperwork off his desk in spite, but she reminded herself that she wasn't a bratty kid anymore and that was hardly going to help her case.

Besides, it would be best if only one party acted like a brat in this.

She had more dignity than to run out after him, begging and pleading for him to reconsider, even though she wanted to desperately. After five years of waiting to see him again, how could he just walk out of there and turn his back on her as though what she was saying didn't matter?

Her hands were shaking she was so upset.

Without a second thought, she grabbed the nearest pen- a red marker- from the pot on the desk, and scrawled a note on a piece of blank paper close to hand.

Diego,
The past hasn't been too great to us, we both know that. When you're ready to talk to me in the present, I'll be here.
Don't keep me waiting too long.
All my love,
Mia

She took a deep breath and spent a moment composing herself, trying not to let the smell of coffee get to her the way that it had a strange habit of doing, and with one last look at the note on his desk, she left the office in search of Phoenix, even though her appetite seemed to have left her.

Edited 2014-03-27 11:10 (UTC)

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One day we will run out of tomorrows

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