In retrospect, he could hear it all.
Every drop of his own blood, hitting the sand, as he squeezed those broken glass shards. It was a vivid memory, the heat of moment contrasted sharply by the icy chill that had gripped his rapidly beating heart. Cognitive thought became memory, the by-blow of the moment rocketing him back years and stealing him away from the here and the now...
Fionna's warning echoed within the ears of a head empty of reason, it's meaning lost on an already fragile psyche that for years already had been on the cusp of shattering, until he was only dimly aware of the damning answer he gave. She was all but gone by the time he looked up, his descent back to reality coming with all the gravity of a cement block dropped from a plane.
To follow would have been as smart as it was foolish. In the end, all Steve could do was wallow.
===============================================
You knew, the familiar voice said from over his shoulder, an amused accusation delivered in the flavor of self-satisfaction. From the first moment you laid eyes on her, you knew she was going to challenge every convention you'd adhered to since landing in this melting pot of crazy.
"Yeah, I knew."
It was a concession, one grudgingly and more easily given in the solace offered by the roof of The Eye. Wallowing had ultimately consisted of a copious amount of liquor and, in the absence of Fionna's steadying presnece, his own personal war in the workshop that saw any number of important pieces of equipment trashed beyond simple repair. When mindless violence just simply wasn't enough, the edge of the building had become his perch, booted feet dangling over the lip idly as he sought to duct tape the fragmenting pieces of himself in the chaos.
You knew, but you let her in anyway? There was acid accusation that cut through the amusement, a rippling wave of jealousy fired at the machinist's broad back that sent an uncomfortable chill up the spine of a man not easily daunted. You could play dumb back then. I'm sure it was easier when it was all fun, games, and the warm press of naked flesh. But now? What now? You know what she is? What her kind took from us? If you were a better man, you'd have cut her heart out of her chest those moment she confessed. You should have avenged me. Us.
"Things've changed...," he started.
Ooooh, things have chaaaanged. The voice mocked him, a melodramatic mimicry of his own strong voice, punctuated by an irreverent snort. That's a cop out. Who're you trying to sell that {Expletive} to anyway? The hunter's still in you, no matter what mask you try and wear with the rest of these sheep, Steve. Oh, yes, you're a real cut up in public, I see. All jokes and surly indifference. And even those armored blue pajamas you've taken too so recently. You're a joke. A joke and an insult to everything that came before that pretty cello-playing trollop and politician. If I was still alive...
"But you aren't," he cut the other's voice off. "You're dead. I buried you, remember? I don't even know how the Hell you're here. Maybe it's the booze..."
Or maybe you're more broken than anyone thinks, hm? The voice was equal parts taunt and speculation, but fading... ever fading... The shield will only break when the man does, remember? And it's already full of cracks... So full of cracks. Maybe, Steve my love, I'm just another mask you're wearing. At the end, my end, we questioned everything. Remember?
Remember...
There was so much that was hard to forget, even through the bite of the liquor, somethings couldn't be forgotten or let go so easily.
Not even the way his lips moved... during both parts of that conversation.
Every drop of his own blood, hitting the sand, as he squeezed those broken glass shards. It was a vivid memory, the heat of moment contrasted sharply by the icy chill that had gripped his rapidly beating heart. Cognitive thought became memory, the by-blow of the moment rocketing him back years and stealing him away from the here and the now...
Fionna's warning echoed within the ears of a head empty of reason, it's meaning lost on an already fragile psyche that for years already had been on the cusp of shattering, until he was only dimly aware of the damning answer he gave. She was all but gone by the time he looked up, his descent back to reality coming with all the gravity of a cement block dropped from a plane.
To follow would have been as smart as it was foolish. In the end, all Steve could do was wallow.
===============================================
You knew, the familiar voice said from over his shoulder, an amused accusation delivered in the flavor of self-satisfaction. From the first moment you laid eyes on her, you knew she was going to challenge every convention you'd adhered to since landing in this melting pot of crazy.
"Yeah, I knew."
It was a concession, one grudgingly and more easily given in the solace offered by the roof of The Eye. Wallowing had ultimately consisted of a copious amount of liquor and, in the absence of Fionna's steadying presnece, his own personal war in the workshop that saw any number of important pieces of equipment trashed beyond simple repair. When mindless violence just simply wasn't enough, the edge of the building had become his perch, booted feet dangling over the lip idly as he sought to duct tape the fragmenting pieces of himself in the chaos.
You knew, but you let her in anyway? There was acid accusation that cut through the amusement, a rippling wave of jealousy fired at the machinist's broad back that sent an uncomfortable chill up the spine of a man not easily daunted. You could play dumb back then. I'm sure it was easier when it was all fun, games, and the warm press of naked flesh. But now? What now? You know what she is? What her kind took from us? If you were a better man, you'd have cut her heart out of her chest those moment she confessed. You should have avenged me. Us.
"Things've changed...," he started.
Ooooh, things have chaaaanged. The voice mocked him, a melodramatic mimicry of his own strong voice, punctuated by an irreverent snort. That's a cop out. Who're you trying to sell that {Expletive} to anyway? The hunter's still in you, no matter what mask you try and wear with the rest of these sheep, Steve. Oh, yes, you're a real cut up in public, I see. All jokes and surly indifference. And even those armored blue pajamas you've taken too so recently. You're a joke. A joke and an insult to everything that came before that pretty cello-playing trollop and politician. If I was still alive...
"But you aren't," he cut the other's voice off. "You're dead. I buried you, remember? I don't even know how the Hell you're here. Maybe it's the booze..."
Or maybe you're more broken than anyone thinks, hm? The voice was equal parts taunt and speculation, but fading... ever fading... The shield will only break when the man does, remember? And it's already full of cracks... So full of cracks. Maybe, Steve my love, I'm just another mask you're wearing. At the end, my end, we questioned everything. Remember?
Remember...
There was so much that was hard to forget, even through the bite of the liquor, somethings couldn't be forgotten or let go so easily.
Not even the way his lips moved... during both parts of that conversation.