If I'm Out of Line, Just Show Me the Door [CLOSED]

[ownperson]

Who: Agent South Dakota (ownperson) & Agent North Dakota (gooddefense)
What: Unresolved tension boils over
When: Mid-December, pre holidays
Where: North's farm, Northwest Hollow
Warning(s): Excessive alcohol/alcohol abuse, ongoing mental health crises, discussion of betrayal/fratricide by proxy, possible references to past emotional abuse/neglect, others added as necessary



She doesn't mean to get back so late.

One drink turns into two drinks into five into ten and, outside the Oak & Iron's windows, the world turns black and white as night creeps in and snow drifts down from clouds overhead. Midnight is already long behind her by the time the bartender finally cuts her off so they can close up, ushering her out to brave the chill as she curses herself for losing track of time. It's a long walk back from downtown to the farmhouse even on a good day and, between trudging through snowfall and her own drunken clumsiness, this is not a good day. Should've left sooner. Should've been back hours ago. It's just—

Been getting harder and harder to spend time in the house without wanting to scream, the last few days—fuck, the last couple weeks, really. Hours will go by where everything seems okay and then something will happen, something small, something she barely even notices, and everything gets weird again. North gets weird again. But then she doesn't say a word, and, eventually, things go back to normal. Until the cycle repeats. Over and over and over again and—

She just needed to get out of the house. Needed a drink and to clear her head. That's all. That's fucking all.

Her pale skin is red and her hands are shaking as much from the cold as the alcohol, by the time she hauls herself up the porch steps and fumbles with the lock on the door. It's not quiet, it's not considerate. When it finally clicks open, she shoulders the door and stumbles inside, shoving it back shut behind her. Her boots thud heavily against the wooden floor and she grunts, huffing as she fights to get the stupid things off so she can drag herself to bed.

Comments

[ownperson]

South almost laughs. "Fuck no. Not that we ever, like, talked about anyway. Honestly, I figured I'd be in the military until I literally fucking couldn't do it anymore. Him... I dunno. Guess I figured he'd stay if I did. Maybe that was stupid. Always figured he wanted the like, partner and kids life, one day."

Replace 'stupid' with selfish, then. Or make it both, that's probably more fucking accurate. She's always been holding him back—ugh, don't go down that train of thought, right now.

"But. Yeah. He's kinda always done that. I'm the big, messy emotional one and he locks it down like a fucking vault. I have to pry shit out of him and even that doesn't work half the time. Drives me nuts." She chews her bottom lip, sighs. "...and, y'know, makes me worry. But I'm not, like, good at helping him, so."

[cyansoldier]

Another book for the pile. Probably picking up too many of them. Then again, once an overachiever, always an overachiever. She needs a steady queue of something to keep herself busy on the nights she can't sleep.

"It's hard trying to meet someone where they're at when you're opposites. You can never really wrap your head around what's going on in theirs. That was the problem between York and I. On a friendship level, not just— you know." She waves her hand. "I couldn't fathom him being so easygoing. It made it seem like he didn't care. Like he wasn't thinking. I wanted to punch him. I wanted him to take things seriously, for once— which meant doing things the way I do them." It's stupid, really. Trying to jam someone into a shape that makes you feel less insane. Stupid, frustrating and deeply understandable.

Maybe she's talked for too long. Has she? Embarrassing.

"If he finds a partner, and you find a partner, I think that could be good for both of you."

[ownperson]

South, without really thinking about it, plucks some of the books from the pile to carry for her. Look, if Lina keeps going like this she's going to run out of arm space and it's not like South's doing anything else, right now.

"He always did make jokes at the worst fucking times in the field," she says, thinking back again. They all joked, of course they did, sometimes it's the only thing between you and losing your cool at the worst time, but York never was very good at shutting up. "But y'know, we never got on that good. Always figured everyone else liked it that way."

York was always more gregarious than even North, constantly chatting, seemingly liked by everyone in a way she just wasn't. There's a lot of reasons she didn't feel like she really fit in on the team and York's entire existence wasn't not one of them.

(In hindsight, that's... probably some skewed perspective.)

She snorts and gives Lina a look. "Right, like it's that simple. Not all of us can go and get engaged in like, a fuckin' year, Cat. If he finds someone he'll have no trouble and I'll— I'll be happy for him, but let's be fucking real, here: I haven't dated in almost a fucking decade for a reason. I'm not what anyone would call a fuckin' catch."

(Meanwhile somewhere in town, Haley continues to think they've been dating a month.)

[cyansoldier]

God, York. She's never met a man who could so succinctly kill a mood and legitimately call it an accident. Bad jokes at the wrong time all the time. She should have gagged him when they slept together. Hell, she should have gagged him in the field. 'You know the Director can hear you, right?' Said more than once, to which she could reliably expect a reply like, 'You know the Director has a tiny—'

Probably better he's not here. She might have killed him several times over.

Always figured everyone else liked it that way bothers her in particular for how deeply she empathizes. Carolina slides her tongue across her teeth. Folds the statement and tucks it into her pocket to ask about later.

"You think that. It doesn't mean everyone else will. Besides, didn't you and CT have something going on? That's something."

[ownperson]

South huffs and rolls her eyes. Are they really doing this? Does she really wanna fucking answer that and not just— flip Carolina's hair in her face and change the subject?

Except she hasn't... talked about this with anyone except that she maybe kind of told Haley that CT existed (like that would matter to her) and that argument with CT herself that didn't really count as talking about anything. North knows, of course he does, he was the one stuck managing her reaction after CT left, but... that's not the same as talking about it, either.

South sighs. "No. We didn't. Not— not really."

Even now she doesn't know what to call whatever— that, was, that happened between them. Isn't even sure you can call it anything at all, when for all she knows any interest on CT's side was all in her head. Wouldn't be the first time she thought she saw something that wasn't there. Sure wasn't the first time she never dared to act on it.

"...I— liked her a lot, sure. Obviously, she's hot. And she was... the only one on the squad that actually liked spending time with me." God, that's pathetic, makes her sound like a child on a playground. "But nothing ever happened. We were just... friends. Until, y'know, she fucking left. Maybe we play-flirted or— maybe sometimes I thought..."

She presses her lips together and exhales out her nose.

"...like I said. I haven't dated in almost a decade. Haven't even had a one-night-stand since before we stopped getting fucking shore leave."

[cyansoldier]

Thought they liked you, Cat thinks but doesn't say. She doesn't need to. "Guess I assumed something was going on because you were together so often. You know, you find your person out of everyone. And you were all so damn—" Horny. She stops herself, not appropriate talk for a library setting, and steers them toward check-out, taking her sweet time walking the aisles.

"You should consider talking to her about it. Productively. I'm not saying it would fix things or that you need to do it right now, but it might give you some..." she shrugs, "...closure, when you're ready for it. She left you. It hurt. Maybe it'd hurt less if you said your piece. But what do I know. If someone told me York moved into the neighborhood, I'd probably go berserk. So. I get it. Just an idea for the future. And you're already getting better at talking about things. Not so much of a stretch to say you'd be able to articulate what you want, then move on."

A brief exchange at the front desk— books signed for, thanks and have a nice day's— and they're off to the next spot. Her kitchen cupboards are a goddamn wasteland.

Carolina looks brightly over her shoulder. "For what it's worth, I think you'd make a nice girlfriend. Carrying my books? Very chivalrous. Someone's gonna be all over that."

[ownperson]

South snorts, staring at a very interesting patch of floor. "I already fucked that up. Fucking drunk called her at fuckoff o'clock. All it did was make shit worse. No fucking way she'd let me try to talk to her again. Even if I did know what to say."

And she's still not sure she even does. What the fuck does she want, from CT? Anything they could've been is out of the question, now, and not just because she's already seeing someone else. Does she want to be friends, again? Maybe. (Yes.) But what the fuck is that meant to look like? How could she ever ask for that? She can't. CT made it damn clear she didn't trust her and she couldn't even argue that she was wrong not to.

"...also no offence but that advice is insane from the woman who also doesn't talk to her."

They're doing great at this.

Onwards they go, bags and books in hand, and South really hopes her ears don't dare to go pink at the compliments coming out of Carolina's mouth. That's something else that was never going to happen, and she's fine with that, this is... this is nice, as it is, it really is, but christ, she's still just a lesbian in the middle of the longest dry spell of her life and her— temporary roommate (jesus christ, anything to avoid the word friend—) is still hot.

"Yeah you're just saying that to torment me because I got a boner over you before," she jokes, because if they get caught in a loop of her insisting she's unlovable while Carolina keeps insisting she's not, she's going to get agitated and ruin the day, and she doesn't want to do that, so. Terrible jokes that barely make sense it is.

[cyansoldier]

"Listen, let me have this. I can't give insane advice every once in a while? And anyway, it's complicated. We'll figure it out." (Will we?) "We are figuring it out. CT's just... CT." And Carolina's Carolina— and being responsible for a person's death really throws a wrench in attempting to reconcile. Of all her teammates, CT was an enigma. Still is. And they still have an evil old man to kill.

"Maybe," Carolina shrugs, tossing her ponytail with an easy movement of her head. She likes this act. The wry aloofness which had become a cornerstone of her personality during the Project, before everything went to shit. It adds another layer to the... normality of this. "I like making people suffer. It's fun."

Together they walk the market, and like with all chores Carolina takes on a militaristic focus, scrutinizing produce like working out the finer details of an operation plan. Food is important. It's necessary to life. It's what keeps households together, including the dysfunctional ones. On a bad day, she might have agonized about the process. Spiraled into recalling vague memories of plates left out in front of doors, of dragging her stool to the sink, and of the wellness check she tried and failed to make every day for six odd months.

Today's alright. She gets the essentials, and then some. She holds labels too close to her face then shoves them into South's and tells her to read. 'I'll buy you a treat,' she says in her usual flatness, 'for getting your ass out of bed before noon.' The walk home might as well be a workout for how much shit they're carrying— groceries, books, a few wooden posts tucked under her arm for a patch of fence that won't stay up. She's sweating a little by the time they make it back, and it feels goddamn good.

After everything's put away, Carolina leads her half-roommate-not-friend into the bathroom. She's got a mean-looking pair of scissors in her hand.

"Okay. Who's first?"

[ownperson]

Difficult topics set down once more, South relaxes into the mundanity of the tasks at hand. It's... nice. Feels good, to get out of the house, even if you'd have to fight to get her to admit it most days. Sometimes all she has in her is slumping on the couch like a warm corpse, feeling fucking miserable and wishing she didn't, but... today's been okay. Better than okay. For maybe the first time since they got to this town, she actually feels like she could get used to this.

She carries things. She teases Cat for her bad eyes, because she's a shithead like that. Picks out her own necessities and doesn't hesitate to throw in some nicer jerky when flatly promised a treat. Most of her own grocery budget for the month goes on the supply of alcohol she needs to keep up this stupid tapering, which she refuses to make Carolina pay for—no, that's her own responsibility, Carolina's wasting enough money on just feeding her.

Back to the house, everything away, and she stands in the bathroom with gaze flicking between the scissors and her own mess of hair in the mirror. Christ. She really has let it go too long. Guess that's what three months alone and almost three more months of drunken apathy does to a bitch.

"...lemme do yours, honestly might be fuckin' quicker." Sort out her bangs, do the roots, take the ends off if she needs is.