( open ) there's a road that follows to a home

[cadeuces]

Who: Angela & you!
When: The month of February and onward
Where: Region 2 farmlands, at her cottage
What: A permanent downtime log for house shenanigans!
Warnings: None, but I will update if anything comes along!

[ Angela's work schedule is a fairly clear-cut thing on the best of days. Three days working in Kauto's hospital, three days up on Chioni, and then two days off. Around the time of planet discovery and the initial burst of travels, she hovers around the Ingress Complex to assist any who may return injured, and she's otherwise on call across all three if emergencies required her skills. To say she isn't home terribly often is a fair enough assessment, but she still had plenty of downtime every evening, considering the longer days.

There's a key in the base of the lantern beside her front door, but not everyone knows about it— not even a handful from her own world. Those who do, however, know they have a free pass to her home whether she's there or no. A spare bed to crawl into, a couch to wait on, access to her stash of medical supplies (but seriously just call her for help). A kitchen to rummage through, now often with fresh-baked bread and a steady offering of apples off her trees on hand, as well as any leftovers in the fridge.

Eiger still accompanies her to work as a resident therapy dog, but he could be found around the property when she works her shifts on Chioni, access out the back door through the flap when he no longer feels like awaiting her return at the front. The cottage itself is on a hill and the back extends out on a bridge as an elongated sunroom, stretching out over the creek running through her property. The back door itself leads one to a winding path down through the copse of trees preceding her quaint little orchard of apple and walnut trees, surrounding a gazebo set up with a fire pit and the basics for cooking in warmer weather, hammock piled high in furs leftover from the Midway Hub's game— if anyone chose to visit and didn't have access to her house, this would be the ideal place to camp. (Just make sure to message her so she knows you're there! She'll come around once she's home to let you in.)

If she's home and not in the house, one would undoubtedly find her in that hammock with her work, fire crackling at hand and her cup of coffee long-since cold, Eiger curled up behind her legs. It's not the largest of places, but it's home, and there's blankets on near every surface— even the chairs in the kitchen. The creek is a relaxing babble, the creak of the water wheel partially powering her home, and if she's home, there's always a fire going if it's cold out and coffee going. ]



( ooc: This will be a permanent post for house stuff! I'll be posting monthly headers and any prompts relating to events or going-ons within to link from my toplevels, but I am 100% open to casual plotting or visits; just hit me up at clegane or on discord (gauche#5968) and we can work something out! ♥ )


february ● march ● april ● may ● june ● july ● august

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[cadeuces]

[ It may not be the first time for him, but it is her first time being this overtly worried for someone— she'd accompanied Genji a few times, through the initial bird baths he took, then later when he could attempt his first shower (keyword: attempt; it took a few more tweaks before he could shower unaccompanied and safely). She's more familiar with bedside sponge baths and the shampoo caps for hair washing, and this isn't her typical venue for such mother henning. It sets her at ease that he doesn't sound as though he minds her there, though, allowed to remain— where she can be sure he's safe and she can be on hand if she's needed.

As it is, she's behind the door and her eyes are closed, head resting back against the tile wall. ]

I'm glad to hear that much. [ She isn't looking, but his lack of any cursing or fumbling tells her her repair work is holding up; she's glad for that, too. ] ...Fading issue?

[ Is that what he's calling it, those moments of drifting? The blankness? Hallucinations...? She'll let him put it into his own words, though, instead of guessing at blurred shapes in the distance. The apologetic tone, however, is thoroughly unnecessary. She can hear it over the din of falling water and has the decency to be cross, though it likely doesn't carry strongly enough to be heard through the humidity, dampened and made weak. ]

It might help— just a little. [ That's an understatement, but she's still trying to be calming. It's not something so easily turned off, and while the topic can of course wait until he's finished showering and in clean clothes, refreshed and able to attempt winding down: ] You know I'm always ready to listen whenever you feel up to the discussion.

[alterplex]

[ As far as Venom's concerned, he's told her his story through the cracks in his foundations— from the bile he'd swallowed back at the fountain, the jagged end of his syllables over the phone. He's made admissions in the form of casual asides, in behavior that most people consider to be an old soldier's nascent acclimatization to civilian life.

His photography, his music, his dedication to action. He knows them for what they are: motion-activated lights.

(Clap on, clap off. Walk far enough away from him, and the last traces of blue turn invisible in his gray eyes.)

The sound of running water fills in the space between Angela's question and Venom's moment of self-reflection. When he turns the heat up just a sliver, Angela should be able to feel the humidity curl around the room. ]

Dissociation. [ The flatter, more medical term to use. Venom lets the hot water hit for a few more lingering seconds before stopping the stream altogether. ] Comes with the hallucinations.

[ Which she already knows about. A light huff, and an arm reaches out from behind the glass door to rifle for the towel Angela'd left for him to use. ]

You remember when I told you that everything happened 9 years back, in my time?

[ He starts drying himself down, mulling over what to say as his hands work. Efficiency always helps. ]

[cadeuces]

[ She feels like she has the framework. The sort where you look at the timber aligned and screwed together just so and say "this is going to be a house— there's the bedroom and a closet, here's a bathroom, you can see where they're going to run the electrical through the walls" even if you can't guess which side of the largest opening will be the kitchen or the living room. She knows the shape of Ahab and the keystones of his personality, knows why she adores him and knows where he's weakest, even if she doesn't know how these things came to be— it didn't matter, really. Something that's nice to know, but regardless who built the house or how long it took, the end product is something a family will live in and make their own, paint the walls and decorate, fill the kitchen with good cooking and bedrooms with personal touchstones, comfort. Angela sees him from a different point in time, it seems. Before these things have come to roost.

And that's fine with her. She'll catch up, and he hits fast forward every time he tells her something new, allowing her closer and closer. Perhaps soon she'd be able to wander through that house and help keep the lights on for him. Ahab creates his own touchstones in those photos and with his music, fills empty halls with something to sing along to; it's less lonely that way. Just like he turns up the shower, warming a space she isn't used to anyone else occupying but herself. The heat is welcome, as is the humidity even as it settles on her skin.

(She already knows they're blue— it doesn't matter what they look like at a distance, anymore.)

Dissociation. She'd suspected. Nothing concrete, but she's certainly seen him drift before, and it explained his blackout leading up to this point— can't help but wonder if it hasn't happened before, when he's been under duress and seems to surface, anchoring himself to her if she was present. Those quiet moments of confusion or blankness as he pulls himself back together and lets her hold onto him. When he's grasping for the towel, she cracks an eye open to fingers over textured glass and pushes the towel along the bar and into his fingers, closing her eyes once more to rest her head back. ]

I do recall, yes.

[ She'll let him finish instead of interrupting with questions; he'll likely answer them as he continues either way. She also recalls the way he'd let her draw his weight down onto her and the cold sweat she'd dabbed off his brow, still salty on her lips when she'd kissed his temple. The swipe of his thumb collecting cream from her mouth before lapping it up, the idle confession he'd dropped her way that hardly seemed fair. Trying to take the brunt of the blame for someone's death. ]

[alterplex]

[ Of course Angela helps him with the towel; she always seems to know exactly when to open her eyes and offer a hand. Venom smiles thinly behind the opaque fog separating himself from his friend, and presses the soft towel over the hard planes of his face. Building his words so that they won't startle, mentally chiding himself for his melodramatic assumption that Angela would be startled.

He's shifting into his new clothes when he finally decides what he wants to say about his lost near-decade, purposefully rustling fabric over his skin to make sure that his companion knows that it's fine to turn and look. It would be decidedly unfair to hide behind his relative state of undress, after all.

As always, Venom decides to shoot straight. ]

I fell into a coma after that incident, 9 years ago.

[ He steps into Angela's periphery, offering her the now-moist towel to dry his hair for him if she wants. Give her hands something to do.

Despite the words that come out of his mouth, he's steady. He's already compartmentalized this; he doesn't let this grenade blow up in his face anymore. It just—

—burns, caustic and slow-moving. ]

I was in that coma for 9 years.

[ So, okay, maybe his math is wrong: the accident happened a little bit over a decade ago, technically.

The point is, he hasn't been awake for long. ]

[cadeuces]

[ She can hear cotton dragging over whiskers and nearly the gears turning in his head, puzzling out his silences for what words he may be stringing together, why he's deliberating and what it may be over. Then that towel travels elsewhere, over sun-baked skin and down his legs, hearing his joints work as he bends forward, then the clothes he pulls on. The last bit of rustling preceding the following silence tells her he's finished and she opens her eyes again with a little smile, turning her head to find him exactly where she'd pinpointed him.

It's quick to lose its ease when he finally says what he'd been building up in his mind, though it never entirely falls— he's stepping closer and offering her the towel, after all. One brow furrows as she tips her head, huffing out a soft sigh before she's pushing herself upright with palms at her knees and taking the towel from his hands. She doesn't look terribly surprised; only chagrined. Ahab is steady, yes, but it still isn't easy to discuss. Especially not when he follows the fact with another, and she throws the towel in a tidy loop, up over his head before tugging the folds of terrycloth up from his shoulders to cover his hair, fingers splaying wide.

Her touch is gentle even as she ruffles wet hair, using the proximity to draw him in just another inch closer. As if the topic were something to keep private between them, as if anyone else were in the bathroom, let alone the house. ]

With injuries as severe as you've sustained, I'm glad it was only so long.

...So when you'd arrived here... [ "You hadn't been with us very long, had you?" finishes itself. She remembers how quiet he'd been back then, as well. Overwhelmed. Needing the quiet to process, conversation sparse but friendly, kept shallow. How they'd joked so lightly of having hours-long briefings thrown in his face, still expressing gratitude they had familiar faces to find here at all.

One thumb brushes along the base of the shrapnel embedded there before both hands slip down to cup his nape, thumbs rubbing the towel behind his ears until she can draw him down into a hug. The kind she doesn't let go of easily, cradling his head to her shoulder and ready to stand there for hours if it helped. ]

...You've not had an easy life, Ahab. I'm sorry.

[ There it is, that little admission. An apology for all he's had to suffer through and everything else thrown at him. ]

The dissociation is tied into this?

[alterplex]

[ He offers her his head, neck craned and eye downcast. Like maybe he wants her to judge him, or slide that proverbial blade down from the ceiling to finish the job once and for all; who knows? He never knows what will really come of a confession like this, if it's even anything to admit under any sort of pomp or circumstance. It seems presumptuous to preface this with a disclaimer that he's not looking for pity, because he knows that that's not what Angela has to give.

Instead, she has her touches: that fluid slide from his hair to his ear to his nape, a natural progression that ends in a hug, because of course it does. They've communicated this way from square one, even when Venom was disoriented and looking for a way to digest his new surroundings— she offered her openness through the fact that she felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of him, this strange cryptid with an obvious alias for a name.

So he tilts into her contact now, wet hair against blond hair, warm palms at the small of a thin back. No one owes him an apology for this, let alone Angela, but that's not a debate that needs to happen right now.

Don't worry— he can even joke, albeit at his own expense. ]

No rest for the wicked. [ A light nudge of shrapnel to skin. No, he hasn't been awake for too long, but he's been managing. Active. ] It's fine, Angela.

[ His arms tighten just a fraction around her middle, punctuating the sentiment. ]

When I woke up, I had no memories. Pretty sure the dissociation comes from that, too. [ Once the outlines of his secrets are bared, it's easier to fill some of those blanks in; it's a bit alarming, to some extent, how effortless it is to work up to the rest. ] ...Still working out some of the kinks.

[cadeuces]

[ Ahab offers her the stretch of his neck and what he gets instead is a gentle kiss to a damp brow, as always, nose in a wet fringe and gracing the peak of his hairline with her affection and her thankfulness that he's still here. That he made it out of that trial by fire and still stands tall, not allowing the gnarl of burn tissue to restrict him. (Because it's clear, by now, that he was burned by it; how he decides to let it affect his life is what makes all the difference, however.)

Angela continues the gentle massage of her palms over his scalp, folds of the towel between her fingers and scruffing at him from brow to shoulders, then right back up to go again until she's satisfied and is wrapping her arms about him. More than anything, all she's ever wanted to offer him is the ability to be who he wishes in any given moment. That he wouldn't have to put up a facade or pretend to be in any other state than the one he was left in. He's always had her to reach for him and hold him in place, the slide of her fingers through his own, her warmth to lean against and know she had eyes on their surroundings where he can get some rest. She's never once turned the times she's cared for his wounds against him, nor let the thought cross her mind that he may owe her anything.

That just isn't how their friendship worked. They filled necessary pillars in each other's lives, and when he tips into her hold and covers her spine with his hands, they're both all right in this moment.

He may not need an apology, but it's still something she's sure he needs to hear. They're no spring chickens at this point and it's all too easy to assume someone of a certain age would know how to deal with these things— but that's just it, isn't it? That component was missing. No one knows how to deal with being in a coma. How to come back from grievous injury and continue to function. To have that all nearly ripped from your hands and then placed back in them like you'll be able to continue on the same as always. No, it isn't easy. Not by a long shot.

That gentle nudge of shrapnel against her cheek has her kneading the nape of his neck and turning into him with the softest hint of a nuzzle, hugging him a little tighter. ]

Except you're far from wicked. That's no excuse. [ Words a breath against his skin, over the shell of his ear. When he says he'd lost his memory... She softens, to start. Melds against him further, grip tightening another fraction with her exhale. ] A head wound like this... That isn't an easy trauma for the brain to recover from. [ So yes, dissociation makes sense. ] Have you had much memory restored?

[ He's told her stories, after all. Vague though they may have been, in some cases, and she realizes the vaguest were ones regarding his past. Anything else had been fairly recent to her understanding. The tone of her voice and the way she holds him says that it's anything but fine, and she wants to know more with carefully-tailored questions. ]

[alterplex]

[ Right here, with the scent of vanilla to ground him and the soft friction of the towel over his hair, Venom Snake is human. What Angela doesn't know— has no way of knowing, because the reality of 'Ahab' is preposterous to the point of parody— is that she vindicates herself with every attempt to connect with him.

She reaches for him, and that's the sum total of his parts. When she says his name, she says it as if she knows what that entails; and she does, and that holds true for her. He exists as something in her eyes. Someone.

He doesn't know how to articulate how gratifying that is to him, without framing it in his core reality that his sapience is entirely founded on the memories and accounts of Someone Else. It sounds trite to say that her words and her continued existence is all he needs from her, the way plants need to reach for the sun to photosynthesize— humans don't need to be taught to breathe, and Venom doesn't need to know who he is to know that Angela can make the space in his chest feel like a beating heart.

So he keeps on hugging her. Chest to chest, with his scars against her shirt, his skin bared because he hasn't bothered to put a shirt on despite having the decency to step into his borrowed pants. His pulse is steady, slow, and if she listens close enough, maybe the one-two hum is a message in Morse code: thank you. ]

Some of it. [ Not a lie. He can remember the moments preceding his accident, which isn't nothing. ] The others...

[ A mild hum, and he rubs his palm up the length of her spine, settling between her shoulders to give her a gentle pat. I'm alright. ]

...I've settled into them. [ An odd thing to say, maybe, but not enough to be alarming. He's admitted to having dissociation— it only makes sense that some of his 'returning' memories may feel difficult to relate to. ] Which is why something like this throws me off-balance.

[ When he thinks he's reconciled events that have happened to him, only to be told they weren't real at all.

Thanks, vanishing asteroid. ]

re: icon usage do you mean 150+ icons and using the same 10 always?

[cadeuces]

[ It didn't matter who Ahab was (or wasn't) where he came from; here, amongst the stars and far, far from home, he's simply 'the man who is her best friend'. If he's a tree growing up toward her as his sun, he's the shade she rests under when his branches splay wide and full. He would always be someone (yes, someone) important to her. When the time came for them to return to their homes, she'd know everyone else would be safe and well, but she'd worry for Ahab. He'd be her first thought and perhaps her last in this place, and she'd be home wondering why her heart ached because of it.

Angela is simply thankful that they've found each other. That he'll take of her what she offers and allow her the kisses she plants on his brow, hoping they'll take root in him and keep him upright for years to come, even if she's gone. She doesn't need to be told what she means or how her actions frame him, and he didn't need to struggle for the words— she knows enough. That what they have is important, and that, somehow, she's helping him and keeping him steady.

This close, he'll find her heart beating a pinch quicker, heightened with her general worry and only a hair above her average calm tempo, but it may be something he picks up on regardless— as often as they're together, measuring breathing and holding one another, whether it's palm to palm, chest to chest, back to chest— they've become intimately familiar with one another's beat. She doesn't mind the drag of still-damp skin against softened linen, the slouch of the collar mimicking his scars, cool hands pressing between shoulderblades still heated from the water pounding him to malleability, and it's here that she handles him with care. Not because he's delicate but because he's precious and she'll cradle him in her palms where he's steady and comfortable. She won't be the first to pull away. Angela much prefers feeling the sincerity in his words thrumming against her chest to a comfortable distance. As if words lose their potency the farther they travel, like the soundwaves they ride. ]

Ahab... [ He's patting her back in reassurance, as if she's the one needing reassured. Always, this man... Her eyes close, focusing on his breathing, comfortably raised up onto her tiptoes and remaining there for those added few inches of height— half her weight likely held up in his arms anyway with the way he squeezes her, neither of them like to notice. ] Newer memories not lining up with the old, when they come? I've heard of it before.

[ Soldiers with head wounds, sent home to recover in lush green homelands with loving faces claiming to be their wife, their children— when they'd been sent home achingly lonely from years in the desert. Things that feel like a dream, a sudden shift in the world under their feet. But that doesn't seem to be the important part and she'll let it slide, rotating to the back of the line she'll deal with again soon. He says something like this and it takes her a solid few moments of stroking his back to realize what he's referring to, and she thinks she gets it. ]

Something like this— You mean the asteroid breaking contact.

you bully me with the cute hug icons all the time, you fiend!!!!!

[alterplex]

[ And, like that, they're moving back to the here and now. It's remarkable how smooth the process is, how effortless the segue is from 'casually unmentionable past hardships' to 'well, let's talk about how this is affecting you right now.'

You know you've found someone important when they make the insurmountables seem like an easy step up. A stool instead of a hurdle, something to build on top of instead of leap over and never look at again.

Angela Ziegler, in a nutshell. ]

Mm. [ Despite the brevity of that noise, Venom is never impassive. The slight hitch in Angela's pulse and the grip that she uses to pull herself up onto her toes, he notes all of these— considers picking her up again, even, but now might not be the time.

Instead, he gently walks her backwards out of the bathroom. With her still attached to him, as he talks. ]

So I'm not the only one that remembers being there.

[ Therein lies the root of his initial disorientation: he thought he was going crazy, again. ] —You were there with me.

[ Right??? Tell him this is the case. ]

WELL THEY'RE ALWAYS HUGGIN MAYBE U SHOULD STOP

[cadeuces]

[ Everyone's pasts shaped them and it made her no less curious, but raking over those old coals was going to get them nowhere, right now. He gave her the context needed and now they address the here and now— that's what was important here. He's being affected right now, sick to his stomach and disoriented, finally stabilizing the longer she has him here to offer quiet questions to help him focus and ensure he's taken care of.

It didn't need to be complicated, that shift of gears. It just needed to be oiled to work. Ahab can make his peace with his demons and tell her their names another time; she only needed to lay eyes on them in this moment to know they exist. He hums his acknowledgement and begins to step back, and she slides down just to lower to her heels and pivot, taking the "lead" so he won't stumble with a quietly murmured "careful, now". They could almost be dancing (again). ]

No, ​s​​üässli​, not at all. We went through six hours of decontamination and you came out the other end so restless and beside yourself I had to fix your arm because you'd left them in a rush. I took your hand just like this— [ And she's fishing his flesh-and-blood one from her back to lace her fingers through, to give him a squeeze, then replace it. ] —and you about herded me right into a corner where we could have a moment of peace out of sight, where I could ensure the sleeve was dry and your bionic was aligned properly. Then I'd hugged you, we'd made sure the other was all right, and you'd said you were glad to see me.

And I kissed your head like I always do, and you rested your face in my hands, and we teased about cigarettes. And once I was sure you were all right, we waited for our clothes, got dressed, and went to check out the rest of the facilities. The strange food and their experiments and shows of medical breakthroughs, right?

We were there.

[ He's not going crazy. Not at all. She's at the top of the stairs and she pulls away from him just enough to be arm's length, still keeping her hands on his biceps as she backs down the stairs, sure in her steps. ]

you say that BUT.............................

[alterplex]

[ All it would take is an idle pivot and a hand to the waist, and they'll be right back to being the Mantis Prom's king and queen (self-titled, but Angela was basically wearing a crown, wasn't she). In a true testament to two-way trust, Venom doesn't immediately balk at Angela's backwards saunter down the hall and to the stairs; implicitly, he knows that she can handle herself, and he also knows that if she stumbles, he'll catch her before her feet even leave the floor.

So. Here they are, in a makeshift waltz. One stair at a time, in an impromptu box-step in time to Angela's expert recollections. ]

...Yeah, I remember.

[ Next time, though, maybe he'll find her when he's not a certified fucking mess. Just to let her know that he doesn't actually have to be picking up his pieces off the floor to spend some idle time around her; what kind of impression is he giving if that's the case?

He pauses halfway down the stairs, nudging Angela to stop so he can reorient and mirror some of the gestures that she's just mentioned, as if muscle memory will be more reliable. He pulls one of her hands up to his face, satisfies himself with the cool flat of her palm, then places it down at his hip where she would've braced him if he had his back to the wall.

It feels real. His eye closes for a beat, and his breath comes from the pit of his lungs, slow and genuine. ]

"Just the person I wanted to see."

[ He remembers saying that, and it still holds true. ]

whispers "don't stop (don't stop make ginger pop////)"

[cadeuces]

[ She'd had a gold circlet on, that's right— it was close enough. Angela knows this house by now like the back of her hand, exactly how steep the steps are and how many there were to scale, as well as trusting Ahab's reflexes. They keep ahold of one another even here and she knows he'd tighten his grip if she so much as dropped her weight too quickly. It was their idle back-and-forth that kept them moving forward (or in this case, right now, backward).

She told him before he was an excellent dancer. That continues to hold true.

Ahab confirms his recollection and her smile softens with her relief, head tipping gently and taking another step before he's stilling her in his hold, one step below him and drawing her foot back up to stay on the stair with an inquisitive glance back up before he's bringing her hand up to his cheek. (In Ahab's defense, she's met him more than enough times when nothing was wrong; when he used to swing by now and then and they'd go listen to his music player together, or they'd spend time in the garden, or they'd meet up and let DD and Eiger play.) She recognizes this for what it was— furthering his immersion in the memory, confirming with the cool press of her palm against his skin, and she'll bring up the other for that moment the same way she'd cupped his jaw before. He'd rested his face in her hands and gave her the weight of his head to prop up, and she'd done so without complaint; he was a large man, but he was far from dead weight. Then and now, thumbs smoothing over bare skin before reaching coarse whiskers softened by the heat of the shower. Then he's lowering her hand to his hip, watching him consider it and draw up the sensations to match to his memories. ]

"You're not such a bad sight yourself."

[ Had been her response, if she remembers correctly. It's said just as fondly, stroking his cheek as he takes that deep breath and lets it seep back out, before her touch slips from his face to brace along his arms once more and she goes to take that first step down— if he's ready to move. ]

Come on, I wanted to show you something.

[alterplex]

[ He's ready to move.

And the fact of the matter is that there are a hundred and one ways to kill someone, but the easiest way is to keep reminding them that they have no future: nowhere to go, nowhere to be. Venom is dying a little each day, stuck in his own head and outrunning the metaphorical eraser that'll snuff out the vague smear that his existence left in the margins of history's papers, but here—

—there's a guarantee of safety. Hands that stem that steady bloodflow. When he's around Angela, he dies a little less.

(is that melodramatic? maybe, but forgive 'Venom Snake' for having been born on a stage, then.)

His steps take certainty when Angela guides him, and look! They've finished the stairs to tango right back onto even ground. She makes it so easy, and he taps an appreciative beat against her hand with his callused fingers. ]

You're always full of surprises.

[ Fondly meant in reciprocation, even despite the low rasp of his voice. The dull ache in his chest's subsided, and he fills it with all the cues that his friend offers with the lightness of her being; it's easy to step out of himself when she reminds him that levity is the only anesthetic that really works. ]

[cadeuces]

[ There may only be so much she can do, but she tries. There's always plans awaiting him— go have coffee and catch up on her days off, listen to music like they always have, some little form of contact every few days. There's always the hope (or dread) of returning home just over the horizon, and then there's the times the gates open to other places.

Not that exploring has ever taken them anywhere pleasant, but. It was there, and it was a purpose. For Angela, there's always her people to take care of and the possibility of others needing help— the slaves, the creatatorium creatures, so on. If it becomes something he communicates needing, she'll always be sure there's more. In any little way she could find, she'd keep him going and apply pressure over those slow bleeds, draw him out from the dark corners to catch some rest in the sun. Her sweet Ahab.

He follows along without a hitch and soon they're back on hardwood, bare feet padding over and greeted by Eiger, following them along and tail wagging, half-crouched every few steps as if debating play or not. ]

Someone has to keep you on your toes.

[ Because "on his toes" meant "on his feet", not resting on his laurels, hunkered down somewhere ugly thoughts could find him— returned with that very levity that bubbles right up in her tone, sly and a pinch coy and nearly bumping the corner of the counter as she continues her backward saunter, drawing him through the kitchen and to the mudroom, snagging the blanket off the last dining chair she passes and tossing it up around his shoulders haphazardly, one-handed, before she's reaching up with both hands to right it and drawing his arms up with the motion. ]

Whichever shoes fit, if you'll please.

[ Her smile's only growing wider the closer they get, finally letting go of (one arm) him to pivot and slide on a pair for herself. Glorified slippers, really, with a bit of tread on the bottoms. Eiger's already out the dog door before she reaches to open it. Time for a walk. ]

[alterplex]

[ A complicated maneuver of limbs and posture later, they ultimately end up right where they started: Angela leading, Venom following. It comes as no surprise that Angela's arsenal of footwear comes in men's sizes, and Venom doesn't hesitate to slide into a slipper that accommodates the wide set of his feet.

The blanket over his shoulders settles like the draping he'd used to fend sand from his mouth back in the Middle East. Despite everything, the memory is fond; he breathes through it, circulates his thoughts with the open air. ]

...A camping exercise?

[ Wilderness exploration? Stargazing? Unfortunately, he won't be able to point out Polaris or Antares in this specific subset of space— who even knows which part of the galaxy they currently occupy.

Obviously, he's going to have to trust Angela. He's already got that out of the way, so all he has to do is follow. Footsteps in tandem, warmth bleeding from his palm to her sleeve. ]

[cadeuces]

[ She has company to accommodate for, after all. There's only two pairs but they both run larger, and two sets for ladies— a size smaller than her own, which the kids can use if they ever came over. They didn't have to last too long of a walk. Once he's bundled and they've donned some slippers, she opens the door to see Eiger off rooting for pinecones as Ahab curls his arm about hers, warm as always. ]

Nothing quite so rugged, don't worry.

[ They follow the stream running behind and under the sunroom off the back end of her house and she throws whatever odd bits Eiger happens to bring them to fetch anew, meandering with shallow purpose and through the small orchard of apples and walnuts, beyond. While their initial stretch (a paltry few minutes) began in easy silence, she eventually speaks up again. ]

Ahab... if I can ask. Does anyone here know about your state?

[ That he'd been comatose, that he has memory issues, hallucinations. Dissociation. What she's ultimately asking: is anyone (else) helping him, or has he been struggling on alone? ]

[alterplex]

[ From vanilla to the thick scent of greenery. Angela is right to have brought him out here, where walls won't sequester him and cast his shadow long and thin; when he swells, air filling strong lungs, he's animated. Nose held to the wind, jaw set against the sky.

Here's another thing that he appreciates about Angela, though: that she gives him his silence. The walk moves by, hand to hand and paces matched, and is only broken by Eiger's eager display of pinecones-in-mouth. A steady, comfortable passage of time that lends itself to the kind of reality that Venom can be certain of.

He's picking up another stray branch to preoccupy Eiger's enthusiasm when Angela finally poses the question. His fingers skim over grass, missing the item by millimeters. ]

—They had my medical records on-base.

[ Which is to say, "yes, people who were affiliated with me directly would know". When he straightens, branchless, his expression is neutral tinged with apology. ]

It's not a conversation that comes up often. Bad for morale.

[cadeuces]

[ Being outdoors was often the easiest thing to do, if someone wasn't having issues feeling safe— some soldiers wanted nothing more than to hole up in a corner with their eyes on the door, but more? Just needed space. Time to sort things out. Angela's at his side so she can help him at the drop of a hat, but she's merely a chaperone for now, until he can put a better shape to the wounds she'd try to clean, suture up. He breathes in fresh air, skin still heated from his shower and insulated within faux sherpa about his shoulders and thick knit, damp hair drying in the setting sun and the breeze. It wasn't terribly cold, not yet, but it would soon drop for the night. They were still waking up with condensation on the ground.

Ahab looks better in the sun, but she's always known that. The outdoors suited him. He seemed comfortable outside of walls, his pallor suited to greenery and wood. Baked in desert sands. And they take their time on the walk, despite the occasional bouts of fetch with her dog, fully-grown and slate grey instead of silver on his top half, belly and legs still white as snow. Her question leaves him distracted, though, and he misses the branch he'd been reaching for. Eiger waits patiently, however, and picks it up himself to tease at them both, prancing a little circle around them. Look what I got. If Ahab doesn't reach for it, Angie will to throw, even if she isn't very good.

He straightens again, looking the faintest touch apologetic, and she only hugs his arm to her side in an equally-silent "don't apologize". She gets the implication, that there are those here who should be helping him, and yet. Ahab's ended up at her place, now, hasn't he? Not in the job description, perhaps. Still. ]

This isn't a fight won alone, you know. Sometimes it takes another pair of eyes to keep you heading in the right direction. Someone to point out true north when you drop to your knees and the world spins without you.

[ The smell of apples warmed in the sun grows stronger, the first of the eclectic groupings of trees visible through the rest on her property, the stream widening as they continue along. Not too much farther, now.

The point is, Ahab should have someone at his side to help him instead of leaving him to suffer on his own in the shadows. It didn't have to be intrusive, but it would help far more than it'd hurt to cast a little light into them. ]

[alterplex]

[ For a shadow of another person, Venom grows taller under the floodlights of the sun. Light should scatter him to pieces, render him obsolete, but under the gentle scrutiny of Angela's empathy? He bends. A monster with his single horn, a jigsaw puzzle with ill-fitting corners. In Angela's hands, he makes a picture: not a chimera, but a cohesive whole.

So he stops mid-step, shutting down the distractions from the swaying trees and the distant stream. He turns towards Angela, torso-first and unflinching, hiding nothing but the sway of his haphazardly gathered hair at his nape. ]

You volunteering?

[ The self-imposed silence is broken with a smile, as subtle as it is genuine. There's always something incongruous about how that expression hits the angles of his face, how the scars that don't exactly look accidental— some of them are too well-defined— shift and soften war-weary patterns.

He understands. Angela cares for him in ways that he's not allowed to be cared for, with a tenderness that he wasn't supposed to know or experience. She worries for him, not for him.

His human arm is trapped in Angela's, twined and kept, so he only has the artifice of his prosthetic to get his next point across. Blood-red metal flutters against the smooth line of Angela's jaw, tracing it up to where it curls over straw-gold. ]

Fine, then. [ The same, dry statement of acquiescence that he always uses, marred by his focus and sincerity. Whatever wall he usually casts up to distance is ruined by his addendum. ] Don't let me forget about you.

[cadeuces]

[ He's charming in the eclectic manner of his soul, her sweet friend she can't help but worry about when her attempts seem to work for him every time he's scattered, sweeping his pieces back up to secure in place once more. Everyone needed it, now and again. Ahab simply needed it more often.

He stands taller because he's embraced who he is and how he's come to be, muscle memory instead of desperately clinging until your muscles froze and trembled under the strain. So when he stops and turns to face her, once more, posing such a casual and honest question, Angela simply smiles as warm as ever. Not a granule of uncertainty to be found. ]

That should go without question, but I'll only say yes if I've been helping.

[ She's confident she has been, but if there were a time for honesty, now would be it. His smile alone seems to answer the worry, though, and she almost feels silly for needing to ask. Watching Ahab smile gives one the impression that he was specifically sculpted against such expressions, and maybe one day she'll realize the plastic surgery scars for what they are— not an attempt to fix him but actions taken to change him, where his jaw would've been shaped or additions to his bone structure were fixed in place, purely cosmetic. That he's been reshaped as someone else, incongruous with his personality and emotions. No matter how it tugs at the lines of his face, though, it's warm. A look that softens him and makes him feel comfortable, unguarded in how he presents himself.

Her arm slips down his until she can take his hand in hers, guiding his other palm up to the opposite cheek even as she presses her face into the metal one, covering both hands with her own and smiling. If he were ever to voice that sentiment about not being allowed to be cared for, she'd likely laugh until abruptly cutting off, realizing he's serious. (And then proceed to insist further, naturally. Because she does care for him and she does worry for him.)

And then he accepts, however dry, her smile only widening into his palms for that sincerity as her hands fall from his to reach between them, up for his face in return. Backs of her nails brushing along his scruff to bury in damp hair, her quietest request for him to tip down into her space to press her own sincere reply brow to brow with the gentle curl of her fingertips against the base of his skull. ]

I won't. But I'll always be here, Ahab, even if you do. We'll get to know each other all over again. And we'll be friends every time.

[alterplex]

[ Angela cracks code in muscle and bone, reads the cipher always tapping in the rush of his veins; still, she lets him keep his secrets and asks, simply, just to be able to thumb over them every once in a while. Like an old journal written by a good friend, some pages kept untouched out of love and reverence.

And he can read her, read the hopefulness in her tone. She wants to know that her caring is worth something, that it's percolated into some crevasse and formed a cast that would've fractured and splintered otherwise. A doctor's worst nightmare is a patient who loves their pain more than their wellbeing: it's always the same question they ask when someone slips through their fingers. Why didn't you tell me?

So. Venom tells her. ]

You're helping.

[ Present tense. No, present progressive tense. Something indefinite but continuous, something that prompts him to tip into her hands and her pull, to settle his forehead to her forehead until their lashes almost touch.

He's exhausted, and he could fall asleep in her palms. ]

And, yeah. I know. [ He smiles with his eye closed, resigned but gentle. ] I don't doubt that.

[ A few weeks ago, a few months ago, maybe his answer would have been less committed: a "you wouldn't let me not be your friend", as if it's on Angela to hunt him down. By now, he's sure that she knows that it runs both ways. ]

[cadeuces]

[ In this place? They have nothing but time. There's no rush to cut him open and learn him from the inside out. Anything more would feel intrusive in their friendship, quick as it may have been to form— it's that respect that keeps her from delving too deep at any one time, offering up information about herself at her own pace and as it's made relevant so he can continue to learn about her, decide when to share new chapters of himself.

When he allows her, however, she commits every character to memory. He can dog-ear the pages he wants kept hidden and she'll flip right by until the time comes he opens back up for her perusal.

Ahab knows what she needs to hear, the reassurance (or explanation in lieu of) that she wants, so she can tailor her care if necessary, change her approach. Tells her she is, in fact, helping, not "you've helped" but that she continues to, even in this moment, and he tips down to rest the weight of his head against her own, nose alongside nose, close as can be. So close she can feel his exhaustion radiating off of him and she simply stands still for a few long moments to support him, huffing out an amused little breath to twine with his own. ]

That's all I wanted to know.

[ So right here, right now, he doesn't have to tell her much else if he doesn't want to. He's already revealed enough to put his current struggles in a quaint frame. And she can feel the smile it draws up from him as he continues, the faintest nudge against the heels of her hands at his jaw, his voice thrumming low and sweet with that half-hearted resignation. Yeah, they'd always be friends. Yeah, it'd always be effortless. And yeah, she'd always do her utmost to prevent it in the first place.

Just like she knows he's taken pictures, and kept his notes, jotting down his memories in some form or another. He has his own methods of remembrance to levy against her. Ahab's going to work just as hard so he doesn't forget anyone, herself included. ]

Come on; just a little farther and you can get some rest. I know you're tired.

[ She says the words, but she doesn't even begin to pull away. At his pace, then. There's a few more trees to pass and they'll see the gazebo along the edge of the creek, with a water wheel on one side to help generate power for the cottage. ]

[alterplex]

[ At his pace. What a novel concept, but a welcome one— he indulges in those soft hands and that warm one-two flutter of her breathing and blinking before he finally cranes up for air. ]

Not gonna offer to carry me, huh.

[ How cruel of her. But really, he's just giving her something to elbow him about before he starts walking in the direction of that charmingly-constructed gazebo. Squint hard enough, and maybe it's an apology for not being able to heft her somewhere this time around. By now, she should know that he looks forward to it.

(And really, even despite the jab? Angela's the one that lifted him everywhere today: from the ground, from the fountain, in the train, across her lawn. All those little pieces that are far harder to keep a track of than the compiled whole.

Kudos.) ]

...You sleep out here?

[cadeuces]

[ That blink leaves lashes sifting through her own, her smile quirking up into a grin with the sensation as she nudges a little closer, nose to nose, feeling the cool press of shrapnel in her hairline. Like pressing one's face to a mountain, knowing you're safe against its cracks and crevices, having stood up to thousands of years of this very life no matter how rough outwardly. Her hands remain steady at his jaw save the idle brush of her thumbs in time to his breathing until he's drawing back up for a brisk breath, renewing himself.

Siphoning some of the remaining energy off the day. Mountains (and all good stories) had to get their strength from somewhere, after all. ]

Perhaps on my best day I could take you huckepack a good handful of steps, toes dragging in the dirt. But today, my dear, you need to stay on your own two feet.

[ Because he knows that elbow is coming she'll just have to switch it up, hand still in range to give him a gentle pinch at his cheek and thumb catching more whiskers than flesh, nose crinkling with her amusement that could almost be distaste for such a hidden apology. They always operated in such layers, coded in the same dialect. Then she's catching metal fingertips in her own and working a slow little twirl under the raise of his arm, chiseling out her own tunnel through the mountain so that she can take point and draw that hand over her shoulder, steps carefully paced to his own so they won't catch one another's feet. ]

I can absolutely try, for you. If you need it.

[ Teasing, yet still half-sincere, offering him her shoulder for support if he wished to lean some weight across her shoulders and trust her to keep him upright, scaling the gentle rise through soft grass. She doesn't mind being the one to carry him for a while. Much as he's found his own joy in hefting her around, he should know, likewise, she gets more than simple satisfaction out of being able to help him. Angela thrives on improving conditions, on letting people have their downswings only to give them the push they need to climb the crest once more, jumping free of that swing at the highest arc. Those few moments of flight before tumbling to safety.

Everyone needed that bit of support; she's only blessed that she can offer it to others with confidence. She's stronger than others give her credit for on sight, and there's reward in being able to exert every ounce of energy for others, as well. ]

Not too regularly; don't worry. But it's nice now and then. The sound of the stream, the trees, the smell of the orchard. I thought you might like it.

[ Skirting around to the right, away from the stream, aaaand: the entrance, up one step to solid planking, revealing a stone hearth, supplies for a fire, room for a grill, and of course, the hammock piled in familiar furs. Quaint, but more than comfortable. Just like Eiger, already curled up before the fire and awaiting their arrival with all the pomp of a king left awaiting his court. ]