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spam } barge, day 1

[He died. He was alone. He was in the dark. There was not much air because the heat of his passage strangled it out, and then there was nothing, because his head was cut off by . . . something. Some monster.]

[Some man.]

[Marsh.]

[He remembers the way his body tried to keep breathing, even though it absolutely couldn't. And he remembers waking up, as alone in life-after-death as he was in death. More alone. Erik is gone. Charles is gone.]

[He trembles when no one is around, feeling hemmed in by the airless levels and the close quarters. But when people are nearby, he acts bigger than he is, a cornered animal reminding other animals that he is still more dangerous than them. Look at him sideways, stand too close to him, and he'll lash out with his fists or his powers. There's madness in his eyes and a scar on his neck, and he is alone, alone, alone.]

text } end day 1

Fuck loyalty. Nobody's loyal.

spam } port, remainder

[Now it's too open. He is practically agoraphobic after the close quarters of the broken-down Barge; it's too bright out here, and the people look at him with suspicion as he looks at them with fear and aggression.]

[It won't be long before he tries to pick a fight with someone he shouldn't on the ground, but before that his fear will get the best of him. He'll stick close to the few people he still knows and trusts. Everyone else will be attacked, no questions asked - maybe a couple answered.]

( ooc; text refers to this; alex's backstory here. encounter him anywhere, let me know how much damage you're cool with your character incurring. return tags coming from

letslip. )

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[Ben can smell the fear, of course. It excites a part of him because he knows he instills it, and it is a beacon to him of those whose faith is flagging, whose loyalty is wavering. It is a signal to him and he follows it like sharks follow blood in the water.

But this time it leads him to Alex, and when Alex tosses his hair and sneers at him, speaks more distressing words, the X5's face falls slightly even as he reaches up to trace the scar at Alex's throat with the tips of his warm, dry fingers.]

You are made whole again.

I am here. Anya is here.

And you had the dream. I know you had the dream. You're a good soldier, if you will only let yourself be.

For someone else's benefit. Not my own.

[Nevertheless, he stills when Ben touches him, because that is what he does. That's the obedient thing to do. Ben has conflicting feelings about obedience from other people, Alex thinks, but doesn't know himself exactly what he thinks about obedience, other than that he's too disorderly to follow anyone's lead most of the time.]

[He can feel Ben's pulse in his fingers, as well as his own against Ben's skin. He misses Snow. She helped him understand his place and how to push against it.]

I have lots of dreams.

For everyone's benefit. Including yours.

[When others doubt, Ben is quick and decisive to correct them, to push them or pull them back into line; Alex doubts, and there is almost a plaintive note to the X5's voice. He follows the mark back until he can drop his hand to Alex's shoulder, gripping there in acknowledgement of what obedience there is in him.

He has lost others, because he and they were not good enough before. He would sooner burn in the flames Alex can produce at will - again - than lose his friend, but that is exactly what will happen if he keeps talking like this.]

Tell me about them.

Whatever, Ben.

[It's a sulky boy's whatever, not a man's. But then, Alex has given up on being a man. He's some half-formed creature of malice and destruction, never someone who could lead, who could become.]

[Sighing, he lays his hand on Ben's, then lets it fall to his side.]

They're all fire dreams. One way or another.

It is the truth.

[Ben's belief is strong enough for others to borrow, if they will take it. Alex's hand falls away but Ben's stays, his eyes are riveted to his friend's, both in awe and in hope.

He is not surprised by the description. His own reply is calm.]

And what happens in them?

Christ, Ben. People die. What do you think?

[Or else they're saved. Or deemed unworthy - that's what Ben would say, isn't it? There are some days when Alex wants nothing more than to be a good soldier.]

[But most days, he can't conceive of being that obedient, or that happy.]

What happens in your dreams?

People die every day.

[Most people would grate at being sworn at, but Ben is serene in his confidence. Alex won't hurt him. And if he does, he is forgiven, out of love and out of friendship. It will have been what is necessary.

It will not diminish his trust in the slightest. Ben smiles.]

I do not dream.

Then why do you think you know anything about my dreams?

[His body language switches back and forth like a lightbulb flickering in the dark. First big, hulking, dangerous, violent, then small, his shoulders down and hunched, hands held limp. Through it all his face is stone, an immobile frown.]

What makes you think you get to say what it means? Your faith?

[Ben, by contrast, is steady as starlight, not as big or as bright as Alex but unwavering, ambient. He exists in spite of, despite, the darkness around him and he is at peace with what he is and where he must be to be it.

Alex frowns at him and Ben gazes back at him.]

I don't. My faith is my own, and it is mine to hold or to let go. It is mine in which to include you, as I see fit, not anyone else. [He lifts his hand again, slow, and reaches this time to brush his fingertips across Alex's chest, seeking his heartbeat beneath the wretched, unhappy skin of him. This is the real gift that the Barge has given him: in giving himself up completely to something larger than himself, he knows himself at last. By doing the bidding of others, he can finally control himself.

He wants that for Alex. His palm presses flat, overly warm and without fear.] And I do so hate to see you unhappy.

[It's a strange thing, to be angry and touched at the same time. It twists Alex up, not in an unpleasant way, but confusing? Absolutely. He looks down at Ben's hand, then up at Ben again, wondering if he could burn him like this if he got angry enough. He's pretty sure the answer is yes.]

[Even now, he's worked up enough that his skin is abnormally hot, radiating through his containment suit. His hands work into fists at his side, then relax.]

It's okay. I mean - it's not your fault. I'm just.

It's. I'll be happy again. [Somehow. He doesn't know how. But he feels like it's something he should promise Ben, with the way he's looking at him.]

You should just. Just tell me what to do.

[Alex's anger is like its own entity, controlling him as others claim Anya controls Ben. The difference that those same people fail to acknowledge is that Ben does so willingly - and maybe Alex does, too. But Ben rather suspects it is because he knows no other option.

Alex could obliterate Ben without a second thought, with no thought at all, and Ben would not be able to stop it. There aren't many here that can accomplish that, not without being some manner of god themselves. But here stands Alex, his friend, not a god at all but powerful like one, and so unhappy.

Ben tilts his head. He knows the promise for what it is: appeasement. If it is all Alex can give him Ben will take it and keep it safe. He doesn't move or pull back his hand, no matter how uncomfortable the heat is. Tell him what to do. Ben cannot frame this as an order, but he can reiterate what he always does:]

Have faith, Alex. Trust the Admiral. Trust Anya.

And do your best, as I know you will.

[He should have known that was coming. It makes a hollow space in his chest, which disappointment fills up quickly. His eyes do not meet Ben's, though one hand comes up to cover his friend's, a peace offering, even though they aren't fighting.]

[He doesn't have it in him to trust anymore. No one but Ben. No one at all. He doesn't have any best left to do.]

[He wants to cry, to be small, to break.]

[His expression doesn't change from stony desperation.]

Okay.

[Alex is strong, but his is the kind of strength that one is completely unaware of. A man striding through anthills, completely unaware of the destruction beneath his boots. A leviathan settling among coral, barely even noticing the century-old spires that break off at its discomfort. Ben feels his heartbeat beneath his palm, searches his shallow eyes, and breathes out.

The X5 reaches up, like Anya does with him sometimes, and cups Alex's jaw between his fingertips, tipping his face until they are looking at one another head on again.]

I won't leave you.

[Ben has deep eyes. Not all the time, of course. Nobody has deep eyes all the time. But when he's looking at something he cares about, Alex can't see the bottom of Ben's eyes. It's disconcerting. Depth frightens him, in the same way that heights are frightening. Too much, and he's always tempted to throw himself off the edge, to plumb the darkness.]

[Ben makes him look, and Alex does not breathe when he looks, because he's looking into darkness or else the brightest light he's ever seen and either way he's shocked by his own blindness.]

Don't leave me.

[His cheeks are wet. He is crying. It's warm here in this place, where his heart is breaking.]

I'll be good.

[The only time Ben knows sadness, now, is when his friends know sadness; Alex's heart breaks and, because he is not required here and now to look away from that, Ben's heart breaks with him. It touches his eyes, a flash of sun across water, but does not settle.

He shifts his hand without moving his fingertips from Alex's jaw so he can use the pad of his thumb to wipe away the tears first on one side, then the other. His voice is low between them, smooth, private.]

You are good, Alex.

You are so good.

[A thousand people could move past them in this moment and Alex wouldn't notice. It feels like the greatest gift he could get, being told that he's good.]

[It can't possibly be true. But the way Ben says it, Alex knows he believes it. That's the hell of it. Ben believes in so many impossible things, but he believes them so hard and Alex loves him so much, he can't not believe in them, too.]

[He stills, lets Ben wipe away his tears. Smiles soft, unsure, and puts his open palm on Ben's chest so they are mirror images of each other. He can feel his heart beating, both of their hearts beating, and it makes him not so small.]

You mean it?

I don't lie. If I did, I wouldn't. Not about this.

[Ben believes everything he says, with the kind of conviction that sometimes others can believe if not the words themselves, too. This, though, this is easy to believe. This is like asking him to inhale, easy to know and easy to do.

Ben loves Alex. He believes in him, and his heart breaks because his friend cannot believe in himself the way Ben does. Cannot see the things in himself that Ben can without even having to search. He is grounded by Alex's hand on his chest and he doesn't try to move, doesn't try to look away, hoping he can somehow anchor his friend in return.]

I see it in every part of you, in everything you do.

[It works. Not for long, but for now, it works. He anchors himself in Ben's eyes and Ben's faith and for the next five, ten minutes, he'll be able to breathe.]

[He exhales, his chest rising and falling, cooling, and he smiles again, sweet as an innocent, even if he's anything but that. Part of him still doubts that Ben will stay with him, but he'll put that part away for now, pretend it isn't around so that Ben will keep looking at him like that.]

[His fingers curl, tightening in his friend's shirt, his eyes sharp and insistent.]

I'll be a good soldier. I'll do what needs to be done.

[Look how good I can be, he wants to shout, but makes himself stand still at attention, dusting his fingerprints over the collar of Ben's shirt.]

I know.

[For once - not here, but other places - there is a softness about Ben that meets the desperation in Alex without relenting or persisting. He can be still, solid and secure, and he will be here until he is not. Alex doubts him, he knows, but Ben is unwavering in his faith. He will be here until the Admiral no longer wishes him to be.

He will be perfect, so that does not come to pass. He will be loyal, he will be true, strong enough and good enough. His fingers press for a moment more firmly against Alex's chest, a five-point constellation of affection and approval, and then he steps back but not away.

He steps back carefully, so Alex's grip in his shirt will draw him along with him.]

We have made port. We should do reconnaissance, and gather supplies. Will you come with me, Alex?

[And Alex does follow, his steps in perfect sync, his approach as flawless in form as Ben's retreat. His movements are a mirror of his friend's, and that, he thinks, is as it should be. He stays close enough that he can watch the tiny, sharp movements of Ben's eyes, the twitches of his lips.]

I'll come with you.

[He is very close, his eyes very wide, mouth twisted in the beginnings of a sharp laugh. He is unstable, but all of a sudden so happy, so thrilled.]

[Ben did this. Ben made him this way. He ought to believe.]

[Maybe someday.]

I'll come with you and do what needs to be done. In this place, with these people. With you.

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