ruffians | → LET'S PARTY

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→ LET'S PARTY

Pick a loser.
(there are specific posts for eames, destiny characters, and overwatch characters)

Leave a comment with your character and put which one of mine you want in the header.

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NSFW content goes here.

And a great time was had by all

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... no, but he feels like the second scene of the Crow every time that he jerks awake suddenly and rips the blankets away from his face because he can't breathe and can't figure out where he is. Which is... basically every time he wakes up.

Coffee has a kinder and briefer existence, and, in the long run, it will get to be a part of the ocean someday.

Robbie can tell that Terry is watching, or he thinks he can. In reality, he's paranoid and constantly thinks that everyone is watching him. It doesn't matter if he's on the subway, where he could be literally on fire and no one would look up from their phone. It's worse today, but he's trying, really striving, to not wonder why Terry is here and who called him. Is it a coincidence, or did they have an appointment today? Robbie can't remember.

Forgetfulness is a sign of depression. He's found library books on all of the words that got thrown around the Thunderbolts about him. It's also a sign of PTSD.

It's not a sign of OCD, but he never had that anyway. He just never corrected the doctors who examined him as to why he had to memorize so many numbers.

But it's been bothering him since he walked past Terry's office and realized that the Doctor was in. He should have made a note or something, because he can't ask anyone. The only two people who might know are Terry, ruled out because actual therapist, and Vance, ruled out because armchair therapist. All he can do is try to wait it all out. Eventually, Terry will suggest they get started, or he won't.

"I'm not." Terry is way ahead of Robbie in the smiling department. Robbie isn't even making an attempt at that; he's having enough trouble with saying 'I'm not' like a human being or at least not with a flatter affect than Siri. He shovels a mountain of cereal into his mouth and mumbles around it. "I don't do the shopping. I just hit enough buttons on the coffee machine until stuff came out. It could be coffee, it could be oil. Who knows in this place?"

Better. Definitely hitting the right cadence at the end.

"I don't see anyone else leaving coffee on my desk for me." Terry raises his eyebrows at Robbie like a period on the point he's making, struggling not to frown instead, but he'll let him have the joke.

It's just rough. Still every time he sees Robbie, he he has to fight this wrenching guilt in his chest. A guilt that only gets more painful whenever he forces himself to ignore those clear signs that Robbie's not okay. That he's still so far from being okay that Terry can't even conceive of what he's struggling with.

This deep wound in him that Terry helped dig.

He's here for Robbie, he's always here for Robbie, but sometimes he doesn't know if he really can be. Not that Terry thinks he's beyond help, but because he thinks he doesn't have the right to try and be that person. How can the same guy who looked away when Penance was screaming about not knowing who he is-- How can that guy be the same one to try and help Robbie piece together some sense of who he is now? How does he deserve to try and help Robbie move past what he did?

But. For whatever reason, he's trusted. And as much as he thinks that faith may be misplaced, he'll never do anything to betray that. Not again. And right now that takes the form of powering through this morning like they're not both dancing around the obvious.

"And," Terry continues on, putting down his mug so he can take the bowl of cereal, "no one else is sharing their secret cereal stash with me."

How to explain that those things are fairly basic actions? Ingrained habits - it comes from the same place that used to decorate the Crashpad for the holidays. Terry was obviously going to be in need of coffee. The note was to make it less creepy (at least, it made it less creepy in Robbie's head) that Robbie had ventured into an occupied office without waking him. As for the cereal, he wasn't about to eat in front of someone, and he's too lazy to make eggs.

It doesn't matter that it's Terry, or, if it does matter, that's one more reason to help him. In Robbie's eyes, Terry was kind to him. He was the first person to do anything unnecessarily nice for him since. Since Stamford. Everything else, everything Ms. Walters had done, that was all her job. Terry got him Niels, and that was in a situation where Norman Osborn had been in control. Robbie had been on Osborn's Thunderbolts - he knows what that lunatic is like. There's no grudge against Terry; he did the best he could in a bad situation.

Just like how Robbie is doing the best he can now. Sharing is a subset of caring, and that's the one thing that Robbie hasn't lost in the past few months. He cares about others, and, if Terry isn't going to take the greatest care of himself, that's... fine. Robbie can offer support though. A cup of coffee, a note that would hopefully scrape away a millimeter of whatever problem had kept the man up at his desk, an offer of breakfast... these things are basically free. They're the sort of support that he would like Vance to downgrade to, rather than arranging for him to have a job that's really just a huge stressor -

But Vance means well, they all mean well, even now Robbie means well. The only difference is that cereal involves neither commitment nor an audience. Cereal is easy; life is hard. Or maybe cereal is soggy, yeah. That's how he should word it if he can work that joke in.

"No one else is up at - " Robbie paused to check the time on the microwave. "5 o'clock in the morning, or maybe they would. You might have a point with the cereal. I can't see Vance, Pietro, or Greer keeping a stash of junk food. Hank, mm. Probably, but it's also probably under lock and key in his lab. I wouldn't eat anything that lives that close to Pym particles. Would you?"

"God no." Terry pulls a face at the idea of eating anything exposed to Pym particles. Imagine the hellish Alice in Wonderland situation you'd end up in. Terry knows a thing or two about what's scary and that's... It's definitely up there.

No, god. It's too early in the day to think about that. Morbidly hilarious a distraction from what he's feeling as it is. Terry pulls himself up to sit on the counter and sits cross-legged with the cereal, slowly making his way through the bowl-- have Lucky Charms always been this sweet, or is he just getting old?

"Pym particles aside though. Thanks." He doesn't look up from the bowl when he speaks this time, oddly embarrassed, but maybe it just looks to Robbie like's rooting around for a marshmallow piece.

Robbie can't blame him. There's something about the marshmallows and their crunchy styrofoam texture that makes them his ultimate comfort food. They make him feel like a kid again, when his feet didn't touch the floor at the dining room table and his parents would be rushing around trying to get ready for work. That sweet time when he was too naïve to know what disowned and divorce were.

He admits they taste bad though. Like sugar, sadness, and Vegas. Lucky Charms are still safer than Pym particles. He can agree on so much.

"That's because you're smart." The words are accompanied by his spoon repeatedly getting jabbed in Terry's direction. It seems like such a little thing, not messing around with weird science stuff that has a tendency to turn out poorly. Robbie wasn't even trying to muck around with experiments, and he still wound up in a lab accident (and, subsequently, here).

"Huh." Surprise is washing over his face like the breaking dawn. "You know… if you think about it, potential Pym contamination is probably the least of our worries. I still don't understand how this whole 'Infinite Mansion' works. All I know is that the door across from mine leads to an alley in New York City, and my bedroom window overlooks the Rhine."

Finished with his cereal, Robbie puts the bowl in the sink and stares down his empty coffee mug for awhile. It doesn't fill itself, so he does and leaves it black. He likes it that way - actually, he likes 3 am diner coffee that's been sitting on the burner long enough to concentrate. He can taste it then.

Robbie takes a good-sized slug of it, before finally continuing this safe topic. "What I mean is, we're being affected by a lot more science than a few stray particles on your twinkies, just by virtue of us standing here."

"Oh my god," Terry makes a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan, in no way is he ready for the idea that they're being exposed to some kind of horrible radiation right now. His powers are already messed up enough on their own, he doesn't need whatever Hank's science would do. "I haven't had enough coffee to deal with this."

What if it made him into a giant? That would be terrible. In his sleep-addled state, it's a little distracting to think about. He catches himself thinking about how comfortable he is with his current height and shakes his head, sliding his empty mug across the counter toward Robbie as a hint. Maybe coffee #3 will be the one that makes him ready to face the day.

The hint is not that subtle, Terry, particularly when the statement about needing more coffee is factored in. Robbie wordlessly picks up the carafe again and refills Terry's mug, carrying it carefully over.

"Here," he says as he hands over the hot mug. "Cheers."

He raises his own mug high - clinking them seems like a good way to get burned, best avoid that. A sip to keep busy. Robbie can feel the conversation stalling out, and he doesn't know what to say to keep it flowing. He doesn't mind silence, but it bugs other people. Speedball has always been a chatterbug; Penance was stoic. Pick something and blab on autopilot.

"You should sit in on a training session, if you're up for it." Yes, good. Doubly good, Terry might explain why he's here in the first place. "Some of the students could use..."

Hang on, this isn't such a great idea. Is a teacher supposed to want the fear of god put into his students? It might make a few of them have some damn caution, but it's harsh. It's not nice to Terry either, to make him feel like he's the scary monster in this room. "They need a sense of perspective."

'A sense of perspective.' Terry huffs a small laugh, but its humourless. Tired. He puts aside his empty bowl so he can cup the mug in both hands and look down at it, frowning. Not entirely sure what it is Robbie means, but he also doesn't think he likes it.

"I don't know how much help I can be." If he could be useful, surely Vance or Greer would've called to have him on staff. Not Hank-- it's still a lot to wrap his head around there, that he never actually knew Hank Pym.

And despite all that? Terry's as close as it gets to a success story for the Initiative, as fucked up as it is. He has friends, a career. He can control his powers. None of that was true beforehand. He doesn't know what kind of perspective that would give, but it doesn't seem good.

"I'm here for you because I know you," and it's true in more than just the physical-spatial 'I literally came out here because Vance said you needed help' sense. Maybe it's guilt or maybe it's genuine caring, but Terry could confidently say Robbie's a person he'd drop anything to help. Not that he ever expects him to ask. But those kids elsewhere in the house? Terry shakes his head, "as far as those kids know? I'm just the creepy therapist who helped Osborn put people in the field who had no place being there."

That laugh doesn't ignite the same sort of triumphant glow that Robbie's always gotten when he gets someone to laugh. It used to be basking in attention, now it's more relief at knowing he is doing the best possible imitation of himself.

But that forced little laugh? How many times had Robbie gasped out one huff of a laugh, to show solidarity or meet expectations or sarcastically comment on his situation, when he was still able to do that? Too many, way too many to believe that Terry's amused.

Luckily, Robbie was never laughing about it either. He hadn't meant to be funny. He'd only meant to frame the truth positively. It's something that he's been trying to work on, spinning everything properly. The students do need a lesson in perspective. Of course, they need one. They're high school students, and neither he nor Terry are old enough to have forgotten what that entails.

It just so happens that he also meant 'please scare the shit out of Hazmat, because I don't think she has a healthy appreciation for what can happen if someone's powers get out of control.'

Robbie doesn't get time to wallow in feeling guilty about that. He fits in a fleeting thought along the lines of 'is it really that different than being brought in as the poster child of screw-ups?' Then, Terry lays it at his feet that he's here to see Robbie. "Right."

His mouth feels really dry. Suspected and knowing are two vastly different things, and now talking feels more like an insurmountable task than a chore. Everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of Terry's opinion.

Fuck, he misses the blank metal of the Penance helm. It was so much easier to face the world.

"I knew that," he said quietly. There wasn't much other reason for Terry to have turned up. Don't fidget, don't start accusing Vance of colluding with anyone, don't mention nightmares, don't talk about the first day on the job. Do breathe normally. "But... I also know you didn't put me back in the field. That's what they wanted, isn't it? Moonstone messed me up, I remember her drugging me... and then I was with the Initiative."

"I had to sign off on it." His voice is quiet, with the weight of what he's saying rather than tiredness, and he's still staring holes in his coffee. It's not something he can get in the details of, every session being little more than placating Robbie enough to keep him calm, signing forms to say he's fit for field duty. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, "every psycho the Hood brought with him, every person who needed help. All of them rolled through my office and right back out to fight."

It feels like a confession, but there's none of that uplifting feeling. That weightlessness that comes with finally getting something off your chest after holding it so tight it threatens to choke you at night.

He just feels guilty all over again.

Saying it is like a reminder of all the shit they made him do, every time signing a form felt like signing over a piece of himself. But there's also this sudden and acute awareness of who he's speaking to - Robbie should be the last person he tells about any of that.

His expression is suddenly worried, and he really can't bring himself to look at Robbie now. Like he's going to look up and see that same expression he sees in the mirror every morning. That reminder he can wear a suit and do nice things, but he can't hide what he's done. What he is.

"I'm sorry, I just-- I mean." He stumbles over his words in his haste to get them out, to move past all that like he never said anything. His shit doesn't matter, it's not what they're talking about. "I can't be the bad guy. Especially not to them."

Fucked up, like everything else. Now it's perfect. Terry's upset; Robbie can hear it in his voice. Robbie upsets people; it seems to be what he's best at.

He isn't prepared for this apologizing, which makes very little sense. Robbie was the one who had been messed up, yet he was still aware enough to know that, if Terry hadn't done as ordered, they would have used nanites on him.

It's very easy to get people to do what you want when you can shock them and make them vomit by remote control, but they hadn't needed to use them on Robbie. He hadn't objected to what they wanted him to do. Bring in the untrained, the unregistered, the criminals who will wind up killing someone - like you did, son.

He didn't mean to yell at Hazmat like he did. It's not her dreaming about kids screaming and the smell of burnt pork. It's him. That's why he's up this early and why he'd bothered to see if Terry was awake in a moment of weakness. Robbie should have run for the hills. Instead, he leaves a bread crumb trail because he thinks he's smart enough to meet it head-on.

He's as dumb as everyone thinks he is.

"You aren't a bad guy." Robbie is determined to keep the focus on Terry. "There weren't any good decisions to make."

White-knuckling his coffee mug finally leads to tension making it pop out of his hands like a shot. It falls to the floor in slow motion and explodes like a grenade. Robbie sighs and crouches down to start picking up the pieces. "... this isn't a metaphor, I promise. You could make the awful choice or the other awful choice. Really, the only difference was who got hurt, and I was. It wasn't any worse than what I was doing, anyway. I'd be the bad guy for the students, if I could. But…"

He shrugs helplessly and refuses to look over at Terry. "I have to get out of bed and face Vance every day. I don't think I can scare teenagers and still do that."

Intellectually, he knows he's not nearly as bad as he thinks he is. He'd handed in his resignation and they threatened his family, the same family that didn't even come to his funeral, sure. But his family all the same.

If someone came to him with that story, Terry would be quick to point out what an impossible situation that was. How there was no such thing as the 'right'choice. But it's the fact that he made the choice that keeps him up at night. That a father who never returned his calls and the vague promise of help for his mother meant more to him then the wellbeing of countless others.

The sound of the mug shattering jolts Terry out of the dark hallways of his mind. Something productive and helpful he can do instead of a solo pity party, and he hops off the counter to help Robbie clean up the pieces.

There's an almost-joke on the tip of his tongue, about facing Vance after playing monster. About how he's just the kind of guy who makes you want to be better and he doesn't even know it. But the joke dies on his lips and Terry sighs, looking down at the shards in his hand. There's a metaphor here, if he thinks about it.

"How about a deal? I don't pretend like I'm okay around you, and you don't bullshit me either." It's the most direct he's ever been with Robbie, but after this early-morning chat it's hardly as if Terry can sit behind a desk and be the healthy mind dispensing advice and trying to coax some honesty out of him.

Neither of them is okay, and it's becoming more obvious on Terry's part than he ever wanted it to.

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