I know York and Delta aren't talking right now. [for perfectly legitimate reasons. And it sounds like York might have told Mal what he and North had both seen - no reason to comment there, just wince in blissful ignorance. Concentrate instead on:] What do you mean by break?
[ There's a short delay before he receives a reply.
Should she check on York? --Except then he'd know that Malcolm had contacted her, was talking to her, and she wasn't sure either party would appreciate that, no matter how concerned she was. And though she likes even less the idea of York being left alone right now, it's clear that Mal needs an out. However temporarily. ]
We still have two more movies in the Vengeful Day series to finish watching.
[He breathes a sigh of relief when he gets out the door and breathes in the fresh air. He would've eventually left to go somewhere else--hell, even taken up Wrath's offer, maybe--just to get out and away after the talk with North and the feelings that followed. But movie night (well, day) with Carolina? How could he refuse?
He deliberately ignores any windows passed, blinks away flashing vehicles. No. He doesn't want to see. Seeing is what fucked everything up to start with. Just get to Carolina's, watch mindless explosions, and ignore literally everything else. Best plan. Best plan for the day. Keep her company. Try not to worry her too badly.
When he makes it to the apartment complex, he almost has a spring in his step, or at least, he looks more chipper than he has in a few days. Everything is perfectly fine when he hops into the elevator and pushes the button up up up.
It takes a minute for the error to register. The elevator is practically sparkling on all sides. Anywhere there isn't an ad plastered up, it's sleek chrome, his face looking back. A few aspects of his face looking back. He stares at the door and sees his blue and red suit, other familiar colours, and a hologram hovering by his shoulder. He turned left, saw himself in some gaudy Hawaiian shirt, actually barked a laugh at it. Turned to the back, and there was him with captain pips and sporting a goatee, in command of a ship that was crumbling apart around him. And to the right--
He and Trip are standing together, fingers laced. Rings sitting on their fingers. A few others mill about on a hill at night. There's a little one sitting up on Malcolm's shoulders, all blond and blue-eyed and definitely a Tucker if he ever saw one. They smile at each other, then look to the sky as a fireworks display starts exploding above them. He'd never thought--with Trip? And happy? And apparently on Earth. What kind of universe was that supposed to be? He doesn't think, though, when he reaches out to touch the child's face--
And it floods into every pore of his body, a history that isn't his, that starts out similar but diverges with a relationship never had, rocky moments but a blooming love. And he understands now. He understands so fully what North was talking about, what York was trying to say, about not just thinking it, but being it, about feeling that love that is whole and complete and everything. They're happy. They're a family. Little Charlie growing up with his dads. And cuddling up against the man who was his best friend, the man who is, in Malcolm's mind, stuck between life and death, seems like the most normal and natural thing in the world. They watch the fireworks together, the young lad who is their son in awe.
This is not his life, but it's a life that he's filled with. To be so loved and to feel so loved, and to be filled with love that he gives in return. Stable and whole and together. He knows it's a lie but knows too that maybe somewhere out there in all of the infinite universes, this happened. Despite the brief contact, it's still there as strongly, and he backs away, crumples to the floor, watching the reflection and watching in his mind's eye the memories ticking by.
And it isn't fair. To be stuck. To be stuck here in this world so far from the family he loves. That he can't be there with his husband, with his son. That he feels all of this and knows that it isn't real. The elevator dings, doors sliding open to Carolina's floor, but he can't. He can't. He's a mess, and his emotions are getting the better of him, a hand covering his mouth but tears in his eyes. He can't go to her place like this.
It's another ten minutes before he picks himself up off the floor, another five before he finally tears himself away from the image that feels so right. Gives his face another quick wipe just in case before knocking on the door, smile plastered on.]
It isn't usual for Malcolm to be detained, let alone not send her a message that he's running behind. Carolina knows exactly how long it takes to get to her apartment from District 2 by most means of transport, including by foot. She isn't certain it's an Englishman thing but it is a Malcolm thing to apologise ahead of time and warn about any tardiness, and the fact she hasn't heard anything after asking Natalia to check in with York?
Well. Let's just say that Carolina's growing just a little concerned.
So when Malcolm has finally gathered the pieces of his composure back together, he'll find that the door he was approaching opens at speed, Carolina decked in her jacket and expression set to something very Serious. That he's there, and by all appearances unharmed (physically) brings her a step up short - but her relief is plain.]
[He knows he's late, and he knows he should apologize, but he didn't think she'd be counting the minutes. So her appearance out of her flat is startling, smile faltering.]
Got hung up. Aren't you technically still on bed rest?
[ She has been worried about everyone for a reason, one he hadn't managed to wrangle out of her the day before.. She doesn't expect an apology, but she does scoff at his response, reaching to tow him into her apartment. ]
It's house rest. Unlike some people, I'm usually pretty good at resting - and as long as I'm not overdoing it, I don't have to stay in bed.
[because she'd be climbing the walls in no time -- she almost already is, in fact.
(Someone may be fibbing about the knowing-to-rest clause).]
[He doesn't mind getting dragged along, because it means being inside and not anywhere public, and being safe, with her. There's still an ache in his heart and a longing to be elsewhere, but he'll try to keep that to himself. It's only temporary, right?]
You were leaving, though. That's not house rest at all. ...You were leaving to find me?
Yes. [and now she looks briefly uncomfortable, even as she closes the door behind him. Lela comes bounding up the short flight of stairs to headbutt Malcolm's shins while she shrugs out of her coat] Usually it only takes you 35 minutes to get here. It's been nearly an hour, and I hadn't heard from you. That's not like you.
[Kitten headbutts means Malcolm scooping said kitten up before he even takes his own coat off. It almost looks like he's not going to. He's...distracted.] Sorry. Something got in the way.
I could eat, if you're suggesting food. [He hadn't been particularly hungry after his confrontation with North, so breakfast wasn't really a thing.]
[ Yes good. Lela has her Person's persons well trained for this, and she's already purring away happuly as Mal pays her the attention she wants. Coats clearly can wait until she wants down. ]
..All right. [she's not sure she's entirely convinced, but he does appear to have something on his mind] I have some snacks Delta brought over, go take a seat and I'll bring them out.
Tea?
[this one might be rhetorical. then again, he might ask for something from the liquor cabinet of wonders]
[He's not doing a good job of seeming fine, he realizes. Bit late to fix that now. All he can do is stand there petting the little pink fluffball. He and Trip never had any pets, but maybe when Charlie's older and asks for one--
No. Damn it. There he goes again, mixing universes. Thinking too much about what isn't really there. Or is there, but in just some other far away universe. There's a flicker of wanting to apologize to Carolina for being so unfair to her, for having her put up with him, but instead, he tries to content himself with the kitten. Thinks on the happiness he felt with his husband instead. How could he think of York, or North, or anyone, when there's all of that running around his head?
It's just as confusing and complicated as it was arguing with York.]
[ Lela wriggles a little until she's comfortably draped along Malcolm's arm, purring away like a frieght train, little tail flicking up at the end. That he's still standing there a few minutes later goes uncommented on, though Carolina herself is silent and watchful for that time.
Given the tone of his earlier texts, Carolina has already made an assumption on what must be causing him to be caught up in his own thoughts. When last she'd seen him, he'd been so happy, had gushed about being with York, and now something had occurred to rattle that entirely.
She clears her throat when it becomes clear that he's caught up in his own head. ]
Malcolm? [There follows a light touch at his elbow; Lela reaches a paw for the plate of goodies, but gets ignored.] C'mon. Let's sit down
[To his credit, he doesn't jerk at the touch, merely glances up and then nods almost absently. Poor Lela gets put down so he can act like a proper bloody guest and take off his coat before going over to the couch. Right. Movies. Mindless fun action movies. And company.]
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Text; Day 158 - late morning
Text; Day 158 - late morning
I haven't spoken to him since yesterday morning. Very very early in the morning - and he was supposed to be going to Whiskey's.
"Anything" is a little subjective.
Text; Day 158 - late morning
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What? Why?
What happened?
Text; Day 158 - late morning
Fourth. Fourth or fifth wheel. He's trying to convince me otherwise.
Text; Day 158 - late morning
Should she check on York? --Except then he'd know that Malcolm had contacted her, was talking to her, and she wasn't sure either party would appreciate that, no matter how concerned she was. And though she likes even less the idea of York being left alone right now, it's clear that Mal needs an out. However temporarily. ]
We still have two more movies in the Vengeful Day series to finish watching.
Text; Day 158 - late morning
North's angry. I at least got an apology out of him earlier.
Text; Day 158 - late morning
You can tell me about it when you get over here. What time's good for you?
Text; Day 158 - late morning
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...Should I talk to him? Or has he left the house already?
Text; Day 158 - late morning
Talk to whoever you want. I don't rightly care right now.
Text; Day 158 - late morning
Then I'll see you when you get here. I'll leave the door keyed open for you.
[ And while she waits, take a minute to think, then send a short text to a mutual...acquaintance. ]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
He deliberately ignores any windows passed, blinks away flashing vehicles. No. He doesn't want to see. Seeing is what fucked everything up to start with. Just get to Carolina's, watch mindless explosions, and ignore literally everything else. Best plan. Best plan for the day. Keep her company. Try not to worry her too badly.
When he makes it to the apartment complex, he almost has a spring in his step, or at least, he looks more chipper than he has in a few days. Everything is perfectly fine when he hops into the elevator and pushes the button up up up.
It takes a minute for the error to register. The elevator is practically sparkling on all sides. Anywhere there isn't an ad plastered up, it's sleek chrome, his face looking back. A few aspects of his face looking back. He stares at the door and sees his blue and red suit, other familiar colours, and a hologram hovering by his shoulder. He turned left, saw himself in some gaudy Hawaiian shirt, actually barked a laugh at it. Turned to the back, and there was him with captain pips and sporting a goatee, in command of a ship that was crumbling apart around him. And to the right--
He and Trip are standing together, fingers laced. Rings sitting on their fingers. A few others mill about on a hill at night. There's a little one sitting up on Malcolm's shoulders, all blond and blue-eyed and definitely a Tucker if he ever saw one. They smile at each other, then look to the sky as a fireworks display starts exploding above them. He'd never thought--with Trip? And happy? And apparently on Earth. What kind of universe was that supposed to be? He doesn't think, though, when he reaches out to touch the child's face--
And it floods into every pore of his body, a history that isn't his, that starts out similar but diverges with a relationship never had, rocky moments but a blooming love. And he understands now. He understands so fully what North was talking about, what York was trying to say, about not just thinking it, but being it, about feeling that love that is whole and complete and everything. They're happy. They're a family. Little Charlie growing up with his dads. And cuddling up against the man who was his best friend, the man who is, in Malcolm's mind, stuck between life and death, seems like the most normal and natural thing in the world. They watch the fireworks together, the young lad who is their son in awe.
This is not his life, but it's a life that he's filled with. To be so loved and to feel so loved, and to be filled with love that he gives in return. Stable and whole and together. He knows it's a lie but knows too that maybe somewhere out there in all of the infinite universes, this happened. Despite the brief contact, it's still there as strongly, and he backs away, crumples to the floor, watching the reflection and watching in his mind's eye the memories ticking by.
And it isn't fair. To be stuck. To be stuck here in this world so far from the family he loves. That he can't be there with his husband, with his son. That he feels all of this and knows that it isn't real. The elevator dings, doors sliding open to Carolina's floor, but he can't. He can't. He's a mess, and his emotions are getting the better of him, a hand covering his mouth but tears in his eyes. He can't go to her place like this.
It's another ten minutes before he picks himself up off the floor, another five before he finally tears himself away from the image that feels so right. Gives his face another quick wipe just in case before knocking on the door, smile plastered on.]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
It isn't usual for Malcolm to be detained, let alone not send her a message that he's running behind. Carolina knows exactly how long it takes to get to her apartment from District 2 by most means of transport, including by foot. She isn't certain it's an Englishman thing but it is a Malcolm thing to apologise ahead of time and warn about any tardiness, and the fact she hasn't heard anything after asking Natalia to check in with York?
Well. Let's just say that Carolina's growing just a little concerned.
So when Malcolm has finally gathered the pieces of his composure back together, he'll find that the door he was approaching opens at speed, Carolina decked in her jacket and expression set to something very Serious. That he's there, and by all appearances unharmed (physically) brings her a step up short - but her relief is plain.]
What took you?
Action; Day 158 - late morning
Got hung up. Aren't you technically still on bed rest?
Action; Day 158 - late morning
It's house rest. Unlike some people, I'm usually pretty good at resting - and as long as I'm not overdoing it, I don't have to stay in bed.
[because she'd be climbing the walls in no time -- she almost already is, in fact.
(Someone may be fibbing about the knowing-to-rest clause).]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
You were leaving, though. That's not house rest at all. ...You were leaving to find me?
Action; Day 158 - late morning
Have you eaten yet?
Action; Day 158 - late morning
I could eat, if you're suggesting food. [He hadn't been particularly hungry after his confrontation with North, so breakfast wasn't really a thing.]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
..All right. [she's not sure she's entirely convinced, but he does appear to have something on his mind] I have some snacks Delta brought over, go take a seat and I'll bring them out.
Tea?
[this one might be rhetorical. then again, he might ask for something from the liquor cabinet of wonders]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
[He's not doing a good job of seeming fine, he realizes. Bit late to fix that now. All he can do is stand there petting the little pink fluffball. He and Trip never had any pets, but maybe when Charlie's older and asks for one--
No. Damn it. There he goes again, mixing universes. Thinking too much about what isn't really there. Or is there, but in just some other far away universe. There's a flicker of wanting to apologize to Carolina for being so unfair to her, for having her put up with him, but instead, he tries to content himself with the kitten. Thinks on the happiness he felt with his husband instead. How could he think of York, or North, or anyone, when there's all of that running around his head?
It's just as confusing and complicated as it was arguing with York.]
Action; Day 158 - late morning
Given the tone of his earlier texts, Carolina has already made an assumption on what must be causing him to be caught up in his own thoughts. When last she'd seen him, he'd been so happy, had gushed about being with York, and now something had occurred to rattle that entirely.
She clears her throat when it becomes clear that he's caught up in his own head. ]
Malcolm? [There follows a light touch at his elbow; Lela reaches a paw for the plate of goodies, but gets ignored.] C'mon. Let's sit down
Action; Day 158 - late morning
Sorry. I don't seem to be all here right now.
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