[ It isn't terribly unusual that Pietro gives Cassian a call, especially if they haven't seen each other that day, but sometimes even if they have. Independent and delicately proud as Pietro may be, he's used to having family close at hand - a whole clan, growing up - and especially since his accident, it's felt strange to be alone.
So there's always something - a detail to confirm, or a school question, or a strong opinion about something or other he feels the need to share with Cassian (you're welcome) - something that requires a quick phone call, and sometimes that's it. But sometimes Pietro's thoughts wander, and then out of the blue, there's-- ]
[ At Pietro's question Cassian makes a startled sort of laugh over the phone and then there's the distinct noises associated with grabbing something to drink - the fridge opening and closing, a glass against the countertop - before Cassian lets out a little sigh. ]
Soldiers don't always make good husbands.
[ To be honest he appreciates these phone calls, finds himself worrying about this brother that can't possibly be related to him and yet is simultaneously. He cooks dinner, brings Pietro's household food, and tries not to fret too much about the distance. It's a small town.
He'd ask what's the worst that could happen but he knows. Tommy is gone, the mental fabrications of a decade of looking after another "family" member have all but unwound themselves from Cassian's mind and he hates it. Hates how it ebbs and flows, adjusts according to...what? Actual residency?
He doesn't know. Another thing on a long list that is driving Cassian up a wall.
The two of them, Cassian and Pietro, are bound by the duty that Cassian believes has been completely imposed upon him against his will, true, but it's not Pietro's fault. So Cassian does his best to be a good brother. ]
There's a lot of fear involved, and I am not the best at communicating what I'm thinking.
[ Pietro always sounds a little like he's on unsteady ground when he brings up anything this personal. He knows he's been here for years, that he's had family, but it feels like it's just been the two of them for so long, just him and- his mother, he assumes, even though she's been gone since he was twelve. It feels like there'd been no one to ask these questions before Cassian. ]
You don't want to make anyone else afraid for you? [ he asks, trying to sort out Cassian's meaning. 'Anyone else,' because of course he would be, even if his concept of Cassian being a soldier bears little resemblance to reality. ]
[ There's this conflict between telling too much of the truth and reverting to what he's known for years, what he's more comfortable with - namely, lying. Avoiding. The problem with the former is that it is dangerous - truth, information both are a weapon when wielded in the right hands and Pietro knows that. He wouldn't argue so passionately if he didn't.
The problem with the latter is that it's a part of himself he'd like to leave in the boiling sands. ]
A big part, actually. There's also...happiness. How you help people be happy, how you manage your own happiness? [ He takes a drink - beer, for the record. ] I can't imagine getting married without being concerned about the happiness of whomever else is involved, and I haven't had a great track record with relationships.
You are kind, and you understand people, at least, even if you don't always tell them so. That is better than not understanding, yes? That is not a bad start.
[ Whether that adds up to being able to help anyone else be happy, though, Pietro doesn't should like he knows any better than Cassian. (And if even Cassian can't, what hope is there for someone like him?) ]
[ That's sincere, at least, and he tries to be kind. Understanding people is...related to the job, to the 'first life', to the ever present and just as vague war. It's a good skill to have and he's proud of it. Just not proud of how it came to be. ]
It's better than not trying to understand anyone. But communication is very important.
[ There's a pause. Should he leave it there? ]
For a long time I was rather certain that I would die without anyone, and I had come to terms with that. [ And then he didn't. And now he's here. ] By the time I had allowed myself to entertain the idea that it wasn't going to happen that way...I don't know.
-You didn't do anything about it? [ he guesses, because he can only be not rude for so many minutes in a row really, and he doesn't see any wife or nieces or nephews running around here, Cassian. ]
There wasn't time. [ Cassian takes a breath and another drink. Pietro, in this moment, reminds him strongly of Kay and now he's back there, in that room, hearing Goodbye. He has to shut his eyes and remember to keep breathing. ] There really wasn't. It was an unmitigated disaster and...
Either way, Cassian shakes his head as he gathers up a few things. A bottle of tequila. Leftovers in the fridge (he's not sure what the situation is at Poe's, but Cassian clearly remembers having to go grocery shopping with Junyoung when they got out of the hospital, so there's a chance there isn't a whole lot of food in Poe's kitchen yet). A jacket. His blaster. HIs cell phone, after a pause.
Takes actually 18 minutes for him to get to Poe's. He's not favoring his leg, exactly, but he is being careful as he approaches the house. ]
[ BB-8 warns Poe of Cassian's approach. That's good, because it gives Poe a chance to stop staring at the glass of bourbon he's been nursing and knock the thing back before he goes to the door.
He's already done ten thousand billion idiotic things today, what's one more.
Poe leans against the open doorway as Cassian reaches the porch. ] You didn't say how real it would seem.
♪ It's only once Elsa has left to ride the blue bike around town and, presumably, reorient herself with a home she's forgotten, that Jyn grabs the phone. She sits behind the couch and pulls the phone off the table and into her lap, dialing a number she already knows by heart.
It's still within his working hours, but she wants to catch him at work anyway in case he swings by to make her dinner. She knows he will pick up at work anyway. Because it's her.
Once he does, she forgoes even a hello to blurt out: "Someone lives here."
Well. There's a beat, because Cassian is blinking back surprise; he was braced to hear bad news of a very different stripe, but at least he (presumably) won't need to shoot anyone, and then he realizes that she probably wouldn't call him for that anyway.
"I'm guessing someone other than you. What are they like?"
Jyn that is not what Elsa is like at all. It's just that she's so pale and delicate, even paler than Jyn herself. She shakes her head, huffs a breath, and starts over again. Real answers this time, Erso.
"She's... sweet." That much is very true. "She's had an accident and just got out of hospital. She had keys to the house." She has a name, but that fact seems to have escaped Jyn's explanation at the moment.
'Blonde' doesn't really tell him much, but the fact that Jyn is calling the woman 'sweet' tells him a little more. Only a very little. He wouldn't be able to identify the woman in a crowd or a lineup...
"If she hadn't had an accident it would be more uncommon, considering. It's a new month, lots of accidents at the beginning of the month." He realizes he never actually told her that before. "Each new month that I can remember, this has been happening."
Still. That doesn't address the immediate issue, which is: "How comfortable are you with this?"
Her mouth turns down into a frown, playing with her mother's necklace. Trust in the Force. Maybe she doesn't want to, Mama. Maybe the Force is a jerk. Sure, she and Cassian are getting a second chance at life but it's without the rest of their crew, in a place that is nothing more than a very luxurious cage. It's not much of a second chance.
Still, her mother's words echo around her mind, inescapable.
"Not very. But she remembers being here." She remembered the house being her home, Jyn was the interloper, not the other way around. "The bike in the garage is hers." Judging by Elsa's general appearance, the delicate floral tea cups and saucers they forgo for mugs were meant for Elsa as well. Jyn just got in the way. "She offered to find some place else to stay but-- I said she didn't have to."
She ignores his apologies the way she ignores Poe's, she doesn't need apologies.
"Maybe..." Frowning at the phone, she slowly finds herself sinking down against the back of the couch until she's laid on the floor, again. "Maybe in few days."
There is no possible way for her to starve in that time, especially since she sees him every day for lunch and because she has more than enough cereal thanks to her adventure in the grocery store. Yet still she finds her heart sinking at the idea of Cassian not coming over to make her dinner while she pesters him and then watching TV with her on the couch.
"I doesn't seem fair." To Elsa or Jyn herself is anyone's guess.
[ Pietro hadn't called after Dr. Rousseau's initial announcement. Truth be told, it hadn't sunk in that he needed to. The days before that had been trying enough, and when Rousseau explained some of them had had their memories tampered with, in the midst of all the other fresh revelations about their situation (the end of the world), Pietro had felt a little ill on behalf of the people that had been done to — but he hadn't wondered about his own. His memories were fine. He was raised in Yugoslavia, his mother died, he moved to Wayward Pines years ago, and he must have been there when the outbreak occurred. There was a thousand year gap, certainly, but that was all. He doesn't ask.
Just like he doesn't ask why he sets the table for two sometimes, despite living alone for the last third of his life. Why he dreams of playing hide and seek with a girl he knows is Wanda but looks nothing like her. Why he knew how to fight those creatures like he'd done it every day, not in schoolyard brawls but in fights for his life that never ended. Why combat had felt more natural to him than a classroom ever did, why his teachers' kindness feels so unforgivably coddling, or why there's been this sick knot of guilt in his gut since the first broken bone he'd given one of those monsters, not because he felt bad for them but because it felt inescapably familiar. He doesn't ask those questions, because he doesn't want answers; he wants this. Wayward Pines. Normalcy. School, family, safety, stability, being a good person—
But for every answer Rousseau gives, the cracks in that life wear thinner and thinner. Now, he calls Cassian, and there's something brittle in his voice when he asks, ]
[ If Cassian sounds tired it's because he is; Jyn's death, Caroline's coma, Poe's sadness, his own weighted depression - none of it would add up to good sleep if Cassian were the sort to get good sleep in the first place and he definitely is not. The exhaustion is in his voice, in the lines of his eyes, in the fact that he still hasn't cut his hair since waking up here, in the fact that he hasn't shaved in the better part of a week.
Still. He's worried about Pietro, and that comes through. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sometime pre-flood, yw
So there's always something - a detail to confirm, or a school question, or a strong opinion about something or other he feels the need to share with Cassian (you're welcome) - something that requires a quick phone call, and sometimes that's it. But sometimes Pietro's thoughts wander, and then out of the blue, there's-- ]
-Cassian, why aren't you married?
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Soldiers don't always make good husbands.
[ To be honest he appreciates these phone calls, finds himself worrying about this brother that can't possibly be related to him and yet is simultaneously. He cooks dinner, brings Pietro's household food, and tries not to fret too much about the distance. It's a small town.
He'd ask what's the worst that could happen but he knows. Tommy is gone, the mental fabrications of a decade of looking after another "family" member have all but unwound themselves from Cassian's mind and he hates it. Hates how it ebbs and flows, adjusts according to...what? Actual residency?
He doesn't know. Another thing on a long list that is driving Cassian up a wall.
The two of them, Cassian and Pietro, are bound by the duty that Cassian believes has been completely imposed upon him against his will, true, but it's not Pietro's fault. So Cassian does his best to be a good brother. ]
There's a lot of fear involved, and I am not the best at communicating what I'm thinking.
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You don't want to make anyone else afraid for you? [ he asks, trying to sort out Cassian's meaning. 'Anyone else,' because of course he would be, even if his concept of Cassian being a soldier bears little resemblance to reality. ]
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[ There's this conflict between telling too much of the truth and reverting to what he's known for years, what he's more comfortable with - namely, lying. Avoiding. The problem with the former is that it is dangerous - truth, information both are a weapon when wielded in the right hands and Pietro knows that. He wouldn't argue so passionately if he didn't.
The problem with the latter is that it's a part of himself he'd like to leave in the boiling sands. ]
A big part, actually. There's also...happiness. How you help people be happy, how you manage your own happiness? [ He takes a drink - beer, for the record. ] I can't imagine getting married without being concerned about the happiness of whomever else is involved, and I haven't had a great track record with relationships.
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[ Compliments with Pietro. ]
You are kind, and you understand people, at least, even if you don't always tell them so. That is better than not understanding, yes? That is not a bad start.
[ Whether that adds up to being able to help anyone else be happy, though, Pietro doesn't should like he knows any better than Cassian. (And if even Cassian can't, what hope is there for someone like him?) ]
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Thank you, Pietro.
[ That's sincere, at least, and he tries to be kind. Understanding people is...related to the job, to the 'first life', to the ever present and just as vague war. It's a good skill to have and he's proud of it. Just not proud of how it came to be. ]
It's better than not trying to understand anyone. But communication is very important.
[ There's a pause. Should he leave it there? ]
For a long time I was rather certain that I would die without anyone, and I had come to terms with that. [ And then he didn't. And now he's here. ] By the time I had allowed myself to entertain the idea that it wasn't going to happen that way...I don't know.
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I'm here, now.
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may 3rd or 4th
[ Hecked up? Remembered a thing? Have been remembering more things ever since? REALLY HATE REMEMBERING THE THINGS? KISSED A GIRL AND LIKED IT? ]
What're you doing tonight? Because I'm drinking.
let's say the 3rd, he's baking the night of the 4th
Where?
[ He's already off work, so. When is whenever he can get there. ]
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[ He doesn't have a car. Why doesn't he have a car? Anyway, his leg hurts so he's going to take his time. ]
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[ Somehow he manages to convey a salute in that sentence, before hanging up.]
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Either way, Cassian shakes his head as he gathers up a few things. A bottle of tequila. Leftovers in the fridge (he's not sure what the situation is at Poe's, but Cassian clearly remembers having to go grocery shopping with Junyoung when they got out of the hospital, so there's a chance there isn't a whole lot of food in Poe's kitchen yet). A jacket. His blaster. HIs cell phone, after a pause.
Takes actually 18 minutes for him to get to Poe's. He's not favoring his leg, exactly, but he is being careful as he approaches the house. ]
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He's already done ten thousand billion idiotic things today, what's one more.
Poe leans against the open doorway as Cassian reaches the porch. ] You didn't say how real it would seem.
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My entire family was dead by the time I was six; my brother just called me an 'old maid' for not being married twenty years later.
Cognitive dissonance doesn't begin to cover it.
[ How the hell do you warn someone against something like that? ]
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the early evening of june 3
It's still within his working hours, but she wants to catch him at work anyway in case he swings by to make her dinner. She knows he will pick up at work anyway. Because it's her.
Once he does, she forgoes even a hello to blurt out: "Someone lives here."
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"I'm guessing someone other than you. What are they like?"
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Jyn that is not what Elsa is like at all. It's just that she's so pale and delicate, even paler than Jyn herself. She shakes her head, huffs a breath, and starts over again. Real answers this time, Erso.
"She's... sweet." That much is very true. "She's had an accident and just got out of hospital. She had keys to the house." She has a name, but that fact seems to have escaped Jyn's explanation at the moment.
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"If she hadn't had an accident it would be more uncommon, considering. It's a new month, lots of accidents at the beginning of the month." He realizes he never actually told her that before. "Each new month that I can remember, this has been happening."
Still. That doesn't address the immediate issue, which is: "How comfortable are you with this?"
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Still, her mother's words echo around her mind, inescapable.
"Not very. But she remembers being here." She remembered the house being her home, Jyn was the interloper, not the other way around. "The bike in the garage is hers." Judging by Elsa's general appearance, the delicate floral tea cups and saucers they forgo for mugs were meant for Elsa as well. Jyn just got in the way. "She offered to find some place else to stay but-- I said she didn't have to."
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"What would you like me to do? Should I still come make dinner?" He'd offer his place, but...she knows the offer exists.
He's not sure how much better it is, in the long run. "I'm sorry." For this thing he has absolutely no control over, but.
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"Maybe..." Frowning at the phone, she slowly finds herself sinking down against the back of the couch until she's laid on the floor, again. "Maybe in few days."
There is no possible way for her to starve in that time, especially since she sees him every day for lunch and because she has more than enough cereal thanks to her adventure in the grocery store. Yet still she finds her heart sinking at the idea of Cassian not coming over to make her dinner while she pesters him and then watching TV with her on the couch.
"I doesn't seem fair." To Elsa or Jyn herself is anyone's guess.
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mumble mumble late june
Just like he doesn't ask why he sets the table for two sometimes, despite living alone for the last third of his life. Why he dreams of playing hide and seek with a girl he knows is Wanda but looks nothing like her. Why he knew how to fight those creatures like he'd done it every day, not in schoolyard brawls but in fights for his life that never ended. Why combat had felt more natural to him than a classroom ever did, why his teachers' kindness feels so unforgivably coddling, or why there's been this sick knot of guilt in his gut since the first broken bone he'd given one of those monsters, not because he felt bad for them but because it felt inescapably familiar. He doesn't ask those questions, because he doesn't want answers; he wants this. Wayward Pines. Normalcy. School, family, safety, stability, being a good person—
But for every answer Rousseau gives, the cracks in that life wear thinner and thinner. Now, he calls Cassian, and there's something brittle in his voice when he asks, ]
Could I come over?
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[ If Cassian sounds tired it's because he is; Jyn's death, Caroline's coma, Poe's sadness, his own weighted depression - none of it would add up to good sleep if Cassian were the sort to get good sleep in the first place and he definitely is not. The exhaustion is in his voice, in the lines of his eyes, in the fact that he still hasn't cut his hair since waking up here, in the fact that he hasn't shaved in the better part of a week.
Still. He's worried about Pietro, and that comes through. ]
That won't change. I'm at home. Just come over.