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CHARACTERS: Agent Washington and You!
LOCATION: The bar
WARNINGS: Drinking. Angsting. Probable cursing. Fun stuff, right
SUMMARY: In realizing that on top of everything else awful on this ship, his friend and...sort-of friends are all gone, Wash decides to hit the bar to maybe get wasted. Or at least to grump around and frown at everyone.

It's taken a pretty impressive amount of time, but he's finally hit the end of his patience with Tranquility.

Of course, he's hated it from day one, hated being brought here out of nowhere, being trapped, being toyed with like they all have. But this is the final straw. When he realized that everyone he knew from "home" is gone, excepting perhaps the one he'd like to be gone, that was it. He was angry, incredibly so. It was the one thing that was kind of okay about the place, the fact that Tex, Church, Delta, and especially York were here. They were familiar, not to mention people he'd lost back home. The fact that they were alive again here... It was like the one perk. But now he's alone again, and it's both the most frustrating and distressing thing. And he's not exactly sure how to deal with it.

It crosses his mind to break something, but is there really any point to smashing things around this place? It's not as though he can do the amount of damage he'd like to, and it would likely end up leaving him more frustrated. Besides, he's not entirely petulant, he reminds himself that he's capable of controlling himself. As appealing as doing some damage sounds about now.

He supposes that he could stick to his room and just angst away, but that's unproductive, and it's already here he spends most of his time. So in the end he heads down to the bar to get a much needed drink. Or several. He's avoided complete intoxication since he got here, always wanting to be ready in the event that something happens, but tonight? Tonight he decides he doesn't give a fuck because he's got too much on his mind that he simply doesn't want to deal with.

So that's exactly where he finds himself now. Sitting, quite alone, in the corner of the bar, a beer grasped tightly in one hand, with the empty bottle he finished not long ago sitting off to the side. He's in his ship's uniform, but about now he's wishing he'd just shoved himself into his armour because the bar is freezing. Hindsight. But he ignores the cold as best he can, just sitting stiffly, aggressively trying to avoid his own thoughts and failing as he occasionally takes a long pull from the bottle in his hand. He'll glance over when he notices someone else around, but mostly he takes to ignoring everything. Because maybe he's a little petulant at times. But no one ever said he had healthy ways of coping with things.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's odd for Juliana to go exploring in places like this, places she thinks might be seedy and unfamiliar to her human self. Sure, she'd seen the lot of them as an AI, but being there physically is different. It's exciting, isn't it? She's been here once before, but that was with someone, and she only had a delicate little drink at that time. Someday, she swears she'll get drunk and cause all the trouble, just because she can. For now, she'll be conservative, though.

She shows up at the bar all decked out in her flight suit, hair pulled back into a low ponytail with little wisps hanging obnoxiously around her face. Tucking one back behind her ear, she leans on the bar and taps her fingers on the bartop to get the bartender's attention.

"Soda and... ah, something. Vodka?"

Continuing to be absorbed in staring at the bottle in his hand, Wash doesn't notice her walk in right away. It's hard to, anyway, when you're mostly ignoring everything. But that doesn't always work perfectly, and he hears the tail-end of her request to the bartender, which draws his gaze up and over to the bar. Sure enough, it's Juliana. And here he hadn't expected to find her in such a place.

Actually, he's not so sure how he feels about seeing her here, beyond slight surprise. On the one hand, given the fact that a big portion of his reason for being here is anger over being alone again, it's kind of nice. He could have some company to be miserable with. On the other hand though... He's not necessarily in the best mood to deal with people, even the one left that he likes. It's unlikely he'll have it in him to be overly nice. ~~And he wouldn't want to hurt her feelings.~~

It takes him a few moments to decide what he should do - if he should call out to her and have her join him, or forget it and pretend he didn't notice her while hoping that she doesn't notice him. Realizing that she'll almost definitely notice him and come over anyway, he makes up his mind;

"I didn't think you came down here," he comments loudly enough that he can be heard from the table he's currently occupying. Maybe some company wouldn't be so bad right now.

She hasn't noticed him yet, so she turns curiously, eyebrows raised, at the sound of his voice. She'd come down here to be alone for a bit, to plot and plan out of the way and out of sight. It's not customary for her to seek solitude, but it's nice. Just sit in the corner, right? Stir her drink, not bother anyone, figure out how she can stop being human and start being useful.

It's a surprise, then, to see him here. She usually assigned this place to sad people... If Wash is sad, she's going to have some real work to do. He looks down, she supposes, or at least somehow out of sorts. Handsome as always, which raises the flicker of a smile as she walks over.

Ah, wait. She pauses, going back to the bar to scoop her drink up before formally heading Wash's way.

"I came here once and had a nice conversation with someone."

His eyebrows raise slightly when she starts heading his way, then seems to remember her drink. At a better time, it might be somewhat amusing, even sort of cute in a way, but with things as they are now, he just sits and watches and waits. Thankfully, she doesn't take too long and doesn't press his patience.

"And so you thought you might try it again?" He can't help but to question it, because as far as he's been able to tell, she hasn't had much to do with drinking. It's sounding like he's right about that, too, if she's really only been down here once before, so he's wondering what exactly has got her here. It's a plus, because the curiosity is temporarily distracting him from his own reasons.

Remembering some extent of polite behaviour, he gestures to the table as an invitation for her to sit down with him. If she wants to, of course.

It's just part of her natural charm, isn't it? She put him before the drink, almost forgot it in her haste to go see to him. But that's how she is with her important people. The useful, the helpful, those she needs and wants ot protect come first. It's a must.

"I thought that maybe it would help me think."

She hovers by the table for a moment, unsure if he really wants her to sit or not. Raising an eyebrow, she silently seeks confirmation before gracefully taking a seat.

"The last time I was here, I spoke to someone about dreams. Memories. My past and maybe even my future."

With her answer, he nods, understanding for the most part. He's almost bitterly amused by it, actually; she came here looking for help thinking, while he came for help with not thinking. Funny how things can be sometimes.

When she looks so uncertain about sitting, he gives her another gesture to show it's okay, and nods again when she finally seats herself. So far, she's been a decent distraction, and they haven't even gotten that far into conversation yet. That's a good sign, right?

"Those kinds of conversations are the ones that tend to come up in bars." Well. Sometimes. He doesn't know, he hasn't had bar conversations in years. "Was it enlightening at all?"

Maybe they came here for different things, but his presence comforts her greatly, settling her down as she leans forward and places her elbows on the table. She looks more put together than usual, jumpsuit properly buttoned for once, though the sleeves are rolled up to just below her elbows. They pull uncomfortably when she leans in, so she leans back slightly to fuss with them.

"It was. Remember how I told you that people were seeing my past and my thoughts? That's what happened. He saw my beginnings. It made me think about, you know..." A gentle smile. "Newer ones." Stirring her drink, she looks him over.

"That's enough about me. What's wrong?"

The fact that she's buttoned up properly is something he certainly approves of. ...Not that she doesn't look totally fine with the buttons open, but you know. This is more normal and much less awkward. Yeah. And while she fusses with her sleeves and talks, he'll just take a quick drink, no big deal.

"Hm. Guess a conversation like that could get you thinking." Though it's no longer sounding like a typical bar conversation at this point. Only on Tranquility, huh.

Now, he's totally prepared to hear more about this if she wants to keep talking about it. Hell, he'd be fine with hearing about her day while he drinks his way through another few bottles, but instead... Instead she's apparently immediately noticed that something is wrong. Which is both baffling and annoying. Because he doesn't want to talk about it, he never wants to talk about it.

"What makes you think something's wrong?"

"You haven't been grumpy or terse with me yet."

Shrug. She'll just smile a bit more, lean forward, and inspect whatever he's drinking. There are just certain expectations she has of him, that he'll disapprove immediately, that he'll be quick with showing that disapproval on his features and posture. Instead he just seems... stiff, perhaps? Nothing seems tragically wrong.

"Maybe I'm thinking too hard. If you're fine, that's good. I don't want you to be unhappy."

A deep breath, then a sigh. "I'm sure I'm imagining things. I've had a long day."

Well, that's an interesting tell. He hadn't even realized that he'd failed at such a thing, but thinking on it now... Most of his responses have been relatively flat and devoid of too much emotion. Huh.

"If something was wrong, don't you think I'd be more grumpy or terse with you?" Raising an eyebrow as he looks across the table at her, he has to ask. He's also not sure of what else to say, because something is wrong, horribly wrong, but is it best to admit it or just shove it all down like he usually does? Probably the latter, right? Healthy coping mechanisms 101. And he's totally strategically avoiding saying whether anything is wrong or not, just...in case he changes his mind.

Shaking her head, she situates herself in the chair so that she has her legs crossed underneath her.

"I'm so used to you being grumpy that it's strange when you're not."

She tilts her head to the side, examining him. Yes, maybe she's just imagining things. Better that way. He doesn't need to be unhappy. So she'll just smile at him, gentle and curious. Still simply stirring her drink idly, not taking a sip, not paying it much mind at all. Her focus is all on him.

He hums a short, low note at first, just an acknowledgement of her response. It's not a label he'd put on himself, 'grumpy,' not in most cases. It's also not one he particularly appreciates in most cases, but at the moment, he's not bothered. Maybe just because he was curious about her response, or maybe it's just because his, uh, 'grumpiness' is focused elsewhere. Does it really matter?

Obviously he's great at this conversation thing, because for several moments after that noise, he just stares at her. Watches her watching him. Tries to figure out whether to just be out with it or not. She has commented on the fact before that he's not exactly open about...anything. And she is his friend now, and he trusts her... He's not great at this sort of thing anymore, but maybe he can be honest. She might not even know that Delta's gone, anyway, and she was friends with him too, wasn't she? Okay so yeah he can do this at least part under the cover of informing her of that. Totally.

Making the choice to get into it sobers him, clouds his expression, and draws his gaze off of her. For a moment, he just thumbs absently at his beer before he finally starts to get on with it. But then, it's a miracle that he's not being dragged kicking and screaming through this as it is.

"I don't know if you know or not, but there were some people here that I knew. People who came from the same universe that I do. Delta was one of them, but I don't know if you met the rest." Seems as casual a way to bring it up as any, right? He doesn't even have to confirm the fact obviously that she was right. "I knew them from different places, and worked with them all in some capacity or another back home. One of them was a close friend a long time ago, too."

Taking a long pause, though not quite yet through, he downs some more of his drink like that might make it easier to get it out there while sounding completely indifferent. But sounding indifferent is hard when you care and you're working up to the part that has you pissed off and down here in the first place.

"They're gone now. I knew Tex and Church were gone quite a while ago, but I just confirmed today that York and Delta are gone now too." Releasing a long breath that's struggling to remain even, he sets the bottle down in more of a slam than intended. "I don't know what happened. I don't know if they're okay, if the ship did it, or where it sent them. I just know that they're not here anymore." And even if they were sent back home, he can't find himself happy for them, because every single one of them is dead back there. There's nothing remotely good about this. Worse for him yet is that the only familiar face left from home aside from his is Epsilon's. And that's not a face he wants to see or deal with.

Delta.

The word hits her like a ton of bricks, and her usual smile falters. The corners of her mouth turn down rather slowly, and she forces herself to not frown because this isn't about her, this is about Wash and his woes and whatever she can do to help.

"I'm... sorry. Delta... was a friend of mine. not, I'm sure, you know, as good as for you, but... I'm so sorry." Fumbling for words, she taps her fingers on the table and looks around nervously before turning her attention on him. Because what would she do if she lost Jai? For that matter... what would she do if she lost Wash? Delta was her comrade, a fellow AI, but they weren't nearly as close as she is to her two boys. What would she do, drink? Cry? Wander aimlessly?

She imagines she'd like to be alone, somehow. There's a part of her that wants to declare that it's fortunate he's not alone, that she's here for him, but that does no good. That's ripping the bandaid off just too slowly.

Never intending to drink it, she'd picked up her own beverage just as a formality. Now she pulls it into her hands and takes a long sip through the tiny straw she was given.

Still staring at the drink in his hand, Wash exhales harshly. Delta wasn't exactly a close friend to him, but he was...still a friend. Of all the AI fragments, Delta was his favourite because he wasn't as...annoying. He was helpful. And it's mostly his own fault that Delta isn't around anymore back home which, ultimately, doesn't make him much cheerier about them all being gone from the ship.

Finally lifting his gaze to glance back across the table at Juliana, he doesn't say anything for a few minutes. Her apology is appreciated about as much as a sentiment like that can be in a situation like this, but what do you even say to it? Thank you? That just doesn't sound right to him, so he opts for quiet for a minute or two, just digesting. Drinking. Thinking.

"If it was anyone else, I'd be glad for them being sent back. It would be better for them to be home than stuck here in most cases." He finally says, voice quieter but still holding the underlying layer of anger. "But every single one of them is dead there. They have nothing to go back to. It's like they've died all over again. " And, you know, it's rough to have your dead friend back and to lose him all over again. He could pretend to be indifferent about it like he did the first time, but what's the point? It feels like this place does this on purpose, to put them through even more agony.

Juliana gets awkward these days. But she tries not to show it. She sits up a little straighter, putting the drink back on the table before resting her hands on the edge, fingers curled onto the surface. It wouldn't be right to let him down. It's her job to take care of him, a self-imposed vocation. But those silent minutes disquiet her, even though she understands that sorrow and that she, too, would feel lost if she was almost completely alone.

Dead. He speaks, and her stomach drops. Dead. Like her. Nothing to return to. Darkness and whatever lay after for those who were human, nothing at all for the AI, for her friend. It makes her throat close up and she tips her head to the side, a gesture that says she's listening, though perhaps not processing. She doesn't know how close he was to them, so she can't really comment, can she? All her impulses tell her to offer a hug, to leave him alone, to somehow fix this or comfort him. There's no way, though. There's no quick solution.

How does she do this? No programming addresses this, no protocol tells her about mourning. That's what this is. Smiling isn't a good idea, nor is speaking. Not for a while. But she can't help it. Taking a deep breath, she finally finds her words. Not blind optimism or sunshine and rainbows, just her honest thought.

"I wish I could help." Because she knows she can't.

It's clear that she's not sure how to react. He picks that up easily when he glances over at her, watches her for a moment. Not that he expects her to know; she's not used to these emotion things, she's not used to having to console or anything like that. Hell, he's barely even sure how to do that anymore, what can he expect from someone who wasn't created as a human? He does, however, appreciate that she's bothered to listen. It's not often that he opts to open up, but he's sure she'll keep this between them, and it's...well. It's not nice to talk about at all, but getting it off his chest makes the weight feel at least the tiniest bit lighter. Maybe.

"So do I." Nodding numbly, his attention returns to his drink long enough to drain it and slide the now empty bottle off to the side with his first. From there, he's quick to motion for another from the bartender. Getting drunk is sounding like a better and better idea the more he thinks about it. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he closes his eyes and just sort of shakes his head.

"Nothing we can do about it now. Not that there would have been anything we could do about it even if we'd known ahead of time." It's that whole realization of just how helpless they are all over again. All he has to do is numb himself to it again. He'd been good about it back home, got used to them being gone. Maybe he didn't make peace with it, but he was surviving, and he didn't have to take long to grieve, or whatever this is. But maybe having them come back to him only to be jarred away once more is too much. He's not sure. He just wants to stop thinking about it now.

"Maybe they're still better off getting out of here. Death must be more peaceful than this place."

Death, better than this? It's a very personal thing for her to think about, and her expression shifts to one of grim seriousness. Here, at least she has Jai. And Wash. And others she's met. Friends, comrades, people to watch over: everything she could want. To be dead as an AI is to be nothing. Erased. Gone. There's no AI heaven or whatever religious thing people want to believe in. There is simply an end to knowledge, to processing, to existing. Ceasing to be. Wash was right before. This place is her second chance.

But this isn't about her, and she can't make it about her even though every part of her urges her to do so. It's Wash, and she cares about him and his feelings, so doing that... Well, it might make him feel worse, and she doesn't want that. Even if it's true and even if it's scaring her, she can't--won't--say it. So she sits there in silence, sipping at her drink and avoiding eye contact.

It's not really something he wants to think much more about, death being better than being here, but it's a thought that's still there, that's still hanging around. Not the first time the thought has crossed his mind, though. It's one that has reoccurred far more often than he'd ever admit, between Epsilon, between losing everything the first time, and now being stuck here like this... He supposes it was bound to come back. And it's not even like he believes in any of the ridiculous bullshit that most people do--the afterlife of any kind, there being some sort of all-powerful deity watching them--he just can't. Not with everything he's witnessed firsthand. Death is the end, in his mind. Nothingness. And part of him thinks that might sound better than all this around them.

Only on the arrival of his third beer to the table does Wash stir back to reality, out of his thoughts. And only then does he realize how quiet it's gotten. He hasn't even heard Juliana speak. Not that he finds he can blame her, as he pulls his drink over and takes a nice healthy swig. What can anyone say to something like that? Or any of this, really? He's not even sure what more to say on it, other than maybe the long list of horrible things he might like to do if they ever get their hands on exactly who is behind everything around here.

Shifting in his seat, he sits up a bit straighter, then gives his head a shake like that might clear it out. Doesn't work, of course, but at least he tried. And then he's back to watching Juliana, and she looks... He's not sure. Uncomfortable?
"Sorry," he mumbles finally, shaking his head again. "I shouldn't have unloaded any of that on you." Better to just keep it to himself, like always. Besides, she's got enough on her plate without anything of his added.

More silence, then, as she waits for him to drink his fill. She ca't touch her own; her stomach is too turned by the topic and she wonders if perhaps she looks a little pale. She feels the blood's drained from her face a bit, but a sigh ought to help shake that out. She has to forget herself right now.

It's not that he let off all that steam, but that maybe... well, she supposes he forgot that nothing's waiting for her at home. Or did she never tell him? Surely she told him. This has hit painfully close to home. Were she to leave, she would be nothing. And if she were to leave, would she be missed? Would anyone drink to her memory, or to drown it out?

"I..." A sigh, and she looks down steadfastly at her drink. "I don't know what to think. But none of them would want you to mourn too much. A few drinks, perhaps a song."

It might not be the right thing to say, but that's what the people of the Rubble did. Celebrate. Remember. But then move on, quickly and efficiently, because life there was a constant, delicate balance. All in her hands, at that. She shoves a hand in her pocket as she unfolds her legs from beneath her, settling properly in the chair.

"You're not alone. I know it isn't much for me to say it, but..." Fiddling around with something for a moment, she holds out a closed hand across the table.

He's missed the fact completely. The fact that Juliana would be in the same position as his other friends if she were to leave. It's slipped his mind entirely, he's too focused on the ones that are actually gone, and on his own pain. Thinking about hers and her feelings have been momentarily forgotten, so the fact that the topic might unnerve her hasn't even occurred to him. Whenever it does clue in, he's sure to feel awful about it.

"Yeah. Maybe." Sure, they wouldn't want him to mourn. Maybe. He's sure one or two of them would rather he power through, keep himself alive through all this. Probably. But it's hard, dammit. Hard enough to do it once, but a second time?

It's nothing short of a surprise then, when he hears the reminder that he's not alone. It stops him short, almost freezes him. He is alone, that's what he's been telling himself, the thought that keeps reoccurring, but it's...not entirely true, is it? He does have Juliana. Somehow, he's gone and forgotten about her, even if she's sitting right there, talking to him now. He's forgotten her, and she's the one friend he has left. The last person here that he genuinely cares about, and who cares about him.

He's not sure what to say. The thought is still processing, taking longer than it should given how simple it is. He's still swallowing it when she holds her hand out across the table. All he manages to do for a long beat is stare at it in silence, until finally, he finds his voice again.

"...What are you doing?"

It's alright that he's forgotten; she doesn't mind, on some level. It was part of her duty, and part of what she needed to do, so this silly "human" part of her existence is really little more than an experiment. It's as though it's a dream, rather than reality. So if she were to wake from this dream, there would be nothing. And would she be forgotten, or would someone--anyone--mourn her? It's something she's pondered before, even prior to this place. What was her place, what is her place in the grand scheme? It was her pleasure and her duty to die to save a million people who may now not even remember her.

Would it be the same here? Would she just disappear, forgotten? Just a part oif the scenery and necessary operations?

Her voice is thin, but she smiles. "I want to give you something." Turn her hand over, she opens her fingers to reveal a small rock in her palm. Craggy, ruddy, it sits there looking entirely unimpressive. Her gaze doesn't leave his face, though, as she waits for a reaction.

"There are good wishes of over a million people in this. It keeps me from feeling alone, too." And she moves her hand forward, urging him to take it.

For a few moments, he just stares at the rock in her hand. His expression is measured and doesn't shift at first as he's trying to think, to figure this out. He does eventually extend his hand and carefully takes the rock from her outstretched palm, though not without a quick glance up to her eyes to make certain it's okay. Once in his hand, he runs his thumb over it and his brow furrows. Holding it hasn't helped him to figure out just what it is, or how this is supposed to keep anyone from feeling alone, but he knows there's something to it, or she wouldn't be giving it to him. Not now. It has a meaning of some kind, that much is clear through what she's said.

"What do you mean?" Lifting his head, Wash peers back over at her curiously, and perhaps somewhat apprehensive. It sounds like whatever this rock is, or whatever it symbolises, it means a lot to her. He doesn't want her to give it to him just because he's...whatever this is. Sulking, mourning, whatever, that's...not the important part. Not right now. Juliana has officially grabbed his attention. "What is it?"

A sad smile comes to her face, but there's sincerity there. Undeterred by his apprehension, she pauses for a moment, considering things. Should she give him an elaborate explanation? Should she be simple and direct?

It isn't about pity or anything of the sort, not something she's giving him because he's sad, or lonely. She imagines she would have done it eventually, as she slowly comes to the realization that she has more than a little bit of protectiveness with regard to him, a connection, a sort of odd desire for companionship and friendship that transcends her ability to feel as an AI, and is therefore shiny and new. Not a notion of pity, not in this action, but in solidarity, and in some ways in fear. A gesture that one million people loved her, and that the feelings of one million and one will be passed on to him.

"A piece of an asteroid. The Rubble. My home." She clears her throat and half shrugs, trying not to be awkward. "I just thought... maybe it would help. I was going to give it to you anyway, now just seemed like... maybe you need it. Or something. Was that selfish of me?"

"It's--" He starts, but comes up short. Because that's not anything remotely close to what he thought this little rock might be. A piece of her home. The one she died to protect. Something she cared enough about to die for. And she's giving part of it to him. That's a lot to think about. He's not even sure what the hell to make of it, all he can do is sit there, stunned and slightly light-headed from the booze, staring. First at her, then at the rock in his hand.

"No. No, that's not selfish." It's kind of the complete opposite, actually. If anything shows that she really cares about him, it's her doing this. Giving him a piece of her home. Something to show him that...he's not alone. Not entirely. He still has Juliana. And she still cares about him. He still has no idea why, considering his behaviour toward her in the beginning, but...he's glad. Because she's become important to him somehow. Another thing he's not certain how to explain, but...he cares. And not only is this gesture of hers incredibly meaningful, it reminds him that he's not as alone as he thinks he is.

"You don't have to..." He trails off before he can get the 'do this' part out, the words just sort of falling as his gaze drops to the piece of the Rubble again. It's a big gesture from her. He gets that. He understands, and he appreciates it more than he even knows how to convey, or maybe even realizes himself in that moment. For a few long moments, he's silent, but eventually he speaks up again, voice quieter now. "Thank you."

She should have waited. Maybe she's jumped the gun and he's offended that she's being so forward and perhaps even sentimental. Juliana is about to bolt from the table when he speaks, and she removes her hands from its surface, taking her seat again. In fact, an apology is quick on her lips, drowned out by his words.

The fact is that she likes his gruffness, somehow. She likes that she's slowly chipped away at his reservations and discovered a good man (in her opinion) beneath it all. There's just something appealing about someone who wants to hide everything from someone who wants to know everything. If she can make his secrets be strung out forever, if there is always something new to learn, she'll be happy. That's what she wants from him, the mystery, the stoic moments right alongside the near-petulant ones. It occurs to her that right now what she wants to do is wrap her arms around him, rub a hand over his back and tell him that it's okay, that she's here, that as long as they're both working together, everything will be okay. It's strange, but it's how she feels.

"You're welcome." She sounds surprised by her own words, by the turn of events. Ducking her head, she sighs. "I... thought it might help. I broke it a little while ago, and I've kept that piece in my pocket. I still have the rest, of course."

Edited 2014-01-28 04:19 (UTC)

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