plasticasshole | IC Inbox

[It's Valentines Day again, a full year and a couple of months since his last one. Where he just felt sort of empty and bitter for the full day. He drank. Looked at numbers on his phone and considered calling. Looked at a dating site. Noted how every woman who was his age had knitting and gardening as hobbies. Went back to drinking until he blacked out. Played Russian Roulette, probably, as he woke up with a gun but remembers nothing of having gotten it out. Basically it went the day most holidays had gone for the past few years.]

[Before that, holidays could still be good. When it was just him and Cole, he'd take him shopping for those tiny Valentines and told him to give them to every kid, not just his friends, until they all ran out. He'd laughed when Cole made one out to a girl he 'liked' (as much as a six-year-old could like anyone, which means he was probably too shy to be her friend) and his Valentine's message had only been 'I like -' so and so cartoon he'd been obsessed with and collecting all the toys for at the moment, he can't remember what it was. The one about that fucking dragon, probably.]

[When he was married? Valentine's day was an excuse to stand in the candy store and look at the sweet smelling chocolate crafted into various shapes. Chocolate roses, always, made their way home because then he didn't have to clean up bullshit dead flower carcasses off the counter after a week. Just throw away the occasional sweet smelling red wrapper.]

[And before that? He could do general bullshit. Valentine's Day was bar day. Bachelors getting together and watching games. One year he wrote a prank Valentine to Fowler, and thought he was clever until he found one on his desk with the fun script inside, 'Shut your ass up.' He'd put it on his then-present thumbtack board for months.]

[This is another chance for Valentine's Day to feel good, except he's feeling guilty. So he sits at his desk with a bottle of his gifted whiskey and promises to only drink enough to take the edge off. Just a tiny bit. It'll be fine. He sits Connie on the desk as he pours a small glass, in the path of the nearest heater so she doesn't get chilly. Most of the time she's warm in his pocket, but he knows it has to get boring in there.]

[Only she looks at him with big eyes, watching him take a drink. Honestly, he doesn't know whether to feel bad or not. It's almost as bad as Sumo's woeful looks. He furrows his brow through another drink.]

[Connie hugs her flower to her as if it were a stuffed animal, lower lip starting to quiver. Hank freezes in the middle of pulling the glass away from his mouth, stone still.]

[And then she starts to bawl.] Floooooooooooooooo [How eyes that tiny can make tears that big, Hank doesn't know, but he nearly knocks his chair over in an effort to get up. Papers and wanted ads and even a thank you letter from some kid he'd helped out slipping off his desk.]

No no no no no. Connie. Connie Connie. [His hands are out, hovering over her, glass shoved to the side for the moment.] What do you want, huh? Pocket? Do you want to go back?

FlooooETTE. [That 'ette' is a hiccup in her crying, complete with full mouth waver. Still holding her flower before burying her face in it. Her sad expressions every bit as ruthless as Connor's.]

Okay uh... poffin? Shit. I don't understand Pokemon. Shitting fucking on a fucking whore- [He's leaving the room, swearing to himself as he goes to the kitchen to try and find poffins. He can hear her quiet sniffles from the lonely expanse of his desk, and it spurs him to hunt for anything to cheer her up. He picks up one of the Cofagrigus's toys that's less loved, and comically larger than the Floette at that.]

[He comes back and she's using a vine to pull his whiskey glass over, like now she wants a drink. Hank makes it just in time to rescue it like a fucking hero, giving her a poffin in it's place and he gulps that glass to get it out of the way, pulling a hell of a face as he puts down the glass. Connie hiccups again, looking miserable as she eats her poffin, the very face of a sad little depressed flower fairy stuffing its face to feel better. He puts his big hand over her and pets the top of her head with his thumb.]

Come on, it'll be okay. No fucking clue what just happened, but it'll be okay. I'm here.

[For Connor, Valentine’s Day is pretty exciting. He’s never experienced it before, and he even has someone he loves to spend it with too. He’s actually getting ready to go to bed when he hears Connie crying, because he wants to be bright and fresh for tomorrow.

He comes out of the bathroom half-dressed and with his toothbrush still in his hand.]

Hank? What’s wrong with Connie?

[He spots the whiskey, and frowns a little. He has all the patience in the world for Hank, but every time he sees the whiskey is out he gets flashbacks to Hank lying on the floor of his kitchen with a gun by his hand.]

I have no idea. [Hank says genuinely, lifting his hands away to assume the 'freeze' position. Only Connie cries harder as his hand is pulled away, so he has to put it right back.] I took her out of my pocket because she'd been in there all day and she just started.

[Rubbing her face in flower petals, Connie eventually looks up at Connor and reaches for him with one little white arm. So Hank picks her up and takes her over to him. Except she doesn't let Hank fully put her down. Instead she keeps ahold of his fingers with a vine when he tries to dismiss her into Connor's free hand.]

...Honey he still has his toothbrush.

[One of them has to take it back, right. But she seems hell bent on hugging Connor's thumb as she sniffles.] Flo [It comes out as a little chirped, cry strangled squeak.]

[Connor can’t really do much but stand there with both hands full when Connie hugs his thumb. He looks lost for a moment, before edging around to the table and setting his toothbrush down without disturbing her. Then he looks between her, Hank and the whiskey.]

Maybe she doesn’t want you to sit alone drinking tonight.

[He looks sad as he says it.]

I don’t want you to, either. Why don’t you come to bed?

[Motherfucker, now he has two sad faces playing up at him with precision accuracy. A duel attack. He looks back at the desk checking to make sure the bottle is capped (currently guarded by that spare plushy he'd tried to bring her), and then back to the Floette who is demanding to share their hands for the moment. She 'flo's at Connor a few more times, like she's trying to tell him something, but he understands Crocket, not her.]

It'll be okay. I'll just go to bed, I promise.

[That's the best that Hank can gather, too. Luckily that's enough for her to let him go so he can go get ready, and he pats Connor's back as he passes him to head to the bathroom and shed some clothes for bed. He takes Connor's toothbrush as he goes dutifully.]

[Connie plays with the edge of one of her petals, before rubbing a big beady eye with the back of her hand. It's hard having big feelings and being so very small.]

[Connor can’t help but feel like there’s something more to the situation, so he sits at the table with Connie in his hand and breaks off another piece of that poffin for her.]

Are you trying to tell me something?

[He looks around for Crockett.]

Crockett? Can you come here?

[The large Magnezone floats in with a series of beeps in greeting.]

Crockett, I need you to translate for me. Connie is upset about something.

[Connie looks over at the big Magnezone, as usual looking infinitely smaller than everything else, it feels like. She rubs her eyes again, and in quiet little Flos and Ettes tries to say that Hank feels guilty for not being as happy, and that just makes him sadder, and she knows he feels like that. She knows because she's always in his pocket and when he talks to people she can hear him, both good and bad. She was just trying to tell Connor how many good things Hank says about him, but to Crockett, she says more.]

[She also tells him that she's scared if he gets too upset he'll stop liking her because she was a present. It's a very childish fear, from a tiny monster that knows its trainer can get very sad. She doesn't want him to stop keeping her around. He hasn't even shown her baseball yet! Though any one of Hank's team could tell her that's untrue.]

[But she also tells Crockett that she doesn't want to upset Connor. Almost conspiratorially, because she knows Crockett will say everything. She really doesn't want them both to be sad. She asks him to please be nice, hugging her flower miserably.]

[Meanwhile Hank stubs his toe in the bathroom and barks a-] Shit! How the hell do I find the one thing in here I can-

[Connor listens to Crockett intently, and just sighs when it’s done. He knows Hank isn’t as happy here, but he feels useless in that regard. No matter what Connor gives him, Hank will never be truly happy here. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, but he knows he’s not the problem here and that those feelings are both irrational and unhelpful.

This wasn’t really how he expected the night before Valentine’s to go, but when he fell for Hank he knew he was taking on a lot of baggage too. He murmurs to the Floette, not wanting Hank to hear.]

He would never dislike you, Connie. You’re more than just a gift, you’re his friend. He loves you. That won’t ever change, okay?

[He gently touches her little cheek.]

I’ll talk to him. Maybe it will help.

[She sniffles once more, nodding a little. She can generally accept it if Connor says it. Finally she is willing to leave Connor's hand, by grabbing at Crockett's antennae with a vine and pulling himself up onto him. Lots of room for a tiny Floette up here.]

[Hank comes, stopping to rub his freshly stubbed toe. Connor still looks sad, though. Which is not what he wants for him, not today anyway.]

[In his urge to undo that, he looks back at the bathroom, where the bulk of the previous days clothes are. Maybe he should go out and get him something? He has Valentine's Day presents. But surely he could brave the cold and get him something that could help immediately.]

Do you think you're going to go to sleep as soon as we lay down or would I have time to run out for a few minutes.

[He says, desperately wanting to fix things that he has a feeling that he broke.]

[Connor looks up at Crockett and Connie briefly before turning his attention back to Hank.]

I was going to go to sleep, but... Hank, we need to talk.

[He doesn’t quite know how to start the conversation, though. His area of expertise is to extract confessions from people, which he doesn’t need to do here. He knows for a fact that Hank is unhappy. No need to force him to say it.]

I don’t know what to do for you. I don’t know how to help you.

[He looks glumly at the whiskey bottle again, falling silent for a long moment. The air is heavy all of a sudden, and he can’t stand it so he speaks again.]

Tell me how, and I’ll do it. But I can’t if you don’t talk to me.

[The 'we need to talk' invokes a reaction like a deer in headlight, a mortifying thought he's done something irreparably wrong. But then Connor looks to the desk, where his whiskey is, and he loosely patches together what Connor might mean.]

I didn't want to hurt myself. I was just-... Sometimes people are going to get sad, Connor. You can't always fix it. I'm better than I was.

[He thinks he's better than he was, anyway.]

[He goes to the bedroom, then, sitting at the edge of the bed. Tubbs looks up from his dramatic rug position at the foot of it, but makes no noises. Just moves his eyes and continues heating the room for them.]

I try not to bring you down with it. I know it does. I want you to be happy, though. After all that fucking shit you put up with, you deserve to be treated like a hero.

[Connor follows Hank into the bedroom with Crockett floating along behind him, making concerned beeping noises.]

I don't want you to treat me like a hero, Hank. I want you to tell me when something is wrong.

[He sits beside him, hands in his lap.]

I want us to talk about it. Even if it'll bring me down.

[God all the pokemon are fucking watching this. There's a Raichu on the bed. There's a giant Arcanine warming his feet. There's a Magnezone with a worried looking fairy hanging onto his antennae.]

This is really fucking hard. I hate talking about it.

[He's used to not being listened to. Opening up and having someone immediately disregard it means he just plain doesn't like to share his personal concerns now.]

You're a human and you like it here. I don't but I can still find good things about this place. Stuff that at least keeps me going. I mean... I like the food. I like the fresh air. I like the monsters. That stuff is fine. You never got anything good out of being at home. I can't ask you to think about Detroit with any sort of good feelings, not like I have. And you're young. You can have a whole career in front of you, with this trainer thing. I'm just this old crotchety dead weight and you should be having the best years of your life. Realistically I know you'd be better off without me holding you back but...

[He looks over at Connor.]

...

[Yup, he's trying. Give him a moment.]

...I love you a lot, and there's no one else in my life I want more. So I feel guilty.

[He takes one of Hank's hands, looking at him earnestly.]

You're not dead weight, Hank. You keep me going. Knowing that I have you to come home to every day makes me happy. I don't want to imagine life without that.

[Even here, with all of his Pokemon, he'd feel alone without Hank.]

I'm just sorry that you don't like it here much. Is there anything in particular that is making it hard for you to adjust? Anything I can help with?

[Hank looks down at the hands over his, examining those delicate fingers. It means a lot to hear that, but there's a hateful part of him that wants to insist that there are other, better people for Connor to come home to.]

Imagine losing faith, Connor. Just completely losing all hope in everything. Then one day you meet this little shit who just decides that he can fuckin' wreck his way through to what he wants. You watch one man start a revolution, stand in front of the whole world and say that his people are people, and they want freedom. You see this new asshole you just met raise an actual army. You're there for it. After you spent so many years thinking you would never be able to change anything trying hard to anyway, you finally get to see this happening and that people can decide to become the best and most understanding version of themselves.

It's not about adjustment. It's-

[He notices Connie has climbed off the Magnezone and is about to pull herself up onto the bed too. She mutters some more Flos, wanting to know what he's talking about because it sounds like a good story.]

[Connor looks down, frowning.]

I don't know what that's like. The closest I can imagine to losing faith is if I lost you.

[He squeezes the hand in his.]

Is it a lack of purpose, then?

[The feeling that he isn't contributing to the world?]

[That's a hard sentence to hear.] I mean that much to you? [A genuine question in his voice, despite having seen the moment where Connor chose him over that army that he'd first mentioned.]

[But he considers.]

Eh... sort of? Like, I miss being a cop. But let's be real. I gave that up back home so even if I did go home, that's fuckin' gone. And don't blame yourself. If I had to work for a department that fuckin' sent a man to death for failing at a case or wanted me to enforce slavery, then nah. I didn't want to be there anymore.

But it's watching the world become better, too. Watching people become better. And here... I don't know. It feels a little Pleasantville- which was this movie, right? Set in the suburbs. A brother and a sister end up in this town and the brother loves it because it's idyllic but everything is in black and white. The sister, though, she goes around and does little things, introduces people to new stuff, and whatever she touches gains color.

But I don't think me giving color to this place would be a good thing... Which is a metaphor, by the way.

[It's hit or miss whether Connor gets stuff.]

You do.

[Connor's brows crease in mild confusion at the metaphor, but he tries his best to understand.]

I'm not sure there's anything I can do about that, Hank. And I know you're not asking me to, but I want to help. I just... I don't know how.

[He leans against him though, eyes on the floor.]

If leaving here would make you happy... I'd do it for you.

[He'd face going back home and being treated like garbage if it meant Hank felt better about things. He has no doubt that they'd end up together again eventually. He'd just miss everything else.]

I'd not... I'd not ask you, to leave here. I can't ask you to go back to that. This place gives you a chance to learn that you can get second chances to get things right if you don't make it perfect the first time, and it shows you that you can take it slow, and it's safe. No one is going to treat you badly.

That's why I don't talk about it with you.

If it came down to some sort of magical bullshit choice, I'd ask you to stay and take care of everything and I'd go back. And I'd throw however many punches it took, or pull however many guns necessary, or travel however far I needed to to make sure someone like you wasn't treated like dirt again. And if it were you there, I'd do that for you.

[He promises Connor that, and puts his arm around him.] You have helped. Humans are just... slow to fix. We're not immediately happy. We take some time.

Hank, life here is so pleasant for me because I have you. If you left, I wouldn't be happy anymore. I'd rather go back to Detroit.

[At least he'd have Hank if he went back. Still, he's sorry that Hank feels like he can't talk about it with him. And he's sorrier still that he can't even do anything to help, despite Hank insisting that he's already helped.

He goes quiet, which is rare for him. Usually, he feels the need to fill the silence with something. Right now though, there's nothing he can say.]

[Welp, that's the last thing Hank wanted to do, and that was to break Connor. But here he is, with Connor's silence feeling like a lead weight. It could drag them both down and drown them, it feels so heavy.]

[Hank puts his other hand over the ones holding his.]

Sorry, Connor. I'll talk to you more in the future. [Which feels really fucking weak.] I just... [didn't want to make him feel exactly like this?] ...I just got hung up on the idea you deserved better and fucked up.

Edited 2019-02-13 00:20 (UTC)

[He remains silent for a little longer, because he still doesn't know what to say. Then he sighs, sitting back upright again.]

It's my fault. I should have seen how unhappy you are.

[He should have known better than to think he could just fix it if he loved him enough. That's not how things work. And Hank carrying that sadness alone must have made it even worse.]

If there's ever the choice to leave, we'll take it.

[And that's the best Connor can do.]

Connor, Connor wait- It's no one's fault I'm unhappy.

[He pulls his hands toward him.] That's been the point, right? I had to fuckin' get over myself and accept that I couldn't blame anyone for my unhappiness. That shit happened. Even the doctor that fucked up, he was a symptom of a bigger problem. [Drug use, and the shitty environments that drove people to it.] I don't want you to blame yourself. I don't want to blame anyone.

[Except himself, sometimes. But in this case, he can admit his fuck up with the will to make it better.]

And right now, as long as we're staying, I'm gonna keep helping you. You need a chance to meet your own goals.... Hold on. Let me check the time.

[He lets go then, to go see the hour. Just after midnight. Just late enough, he supposes. The transition to Valentine's Day is there, and it feels stupid to sleep feeling like this.]

Here. [He finds his gift and jams them at Connor.] Get dressed in something warm and put these on. [He gives him a wrapped box, a portion of his Valentine's day present.] In the meantime, he goes and does a hopscotch dance over various Pokemon trying to remain inconspicuous to make his way back to how own clothing to change into.

[Connor looks down at the box, pulling the boots out curiously. He doesn't answer right away though, he just starts to button up his shirt again and finds a warm sweater to put on. When he's dressed he slips the shoes on, and sort of walks in place a few times to test the fit.]

I'm ready.

[He's still gloomy, but his curiosity has gotten the better of him for the most part.]

Where are we going?

Outside. Too cold to be directly on the beach, but I was going to take you somewhere near it.

[He offers his hand to Connors, though not taking it this time. He wants the man to feel like the invitation is open but he can keep to himself if he needs to.]

I've got a few other presents for you. I meant to give them after it was light out, but I feel like it would be better now.

[With all the earnestness who panicked when he saw Connie cry, he has the same amount of dread for the silence Connor's been carrying with him. He makes sure that he has the wrapped box of chocolates by the time they're at the door.]

Feb 13th, late at night and right before Valentine's day

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject