CLOSED STARTER for @hvtemenvw
PLOT:we're shit out of luck, aren't we? from this post
MUSE: christopher "kit" bunmi, 34, he/him, bisexual, terrible luck haver
THIS WASN'T HAPPENING… the trip itself had been bad enough, but now their car was sputtering and smoking and kit was cursing under his breath as he carefully maneuvered it to the side of the road. they were the last person kit wanted to be on this trip with and now they were pulled over in what felt like the middle of nowhere with a smoking car. "we're shit out of luck, aren't we?" he sighed, getting out of the car.
"Mr. McGrady." Siwan's voice carried that familiar tone of exasperation as he pulled back the curtain of Bay 3, chart in hand. Still professional, but with an edge that suggested this wasn't their first rodeo. He didn't need to look at the paperwork to know exactly what he'd find. Kit was becoming a regular fixture in his emergency room, and not in a way that suggested much of a learning curve. "Let me guess," Siwan said, setting the chart down and pulling on fresh gloves. "You're fiiiiine, it was just a slip-up?" The way he mimicked Kit's usual dismissal was almost theatrical. "The bull had other ideas about how long you should stay on its back?" He moved closer to examine today's damage, already mentally preparing for the inevitable needle-related drama that would follow.
SUMMARY: Oliver and Kit see each other again after multiple lifetimes apart. What starts as a frosty encounter ends with the promise that the two will continue to be in each other’s lives even if they aren’t physically in the same place going forward.
WARNINGS: parental death tw, child death tw
Oliver was here. She’d started a new life, she’d changed her name again, she was a doctor, she had a lot to make up for, and Oliver was here. Kit wasn’t sure how to feel about it, wasn’t sure how to react. No one wrote how-to guides on what you were supposed to feel when the guy who’d raised you from an egg two lifetimes ago and missed out on your last go-round all together popped up unexpectedly in your latest attempt at life.
There were a lot of things she wanted to say to him; a lot of issues she wanted to bring up. She knew some of it was… leftover bullshit from her first life, from a biological father who hadn’t understood her and had never wanted her to be all she could be. The part of her that wanted to accuse Oliver of abandoning her was the part of her that was still a little girl begging her dad to see her as she was instead of as what he wanted her to be. The part of her that felt betrayed felt that way not because of Oliver, but because of someone who’d probably been dead for centuries now. Kit was smart. She knew that.
But the ache remained.
Immortality — or, as Kit referred to a phoenix’s cycle, immortality-lite — came with baggage. There were wounds that never quite healed, things you could never allow yourself to let go of entirely. The psychological scars her biological father left on her in childhood were so easy to transfer onto an adoptive father she felt hadn’t tried hard enough, even if she knew it wasn’t a fair exchange. Oliver didn’t deserve her anger.
She was angry, anyway.
Her heart was pounding as she approached the door to the house he was living in now, and she felt hot all over in a way that had very little to do with the whole ‘firebird’ aspect of her physiology. She thought she wanted to yell, but she knew Oliver would let her yell and that made her want it less. She hated how complicated this was; she’d always preferred things simple.
Clenching her jaw, she rapped her knuckles against the door. “Hey, old man,” she called out, “it’s me.” You know, the kid you ditched last lifetime. (He could have looked for her. She didn’t know, didn’t get to know. He could have looked for her. The anger burned hot, anyway.)
—
Oliver struggled to sit still when he was anxious. It was a trait that he had carried since he was a child; feeling the need to move when things were stressful. It was why, after giving Katie his information he had felt an overwhelming need to clean, to move, to do something. He had cleaned up his house, not that it was particularly dirty to start with. It wasn’t just a quick clean though, it was a proper deep clean; which had led him to organize his closet. Later, he would say that he hadn’t even meant to open the box that he kept hidden behind the Christmas decorations. Subconsciously, he knew that he had only gone into the closet to open it. On the outside, it just looked like a normal cardboard box; but within it was a smaller safe. Oliver had owned it for at least a century; bought to hold things that he didn’t want just anyone to find. Trinkets and photos that Oliver had collected over his life.
Carefully, he moved the items around before landing on the photo that he wanted. It was of him and Katie; they had gone to a photo studio to have it done. She was young, and Oliver was pretty sure they had only had it done to try and pass off the idea that Oliver was truly her father. That fact didn’t stop the wave of emotion that hit Oliver as he looked at it. After her death, he had boxed up just about anything that reminded him of her. He had failed her, and having a picture staring at him from the coffee table had done nothing but remind him of that. Oliver moved a thumb over the dust-riddled glass, before glancing up at ceiling light to fight back the tears that so desperately wanted to come out. After a moment, Oliver placed the picture back in the box. It was hard, and whenever he opened this; it made him want to go through everything. However; that activity was reserved for when he had alcohol and a night where he could laugh, cry, and fall asleep surrounded by the memories of his life. Tonight wasn’t that night.
Oliver had just finished placing it back in its spot when he heard the knock on his door and Katie’s voice from outside. It caused him to suck in a breath, she even sounded the same. He doesn’t know why he thought she would sound any different, she never had previously. Maybe it was more the fact that he had never expected to hear it again. He quickly ducked into the bathroom, fussing with his hair for a moment before resting his hands on the sink; and taking a deep breath. They hadn’t covered the topic of your dead daughter showing up again in any of the parenting books that he had read. Finally, Oliver went to his front door and opened it. Seeing her was far more startling than just hearing her voice had been. She had said that she was a doctor, so Oliver had known that she wasn’t going to be a kid, but she looked almost identical to the last time he had seen her. “Hey Ka-Kit.” He corrects himself as he holds open the door for her to come in. “Hope the ride over was easy?”
—
The door opened, and he looked the same as he always had. It was jarring, even though she’d known it would be the case. It was Kit who had changed, wasn’t it? It was always Kit who changed. Other immortals, proper immortals, lived their lives in a straight line. They had a point at the beginning and a point at the end, and their whole life existed within those confines. It was different for Kit, who existed in twists and turns. She had beginnings and ends that lead to more beginnings. Oliver lived and continued living. Kit lived and died and lived again. He looked the same as he always had, and maybe she did, too. She wasn’t much older now than she’d been when she’d died on him, after all. But everything felt different, anyway. She had a different name, a different accent, a different story. She was standing at the door of the man who’d raised her, and she was a stranger. It didn’t matter how many times she did this, it never felt any less odd.
She took note of the slip, the way he almost called her by that old, affectionate nickname. Everyone else in that lifetime had called her Kate. It was Oliver who’d used Katie instead. And, in the next life, when she’d used Katie as the default, she’d thought of him. She’d wondered if he might find her, if he scoured public media in search of her or if he hadn’t bothered looking at all. Which would hurt more — the idea that he’d searched for her and failed, or the idea that he’d never looked? Kit wasn’t sure. There were few things Kit hated more than not being sure.
“I took an Uber,” she replied, slipping by him into the house. She’d never been here, of course, but it felt familiar all the same. It felt like Oliver, like a house she’d grown up in once even if the architecture was entirely different. She could see pieces of her surrogate father in every corner, saw him painted across the walls. (She saw nothing of herself here. Was it because she no longer recognized Kate as her, or because he hadn’t kept any part of her with him? He was immortal. How much did the measly decades he’d spent raising her amount to in the grand scheme of things? How much did he actually care about it, about her?)
The air in the house felt stilted already, felt awkward. She thought of the last fight they’d had. Had that been their last conversation? It was hard to remember now, two lifetimes later, if they’d ever made up after the fact. She wasn’t sure how much that mattered, either, how much anything did. She stood in the living room, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. Kit was never like this. Kit was suave, was confident, was unapologetic, but right now she was none of those things. Right now, she felt like a child again. And it was frustrating. “Nice place.” There was a hint of bitterness to her tone. “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself.” She wasn’t sure why she was angry, or even if she was angry. There was no handbook for this kind of thing, was there?
—
“Ah, gotcha. I can, uh, Venmo you the cost of it if you want?” Was Venmo what people still used? Oliver had also stumbled a bit when it came to technology, more than often not relying on the people around him to keep him updated on what was the new ‘hot’ technology. It helped that he still came off as a late 20-something; since he could just eavesdrop on conversations and then google whatever he wasn’t sure of. If there was one thing that Oliver was thrilled to see, it was the fact that technology was so much better now than it was a few decades ago. Of course, there were some downsides; and the fact that there was so much of it could feel like a lot sometimes. However, Oliver tended to stay pretty disconnected as is; trying to stay updated enough that he didn’t get strange looks when he mentioned something but not so much that he actually knew about any drama happening online. If it was important, he tended to hear about it one way or the other. Oliver supposed he could ask Katie if she wanted cash instead, but that felt…like the wrong move in this situation. Oliver shut the door with a soft thud behind her before following her further into the house.
He felt almost nervous, watching her take in his home. There was a small part of him that hoped she liked it, for reasons he wouldn’t be able to explain. The houses they had shared had always looked a little different, set up to house a family rather than a single adult. The house's identity had always been something that showed both Oliver and Katie; and the fact that his current one only showed him wasn’t something he had even considered as something different until Katie stood in the middle of it. Oliver wasn’t even sure what the last place they had both lived in had been, he knew they had moved a few times. “Oh, thanks.” He scratched the back of his head, ignoring the way it felt as if a weight had been lifted off of him with her approval. “It was a bit of a fixer-upper when I got it, but I’ve been able to make it into my own.” Was the only reason he got a good deal on it because someone was freaked out by the way the woods maybe weren’t the most normal? Maybe. But he would take it.
At her statement, Oliver gave a gentle shrug. “I suppose, I have enough.” Money was something that Oliver didn’t think about that often. He had been forced to get a bank account a few decades ago, and moving the money every time he got a new identity was annoying, it was why he had avoided it for so long, but eventually asked for his money to be in cash or check form raised more eyebrows and so he had bit the bullet and gotten a direct deposit set up. He did have to admit that it was much easier to have his money all together somewhere rather than on his person. That didn’t mean that he didn’t have a squirrel fund hidden away in his home. He had been witness to far too many recessions to have any faith in the banks for it to be anything other than a holding cell. “The shop does well enough.” It typically made just enough to break even with the cost of renting the building and paying all his employees, but he knew he could use his own as well if needed. Perks of being around for so long; money was something he had quite a bit of. “You rent, right? How’s your place?” This small talk had a sense of awkwardness around it, but Oliver didn’t know how else to break the ice. Had it been a mistake to even reach out to her? Would it cause more harm than good?
—
“I can afford it,” she replied flatly, feeling uncomfortably aware of every aspect of herself. She could feel the way her hair hung on her shoulders, could feel the air prickling her skin. Each breath became a conscious thing instead of a natural one, like she had to remind herself to do it. No one but Oliver could shake her like this, these days. No one else knew her well enough to try. Kit had taken such great care to close herself off after Ezra rejected her, made sure that no one would ever know her well enough to make her ache the way he had, but Oliver came before that. He was a gaping wound, and she was good at stitching herself up, but she swore she forgot everything she knew when he looked at her like she was a kid and he was her dad again. She almost forgot her own name, almost went right back to being Kate again. (He was the only one who’d called her Katie, back then. She’d thought if she adopted the name in her next life, he might find her. She’d thought a lot of things.)
The silence stretched on, heavier than she’d wanted it to be. She cleared her throat, looking around the room to avoid looking at him. “You use Venmo?” She used to make fun of him when new technology came out — though, granted, new technology had been slow to come out when she’d seen him last. It was so much quicker now. She wondered if it was difficult for him to keep up. Kit had an advantage there; with each new life, she started from the beginning. She grew up with the new tech, evolved alongside it. Kids picked up on changes like that so much easier than adults did, even if it was their tenth time being a kid.
Oliver spoke about the house and Kit nodded and she knew that neither of them was saying anything they wanted to say. He told her the house was a fixer-upper and she said, “I guess you were always pretty handy,” and it was all so painfully artificial that it hurt. It was like a can of soda or a piece of candy; sticky and sweet and with no trace of anything remotely natural inside it at all. Kit hated it, but she thought she’d hate the truth a little more. The truth hurt more than anything they could say here. It always did. That was why she avoided it so completely.
He spoke of his money, and she nodded. She knew he’d always had some squirreled away; they’d never struggled, in that lifetime where he’d raised her from the egg to the end. She’d learned a thing or two from him and learned how to transfer her funds from one life to the next in a way that didn’t raise too many eyebrows. “That’s good. The flower shop suits you.” It seemed like a natural step for Oliver. She shifted her weight, feeling bone tired for no reason at all. “Yeah,” she confirmed, “I rent. The place is… fine. It used to be a dry cleaner’s shop. I always liked living in places like that.” She liked to make her home in places that didn’t seem like a home. It felt safer, somehow. Maybe, on some level, it was because it allowed her to pretend it meant less when she lost it. A former dry cleaner’s wasn’t a house, wasn’t an apartment or a cabin. If it went away, you could laugh it off. You could pretend it didn’t matter. Kit spent so much time pretending things didn’t matter. She was doing it now, too.
—
“Ok” Oliver gave a small nod; choosing to not push that topic any further. He didn’t want to make her think that he didn’t think she needed the money. The atmosphere that surrounded them was already thick enough and he would rather not spark a match on a topic that wasn’t that important. It was reminiscent of the last big fight they had. Except this time, rather than the two of them feeling like they were right; this time it felt like the two of them were dancing around the subject. Like neither wanted to mess up the tenuous balance that they had between them currently. It was as if they both knew that the moment they brought up the past, it allowed for questions to be asked that maybe they didn’t want the answers to. “Oh, uh, yeah, turns out it’s actually a pretty nice app.” Oliver joked with a small smile.
“I know enough to get by.” Oliver didn’t love having strangers come into his home; and so he often tried to fix whatever he could himself before having to call in actual professionals. Over time, he had basically gotten to the point where he could figure out most things on his own; even if occasionally there were hiccups along the way. He still had a collection of how-to books that he had used when Katie was around to try and fix things tucked into his bookshelves, but the internet had also been helpful along the way. “YouTube has a lot of great videos that helped along the way too.” He added with a shrug. Their conversation felt constricted, the type you had with an acquaintance in the store when the two of you stood waiting for check-out; something with a promised ending in site. Oliver and Katie had already had their ending though, and now had to deal with the fact that another chapter lay in front of them.
He felt his heat up at the compliment “Ah, Thanks.” Oliver cleared his throat “It’s nice, I like it”. Oliver gave a small nod as she explained her living situation. “That certainly seems like an interesting space to live in, I’m glad you found somewhere like that.” He ran his hand over his shoulder.
Oliver’s eyes dropped to the ground, and he sighed before glancing back up at her. “I-” He stops himself, biting his lip for a moment before trying again. It was now or never right? They couldn’t just keep dancing around the subject, not if they wanted to have a productive conversation. “What happened? That night; when the hunters attacked? I got dragged away and…well it’s not important what happened but by the time I got back you were gone and there was…so much blood. I couldn’t find you.” There had been hunter’s bodies around but he had looked for her body, for an egg, for anything; but he hadn’t been able to do more than a cursory look with how he could hear the hunters coming back before he had to flee as well. “You never came back to the house, and I wasn’t sure if it was because you were d-gone or if you had just left.” Oliver had tracked down both unclaimed bodies and babies in the weeks that followed, trying to find answers.
—
There was a kind of awkwardness that you could never have with a stranger. Things that made conversations with people you didn’t know very well awkward were easy to brush by. You could make do with small talk until you were comfortable, you could walk away without consequence. The stakes were low, and the air between you felt less heavy because you both knew it. The kind of awkwardness that existed between strangers wasn’t comfortable, but it was easily survivable. It was simple to navigate. You could sail through it without any kind of issue, and it was fine. It was all fine.
It was nothing like the awkwardness that existed between two people who knew each other so well once, but didn’t anymore. Oliver was standing in front of her, and Kit hadn’t seen him in this lifetime or the last. She had no idea what he did with his time these days, she didn’t know who his friends were or what shows he watched, but she knew what his face looked like when he was making pancakes. She knew how it felt to be a tiny thing wrapped in his arms after a nightmare, knew the serious look that came over his face when she childishly asked him to check under her bed for monsters despite knowing that monsters rarely felt the need to hide. Oliver wasn’t a stranger; it would have been so much easier if he were. If she didn’t have her memories of the lifetimes where she’d known him, of the one where he’d been there in the beginning and the middle and the end, things would have been simpler. And Kit, coward that she was, longed for that simplicity.
“YouTube is helpful,” she agreed, hating the way she had to scramble for something to say. It never used to be like this. Even when they were at their worst, fighting in the way only a parent and child could, there had been no hesitation like the one present now. She’d always known exactly what to say to him then, even when it was a barb to be thrown in his direction. Now, she felt like she was struggling to tread water, like she was desperately kicking her feet and trying to maintain some semblance of control in a situation where it was so clear she had none to speak of at all.
“Yeah. No problem.” Every word hung heavy; nothing felt quite right. He was saying her living situation was ‘interesting’ and she wondered what he might have said about it those lifetimes ago. If Kate had moved into a retired dry cleaning store and made it a home, would Oliver have protested? Would he have told her it was a bad idea, would he have pointed out the ridiculousness of it? Maybe a part of her wanted him to, even now. Maybe a part of her wanted them to be like they were before, even if she knew they never would be, never could be.
But they could stop beating around the bush.
She was glad he was the one to bring it up. It felt like a relief in the same way a rush of blood bursting through a picked scab did. It hurt, it wasn’t a good thing, but the flash of red was familiar and expected in a way that made your shoulders relax all the same. “I died,” she replied, quick and to the point. “Just not right away. I fought them off as best I could, but…” She trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. “They figured out what I was. Got curious, I think. There aren’t many phoenixes around. They took me back with them, to… wherever. Held me, for a while. But it was always going to end the way it ended. I managed to charm one of them enough to convince him to get the tears on my ashes and get the egg away after. I would have told him to take it to you, but…” She let it hang. She didn’t know how the sentence was meant to end. I didn’t want to put you in danger, maybe. Or, more painfully, I wasn’t sure you’d take it. “I wound up a few states away. I don’t really know where he left me, but I was in the system. New name and everything.”
I didn’t look for you. It was unspoken, but wasn’t it obvious? Oliver hadn’t known where to find her, but Kit could have gone back to where she’d last seen him, when she was old enough. She could have searched for him, maybe could have found him. But… she’d wanted him to find her instead. She’d wanted him to prove that he was looking, and he hadn’t. It wasn’t fair, she knew. It wasn’t right to expect it of him, but she had. She’d wanted him to find her, and he hadn’t. That stung, even now. “How long did you look?” The question was small, and she sounded more like a child than she had in lifetimes.
—
The words ‘I died’ made Oliver’s chest hurt more than he was expecting. Another crack in his heart, but it is hardly the first. A long life comes with a lot of heartache. He knew that it was a possibility that she hadn’t made it out of the encounter alive; but a small part of him had always hoped that she had, that she had gotten away and gone on to live a long and healthy life. The life that he always hoped to give her. Instead, to hear that she was taken captive, presumably tortured before dying and being dropped off in an unfamiliar state; back in the system that Oliver had strived to keep her away from. He had heard the stories of what happened, and he hated the thought of Katie going through any of that. Did her other, god he hated thinking about her having anyone else raising her, parents keep her safe? Did they treat her right? Did cook her eggs the way that she liked it? It made him feel sick, and he desperately wished that their situations had been reversed. Sure, he would have died and he didn’t have the magical power to come back, but Katie would have survived.
“I-” Oliver clears his throat; emotion threatening to spill out. Now isn’t the time to cry over his past mistakes. “I left town after about a year.” Oliver says softly. It had been a rough year. The neighbors had asked about her every once in a while, and Oliver had simply said that she had moved away. She was old enough that nobody questioned it, but Oliver felt almost dirty, creating a false life for Katie. Sleep had been hard to come by, and the sleep that Oliver got was filled with nightmares. Ones that he had long thought he was done with.
“Sgt. Vader definitely grew to hate me” Oliver jokes, but it comes out more tight and tense than it should. “I grabbed one of those police scanners, and if there was a mention of a random body being found I was on the scene before they were.” At first, he had only gone to ones that would make sense. Ones where they said that their body looked fresh and female. However, by the end, as his desperation grew and he tossed logic to the side, he went to anything that so much as mentioned a body. It didn’t matter that he knew that Katie’s body turned to ash soon after death; if they found skeletal remains he was at least going to at least take a look. He bought newspapers and scoured them for any information. After all, maybe she had amnesia and had been picked up and taken to the hospital. He was desperate for any possible answer that didn’t involve her being dead.
He knew that random eggs being found would be newsworthy; but he was also aware that it was unlikely that the existence of it would ever make it to mainstream media. Oliver kept his ear to the ground, listening to the rumors and gossip of the town; going to more sketchy areas to get information that maybe didn’t make its way out otherwise. “I looked for abandoned babies too, but…” Those were easier to rule out, and he started to feel bad physically going and leaving without a child who desperately needed a home.
“After a year, I just-I had to leave.” It had become clear that he had become a shell of himself, essentially killing himself searching for Katie and staying in the home they had made was doing nothing but making the pain worse. He had told himself that Katie wouldn’t want to see him like this, that she would want to see him continuing to live. So Oliver had packed up, sold the home, and moved to New York City. Out of suburbia, back to a city. A new name, a new identity, new friends who didn’t know him as a father.
“How…how many lives have you lived since then?” Oliver isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, but the question is out before he can pull it back.
—
It was harder, somehow, knowing that he had looked for her. Before, she could tell herself that he’d given up easily, and it was simpler. It gave her a better excuse for not looking for him, either, let her remain the hero of her story no matter how many villainous things she did. If she were the one abandoned, Kit couldn’t be blamed for not reaching out sooner. If she were the one slighted, who could possibly claim she was in the wrong? But Oliver was here, was standing grief-stricken in his living room and sending a hurricane after the house of cards she’d so carefully constructed for herself. He’d looked for her, even knowing that she was likely dead. He’d grieved her, even knowing she’d likely been born again.
It was such a stark contrast to her biological parents, so many lifetimes ago. Had they ever cared for her as much as Oliver seemed to? As far as she knew, they’d never searched for her when she’d left home. If anything, they’d found relief in her departure. She’d existed as a living monument to her own shortcomings, and neither her mother nor her father had been able to stand looking at her for long. She doubted either of them had ever even known of her death, and she was certain they’d never been made aware of her rebirth. It left her with an ache that Oliver had soothed until he didn’t, until he was gone, too.
She’d imagined him much in the same way she’d imagined her parents, after that — maybe a little sad to lose her, but relieved that the whirlwind of problems that Kit brought along with her joined her in her departure. It was easier not to ache for someone you knew wasn’t aching for you. It was easy not to let yourself mourn when you knew the person you missed didn’t feel the same way. She’d held onto that feeling for so long, been so sure that it helped.
And all along, she’d been wrong. All along, he’d been looking for her, been grieving her. Kit wished she hadn’t come here.
“Not like hunters leave bodies around for the cops to find, even when there are bodies leftover.” She shrugged, waving a hand in a way that was nonchalant and casual and nothing at all like the storm of emotion raging in her chest. Why had he wasted his time like that? Why was he telling her about it? Didn’t he know it was simpler if neither of them cared at all? Didn’t he know it hurt less? Kit had dedicated the entirety of this new life to not caring, had made sure that she was someone who let everything roll off her back because she’d seen what happened when she let things affect her. She’d felt it. She’d spent lifetimes loving someone who would leave her the moment she wasn’t what he remembered her to be. Didn’t Oliver understand that? Didn’t he know what he was opening himself up to here? She looked down at her hands, absently picking at her cuticles as if she felt nothing instead of everything.
“I’m surprised you didn’t end up taking half those babies home anyway.” There was a practiced lightness to her tone. She was good at pretending to be something she wasn’t. Even if she was no longer a standard siren, with their ability to conform themselves into whatever people desired them to be, she still remembered the drill. “Where’d you go, after?” She wondered how close they’d been to one another, after that life. When she’d been a writhing newborn, or a clumsy toddler, or an angry teenager, how far away had Oliver been? Could she have bumped into him on the street one day, if things had been just a little different? He was the only one left who’d recognize her at every stage. What would he have done?
He asked about her lives after, and she clicked her tongue. “Two,” she replied, “including this one. So I guess you didn’t miss much.”
—
“I know, I supposed I was hoping that they would have messed up, or even that maybe you got away but died of your injuries or…something,” Oliver explained. He was aware of how Hunters worked, he knew how ruthless they could be and how they rarely left bodies behind. However, he had needed something to cling onto, there was a desperate, almost animalistic part of himself that had been at the forefront of the search for Katie. Even if they weren’t related by blood; Oliver had raised her from when she hatched. He wondered more than once if this was how his parents had felt as well, raising him after they found him under a tree. How they learned to live with his leshy powers aligned with how Oliver learned to live with Katie’s phoenix abilities. However, he was alone in the grief of losing a child. It wasn’t something that his parents had ever taught him how to deal with. The age that others took him to be made things tricky as well. The emotional turmoil that he had been experiencing made it so his older age glamor (already a finicky thing) was hard to control. Nobody would believe him if he went to a grief group and said his daughter died in her twenties when he appeared to be that same age after all.
His eyes harden, his gaze skirting to the floor again. “I don’t…I think there's a reason that Leshy’s can’t have biological children. I went against that when I raised you. I didn’t want to put any other child in the same danger that I put you in.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it. But the idea of opening his heart again for a child, one that would presumably be mortal, made him fear having to watch another child of his die. He wasn’t sure if he could handle going through that again.
“I went to NYC for a while; and then went abroad to China after that; then came back to the US and bounced around the south a bit before coming back here in 2019.” Oliver could mention the real reason he came back, the issue with his powers; his possible impending death. However, he doesn’t want to add another log of trauma to the fire that is already burning between them. There’s nothing Katie can do after all, and there’s no reason to give her the guilt of that fact with this knowledge.
So two lives in 58 years, with her looking to be in her late 20s now. Oliver didn’t love that math; with it meaning that Katie died relatively young even in the life span that he wasn’t around. “I missed enough.” Oliver whispers, almost more to himself than to her before sighing. “How long do you think you’ll be sticking around town for?”
—
Hope was such a dangerous thing, wasn’t it? For years, Kit had nourished hers. She’d allowed it to drive her to do terrible things, because the hope told her that it’d be worth it in the end. Hope drove her to become something terrible, to carry that terror from one lifetime to the next over and over and over again. Hope found her a necromancer, rose Ezra from the dead. Hope curled around her like a tangible thing and died against her skin the moment he told her he couldn’t excuse what she’d done for him.
Had it done the same for Oliver? Had his hope become a noose just as hers had, strangled him on his want? He’d looked for her long after he likely should have given up, long after anyone else would have. How long had that hope lengthened pain that might have faded without it? How long had he made things worse for himself with foolish optimism? She wanted to hate him. She wanted to judge him, to write him off, to think him foolish, but it was hard to do. Hadn’t Kit fallen for the same trap a hundred times over? Hadn’t she let hope kill her time and time again? Maybe he’d rubbed off on her, or she’d rubbed off on him. Maybe they’d made things worse for one another along the way.
She looked away as he talked about danger, as if he was a bigger threat to her safety than she had been. “Most of the trouble I got into was my own,” she offered, like an olive branch. “I think I would have been worse off without you, for what it’s worth.” The lifetime where he’d raised her had certainly been one of her most stable in terms of childhood. Those that preceded it, and even those that came after it had been harder. Bouncing between foster homes, living with people who didn’t quite care the way they should have. Kit had never thought much of it one way or another — as a phoenix, she viewed childhood as a laughably temporary thing — but it was impossible to deny that the one she’d spent with Oliver was better. Even the end had been far from her worst death.
He went on, giving her a rundown of where he’d been and what he’d been up to since her death. New York, China, the south, here. Did any of it make a difference? Would it make him feel better or worse to admit they’d been close a few times before now? She decided to keep it to herself either way. “Hell of a place to settle,” she commented. “I’d heard rumors about this town, but… don’t think anything can really prepare you for the real thing.” Wicked’s Rest was the kind of place a person had to see to believe, even if the person in question lived multiple lifetimes by burning herself to ash upon each death.
She knew he was doing the math in his head, looking at her and imagining the death between the last one and now. She had no intention of telling him about it. She told herself it was for his sake, but she knew it was for her own. There were few things Kit wanted to relive less than the death that birthed her into her current lifetime. Instead of commenting, she moved on to the next topic with another shrug. “Not sure. I got a job at the hospital here, but… I’m not sure how much I like this town. You know me — I like to stay away from the danger.”
—
Oliver bites down on his tongue, the words ‘I should have been able to stop you from getting into that trouble’ dying before they get the chance to come out. He knows that it’s not true, it’s not as if he would have ever been able to, or even ever wanted to control Katie. Her drive was one thing that Oliver had always appreciated, although he had also grown to fear for her because of it. That drive had taken Katie down a path that Oliver feared, one that he couldn’t go down with her. He remembered the fight that they had been in right before her…death. There were questions that he didn’t think he wanted answered, ones that surrounded him if she went farther down that path after they parted ways. Instead, he gave a non-committal hum.
Her comment that she would have been worse off without him made an unexpected amount of emotion rush through him, filtering through his cracked and scabbed-over heart; maybe melding a piece or two. Oliver’s eyes flickered up to one of the lights that he had turned on. Now wasn’t the time for tears after all; he had a feeling that it would only make Katie uncomfortable. Children never enjoyed watching their parents cry after all. Instead, he took a breath and gave a small nod, swallowing down the emotion before it can reach the surface. “I feel the same.” Raising her had caused a lot of heartache, but it had also brought a lot of joy and experiences that Oliver would not have had otherwise. He had become a better person because of the time that he spent with Katie.
“Ha, yeah, it certainly has its charms.” Oliver laughs weakly. “It’s where I started out though, figured I should probably come home at some point.” Was there another, darker reason that he came back? Yes but now wasn’t the time for that conversation. Better to keep the conversation light and easy-going. “Ah, yeah, probably not the best place to be if you don’t want to be around some… strange things happening.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wouldn’t blame her if she left, he wanted her to be safe after all and if there was one thing that was clear; it was that Wicked’s Rest was not the place for that. However, the idea of her leaving after he just found her again made him feel almost ill. “Though, if you keep your head down, you can normally stay out of things easily enough” Unfortunately, neither of them were very good at following the words that he was saying.
—
She gave him a dubious look in response to the affirmation that his life, too, had been made easier by her presence, though she didn’t voice the doubt. She had a feeling it was categorically untrue, but saying as much wouldn’t be particularly productive. Oliver would argue, and Kit was incapable of not arguing back when someone disagreed with her, and it would dissolve into bickering that would do neither of them any sort of good. Privately, though, she knew he was lying. Kit hadn’t made Oliver’s life any easier with her presence; if anything, she’d done the opposite. She was stubborn and set in her ways, refused to listen to anyone who didn’t say what she wanted to hear. She’d made his life more difficult. She’d broken his heart, in the end. She knew that.
But maybe that was what children were supposed to do. Kit had never even entertained the idea of having any of her own. She didn’t think she’d be a particularly good mother, and she didn’t know enough about how the phoenix gene was passed down to feel comfortable risking giving birth to something more mortal than she was. She hated loving anything she knew she’d lose, and she was too selfish to entertain the thought of loving something more than herself, anyway. So maybe her behavior was something parents expected of their children. Kit would never quite know for certain.
“Charms. That’s one way of putting it.” But it was clear that Oliver liked this place, and maybe that was enough to make Kit dislike it a little less. Was a place less terrible if someone you loved had come from it? Wicked’s Rest was uncomfortably action-packed, but it had shaped Oliver into the man who raised her once, into someone who, in turn, shaped her. If this place was a part of Oliver, and Oliver was a part of her, was Wicked’s Rest etched into her bones, too? She wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea of it. “You know I’ve never been good at keeping my head down.”
—
Oliver noted Katie’s expression but chose not to question her. He had said his peace; if she had questions or thoughts on it, then she was welcome to bring them up. It didn’t surprise him when she didn’t, though. They had found a semblance of peace between them right now, and Oliver was pretty sure that neither of them wanted to disrupt that. They had always been good at arguing, after all. Oliver felt it was more because of them being essentially family than anything. Their energies were different but had become similar enough over the lifetime they shared; had now returned to being more different than similar in their time apart. It was a bit sad in a way, the puzzle pieces no longer fitting perfectly together.
He grinned at her statement, “No I suppose you aren’t. However, maybe now is your chance to try it out.” Oliver had a feeling that it would never be something that Katie succeeded in. She was a curious creature after all, and Wicked’s Rest had many avenues for exploration. “If it gets to be too much, it’s not like anyone would judge you if you decided to leave. It’s not the place for everyone after all.” He runs a hand through his hair “You could always come back for visits and stuff too, in case you’ve made connections here and all.” Oliver adds quickly, not wanting to come off as telling her what to do or making her think that he wants her to leave. Quite the opposite. He had just found her again after so long, he knew that it would hurt for her to leave again. At least this time, he would know she was alive.
—
She gave him a look that said more than she could manage with her words. Usually, Kit was good at talking. She could spout off whatever she wanted as long as it didn’t mean anything. She could tell a thousand jokes, make light of any situation because none of it mattered, anyway. Most of the people she spoke to would be long gone by the time she started her next life, and this one was as fleeting as the last, so what did it matter? But it was different with Oliver. Everything was different with Oliver. She couldn’t make light of things the way she would have if he were a stranger, couldn’t turn her trauma into a joke the way she might have if he were anyone else, because Oliver would see through that. With everyone else, her mask was impenetrable. With Oliver, it was a windowpane. She was never sure how to feel about that.
So it was a relief, almost, when he was the one to bring up leaving. Kit had already been thinking about it, already been considering the idea of getting out. She wasn’t one to face danger head on; she preferred to run from it, to throw someone else in its path if it meant it was slower to find her. But she’d have felt guilty leaving him without a word, especially after their last separation. (And she hated that. She hated feeling guilty.) She offered him a small smile, a nod. “I’m thinking this might not be the place for me,” she admitted. “But… I wouldn’t cut off contact or anything. 21st century bonus, we’ve got the internet now! Cell phones, the whole nine yards. I could teach you how to FaceTime.” Did he know how to FaceTime? There was no way, right? He was, like, a hundred years old. Kit was sure he probably accidentally put his thumb in front of the camera. She smiled fondly at the thought.
—
Oliver gave a small shrug at her admittance that she didn't think she would be sticking around Wicked’s Rest. It made sense, even if he didn’t like it. Wicked’s Rest wasn’t exactly a place to be if you were an immortal/immortal adjacent; not with the general weirdness of the area and the prying eyes of those who stayed here. There was a reason that he had left in the first place and a reason that he had stayed away as long as he did. He may have found a new home for himself here, but he would never judge anyone for choosing to leave. It would be hard to lose her again soon after finding her, but it was her life. If anything, Oliver would be happy for Katie to go out and follow the path she had forged. He would always worry about her, the choices that she had made, and if she was still going down the darkened path that she had been dancing with in the previous life; but in the end, it wasn’t up to him.
That didn’t stop him from feeling a sense of relief when she said she wouldn’t cut off contact with him. “I’m glad to hear that.” He smiles softly, a bubble of emotion breaking free to make his eyes water ever so slightly. Oliver uses it as an excuse to laugh at her jab about FaceTime. “I know how to FaceTime!” Well, he knows how to click the buttons (thanks to Emily, someone he had met about a decade ago) but it wasn’t a function that he used all that often. He wasn’t the best at making sure the screen was facing the right way, or that he was actually in frame, or he was close enough for the other person to hear him. Katie didn’t need to know all that right this second though.
“I think I have some brownies from one of the local bakeries, what kind of drink do you want?” Oliver asked, already walking towards the kitchen. It struck him how normal of a conversation this one, words that he may have said when Katie had just returned from school, or a night out. The two of them may never have the same kind of relationship they once did; but even from the ashes of their old one; a new one could be formed.
who: @kitkallberg, @jessehart, @rewdmello
when: later in the evening, greer’s birthday
Mari was horrified. The text had read like something out of her worst nightmares, instantly wondering how whoever this was found out. Was it truly possible they had info from Greer, or...was it things they had gleaned from the stolen notes? And what had even been in those notes? Mari knew she had come up, but she still didn’t know what had been told to the police that had caused them to ask Parisa about her and Greer’s relationship. And now...
g: have fun outside the closet !!! xx
This was cruel, and fucked on so many levels and...Mari couldn’t not do it. Because then it would be worse. And if this was as bad as this person was starting with, she didn’t want to know where they’d go if they were pissed off.
Hands shaking, Mari unlocked her phone, the brightness of the screen illuminating in the dark of the pool party, disguised in between the glow sticks and paint and lights that had been scatted around, progressively sloppier as the evening went on. Starting the new text was difficult, her thumbs suddenly feeling too big for the screen, swallowing a few times as she selected the three names that she had been told to (which, by the way - Carew? What the fuck, Greer?).
She started typing what felt like a hundred times, deleting it and starting over, nausea flipping her stomach the entire time. Finally, she settled on a simple message, copying nearly exactly what G had told her to say.
mari: hey guys, felt like i should make sure we’re all introduced and everything, considering we have something pretty important in common
mari: we’re the ones greer was hooking up with last year!
mari: feel like we should be the guests of honor tonight or something
Okay, so...she couldn’t completely stop her bitterness from slipping in.
who: @kitkallberg
when: casino night
where: wherever kit’s lil heart desires
The last time Nate had spoken to Kit felt like eons ago, that stupid dorm party. He had meant to grab the younger student in the days after, ask him about (....congratulate him on) the fight with Jesse, but...there was the guilt about telling Mitch about Greer and Jesse, and the fact that that had clearly gotten back to Kit, Nate studiously wanting to avoid any fallout from that. Plus the awkwardness that had come up when Kit had asked him about Parisa....basically, things had just gotten away from Nate. But when he spotted Kit at the casino night, he made a beeline for him, clapping a hand on the other’s shoulder with an exhale as his first greeting, this night turning into the worst already and relief at finding someone he genuinely liked. “Hey, mate,” he said, sliding into the seat at the table next to him. “Hoping you’re robbing these rich cunts in all of the games you play,” he said, hoping to avoid any of those issues that could possibly come up, though he was unable to help the gloom that creeped into his tone.
It had been a long afternoon with the kid, but Shiloh never really minded it. She loved her afternoons with the young tike, he ran her ragged and exhausted, but that’s why she even got into this job. It didn’t hurt that staring over at the dad when he wasn’t looking was a guilty pleasure of hers. Today, however, was especially busy. With father’s day coming up, Shiloh had talked the young boy into painting something great for his dad. While he created a one of a kind work of art, Shiloh was left cleaning up the damage. It was well past her usual hours, but she had assumed that home was still empty when she walked into Kit’s room to hang the present for his son. Much to her surprise, did she find him there in nothing but a towel. “Oh my god...I’m...I’m so sorry.”
who: @kitkallberg
where: ollie’s dorm party
when: pre-spin the bottle ig?
“Yo, mate,” Nate said as he saw Kit, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a long sip from it, eying the other male as he tried to gauge his mood. He had no idea how he’d be feeling after Mitch spilled the beans to him, which, yes, may have been Nate’s fault Mitch knew in the first place, but still. He didn’t have to go tell Kit about Greer. “What’s up?” he asked, trying to act as casual as possible.
it's hard to fully describe ⏤ this feeling. of knowing that everything he does today will effectively be undone in the morning. there's a sense of freedom in it all, in knowing that he will in effect be given a do over as soon as the clock strikes midnight. but there's a sense of unease to it, too. knowing the little doodles he scribbled in his notebook will disappear and that the elderly man staying down the hall will never remember the conversation they shared over coffee the day before. a small sense of madness in knowing there is seemingly no way out of it all. "i'm sorry," the apology is genuine, even though he doesn't fully know what that feels like. to create in that way, only to have it disappear. "can't really say," kit shrugs, "i've been in my room all day." there's another thing that's hard for him to wrap his head around ⏤ how exhausted he feels, socializing in this way. "do you think we're dead?" he muses out loud. his tone is light but it doesn't reach his eyes. "kind of feels like some nightmarish version of purgatory, doesn't it?"
