[lingeringscars]

she doesn't understand the reference, so her eyebrows pull together as she frowns. "not always." she mumbles, strongly disliking the implication, even if she doesn't understand why it bothers her. "i just can't think of anyone who would do something like that so effortlessly." she doesn't know if that helps. she's in awe of it. "you should let people see that side of you more often instead of leaning into the whole jackass thing." which is exactly what he did for nikita anyway.

she doesn't think about how she knows in her bones that something is off with him. she can just feel it, despite his smile at her (she doesn't know what to do with that or the almost dazed look he gives her now). her concern grows as he looks more and more out of it. the ease in which her hand finds his cheek doesn't register to her over the concern, her thumb brushing slightly against his beard. it feels nicer than she expected it to (this, of course, registers).

she shakes her head instinctively at him calling it stupid. "it's not stupid if it bothers you." she corrects, she gives his cheek another brush of encouragement... and then falters when she realizes she has no idea what he is talking about. she tries really hard to recall, to place what he might be referring to, but she comes up empty. "what do you mean?" she decides to ask. she wants to know what is going on with him. she wants to help him feel better, like he has for her (even when she didn't. doesn't. want him to). she doesn't know how to help with something she doesn't understand, though, so she needs clarification. "what happened?"

[thisgentle]

it's a little comical, how quickly he mirrors her. his own eyebrows furrow before hers have a chance to, frown immediately settling in. he's about to explain when she continues, but momentarily forgets to do his intro to the world and life of harry james potter speech because he's having his own moment of not understanding. what is she calling effortless? if she's singling him out, it couldn't be a good thing, could it? and maybe it's not, completely—or at least, her final statement can't be more than half a compliment, which is half more than he deserves.

"it.. was a reference. sorry. always the tone of surprise. it's one of the lines in the harry potter movies," he finally says—partially because he doesn't know how to respond to the other thing. mostly because for whatever reason, he can't stand leaving her on the outside of a joke. and not just because it bothers her, though that would be motivation enough. "you mean.. giving nikki and her dad something to talk about? what's so special about that?"

anyone else would do the same thing—they'd just have to make a grab at other material, because being an asshole doesn't come to anyone as easily as it comes to him.

(he forgets sometimes. division has taken up so much of his life that sometimes he genuinely forgets what life was like before—what he was like before. was he a dick before division?

has there ever been anything else?)

he isn't prepared for it—her hand on the side of his face, fingers lightly brushing the hair there. he frankly can't remember the last time anyone other than like, himself, touched his face. it's a warm, unfamiliar, perfect feeling that he's got 0 idea how to process—fortunately, he's getting better at just hanging tight and going on the ride.

"eh. lots of stupid things bother me." he's teasing this time, though, giving her a little smile. then he'll buckle himself in and turn the metaphorical key in the metaphorical ignition in the metaphorical car driving down emotional honesty boulevard. "when she was introducing everyone to richard. you and bellamy were her friends, but me.. she didn't know what to say." and so that pit of loneliness and emptiness in his gut grows.

[lingeringscars]

she waits until his response, even if she is itching to come into the room. depending on what he says, she won't want to be there anymore. she releases a maybe too dramatic breath of relief at his actual response, automatically moving into the room more to start talking more. "that's.....surprisingly sweet." she's less surprised by how thoughtful he can be, but she still has moments where she is blown away by it. she never would have thought to introduce herself in a way that gave someone an opening for conversation.

when he follows it up with the less than altruistic reason, she can't help but smirk. there he is. she rushes toward his bed, already rambling on "you think there's something to slip up, too? it's weird right? i don't know i guess i don't have a dead daughter now alive but--" she stops in her tracks before jumping on his bed. now that she can see him better and is no longer wrapped up in her thoughts around whether or not he actually is leaning into being the dick landlord (or if it was just about punishing nikita and michael again for something), she can really take in what is going on.

"hey- wait. what's wrong?" her brows furrow at the bag in his hands. "did something happen?" she tries running through the day, and while a lot happened, she can't think of anything that would have him spiraling specifically. she must have missed something, though, because he's shoving his i'm stressed and upset chip bag down his face.

[thisgentle]

his brows furrow at her breath of… relief? it doesn’t make sense, yet he isn’t sure what else it could be. “always the tone of surprise,” he teases lightly, unable to pass up the opportunity for a good harry potter reference. there's no offense, though, and not just because he knows he wouldn't have any right. he looks at her curiously, half of his bad mood forgotten, the other half melting down like butter on a hot piece of toast. he smiles at her rushing toward him, already anticipating the theories and gossip sure to come.

but she stops just short of the bed, and it's hard not to be disappointed. it's entirely innocent, the way he finds himself wishing she would have jumped into it. he craves her ease, the way sometimes everything feels so natural between them it almost feels effortless for her. what feels effortless for her, he couldn't say. but it feels important, feels so different from the way he imagines her at war with herself, battle drums pounding louder and louder the closer she gets to him. does it feel like she's sacrificing parts of herself to accept him, begrudgingly or not, as a part of her life? it hurts him to think about. all he wants for her, really, is to feel whole. he's never really had that.

though the concern he feels radiating off of her when she looks at him feels....insanely close. and suddenly he does get it, the whole appeal of damsels in distress and heroic rescue, 'cause he'd almost lay down on train tracks just to strain to make out the sound of her footsteps against an oncoming train. for a second he forgets all the toxic masculinity misogynist bullshit crammed down his throat over the years, 'cause what a damn privilege it'd be to be rescued by her.

christ, dude. pull it together. "huh?" he blinks, reorienting himself. it helps... mildly. his eyes refocus on her, and the light falls on her just so, and he really, really, wants to do something he shouldn't. but she's helped him somewhat hone a skill that boils down to sharing your feelings, so he does that instead. "it's stupid." with minimum shame about it all, clearly. "she... hesitated. nikki. she didn't know what to call me." and he gets it. her world has been turned inside out, and it's not like he's given her reason to call him something else, given how painfully well he plays the part of the dick landlord. but would friend have been so freaking hard?

[lingeringscars]

She wants to talk to @thisgentle about everything that is going on right now. He's the person she always wants to talk to, but he also is willing to talk to her where the others are less so. She has a lot of questions, and she knows that nikita isn't in a place to answer any of them right now. She isn't used to being the one thinking logically, but she also isn't used to everyone just blindly trusting someone either. She doesn't like being paranoid, but also, how did division even find them? Maybe this life is starting to mess with her head.

She wants to talk to him, gossip about the new resident taking up the guest room, plop on his bed and giggle at how weird it all is. But first, she really, really needs to clarify something with him. "I thought you hated the whole landlord thing?" She mumbles at his door. There's still a part of her that is waiting for the ground to fall out from under her, and when she decided to trust him, part of that was how impassioned he was about being called her landlord. Why would he turn around and label himself that with Nikita"s dad? There has to be a reason for it that she isn't seeing. She doesn't want to believe that he was lying to her; she doesn't believe that. This place is definitely getting to her. She can feel herself hardening, already on guard for his response. She hates feeling this way. Please have a good reason.

[thisgentle]

he’s not surprised someone is at his door- he kind’ve expected someone would come knocking. he just thought it would be nikita or michael coming to ask where he keeps the guest towels or something, despite there already being a care package of essentials in the spare bathroom (which they’d know, if they listened to him. but he’ll give them a pass this time- god knows they’ve had a full day.) he’s happy it’s her, though the bag of chips he’s got tipped to his mouth like a cold beer probably makes it hard to tell. it gets in the way of his greeting, too, though it seems to be for the best, because she has something to say.

he’s a little disappointed to see the frown her mouth has settled into; he was kind of hoping to see her eyes lit up with the excitement of gossip, partially because there are a lot of days where them exchanging judgmental glances or snickers is easily the highlight of his day, partially because he himself has some things to say about the weirdness of the situation they’ve gotten themselves into. it’s all momentarily forgotten as the concern takes over, and he inclines his head toward his room, giving an invitation he doesn’t realize now he can’t wait for harper to realize is implied. his own brows furrow a little at the question. “i do.” he shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, unconsciously self-soothing, substituting salt for comfort.

“what are they in there talking about right now?” he asks meaningfully, eyeing her. “she doesn’t know how to talk to this guy. but.. her dick landlord.. that’s a conversation starter. figured i’d help her out.” he gives a little shrug, as if he isn’t in here feeding his grumpy mood with packaged cholesterol, the bad kind. “plus.. people are more likely to slip up around oblivious jerks.” and he doesn’t trust this dude as far as he could throw him, and the guy is built like a tank. he doesn’t need to know all their business yet.

[lingeringscars]

the way he looks at her makes her want to crawl inside of herself and disappear completely. he's acting like it was obvious. like she should know that get out means stay and don't touch that means it's yours. she feels insane. everyone else went around acting like there was no threat, but he was the reason some of her friends were dead. she felt him watching her in the computer room, like he was waiting for her to burn out, die, fall apart. she was one of those idiots. he never saw anything in her. he tried to help her.

he refused to let her in to any of it, even when it was just them, and now he's acting like she should have known he would never kick them out, but of course he would. he had, hadn't he? he would gladly have kicked her out of the room in division. he said shit all the time about how they were going to die and he had to put up with all those morons. he's still waiting for her to flame out.

"that's it?" she doesn't want another apology. she wants some kind of explanation. she doesn't expect to get one though, so she averts her eyes and tries to come to terms with whatever he is. she all but scoffs because what is she supposed to do with that. she tempers the impulse to tell him that it's fine, because it isn't, and she also doesn't want to brush it off because what the fuck. these are people's lives he has in his hands, and does that really not mean a damn to him.

plus she knows she's not alicia or nikita or michael or bellamy. she's not the people he actually gives a damn about. why would he?

she doesn't really have a right to be mad that he didn't think about her when making grand declarations to nikita. she still remembers the ease in which he let alicia in. she feels sick.

he has a nice laugh. she doesn't remember if she's ever heard it before. she must not have because it keeps ringing even after he has stopped. a small smile remains on her features because she got to hear that note. then he takes off his jacket, and the smile is replaced by her biting her lip as her eyes follow the lines of the jacket, down his arms. he has really nice arms, too. she never noticed them, especially next to bellamy's, but damn.

damn.

dammit.

she starts blinking and tries to tell herself to get ahold of herself. she can feel red creeping up her neck and face again as she clears her throat, acting as if she's been caught. get a grip. "huh? oh. yeah. i guess so. how do you know that?" she doesn't remember telling him that she was still hungry, but he did notice that she hadn't eaten yesterday. or today. she just sat there salivating while he and alicia shared pizza.

alicia. alicia didn't have to beg for scraps.

nikita, actually. the way he talks about her... it's like the world lights up a little more. she gets it, really. nikita is... wow. but hearing him paint the stars a shade of nikita makes her wish she could crawl into her skin again. okay, she's not a poet. sue her. hearing him talk about nikita like she's the moon is too much for her. her eyes avert again with the reminder that everything he does, he does for her. because he's in love with her even after everything she did to him. he'd probably hand over his own tooth even if he complained the entire time about it hurting.

"what didn't you want?" she says when he's through talking her up. she won't discount that he was being a dick, but she feels like there is more he isn't telling her. "our biggest problem is that we could be found and killed at any moment by secret government agents." she says it plainly, as if they need the reminder that they're under complete and total threat every hour of the day.

"i don't have anywhere else to go." none of them do; she isn't special. she tells herself again to get it together, tries to stamp out the fear in her voice. "i'm just the tagalong. if michael and nikita go, i got nothing else." unlike you and your house and your money and your cars and your jet. she struggles to follow what he means about michael and nikita, but she doesn't really care. she scoffs a little. "wow. glad to know you don't have any problems with me." she reins it back. "you're right. it isn't my place. it is yours. it's all yours. and you are a dick." she gives him a small smile at the last part to show she's joking. mostly.

she takes a breath. "you could change your mind at any time, and that's it, birkhoff. i'm back out on the streets. you're not just a grumpy roommate. you're...the landlord with all the power." and that terrifies her because his whims have always felt dangerous. something keeps nagging at her, though. something she can't let pass without commenting on. "i listen to you." she listens more than she would like. his words carry a lot more weight than she wants them to. his opinion means more than she wants to admit, too. "so.. don't say that if you don't actually mean it." she glances back up at him as if her eyes can convey all the fear, hope, and desire that she holds inside up until she decides to deflect with something else she's wanted to say. "i'm... sorry. about alicia. that was really brave of you. it sucks that she won't remember it." but she will.

[thisgentle]

there's a masochistic part of him almost relieved to see the anger brimming underneath the surface. he certainly deserves it. if alicia had wiped him out, it wouldn't have been like he could've said he didn't have it coming. but it's more than that—in some kind of way, it's relief for her. relief that she hasn't taken so many punches she's resigned herself to them, settled herself to a life of being kicked just to stop being surprised. the surprise is usually worse than the blow, after all.

there's another part of him that aches because he wants to give her more than he's given, and he doesn't know now. that wants to make promises about being better, about being worth something. but he's just not that kind of guy. talking about being better is just something to do with your mouth that isn't actually being better.

yet, he can't handle her thinking he's flippant about it all. he fidgets with the zipper on his jacket as he tries to think of a worthwhile way to respond, and ultimately decides just to come out with it. she hates him. what does he have to lose?

(she hates him, but they went out shopping the other day, and it was one of the best days of his life. she hates him, but she played video games with him just she felt bad he was hurting. none of that feels like nothing. all of it feels like everything. but the things he didn't do in division haunt him as much as the things he did, and he doesn't want to regret not trying with her, even if it goes to shit.)

"i'm not... i'm not trying to be a dick. or.. unaffected or whatever. i just.. i don't want to lie." he tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. "i wanna think i would've... done something about it. talked to you sooner. shut my freakin' mouth. i... i feel like i would've. but.. trying to predict the past is about as useless as trying to predict the future." he frowns. "that... didn't make any sense. i'm just trying to say.. i..." he takes a breath. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i don't want to hurt you. and i should've... i should've thought about what this is like for you." he closes his eyes. "i should've thought about... the guy i've been to you. of course... of course you would've thought that. i mean. i said it. i'm the idiot talking about how you all gotta leave. it makes sense you thought that... anyway. but... 'cause of that especially."

he wants to do something to calm the embarrassed blush, say something stupid like you don't gotta be uncomfortable around me, something he knows he has no right to say. so he just focuses on the work in front of him and gives a little shrug, "i can just tell." he could see it in her face, in her eyes. see her wanting more, but too polite or too scared to say so.

she catches what he didn't have the courage to say, and a part of him wants to shake his head, say it's nothing, but he can't remember the last time that happened—that someone really did listen to the words coming out of his mouth, let alone the words that weren't. what didn't he want? "you guys to wipe me clean and take off, i guess." which he recognizes doesn't make a whole lotta sense, except for it kinda does, in a nikki doesn't respect anyone weaker than her kind of way. which he definitely is, both when he is and isn't being an asshole, but she'd walked all over him when he trailed after her like a dog begging for scraps, and he needed to try something different this time.

"it's ass-backwards, i know. but i didn't want to end up one of those guys that walks out of the bar to find his wallet and car gone 'cause nikki needed something to get her from point a to point b, rinse and repeat. guess i wanted you all to feel like stickin' around was the smarter play. more bang for your buck." didn't want them to forget he was of value, worth keeping around, worth sticking around for. "rob a man blind and you eat for a day, get him to give you room and board and it's the gift that keeps on giving, or something, you know." and nikita doesn't respect or trust anything she doesn't have to work for a little.

the deadpan of her voice tickles him, if in a dry and depressing sort of way. he gives a little laugh, followed by a nod. "a guy can dream, right?" couldn't they indulge him a few days of his fantasy? the one where they stick around without a mission in the works, eat breakfast together in the morning? he isn't that picky—he knows they wouldn't be here if they had other options, and he's gotta be a step up from a motel 6. he doesn't need them to reinvent the wheel, just let him sit with his delusions for a little while til they run their course.

he gets quiet and somber again as she continues, resists the urge to reach out and touch her when he hears the little quiver hiding beneath her determination not to show weakness in front of him. he wishes she knew he didn't think it was weak. he wishes she knew a lot of things. he cringes when she replays his words back to him, shoulders tense and almost at the tips of his ears as he sits in how the words sounded. the smile soon to come after relieves a little of that tension, but he's mostly too confused by it to feel much of anything yet aside from regret.

he's glad he didn't say anything when she continues, vulnerable in a way he hasn't earned, doesn't deserve, and is immensely grateful for. even as he winces at them, because being the landlord with all of the power is a concept so profoundly disgusting he can hardly stand it. who the fuck is he? how did he get here?

there's a kid in him still that remembers deciding to wreck his dad's boat because he hated it for reminding him he could never measure up to an inanimate object his dad could polish and makeover to his heart's content, spend more time fixing and admiring it than he did using it. there's a kid in him still that remembers standing outside in ninety five degree weather protesting the crimes of the rich before he graduated to stealing from them. there's a kid in him that fucking hates that this is who he is and can't believe it took him until now to see ending up in a percentile most can't fathom when the world only ever wanted to put him underground might be more of a self-betrayal than a victory.

fuck landlords.

how the fuck did he forget that he fucking hates landlords?

alicia should have hit him harder.

the rocking horse? he deserved that, actually.

"fuck that." he doesn't really mean to say it—he knows his inner dialogue of self-loathing is no use to her, and maybe more of an insult than anything else. "i mean... fuck that." because he really can't say anything else for a second. "sorry. that's not. i just mean... i don't want to be that guy. i fucking hate that guy. christ, harper. i don't..." that's not me? is that what he wants to say? is that what he wants to beg her to believe, even knowing he has no right to? he closes his eyes. "i.. i hear you. okay? i... i get it. i do." he looks at her again, and there's something pleading there despite himself, asking her to believe this is true, to believe despite everything that he hears her because he's been her.

he forces himself to go back to chopping for a second. "i can't.. i wouldn't believe me, if i was you, so i can't.. i can't expect you to. so maybe.. maybe it's just gotta take time. i get that. but... i'm never gonna do that. i'm never gonna leave you on the side of the road with nothing. i've ... i've been there before. i'm not gonna do that to you. nikita and michael or no nikita and michael. you staying here isn't contingent on them. you're not just some stray they picked up and are gonna dump somewhere, or that i'm gonna tell to get out. you're.. you're safe here."

you're safe with me.

there's the slightest wetness to his eyes that he tells himself is allergy-related at her next words—mostly out of habit, because the words are so powerful he can't really think about how much of an idiot he is, which is saying a lot. "okay." he says simply, nodding. the earnestness in that one word isn't simple, though, nor is the vulnerable look in his eyes pleading with her to believe it. something about her makes him brave. "then listen to me now. you don't.. you don't need to be scared of me. i... i can be an asshole. i can be a hotheaded dick. i fuck up. i don't think shit through. but i'm not a liar, and i'm not.. i'm not gonna just turn on you one day and say get out. i'm not gonna blow up at you for eating. you don't gotta tiptoe or earn your keep or whatever stupid shit. just.. do what you gotta do. if you need something or you don't like something.. you can tell me."

he picks up the plate he's made for her and starts to hand it over, but there's a look in her eye that stops him. has waiting him for something he can tell she wants to say. he doesn't have a clue for what it could be, but he certainly doesn't expect it to be about alicia. it has him at a loss for a moment, and he sits down the plate for her as he thinks about it. "i should've put it together," he says softly. "as soon as i heard that damn sound come on. maybe even before that." he shakes it off, eyes refocusing. "i knew it was stupid. you can't just overcome mind control like that. but... i dunno. had to at least try i guess."

[lingeringscars]

the leather jacket looks good on him. Most things do, unfortunately. She didn't really notice that in division, and she struggles to recall what his typical attire consisted of: probably sweats and multiple layers to cover up his skin. She can tell that he is at home here because he has a thousand different outfits but isn't as concerned with layer after layer after layer. it's like he isn't hiding anymore. back to the jacket -- it feels nice under her fingers. she remembers the chain he was wearing the day he rescued them, if you can call it rescue that is. he's leaning into different styles like punk rocker and golf player. she finds that she likes them all.

none of it matters, though. she can't stop wondering if he is trying to find what works for him without the threat of division still. she wonders if she should tell him that all of them do.

no.

she doesn't know what to say to him ever. "what did you think was going to happen?" she can answer that question because she watches nikita take from him anyway. he said no earlier and she turned around and said it was happening anyway. she can get away with going through his fridge. she can't because she isn't nikita. she'll never be nikita. the thought upsets her because she does look up to her. these past few weeks since they left division have been hell, but nikita made sure she felt welcome and that she could get some of her own things with their limited supply of cash. birkhoff seems to have all the money in the world, and he's more interested in keeping it for himself than helping anyone else.

the thought alone would make her scowl if she wasn't so confused by his reaction. "what would you have done?" it doesn't matter anyway. she isn't entitled to his stuff, and even if she thinks he's a selfish dick, it's still his to control or keep or give away. it isn't selfish to want your home to be respected, but he doesn't have to be such an asshole about it. distantly, she thinks that nikita, michael, and owen could all be less assholes about disrespecting that, too.

she doesn't question his hand on hers, but she does notice that it feels warmer. she's distracted again by the urgency in his voice, like she must have missed something. it's not like she has a birkhoff handbook or anything, but she thinks she's better at reading people than this. god, why is he so confusing? it's like he can't make up his mind on who he wants to be today and if he wants to talk to her at all. he was so affected by her not eating, and what had he wanted to talk about again? she should follow up.

instead, she twists her hand around to lace his, silently agreeing to wherever he wants to take her. she's decided to trust him; she hopes she won't regret it. she doesn't know what she thought he was going to show her or where she thought they were going, but she feels like an idiot when he stops in the kitchen. she does take a seat, even if a part of her wants to hop atop the counter. she feels hazy as she responds with the drink, staring at it for longer than necessary. it's refreshing when she finally does take a sip, and when he pulls out more taco stuff, she teases that he should know that margarita is the only correct answer to what to drink. she awkwardly taps the glass after for "you wanted a snack?" it doesn't feel urgent enough to her, but what does she know?

[thisgentle]

as hard as alicia had hit him, it feels like her question packs a harder punch. there's a dull throb still reminding him of everything that went down, not to mention a gash he should probably do a better job of cleaning up later, but it's harper making him feel unsteady on his feet now. what did he think was going to happen?

well, he didn't. think. somehow that feels even more pathetic, but he didn't risk almost certain death defying percy to keep walking around like he's still under a life-or-death gag order. for better or worse, the truth is no longer an elusive thing he tells himself is for people who have had the luxury of never knowing division. the truth is his now, and he'll never take that for granted again. he's reminded of that when he's with harper, who he remembers having to guard himself around, lest he let something slip.

over the years, he never let anyone close enough (no one ever wanted to come close enough) for him to worry much about it. he wishes he could say that in a way that would make sense to her; he wishes he could make sense of it himself. the birkhoff harper had revealed before either of them knew it—the parts of him harper touched that had hardened in over a decade of life at division, the parts of him harper touched that he hadn't seen in so long he'd forgotten they were there by the time she came around.

it takes a special kind of person to make you remember you're not a liar.

"i didn't." he answers quietly. at least not in the way she's thinking. maybe a part of him had wanted to remind nikita and michael that he isn't an extra in their movie they can use and abuse as per the demands of The Greater Good™. and maybe another part had just hoped that if he didn't let them forget he had value, they wouldn't run off and leave him behind. again. no part of him had thought about how the words might sit with harper or bellamy, for whom they had not really been intended at all. "i'm sorry." he says again, knowing it's lame, but having nothing else. he can't really say anything to the other part, either, because he doesn't know. he wants to think he'd a) shut the fuck up, b) do something about it, but he hasn't gotten acquainted enough with this version of himself to feel like he can say for certain. and he won't lie.

the sensation of her fingers sliding through his is steadying somehow, and by the time they're in the kitchen, he's feeling a little less off kilter. the teasing helps some of the anxiety settle even more so; this he can do. he gives a little laugh, more genuine and less nervous than before, and shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of another chair. "that's what i'm talking about." and he'll make good on it, too. some of the ease fades a little at her question, but more into confusion than anything else. "huh? you're still hungry. i'm making you more."

he gets back to work, and something about falling into the rhythm of that is good for him, slows down his mind and quells the nervousness enough to make everything more clear. "the things i said... they weren't directed at you. they.. were over the top, clearly." clearing his throat a little. "but i wasn't.. that was for mikey and nikki. well, mostly nikki. i didn't want... well, mostly i was just being a dick."

because, well, hasn't he wanted her to do everything she's been doing? okay, not the stealing his jet part, or the spending all his money part, but the... living here part. the kind of comfort and ease you can only really have when you live somewhere; the kind he knows they've all gone years and years without. "nikki's a better boss than percy. the hours, the benefits, it's all just all around better. but i... i just got my first taste of freedom in over a decade, and nik... she can't even help it. it's all for the good of humanity and saving the world and all that. and i'm... i'm in. it needs to happen. but taking a second to act like our biggest problem is who finishes off the last of the cereal and doesn't put it on the list... it was kinda nice."

and well, it does really bug him, because how hard is it to put it on the list so he can get more? he makes the lists, he does the shopping, he buys the food and brings it home, how hard is it to let a guy know you drank the last of the coffee mate?

pretty hard if they're all scared of you, a voice inside him says. he pauses and looks at her. "i'm sorry," he says again, sincere. "i was never gonna kick anyone out. i didn't.... i didn't realize you thought that. i... i get frustrated, or annoyed, or whatever, and i say things. i'd say mikey and nikki are used to it, but that'd also require them to have been listening half the time and not the slowest slow burn in the most dramatic, drawn-out cw show ever. i'm not really used to people listening. i don't... i don't have any problems with you. i mean.. you're welcome here. you don't.. you don't gotta worry about that. eat. sleep. breathe. shower. watch tv, whatever. live here. this is your place too. grumpy roommates are just a part of the package. and i'll try to be.... less grumpy."

[lingeringscars]

she doesn't know what to make of him, what version of him is the real birkhoff. she knows people are complicated, but the versions she gets are so different from each other. maybe that is just tradeoff of division; you put on so many faces that eventually you forget which one is your own. she wasn't there long enough to recognize that in herself; she wasn't there long enough to justify any of this. she thought she knew alex, but she was wrong on all accounts. she thought she knew him, but maybe she is wrong about that, too.

was he okay with nikita shooting alex? was he okay with her biting her nails down so far the sides are tinged with red? was he the jackass who makes shit up to feel important or the person who pumps himself up because no one else does? was he actually as impressive as he seems, or does he fail to look any deeper? was the speech he gave alicia real? the laughter that permeated from his computer area? was he the guy who blew up buildings or watched stupid cat videos for fun? was he the guy who made crude jokes and the one who seems hurt by her calling him on them? the person who held onto screams in division or the one that caused them in her own friends?

who was seymour birkhoff, really?

guess she'll never know.

she doesn't stop to think.

her hand brushes against his arm, concern washing over her features. "hey, what just happened? what's wrong with you?" his voice is shaking, but that wasn't the clue. something in his posture, his stance, the way he is carrying himself makes her question. something happened and he's not happy... or okay?

"i'm not hungry." of course her stomach chooses then to betray her again, and all she can do is cover it with her arm. "shush." she mumbles toward it, cheeks turning red when she remembers birkhoff is still in the room and just witnessed that humiliating display.

she tilts her face back up at him, not bothering to hide anymore how worn down she feels. "you got to the end of the week." she quotes back at him. "there is no we." she can feel her eyes welling up, but she refuses for that to happen so she blinks them away just as fast. "you and your super friends crew has gots to go." she looks at the plate of food. "those are mine." she looks back to him as if to say does that ring a bell. those words ring louder than him begging her to eat.

but then the hunger takes over, and even if she can't piece together why he would be begging, she complies. what's the worst that will happen? he knocks the plate from her hand? she can probably shove...two tacos down before then anyway. so scarf she does, until she burps because it's too much, too fast, too soon. "sorry." her cheeks burn again, and she looks around for something to drink even though the hunger hasn't disappeared yet. "i like tacos." she feels stupid addressing that now. "a lot. i can eat like... ten in one sitting usually. or... before. i guess." before division. "there's nothing wrong with them-- actually these are really good did you..." she shakes her head because she doesn't need the recipe. "you've made it very clear that everything here belongs to you and is yours and we aren't even guests because we're not welcome. or... i'm not."

[thisgentle]

he's wearing a leather jacket, but he feels the brush of her fingers like there's nothing there at all, much less a thick, solid leather wrapped around him like armor. it's not cold, but the stiffness of the fabric made him feel a little more secure somehow, a little less bare and exposed. not that it stopped michael from reading him like a book, but strangely that didn't bother him so much. not even he did the whole so, you're not kicking us out? bit, when birkhoff knows michael knows he couldn't have forced them out if he wanted to.

even with the house, cash, and guns, he was never not at their mercy, and nikita might have the decency (sometimes) not to gloat about that, but that doesn't make it less true.

yet, there's a warmth and friendliness to his teasing and the gentle squeeze of birkhoff's shoulder that feels a little like home. damn it—what's that word? hiraeth. a welsh word that, if he remembers correctly, translates to something like a longing or homesickness for something you can't go back to, or that never existed at all. they didn't have this in division—him and michael, him and nikita, either. but sometimes mikey would leave out a fond, mild kind of exasperation that he could heat up and eat for dinner later, and nikki would open up her wolf's mouth to nip at and tease him, but he wouldn't feel any teeth. and that was different from this, and different from home, but encased in stone walls that have never seen sunlight, it felt close.

he's missed them. he's missed having friends. he's missed having a family. he's missed something he's never had at all. but sometimes this feels close.

but harper's hand on his arm, the concern washing over her... it's such a concentrated form of care that it doesn't even feel like something he needs to romanticize or soften. it does, however, feel like something he knows, in a painfully certain kind of way, that he does not deserve. just like he didn't deserve her checking in on him, or the interest in his love of shadow walker he can't help but see as genuine even though it scares him. his throat feels tight. he doesn't know how to tell her the truth, but he's made the mistake of trying to play things off one too many times. he can't upset her again. he can't live in this cycle, mustering up the courage to take a small step here or there, then retreating back into his cave. it's pathetic, and he kind of hates that more than he hates himself. "i.. didn't.." he swallows. "i didn't know. that you weren't eating.. because of me. i would've.. i'm sorry."

the more she tries to play it off, the more he feels like shit, and he knows the context of it all is different, but he's really gotta stop doing that. some time later he'll think about how pretty she looks with her cheeks all warm and rosy, but for now it's just a reminder that he's the guy in division now doing the degrading and humiliating. and the little glimpse of tears he sees in her eyes packs thrice the punch. he opens his mouth to reply, but there's a knot in his throat that gets in the way, and to his relief she starts to eat the tacos. which he very stupidly provided without anything to drink, even water. moron.

maybe they live in this space, this space of acting without thinking, because he's touching her hand, now. "come on. come with me. i—i wanna talk about it, but come with me first. please?" harper allowing, he leads her into the kitchen and gestures for her to take a seat. opens the fridge and lists a couple drink options for her to pick from before he pours her a drink and starts pulling out the taco stuff and starting to lay it all out on the counter.

[lingeringscars]

she can feel her brows furrowing at his intensity, pinching together it what she is sure is a very attractive pensive look. alicia wouldn't do that, she thinks to herself. her face would be perfectly poised, much like the rest of her was. get a grip. she just doesn't get him, and what does it matter that she doesn't?

and fuck, she's so hungry. she doesn't have time to analyze his every facial feature (or think about how she kinda misses the glasses) right now. so what, he wore the shirt she picked out for him, and so what that he can't seem to figure out what he wants. so what?

unfortunately for her, so what a lot. she can't explain why she wants him to like her so much. watching the ease in which he fell into it with alicia did make her jealous, and she knows that she doesn't stand a chance against nikita, michael, or bellamy. she likes talking to him, though, and she doesn't want it to stop, but she can't seem to figure out how to keep the conversation going without one or both of them getting annoyed.

she really doesn't like him being annoyed with her. (he's annoyed by everyone).

so she doesn't talk and opts for a nod when he asks about the food. she wants to say: yes, you idiot, you've made it very clear that the food is yours, the house is yours, even the air we breathe is probably yours. the bed she's sitting on right now is his, and so is the plate beside her that she is trying desperately to avoid looking at for fear her hands would move without permission. it smells so good. she wouldn't have pegged him as a good chef.

focus.

her eyebrows tug together even more when he pauses the conversation to probe deeper. she isn't sure how she wants to respond, but she never really thought through her words before speaking before. "i already told you. look, if you're gonna kick me out can you just get it over with?" she blurts out. "if i don't have until the end of the week, fine, but can you just... do it already." her voice loses steam at the end, and her stomach makes an embarrassingly loud growl. both of which would have her cringing if she didn't have just enough self-control to jut out her chin in defiance. he can kick her out, but she doesn't need to look as miserable as she feels about it. she can act aloof; it doesn't bother her. (or so she'll keep repeating to herself until she's out the door.)

[thisgentle]

he does recognize, and not even in that distant of a place, that he doesn't have a right to be hurt by the sharp way she's looking at him, or the even sharper words. that aren't, underneath the thin veil of his self-loathing, biting so much as begging, which feels like a blow twice as hard. he put on an act in division, a good one, and god knows he has a temper, but the truth of it is he's never had a streak of mean in him mean enough to want someone to beg him for... well, anything.

even the pretense of begging during sex has made his stomach twist before, uncomfortably reminded him of being seventeen and begging for the touching to start, eighteen and begging for the touching to stop, nineteen and begging for it all to be over, the sex, the lights, the drugs, everything. always someone standing at a distance holding something he wants, craves, needs to feel loved, cared for, real, whole, alive, worth giving the time of day, worth bringing home at night. always someone laughing as his mouth fills up with saliva, sweat, blood, regret, fear, the powdery remnants of something he should've known better to take.

he wouldn't wish that on anybody. not even percy. or wade. or amanda. or his dad. not even owen, standing in the next room eating his favorite chips after talking about dissolving him in acid and calling him small (see: temper).

he certainly doesn't want it for harper. strange, funny, kind harper, who he's talking and laughing with one minute and feels painfully disconnected from the next. strange, funny, kind harper who he doesn't get at all, yet feels like he recognizes in his bones.

harper, who cares enough about fitting in to laugh at him and make jokes at his expense, but is brave and kind enough to stand up to his guard detail made up of seasoned division agents years her senior given orders directly from percy just to make his life the smallest bit easier, or maybe just less violent. he doesn't hold the first part against her. he doesn't imagine he has any room to, and he reasons it'd be a little like a chameleon calling a crab spider fashionably spineless.

harper, who is sitting here fucking starving, but won't take a bite because... what. it's not like nikita in the early days, refusing to eat to prove a point about how she doesn't and won't need division and won't submit no matter how many times she ends up back in her room bloody and bruised. it's not how he was, either, so sleep deprived his hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough to take a bite, and he was kind of fantasizing about his body getting so weak he'd drift off into a deep sleep and never wake up anyway, so he didn't try that hard. it's him. she won't eat... because of him.

he'd be sick, but his metal-filled stomach feels too cold and heavy to even lurch.

"i'm not kicking you out. i'm not kicking anyone out. i'm not.. that's not..." he would cry, but a part of him kind of forgot how to do that. when was the last time he did that? he can't really remember it, but there's a pressure between his shoulder blades that gives him the faintest image of michael's back to him, mercifully blocking out wade's ugly, angry sneer. did he pass out after that? anyway. "you're not going anywhere. you can eat. p-please. just.. eat. i'll get you something else if you want. i just want you to eat something."

[lingeringscars]

It pains her to say that she thinks she might be the problem. Nikita and michael, even bellamy, seem to be settling in just fine. She's the only one with frayed nerves jumping at every sound that goes bump in the night (and, in their nights, it could mean death. But that's not why. No, she's just waiting to be kicked out on her ass. Again.). Things are different for them, though. As little as he cares to admit it, birkhoff loves them. She's just the stupid recruit.

Except she's not a recruit. She's not a division agent. She's not even harper mcintyre anymore. Who is she?

Someone who is taking up too much space. That's what.

Even Alicia found her way into Birkhoff's heart after less than a day. Something about computers and processing speed and gamer for life attitudes stuck with him, but when she tried to ask about shadow walker all she got was another grumpy response. She's going to be kicked out anyway, so why does she keep trying to connect to him? It isn't gonna save her. It isn't even working. (And why does that frustrate her so much? She doesn't even like him.)

But he liked alicia. And now she's gone. Alicia got pizza. And she's still pretending like she isn't starving.

The plate confuses her almost as much as his stature. She wants to take it, shove it down her throat, and she's sure her stomach will betray her when she shrugs as if to act like she wasn't really hungry. But when he keeps going, she's left with more questions than she knows what to do with. He noticed that? Why does he care? He talked to nikita about her? Why did he change things up? What's going on?

She stares at the food and tempers all her impulses to shove it down her throat right this second. And she manages it. Barely. She's still waiting for him to tell her she's being kicked out, especially since he's still standing there. She doesn't have the heart to lie about not being hungry, so she opts for the truth "it's yours." Here it comes: the moment where he kicks her out. It's not like she had anything to unpack, but if she did, she would not have. She looks down, pulling her legs up to hold them, trying very hard to ignore the plate of food beside her. "Yeah, um. Sure. What about?"

[thisgentle]

sometimes it really does come down to this—what he can see with his own two eyes and knows is true and what gets caught on the way down because he thinks too little of himself to metabolize it properly. he can practically feel the anxiousness, nervousness, at times downright fear... and he's so used to being the butt of the joke that it's hard to imagine he's the cause of it.

(perhaps more importantly, it's hard to stomach that he's the cause of it. if he did that... well, he wouldn't be eating anything either.)

something is hardwired in him to respond to her, though—he doesn't know how it got there, what wiring is wrong (or maybe just right), but he can't see her down and drifting and not... try. pathetic and lame as he might be, as fearful as he is of her deciding he's a creep, to feel all the buzzing inside of her and not try to offer up something steady... that's like a lead weight to the gut, too.

and so here he is, trying to do something stupid like give her safe harbor when his first act in this life was getting swallowed up by the tide.

"the... food?" he asks with soft, furrowed brows. there's a part of him that's nervous enough to want to blurt it all out and get it over with, that's dying a little inside prolonging whatever eye roll, laugh, joke, or cold shoulder that is sure to follow, but then he looks at her, and he sees her. really sees her— not what he fears she'll look like when he sits the messy, pathetic slop of words at her feet, or the little fear he has that she won't even give him that, and he'll just see the curve of her shoulder as she walks away. her. he sees her all small, legs curled up underneath her, eyes sharply to the side like it takes everything she has to resist the magnetic pull of the plate beside her.

his heart just breaks inside him seeing her like that, no force, no silence required. "about...well, wait. that can hold on a minute. i wanna talk about the food. why.. why aren't you eating?" and he looks at her, and he waits.

he looks at her, not the eating disorder file he has somewhere in the archives that makes him think before talking to people about food, not the jackass program that boots up on start that makes him use words like mine, mine, mine, as if he hasn't eaten his fill enough times to be over the times he's gone without. not even the little part of him that wondered if it was hard for her to eat not-division food like it was for him at first. her. he looks at her.

[thisgentle]

TIFFANY???? ON MY DASH????

🫣🫣

[thisgentle]

TIFFANY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HIHIHIHIHHIHIHI!!!!!!!!!

[thisgentle]

he doesn't like being like this, for the record; he hates himself a little for the way his already sour mood turns sourer as he gets overcome with a wave of self-pity nearly as strong as his ever-prevalent self-annoyance.

he's lost and worn down enough every once in awhile to convince himself all the pain, persecution, and loss of dignity can be ground down to gunpowder, or at the very least some kind of a filler for a pillow to lay his head on at night. however, in a cosmically—and at times comically—awful turn of events, all the life experience that boils down to a scrawny stray dog getting kicked over and over has not just given him reasons to curse the universe—it's also made him marginally self-aware, and occasionally even a little wise.

self-aware enough to know he's done fuck all to cope with his own misery but mope, and that milking his sorrows does about as much good for him as it does everyone else. yet not self-aware enough to do anything about it, such is his tortured existence.

—though maybe this is a start?

try and pull your head out of your ass for five seconds, and you want a special commendation. jackass.

"hey," he says softly, giving a gentle little rap of fingers to @lingeringscars' door so as not to startle her. "i uh, i brought you dinner. i noticed you didn't really eat the other night and i asked nikki about it and she said she's seen you eat tacos before so she didn't think you didn't like them so i thought maybe it was the type of shell or toppings or something so i tried something different. but if you don't like it, that's cool. i can do something else. i just figure.. you gotta be hungry, so. just um... let me know." he sits it there next to her, and then feels mildly overwhelmed by the emptiness in his hands which causes him to start to fidget and run his hands in his hair. "so um. can i.. can i talk to you about earlier?"

[fadeintoyou1993]

HANNA MARIN PRETTY LITTLE LIARS | 1.05

[weltenwellen]

Rachel Gillig, The Knight and the Moth

[pollen]

Mary Oliver, from "Starlings in Winter"

[thisgentle]

this isn’t who you are. / BELLAMY CALEB

but it is him. bellamy didn't know that when he coaxed him into his car off the side of the road and brought him home that first time, and if caleb's honest with himself, he didn't know either. he didn't try and trick @lingeringscars into thinking he's someone he's not; caleb didn't know he was carrying this inside of him.

but now that this darkness has taken root, it feels as much a part of him as his own skin.

it's in the teeth that took a bite out of tasha because she's faced down so many monsters she doesn't blink when she looks at him, and he can't stand dragging this out any longer. it's in the jaw that wants to bite down on bellamy, too, but suddenly doesn't have the strength.

"yeah, it is." it's supposed to sound angry, defiant, but the crack in his voice gives him away. "it is me. it's me." his breaks more and more each time, and he can't stop the tears from falling, or the sob that's building in his chest. the air he can't seem to get enough of in his lungs. "this is who i am."

[thisgentle]

you ever just at work thinking about vampires

[thisgentle]

@lingeringscars, continued from here.

kinda tired of losing you, you know? might want to work on that. clarke gives him a small, barely-there smile at that. "i will," she promises, her voice still a little rough and gravelly, but with a warmth to it, too. she understands the feeling.

and she doesn't want to be lost anymore, either.

she has enough time to see him coming, slowly leaning in to press his lips against hers, but everything feels like it is moving both sluggishly and at warp speed as of late; moreover, clarke never dreamed bellamy would ever kiss her again, not even if they somehow lived another 100 years. so when he kisses her, it still feels like a complete and total surprise, even as she unconsciously finds herself leaning into him. her hands cover his on her face, not to push him away but instead to reinforce the touch, soon sliding down to wrap around his forearms. she grounds herself in the sensation of the hair on his arms beneath her fingertips, and then the scar on the inside of his arm she never worked up the courage to ask him about.

it hurt her, this scar of bellamy's that she wasn't responsible for. almost as much as the ones she knows are etched in his heart in the shape of her name. she'd kissed it before, back in their room in arkadia, but it had felt intrusive to ask.

they had all collected scars in their time on the ground, and as much as she'd allowed herself to hope that sanctum would be different, they hadn't made it a day before the moon had drawn blood. yet, bellamy's scars felt different. maybe because she could still faintly see the half moons on his cheeks courtesy of octavia (unconfirmed. she hadn't asked about those, either. she didn't have a right to.) maybe because a part of herself had been on guard against the intimacy that is swapping stories about scars.

maybe knowing and being known in that way is akin to the sacrifice she had mistaken for a betrayal after her father was floated; the wounds charlotte had inflicted on wells that had never had the chance to scar over (the hurt clarke had doled out had never had the chance to heal, either). maybe that intimacy was the pod raven had come down in after clarke had bared herself with finn, and later the blow of raven's fist to her cheek after she had put a knife in finn's heart. maybe it was succumbing to a mixture of her own self-loathing and desperate need to be touched by a knowing hand with lexa, shortly followed by the bullet in lexa's abdomen.

but had that guardedness ever truly protected her? or had it just left her feeling more alone?

she thinks about that clearing in the woods where she killed finn, where josephine had shown her that memory of bellamy making that deal for peace. she can still remember the sensation of the grass beneath her knees, and the cold, unrelenting chill of giving up.

she never, ever wants to feel that alone again. it makes her deepen the kiss a little, without any regard to whether her body's ready for it or not. she wants what he's promising; she wants to be here with him. right now, she doesn't think she ever wants to be anywhere else. she wants the warmth of him pressed against her, and she wants those horrible images to go away. she doesn't want to think about the woods or the room of skeletons, anything except this.

but her body has other ideas, and the kiss is far shorter than she wants it to be, even though that's probably for the best. her lungs have to work harder than they should to recover, and as much as she cherishes the closeness, she's anchoring herself to him to defend against the physical sensation of dizziness as much as she is to ground herself in the present. the room is spinning a little, and it takes longer than it probably should for him to come in to focus again. she blinks a few times, eyelids slightly resentful at how long it takes to see him clearly again. she really wants to see him clearly.

"i'm okay," clarke offers before he gets a chance, dismayed by the worry lines forming on his forehead as he looks at her, even knowing she probably very much looks how she feels, and he probably isn't wrong to be concerned about that. "just a little lightheaded." she rubs his arm, the movement so natural she doesn't even realize she's doing it. lightly teases a moment later, "some people would take that as a compliment." then softer, "i'm safe."

i'm safe. i'm safe, i'm safe, i'm safe. and here with bellamy, she is. she knows that she is. but bellamy's lips, until now, weren't the most recent memory her body had of being kissed, and on some level, she's still recovering from that. she still panics in that space between sleeping and waking, recalling the sensation of being paralyzed, only being able to register touch from the vaguest shifts in temperature. "that... was really nice." she wants to go back to it. as much as she wants to clarify what this is, what bellamy means, there's an annoyingly logical, pragmatic part of clarke that thinks she should say this first. "the last.. the last person that kissed me was cillian. after the party, he brought me back to his room. he needed to get me alone so that he could inject me with the paralytic. but.. not before we had sex. apparently that could wait until after." it's delivered with a very clarke air of calmness, level and matter-of-fact even as she describes a violation that makes her insides twist. aside from the slightest bitterness that edges its way into the last comment, there's no break in her composure.

"i know, that isn't...you don't have to say anything." she isn't so unaccustomed to being around people that she doesn't realize bringing up sex with another person is a peculiar course of action after a kiss, especially one that feels like a revelation of feelings long-buried. but what happened between her and cillian carries a kind of visceral betrayal and violation clarke doesn't want to associate with sex, and maybe after all of this time, clarke is finally ready to share her scars. before she really realizes what is happening, clarke covers his heart with her hand. softly, "i just... i wanted you to know."

for all of those logical reasons bellamy needs to know this if they're going to keep kissing, because clarke really wants to keep kissing him. but mostly for that other reason, the one that makes clarke feel safe for the first time since that needle broke her skin. clarke trusts him. "bellamy, i..." it doesn't feel like there are words for all of the things she needs to say to him, but she isn't the girl she was over a century ago who stopped him from telling her what he wanted her to know if he never saw her again before she'd left for becca's island. they've come dangerously close to losing each other forever far too many times. she wants to hear those words, and she wants to say them.