If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me [Reida, Alastair]

"It ain't about whether or not I care. I care so much it tears me up every day and every night. Every time I wake up ta silence instead'a the sound've my little girl askin' for breakfast, every night I lay down and there ain't the man I'm still hopin' to see layin' there with me. But if I stop, if I let myself think about it, if I don't keep walkin forward and just force myself to do somethin' else-"

Biting her lip to keep from speaking anymore, the angry words simply leaving her lips before she could even think about them, Reida took Alastair's outstretched hand and forced herself to move. To do anything but stand here and remember, think about what had been taken from her. But it was far too late for that now. Even if she refused to make a sound, tears were already falling. Those lost days kept replaying themslves in her mind whether she wanted them to or not, and she wasn't strong enough to force them to go away.

"Lookit me, Alastair. You wanna be like me? So fuckin' far from dealin' with your pain that ya don't even know how anymore? I don't want my heart to beat ever again. I don't wanna think about what they'd see if I had to face 'em now. What they'd think of what their mama turned into."

Her grip on his hand tightened, and even through her outburst, which at this point she could hardly contain, there was an intensity to her gaze as her eye met his gaze. Reida was certainly in pain beyond description, but she would do anything in her power to keep anyone else on Earth from feeling like this.

"Movin' on ain't bad at all. It's a whole lot better'n this. Movin' on's just another goodbye. When ya turn out like this, the worst thought's another hello."

Turning her hand over in his own as she grasped it, he took a moment to inspect it for anything resembling an actual cut or scrape. He was hardly a doctor but basic training had taught him more than enough to handle something as minor as that. Satisfied, he slowly pulled her closer as she continued to leak out her feelings like a sieve. Edging her forwards little by little.

His previous statements had been pulled apart with relative ease, but it did not detract from the feelings he had been picking at.

"I do not want to have to suffer what you have suffered, but life is not so simple that we can guarantee that for ourselves. It could happen to me just as it did to you, something terrible could come along and take everything before I even know it. No one is free from that burden, I think, but we have to find a corner to turn. A way that we can keep going in the aftermath without destroying ourselves in the process."

As she shifted closer, the grip upon his hand now as intense as the look that they shared, his other free hand moved to rest on her shoulder opposite. It had been subtle at first, the fire that burned within him creeping up, until now as his once dull eyes began to shine with sudden warmth. He could see her resistance, that desire to help so selflessly and yet it only infused in him the desire to do what he could to help her in turn.

"Call me a fucking fool if you want, but I do not think anyone deserves to end up stuck like that, unable to move forward. Especially not you. Maybe it is not too late. That distant horizon does not have to be forever out of reach. So keep talking about it, cry until it hurts, punch things, but do not think that this has to be your end."

"Ya know why I joined the Vandenreich? To make sure nobody else ever went through this. So I could keep people from losin' what I lost, so they didn't have to be like me. Ain't that a joke? Thinkin I could do that when I can't even keep myself in line? But here I am anyway, because if I'm not doin' somethin-"

It was no exaggeration to say that Reida, really, genuinely hated this moment. Not because Alastair was here, but because she was asking this much of him just by speaking. Everything she said was another weight on his shoulders, every word another burden that was supposed to stay on her own damn shoulders. All she'd wanted to do was help him out. She never wanted all this.

"I ain't gonna call ya a fool for that. Nobody deserves it. But you're mighty optimistic. More'n I've got in me anymore. What'm I supposed to do, huh? Keep ya up all night, tell ya every little thing that keeps me from sleepin' at night, everything that hurts from the bottom of my soul? You wanna hear all that just 'cause I might still end up smilin' for real again?"

Reida looked as though there had been more she was ready to say. Some sort of accusatory barb calling Alastair stupid or naive. But, frankly, there was some deepseated need for an answer to that question, so much so that she couldn't bring herself to speak even as her mouth opened to continue. She wanted to know what his answer would be, in spite of herself. She hated it.

She hated it a lot.

"Then we both came here to protect people, and we failed. Not all the time, not every time, but we did. And whilst others define us by our successes, we define ourselves by our failures. It might not be healthy, but perhaps it will keep me sane."

Alastair could sense her hurting, it was so overwhelming that it practically washed over him like a wave, but if he buckled now then it had been pointless coming this far. Her problems were just a source of fuel for his own motivation, that optimistic drive that wanted to help her even when he was hurting himself. She had been the one to go out of her way to help him first, and he supposed she had done so, so how could he even consider leaving her like this now?

"If all it took was one night of listening, I would be begging for you to do it. One night against your whole life is a trade I would make in a heartbeat, and I would be sad that it took me coming along for that to happen."

He could tell there was something more that she wanted to say, a follow-up that no doubt sprung from his willingness to help, but he had more to add too. So he let the words tumble out of his mouth, a little more for her to bear in mind.

"But I think we both know that a single night of talking is a drop in the ocean, likely you do not wake up tomorrow with a clear conscience. But if there is even the slightest chance that somehow something falls into place, I say it is worth trying."

Reida wanted to tell him how wrong he was. She wanted to tell him he was wasting his time, that he ought to just go home and forget she'd said anything about all this. But she couldn't. Not when his reasons were so similar to her own. Maybe that'd been his intention.

"I don't reckon you've failed enough to be defined by it. Somethin' tells me you'd say the same thing right back ta me. But y'er right. One night'a talkin' ain't gonna fix anything for me. Can't bring myself to tell ya no, though. I ain't the kind of woman to do a good man wrong like that."

It was one thing for Reida to walk on her own even when she was far more drunk than this, but right now there was more on her mind than just the liquor. She doubted she'd be gettin' anywhere alone now, but really, was that anything new?

"Guess I oughta."

Reida had nothing more to say, at least not outside, when she was already having trouble standing. Anything else would come later, when it was just the two of them and she didn't need to think someone else might realize how pathetic she really was. She could only hold Alastair's hand a little tighter, putting much more of her weight onto him as she leaned toward him. She may as well let him help.

There was a defiance in her eyes that told the story of the woman she wanted to be, someone tough enough that they did not need to feel or show vulnerability, but both of them already knew the truth. That was a simple lie, an easy one, and, though it might comfort those who merely passed her by, there was still a genuine person under there. He did not smile at the thought, for they were well past that, but his hand was warm against her own even despite the midnight breeze.

"Someone has to try. Maybe it is because I reckon you would do the same for me, were our roles reversed. Maybe it is because I am too naive for my own good. Tell yourself whatever you need to, but let us get inside."

The explosion of emotion finally subsiding, Alastair turned and began to lead the way once more. He felt her weight against his shoulder, knowing that it was more than an intoxicated stupor that pushed her off balance, and simply held her tighter. It was fortunate that they had never been too far away from his residence, and the streets were quieter than they had any business being. But perhaps that was because it had already been established that, in some twisted way, they were both lucky people.

That last leg of the journey was uneventful, beyond the pair swaying across the sidewalk from time to time and sharing in a bitter laugh at the aftermath. Eventually, they found themselves at the base of Alastair's block of flats. He keyed in a code and, at the sound of a buzzer, they were finally inside. The stairs were not an option, so the elevator was the only practical choice as they ascended high within the building. Not quite to the penthouse, but high enough up that they would have far more peace and quiet than even when they had watched the stars from below.

Keys turned in a lock, a process made somewhat more challenging by having Reida clinging to one arm but an opinion he had no intention of voicing, and then they were truly inside. He guided her down a short corridor, the door at the end left open, before she found herself in a spacious living area. There was a dining table to sit at, a breakfast bar to lean against, or a couch to collapse into. The choice was probably hers.

It was certainly for the best that the two of them walked in silence, because Reida certainly didn't want to say anything else out here. Only when they arrived in his apartment, and she collapsed onto the couch with a faint grimace, did she feel at all willing to say even a word. She grimaced to herself just a touch, not at the apartment, but just at knowing she couldn't dodge the situation anymore.

"For the record, I don't think you're naive. Optimistic, but I used to be that way too. Nothin' wrong with it. Nice place, by the way. Keep it in good shape."

Of course, anyone's home was in good shape compared to her own. That was just inevitable, really, when all she did there was plan and drink. Nothing but scraps and empty liquor bottles.

"Where ya wanna start, then? Just gonna ask me questions? 'Cause I got so much in mind that I don't even know where I'd start."

Having deposited Reida on the sofa, Alastair left her to sprawl out and headed over to the kitchen area. Pausing by the breakfast bar, he unfastened his tie and discarded it upon the surface. Reaching the drinks cabinet that rested against the far wall, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses. It was the only one he had before they would have to get more creative as far as the liquor went but, frankly, he did not know if she would be in the mood for much drinking after what she had already been through.

"Tends to be that if I can keep this place in order then it is one less thing for me to focus on, so I keep things simple. Allows me to focus my optimism on the things that matter."

Returning now to her side, and slumping down on the sofa in a comparatively controlled descent, he poured himself a glass and indicated to Reida to see if she was remotely interested in another one.

Alastair did not particularly know where to start either, he was hardly an expert on this despite the insistence he had placed upon doing it.

"I guess the beginning is cliché, but it also might be the best place if we are really doing it? Where everything started to go south for you, Reida. Be as specific as you want, or vent it all out if you want to, just know that I am here to listen."

"Lookit you, thinkin' things through like that. Bet you've got all the ladies around these parts wrapped around your finger, actin' like that."

Naturally, Reida accepted another drink, always willing to drown her sorrows a little deeper. Besides, for once she wasn't drinking alone.

"Guess it depends on how south we're talkin'. Lost my eye 'bout ten years ago now. Ya ever see the news reports about when Shadow Fall took over America? Dunno how much it ever got out, but it wasn't peaceful everywhere. Down south we fought 'em tooth n' nail, but we were just normal folks. Couldn't fight all that. Lost friends. Lost kin. Losin' the eye don't seem like all that much, really."

This was already more than Reida tended to tell people about the matter, or rather, more than she tended to relate to it beyond telling it like some sort of glorified war story. The only other person who had heard this side of things was that secretary with the cat ears who'd hired her. Nice to finally have someone else to talk to, but as she paused to try and move to the next bit of the tale, it was obvious that it was quite a bit harder for her. Looking to the whiskey in her hand, she sipped it almost absently, her gaze dulling as she tried to just...remember.

"Met my husband durin' all that. Me n' JP just hit it off somethin' fierce, I guess. He was there when we gave up, realized we weren't gonna win. For all the evil them demons did, life under 'em wasn't nothin' to complain about. Nice n' peaceful, for the most part. Settled down, had some little ones to brighten things up."

It was strange, really, how easily all this simply came out. Maybe it was just easier to talk about than Reida had anticipated. Or, she reasoned, she just wasn't really opening up much at all. Just saying what happened wasn't the same as sharing it.

"Them kids...they were all sweet as could be. Had Jameson first, and that little boy's smile was a mile wide even as soon as he saw the world. Bright head'a hair just like his daddy. He always...he always wanted to be just like 'im..."

Even as she instinctively finished off the liquor she had with her, Reida certainly couldn't stop herself from choking up, from clenching her fist and doing everything in her power to keep her breathing even. To keep from weeping until, if nothing else, she'd finished tellin' this story.

"Him n' his brother-"

It didn't work.

She tried to continue, tried to keep speaking, but it simply sputtered out into something that could hardly be called speech at all, her composure falling apart with every moment that passed. It was not restrained, or collected, or anything else that she always strove to be about these things. All Reida could do was grab Alastair tightly and cry, the sort of wail that came from the very depths of one's soul.

"You would be surprised. If we are being honest, and I suppose we are, you are the first woman to come through those doors for anything but official business."

He poured her a glass almost lazily and slid it across the table. The surface was smooth enough that they could slide without leaving more than a few lines from the condensation. This was going to be tough enough for him to hear, let alone for her to speak, and she knew that too. Given she had had only a few short minutes to compose herself and now he was trying to drag everything out of her.

Then Reida opened up.

It was not a grand reveal, some sprawling tale of the great tragedies of her life, it was simply a true recollection. He did not interrupt her, she was struggling enough with the flow that it would have only been a hindrance, but he did make steady progress through that first glass of whiskey and onto the second. A response was formulating somewhere within him, the faintest of frameworks, and then suddenly she was pressing into his side.

She was still trying to speak but his body moved before his mind could process it, his chest turning to face her whilst his arms were guiding her face into his shoulder and then reaching around her back to embrace her. Gone was even the slightest of pretences that this was simply a practical action, as it might have been on the street, as one hand moved up to comfort the back of her head as he felt the tears begin to stain through his jacket. But it had taken all of a few hours for him to care enough for this woman to bring her into his apartment and try to guide her through the worst days of her life, he could not have cared less about his clothing.

"It is alright." "Just get it out of your system bit by bit." "We do not have to rush."

Short, rapid-fire sentences as his slender digits worked through locks of pecan-brown hair. A gesture that could hardly not be described as intimate but Alastair did not care about that in the heat of the moment. He was comforting a woman reliving the loss of her children, what else was he to do?