Yesterday, 09:11 PM
Jay was bleeding out, and she didn’t know how to stem the tide. Or if she even could. It was terrifying to witness a precipice she could not protect him from, and it wounded her deeply; the way he thrashed at himself, the desolation of his expression, the uncontrolled heave of his sobs. He was shaking like he had simply become unhooked from reality. But it wasn’t her own pain that mattered. She said nothing in those moments, not even when he pulled free of her hand and the loss stilled her with helplessness. He knew she was there, and the only thing she could do was wait, trying to suppress the desperation of her fears as he seemed to slip further and further away. She didn’t know what else to do.
In the park she’d seen these scars, but he’d hidden them away from her then; packaged them up in tired grins and flippancy. And she’d let him tell himself those lies, offering intimacy because she didn't know how to fix it for him, uncertain of how to even begin navigating the battlefield of his soul without breaking him – afraid of exactly this. Because Natalie knew she was the last person he’d ever want to witness it. She’d felt the same when she'd once shut him out of a casino bathroom while she fell apart herself. Some demons were too dark, too vulnerable. They revealed too much.
She didn’t know how to reach him in that place.
So when Jay finally began to speak, the words tumbling sharp and broken, she found some small shard of relief in the fractured moment. She’d never been sure he would talk to her. In fact she'd been afraid he never would – that it would always be between them. The sudden trust tore something inside her, releasing all the chains on her iron composure. She hadn’t quite realised what it meant, to love someone who couldn’t let you in for the sake of their own sanity. Or maybe she just knew it too well. Either way it stung her eyes, leaving them tired and blushed pink with suppression. She wouldn't cry, but her breathing was tight. Natalie was good at denying feeling in the moment, but this was too much. If there was ever a moment to feel the weight of her own heart in her hands, it was now.
He begged her not to lie to him, but he must have known by then that she never would. Natalie’s lips never parted the whole time he spoke. While he blamed himself for what happened she knew what he really blamed was his inability to follow orders in the first place: the black and white shield that absolved the guilt of consequence, made it obedience and not a mistake. She understood what her grandfather had meant then, about Jay being a soldier. And perhaps that was the answer he needed – the numb path, one dissolved of attachments he no longer had to maintain. Life chained to a pin and its duty: to do whatever the Custody required of him. Maybe that was what Brandon intended to forge in America all along. Or maybe it was just a weapon fortified in opportunity. Natalie didn't know. But she remembered how Jay had entrusted her with the Dominion pin. She knew what it meant to him, and she saw how he wore the uniform now.
Only ultimately she was selfish. It was never a path she could offer him – nor even bear to point out its possibility, afraid that once his eyes turned to that horizon they would never look back for her. Because she would always be the obstacle to that singular duty, even if he never accepted why. Even if he never truly saw her there. For it hardly escaped her notice that Jay's breakdown happened at a wedding.
Framed in cold shadows softened by the glow from inside, the faint thump of music a vibration around them, her heart sank deeper. She thought she finally understood something then. About him. About herself.
Natalie's own father did the same; cut her out of his life to protect her. He didn't trust her to make those decisions and take those risks for herself. In fact both her parents conspired to that end. She tried and failed to forgive, recognising the same weapon in Jay’s hands every time he distanced himself. But what she realised now was that it was only ever himself Jay cut out. He pushed away rather than be seen, and he buried it all even from himself. Alistair looked in the mirror and felt no guilt. Jay couldn't even glimpse the reflection.
Every time he’d pulled away she'd silently warned herself they did not want the same things. That the veracity of fierce feeling she’d confided in him and regretted ever since was the very thing he recoiled from.
Her chest caved in when she realised she was actually looking at a man who just did not think he deserved it.
Words couldn’t encapsulate everything she wanted to say. Everything she felt, everything she regretted, everything she feared. She leaned to press her hand to his cheek, uncertain if he’d only flinch away again as the sobs clawed out of his chest. It wasn’t a gesture of kindness, nor one that tried to soothe. She didn’t have that comfort to give. She couldn’t tell him things would be okay. She couldn't pretend he was blameless. But it was a hand that would always reach out of the dark to where he was.
“With me,” she told him. Her tone was soft and raw, but completely certain – and vulnerable in a way she had promised to protect herself against in future, knowing it was a promise she would always break for him. Even then she wasn't sure of his response; if it would actually reach the part of him she was desperate to reach, draw him back, or if he'd just use the weapon she handed him to sever himself clean. Free of that burden he wouldn't need to feel. Because her heart wasn’t in her own hands at all, but his.
She tasted salt on her lips when she spoke, but her expression was soft, the track of tears lost in the shadows. “You live it with me, Jay. One day at a time if we have to. Because I don’t want to do this without you.”
In the park she’d seen these scars, but he’d hidden them away from her then; packaged them up in tired grins and flippancy. And she’d let him tell himself those lies, offering intimacy because she didn't know how to fix it for him, uncertain of how to even begin navigating the battlefield of his soul without breaking him – afraid of exactly this. Because Natalie knew she was the last person he’d ever want to witness it. She’d felt the same when she'd once shut him out of a casino bathroom while she fell apart herself. Some demons were too dark, too vulnerable. They revealed too much.
She didn’t know how to reach him in that place.
So when Jay finally began to speak, the words tumbling sharp and broken, she found some small shard of relief in the fractured moment. She’d never been sure he would talk to her. In fact she'd been afraid he never would – that it would always be between them. The sudden trust tore something inside her, releasing all the chains on her iron composure. She hadn’t quite realised what it meant, to love someone who couldn’t let you in for the sake of their own sanity. Or maybe she just knew it too well. Either way it stung her eyes, leaving them tired and blushed pink with suppression. She wouldn't cry, but her breathing was tight. Natalie was good at denying feeling in the moment, but this was too much. If there was ever a moment to feel the weight of her own heart in her hands, it was now.
He begged her not to lie to him, but he must have known by then that she never would. Natalie’s lips never parted the whole time he spoke. While he blamed himself for what happened she knew what he really blamed was his inability to follow orders in the first place: the black and white shield that absolved the guilt of consequence, made it obedience and not a mistake. She understood what her grandfather had meant then, about Jay being a soldier. And perhaps that was the answer he needed – the numb path, one dissolved of attachments he no longer had to maintain. Life chained to a pin and its duty: to do whatever the Custody required of him. Maybe that was what Brandon intended to forge in America all along. Or maybe it was just a weapon fortified in opportunity. Natalie didn't know. But she remembered how Jay had entrusted her with the Dominion pin. She knew what it meant to him, and she saw how he wore the uniform now.
Only ultimately she was selfish. It was never a path she could offer him – nor even bear to point out its possibility, afraid that once his eyes turned to that horizon they would never look back for her. Because she would always be the obstacle to that singular duty, even if he never accepted why. Even if he never truly saw her there. For it hardly escaped her notice that Jay's breakdown happened at a wedding.
Framed in cold shadows softened by the glow from inside, the faint thump of music a vibration around them, her heart sank deeper. She thought she finally understood something then. About him. About herself.
Natalie's own father did the same; cut her out of his life to protect her. He didn't trust her to make those decisions and take those risks for herself. In fact both her parents conspired to that end. She tried and failed to forgive, recognising the same weapon in Jay’s hands every time he distanced himself. But what she realised now was that it was only ever himself Jay cut out. He pushed away rather than be seen, and he buried it all even from himself. Alistair looked in the mirror and felt no guilt. Jay couldn't even glimpse the reflection.
Every time he’d pulled away she'd silently warned herself they did not want the same things. That the veracity of fierce feeling she’d confided in him and regretted ever since was the very thing he recoiled from.
Her chest caved in when she realised she was actually looking at a man who just did not think he deserved it.
Words couldn’t encapsulate everything she wanted to say. Everything she felt, everything she regretted, everything she feared. She leaned to press her hand to his cheek, uncertain if he’d only flinch away again as the sobs clawed out of his chest. It wasn’t a gesture of kindness, nor one that tried to soothe. She didn’t have that comfort to give. She couldn’t tell him things would be okay. She couldn't pretend he was blameless. But it was a hand that would always reach out of the dark to where he was.
“With me,” she told him. Her tone was soft and raw, but completely certain – and vulnerable in a way she had promised to protect herself against in future, knowing it was a promise she would always break for him. Even then she wasn't sure of his response; if it would actually reach the part of him she was desperate to reach, draw him back, or if he'd just use the weapon she handed him to sever himself clean. Free of that burden he wouldn't need to feel. Because her heart wasn’t in her own hands at all, but his.
She tasted salt on her lips when she spoke, but her expression was soft, the track of tears lost in the shadows. “You live it with me, Jay. One day at a time if we have to. Because I don’t want to do this without you.”