[ Oh. It's almost a little odd to think of Ruka as having pets. It would make sense, of course. She's said it herself: animals tend to like her more than people, and he wouldn't be surprised if that sentiment is one she returned. But Ruka's not in the habit of trying to even come close to setting roots. She'd taken forever to come out with the fact that she even existed on the network, after all.
But she would have been young, then, and less inclined to push others away. He almost, almost asks her where they are now when he realizes that they're from a planet that's long since been destroyed. He'd experienced that in only brief moments, knowing that his animals wouldn't remember their repeated demise. He can't imagine experiencing it permanently.
He swallows past the question. They can evade that one too. They've gotten good at that. Instead, he gestures at the house around them. ]
No kidding. That's how I've accumulated so much crap. Maybe I just built the memorial as one big storage shed.
[ It feels like skating across weak ice. They're both trying their best to navigate without putting down too much weight, without breaking the veneer of an easy conversation. It says something about them, that they're both managing so well now, but maybe that's only because her heart feels numbed in the aftershock of breakdown. ]
I moved around a lot, so things got lost sometimes. Or it wasn't worth the effort of saving. My last big move, back then, I think I ended up throwing away, like, a dozen old communicators. Stuff like that.
[ Jaime crosses his legs on the couch, shifting a little to hug one knee to his chest, chin resting lightly upon it as he listens to her talk. He's felt the desire to move before. Several times, in fact. Every time a roommate he had gotten close to leaves, he thinks about packing up his things and moving to apartment where he can live alone, no more roommates to greet and to get close to, no more memories surrounding him. It would be easier. He knows that it would be easier.
He's never done it. Every time he's started going through the motions, he's overcome with a sensation of prolonged loneliness, like he's trying to wipe away all that there's been. He doesn't want to do that.
So he stays right here, and he doesn't throw anything away. Maybe they're gone, but he'll hold onto what's left of them. It's worked for him. ]
Is that why you live alone now? So you don't have to?
Rua got assigned an apartment of his own, when he arrived, so I moved in with him. It seemed easier than the other way. He always got close to people really fast, so it always hurt him worse when they left.
[ She hasn't said it directly, but it's there; speaking in the past tense. It's a recent sting, but a familiar one. It's, what, the fourth time she's lost him? The fifth? She's losing count, and what does that say?
She shakes her head, and finishes her tea, and sets the empty cup back on the table. ]
The City wasn't like here. We didn't just get houses, or assignments like this. You got an apartment at the MAC, but so did everyone else. It was really sketchy. After a while, I was taken in by other people, but when they left, it's not like I could pay a mortgage or anything on my own. I didn't have much of a choice.
[ She was a child; she had caretakers, and for a while parents, and after that, family friends, and then... well, she'd done everything she could to leave it all behind, hadn't she? But no matter where she tries to carve a place for herself, she can't keep it. ]
So... it's something like that, I guess. You can't lose anything else, if you don't have anything left to lose. What do I need another big empty house for?
Besides, I'm a pain to live with, anyway. [ She shrugs, settling back against the cushions. ] Nobody wants to be landed with a total stranger who always knows how you feel. Resentment builds up fast.
[ Jaime doesn't quite grimace. Instead, his mouth bunches up to one side, his brow creased in both understanding and sympathy - or, no. Not quite sympathy. Empathy. It hurts when people leave, when you're left with nothing but an empty house filled with the echoes of what's been lost. It must be harder still when it's family.
When his parents had been here, they'd lived next door, but he had never made the move to move in with them, nor did he ask them to move in with him. Maybe he should have. Heck, maybe it would have been expected. But there was a part of him that knew with a terrible sort of certainty that he would be here long after they left and the idea of going back to what he had once considered to be normal only to be left alone again seemed too painful a notion.
Ruka had doubtlessly expected Rua to leave. Frankly, Jaime had too. It seems like the closer you are to someone back home, the more likely it is that their stay here will be a short, fleeting thing. For Jaime, it had been worth it. For Ruka... he's not so sure. ]
It only sucks being around an empath if they always point out how you're feeling. You never do that. But I get how it'd make things harder for you. [ He bumps her shoulder with her own, a small gesture that can be mistaken for carelessness. It's what he specializes in. ]
[ What else is she supposed to say about him? Jaime knows. Maybe not a brother, or a sibling by blood, but he's lost his friends here. He's lost his family, here. She felt the familiar ache of it in that recipe card, and she feels the echo of it now, like the singe that comes from sitting in a dark room and staring too long at the flames of too many candles. It hurts, but she expected it. She has regrets, but they're the same regrets as always, the seesaw of action and inaction, of speech and silence, and never choosing right.
She wonders, with a hollow sort of hurt she can never speak aloud, if it was the burdensome weight of her trauma in that catastrophe that broke the tether. If her tremors, and her nightmares, her jittery paranoia, the ever-present companion of terror, that chased him back into the void between worlds.
Nobody would agree with that assessment. Nobody would nod their heads, or murmur small yeah, maybes, but it doesn't need to be spoken to be true. Everyone who loves her leaves. Everyone she loves leaves her.
There's nothing to say about that. So, instead, after the long seconds of silent grief, she finally digs her elbow into Jaime's ribs — pressure without force. ]
Just because you never see it doesn't mean I never do it, Jaime. I do it all the time.
[ She's done it to him before, more than once. Hell, she pulled it with Khaji Da, when he came to the forefront. Anyone she's met, anybody she's cared about, she's sure she's done it to them. It's why Mitchell always felt her to be kind of a pain in the ass, even as they commiserate; it's why she and Karkat were always arguing, constantly pulling at the threads and the seams of one another's hearts to unravel them and prove the other's damage. Even before it was proximity, even when it was objects, when it was reading faces and guessing intentions, it's how she always circumvented others' defenses. Hiro, and Nygma, and Mitch, and Blue, and Eridan, and Bruno, and her father...
Learn their heart, and confront them with it; a stalking mirror. ]
We only haven't needed to fight about it. That's all.
He has, for a not insignificant portion of his life, lived with another entity in his head. He's unable to escape another being having access to his every emotion at every point in time and, to boot, another being pointing out his every emotion without any care for petty things like appropriateness or tact. As someone who tends to wear his heart on his sleeve anyway, it's resulted in the complete erosion of anything even remotely resembling personal boundaries. The true nature of his heart may be a privilege afforded to only a precious few, but even others can catch onto any fleeting joys and sorrows in a way he'd never quite learned to hide.
Has she pointed it out before? Because of her empathy? Jaime doesn't think so. Or, at least, he can't ever recall it happening. He'd always thought she has remarkable tact considering the intrusive nature of her powers, particularly when comparing her to Khaji Da, cheerfully bulldozing his way through his heart with all the delicacy of a five year old presented with an immaculate, intricate sandcastle. ]
Well... you never do it to me. And we're closer than most. [ It slipped out without thinking. It's true, isn't it? Or is she like this with everyone? He's never seen her talking to anyone else as her true self long enough to tell. His teeth worry at his bottom lip. ] Or -- I think we are, anyway. So wouldn't it have come up?
[ It probably hasn't been even an hour since he had her sort through his things in the kitchen, picking apart the remnants of his old emotions. When he'd heard her evaluation, he'd admitted it wasn't a new one — but they usually didn't say it was a good thing. Is that why? Does he think it only counts if it's callous, if it's critical?
Expression matches feeling; her gaze flicks to the way he gnaws at his lip for concern, the worry preceding fear, and it's a strange sensation no matter how she tries to piece it together. What is it, really? Is it concern about their friendship? (Are they closer than most? Sure, she's told him things she hasn't told anyone else, and so has he — is that all it takes? Are they?) Or is he worried that she's hiding some great litany of complaints about the clarity of his heart?
(Why would he be worried about her opinion in the first place, anyway?) ]
... Just because you don't always see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. [ It's not quite repetition; her attention ducks away, but she pushes the loose hair behind her ear, not trying to close him off completely. She's not sure how to explain everything else. It's hard to be forthright. ] But... there's no point to calling attention to something we both know is obviously true, you know? You don't try to hide from yourself, around me.
As for the rest... [ This time she's the one biting her lip, looking for words. Her fingers toy with one of BB's ears, though he sleeps through it. ] ... If you think so, then you're not wrong. I don't... really go out of my way, to get close to people, anymore. I haven't in a long time. I used to bend over backwards for it.
We're... this is different. From the friendships I've had, before. [ Ugh, obviously. Her breath comes out in a huff, and Ruka shakes her head. ] Though, I don't know how much that's worth, really. I don't have that much to compare it to, after all.
[ You don't try to hide from yourself, around me. Jaime supposes that's true. He's more evasive around others, trying to present a front that isn't necessarily false, but isn't necessarily the truth either. There's no point in hiding around Ruka. She understands most everything he's been through, been through it herself and worse, and even without empathy on her side, she already knows everything. It would be ridiculous to hide around her. Useless, really. All that would do is drive her away.
Jaime's the one who pursues after those who don't wish to be chased. Ruka isn't. He lets that idea settle for a moment, nodding along to acknowledge that of course they're different - she doesn't let anyone else in. He doesn't think there's anyone else here quite in their position. Even if it was a different version of him, even if he doesn't remember it, they still have a history. He huffs out a breath, half a laugh. ]
Yeah. Me neither. [ He has more friendships than Ruka, perhaps, but none of them are the same. How could they be? ] I guess it's dumb to spend too much trying to, um, analyze that sort of thing? [ He crosses his legs, propping an ankle atop a knee. ] There's no point in hiding stuff around you. You get it. [ He glances at the recipe card in her hands. ] Even if you don't wanna.
[ It's part of the problem. Where Jaime sees it as a reason to commiserate, to be open about things he might otherwise bury, Ruka digs and builds new catacombs beneath them. He understands, but she doesn't like talking about the things that happened. She doesn't like excavating her hurts, and making anyone else endure them. She can't bear them alone, but that's better than seeing anyone else suffer under their weight.
The fact is, he would understand most anything she gave him — even what happened to Kirie, and to Will, and why it sticks so much in her heart, and why she's so damn afraid all the time. He would understand, and that's enough.
She shifts on the couch, pulling her legs up onto the cushions (to some quiet, sleepy protest from sleeping dogs), retreating back, sinking — shrinking — into the furniture. ]
[ Jaime stretches his legs out in front of him with a shrug. ] I always kind of thought she just forgot about me.
[ It's how it feels like, sometimes. He's gone home a few times, but rarely for long on either end of the scale. Unlike others, who seem to be ported in and out at a great rate until they eventually disappear, or seem to be at the whims of this world more than he's been, it feels as though he's been forgotten, as though he's more a native of this world than a native of his own. There's no logical basis for that. Maybe it's just because everyone else has forgotten him - why wouldn't the Porter forget about him too? He rarely makes enough of a fuss to be noteworthy. He's just here, steady and stalwart, as consistent as the home he's built here.
But Ruka was gone. She had been gone for a really, really long time. And, astonishingly, she's back with all of her memories intact, at the same age she was as she left. That's more than just improbable. That's almost unheard of - and that's coming from a guy who has a ledger on every scrap of Porter activity he's been able to get his hands on. ]
[ She hums a quiet note, understanding. ] You never had the chance to know her.
[ For a moment, it's all she says, but the silence isn't one of a complete thought. There's worry in her face, pursing her lips, pinching them in her teeth as she tries to find the right words to say. It's not easy topic — but it's easier to talk about the past. ]
... He was part of the first group. October tenth, oh-eight. [ Only a month away, now. ] Most of the rest of the firsts left, here and there, pretty quick. Two years in, I think there were only... three or four of them left, from that group. She sent us cards on her "birthday." He and Abby got cakes. I think he was like me, he only ported out... once, or twice, maybe, before he was gone for good. In the final year. And you haven't left here for very long, either, have you? So... for ten years, there only hasn't been a you for... a year. Year and a half, at the most. And only two of you. One for one world. A new one, for the new.
[ Jaime's stopped thinking of Lachesis as a person. Not because he doesn't believe she's real or sentient like some people used to, but because her grasp on life is so different from his own, and there's no chance at all at getting the chance to speak with her, no chance of them reasoning with her. What would be the point in thinking too much about how she feels about anything?
The idea that she had once not only spoken to people but interacted with them, gave them cards... it sounds homey. It sounds bizarre. It occurs to him, not for the first time, how different his and Ruka's experiences of places like these are. She doesn't know what it's like to live here for so many years, and he has no idea what it was like to live there. ]
Wow. I didn't know that. I don't think anyone here knows any of that - except a couple, I guess.
[ And they don't seem all that interested in divulging those sorts of tidbits, nor are they as invested as Ruka. Not in the same way, anyway. Maybe it's different when you grow up in one of these places instead of being spirited away as an adult. ]
The longest I've been gone is a couple weeks. [ If that. He never did miss much. ] But she's not like that now. I've never heard about her reaching out to talk to anyone.
For me, it adds up to about two years lost, on this side... and sometimes I'd lag behind everyone else, if we went somewhere and came back, but that's it. I've only been back to my original world once. When I was still a kid.
[ It's why she never jumps forward in age when she comes back, why she never looks different, never loses the damage done to her body done in these worlds. Only one time returning, in all those years.
She doesn't call it "going home" anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped. ]
Do you mean here? No. Not except... the time loop. You know. You heard her then, too. "You’ll let it end like this?" [ She says it as impression, pitch different, tone sarcastic — her mouth pulls into a sharp grin, jaw locked and teeth held clenched together even as she speaks. Once the echo is over with, the forced expression drops back into her more natural melancholy. ] You guys only found out she still existed in this world a few months before I returned. Before that, we... that is, most of us, thought she'd perished in the crossing. I could never accept it, but even that, it just felt like I was in denial. I was maybe the only one who couldn't let go.
[ It was cause for more than a few arguments between her and Karkat, who was certain she'd died. Everyone else, the most anyone seemed willing to say was "well, maybe." She fiddles with the remote control, switching back to one of the public arts channels — music, and dance, and nothing that reminds her of anyone. ]
But, we talked in the old world. She used to play little tricks on us, sometimes. Keep us from getting too comfortable, you know, with the way things were — with the way we were, ourselves. She was different, at the end. She's... nobody you could ever call merciful, or affectionate, but... it was love, even if it wasn't the welcome sort. Nobody asks for an existence like this, so I suppose it's not any consolation. But...
I know it must seem awful, coming straight here, but everything was always much steadier here. It's the kind of world we were trying to achieve. She rewrote this world for us.
... Do you want to know a secret? [ She glances at Jaime there, instead of the way she keeps tugging at her fingers and wringing her hands. She's normally not one for fidgeting, but these kinds of conversations aren't easy to endure. ] It's... a little silly, maybe, but, I don't think I've told anyone else.
[ Jaime has been here for such a long time, had been friends with people who were from the City for half of that time, but this is the first he's hearing about some of this. Most of this, if he's being honest. He's not sure if it's just that it was too painful to speak of - and while Ruka harbours more pain in her than most people three times her age have, even after having lived long, complex lives, she's never shied away from talking about painful matters - or if they just weren't impacted as much as Ruka was, as young as she had been at the time. Either way, he listens with the calm patience of someone who knows that he's hearing something not everyone is privileged enough to hear, careful to remain silent lest his contributions puncture the moment.
It's odd to think of this place as stable, but Jaime of all people knows that it is. He had gone back only once or twice, for only short periods every time. The first time, Khaji had died. The second, his friends did. The third, there was a nuclear bomb in Chicago.
It had all happened in a matter of weeks. Is this place peaceful? No. But it could be so much worse. Jaime just isn't sure whether or not Lachesis is truly the cause of it, if she's still the same person that Ruka had once known.
He returns her gaze. ]
I seriously doubt I'll think it's silly. What is it?
[ It's a little wry, more teasing than self-effacing, but her attention drops away from Jaime's face. Her exposed nails scratch at one another, fingers pinching at the nailbeds. ]
So... it's always been this way, in this world, but we weren't always called imPorts. We had a different name at first. "Metahumans." But, a name like that doesn't work for everyone. It's not like everyone who shows up started human, or stays that way. So, imPort, that's something I came up with, to talk about everyone; then my dad started using it, and since he was actually, uh, kind of important, in the early days, everybody else started using it, too. Within a couple years, nobody ever used "metahuman" at all.
That's how I know she didn't find this world, already like this. They wouldn't have been calling us that, if she hadn't interfered.
[ That's not silly at all. It's... momentuous. That, possibly more than anything else, cements how integral Ruka is to this place, just how much she's really gone through in this universe and the last. It occurs to him that he could doubt that, consider it a coincidence, but the time for that has long since passed.
Every person he's told the term metahuman was completely ignorant to it. It's odd to think it was once the norm. ]
Yeah, that's something all right. I never even knew you guys went by different names in the City. [ ...wait. ]
Your Dad wound up coming to the City too? For a while?
[ She almost mentions the MAC again — a building that kept its name to the end, even after Metahuman fell out of vogue, but he picks up on the title she hadn't realized she'd mentioned, and her whole demeanor shrivels, crumbles; her hands still their absent fidgety motions. Her voice quiets. ]
No. [ It's barely a whisper. ] I said it already, didn't I? I don't remember my parents. My birth parents.
[ Her Dad could be someone else, though - someone who had taken over the role back home, no matter who it was. He knows that his Dad's been like a Dad to Paco his whole life; Paco's dad never was in the picture. Or, more likely, it was an imPort, someone she has very little chance of seeing again - or very little chance of seeing again in the same way.
He looks over at her. She looks even smaller than usual. Defeated. ]
...you don't have to talk about him. I was just wondering.
[ He's offering her an out. She's used to being the one to make those concessions, to clearing the way for someone else to avoid hurt, but getting the same in return isn't common. Most people find something new to learn, they dig their teeth into the wound until it ruptures anew.
She doesn't want to talk about it, but she doesn't want to leave him too curious about it, either. She'll feel the needling bite of it for as long as he carries it. ]
... You've heard enough sad stories from me. I think you already know how this one ends, too.
I would like to point out this is BEFORE he figured out them dokis
...yeah, I know. My little brother wasn't from the same place either. Different story, same ending.
[ Jaime shrugs. He's sad for her, of course, but when he mentions his little brother, he manages to maintain remarkably level. It's not feigned, either. He knows so much about the horrible things that people went back to that Ken is the one person he manages not to be sad about, even if he misses the kid horribly; he knows Ken overcomes all that's been thrown his way and is well and alive where he's from. That's good enough for him. Maybe he's not there with him, but as long as Ken continues to be the survivor he knows he is, then he can rest easy.
A little brother's different from a dad, though. ]
I'm sorry anyway. I didn't drag you over here so I could get you to rehash all this again. Let's just... watch TV.
[ If they keep talking, it will keep spiraling back to unpleasantness. Maybe it's because of who they are and what they share, but Jaime prefers to think of it as something that's just in her mood right now; when you're already struggling, sometimes it's difficult to keep your mind from wandering.
When he turns up the volume, he looks at Ruka, quiet and miserable as she is. He would have hugged anyone else by now, but it's always felt different with her, as though he should wait for an express invitation.
After a moment's deliberation, he wraps his arm around her shoulders anyway, squeezing her shoulder once before letting go. As with their every conversation, there's wiggle room. If she wants to slip away, there's plenty of room, but if she wants to stay... well, that's okay too. And if it feels a little different, it shouldn't. Jaime's done this to a hundred people on this couch before. It's just what being a good friend's about, sometimes. ]
[ She hates getting I'm sorry for things like this, little trenches dug where the wounds already lay, so she doesn't offer verbal condolences either. He hurts, but it's an old hurt. Mentioning the loss doesn't always rebreak the heart, after all, no matter how fragile she feels now, and Jaime... well, he's not the one falling to pieces over dog collars and photographs, is he? With his apology, she shrugs her shoulders, noncommittal. Another time and it wouldn't be so bad. It isn't his fault. But without being guided to talk about anything else, she doesn't know what to say.
Touch takes her by surprise. Not in a startling, jolting way, not in a way that makes her freeze up, or tense — not that she could get much more tense than she is anyway. But it is a surprise, enough that even that simple squeeze forces her to exhale, to try pushing some of that tension out. It's been a long time since casual affection has been common for her; she can name and count the culprits on one hand, from arriving in this world, and years before besides. Maybe it doesn't feel different to Jaime, but it does to Ruka — nobody treats her like this. It's always all or nothing. Rua with his formerly mirrored proportions, the shape of a hug that hasn't changed in ten years; Karkat with their complete absence of boundaries, smoothing hands across each other's backs and combing hair and murmuring through the worst of the darkness; Eridan, whose easy strength and careless treatment always felt like being smothered, being crushed; not even the other Jaime, who'd been this age when she'd lost him, but she'd still been so much younger, and smaller, so easy to fold up and hide away under layers of coat and flannel.
It doesn't remind her of any of them.
He'll feel the residual tremor through her arm, where his hand rests against her shoulder, but it fades, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts, and sinks, filling up that residual space between them on the couch so her head can find his shoulder — and maybe it's selfish, when he's still in his work clothes, so there's no barrier between the heart on his lack-of-sleeve and where she rests her head, but she's allowed to be selfish once in a while, isn't she? It's an anchor. It's shore. ]
What do you usually watch? [ It comes after delay, quiet. ] I don't even have a TV at my place.
[ It's not touch that Jaime's tentative about - it's causing discomfort to other people. The moment Ruka relaxes, the fact that Jaime relaxes too is tangible even to those without empathic abilities, shoulders settling and hand resting firmly against her shoulder with, perhaps, unearned familiarity. Sitting like this has always been comforting for him. He hopes it's comforting for her too. ]
Eh, nothing that interesting. Nature documentaries, the discovery channel, stuff like that. Some dumb reality TV, sometimes. [ And some real TV too when he feels like planting his ass down and doing nothing for five hours straight, but he's not the monster who'll toss someone into the middle of some awful low-budget sci-fi show without the proper context! As BB burrows his way into Ruka's lap, Jaime grabs the remote and switches the channel. ]
Here, this one's all about weird animals. They got a whole section on sloths. Mole rats too.
[ And underneath all of what they'd spoken about, the uncomfortable emotions underlying their conversation, the puzzlement and worry at Ruka's current state, there is one earnest emotion: Jaime really enjoys these funky little critters. ]
What, like Real Cub Scouts of Mecklenburg County? Or Pasta Primadonna?
[ Look, all she knows about reality TV is what gets popular among her fans online and letting herself get curious about their terrible, terrible URL choices. It's always a mistake. Despite the tease, his selections certainly aren't... the worst things he could have chosen. Could have turned out to be an obsessive sports guy, or putting on real crime dramas with extremely sketchy investigative procedure.
Or game shows. They'd be stuck here all week if it went to game shows.
It doesn't seem to matter so much. Her hand settles against BB, idly scratching his ears, and Jaime's comfort and relief settling around her like it's a heavy blanket he's thrown over her shoulders. Sure, there's still worry, too, but it's a reactive feeling; so long as she gives him nothing new to worry about, it recedes.
The outright earnest delight feels very much Jaime, but at the same time... ]
... They're so ugly... [ The wrinkles and the hairlessness on the inevitably high-def picture is... certainly an image... ] ... are they rats or are they moles?
[ Just because she's good with animals doesn't mean she knows jack shit about. Any of them. ]
More like Ice Road Truckers or Mythbusters or Bake-Off. I'll show 'em to you sometime, [ Jaime provides. Bake-Off he'd have to go for reruns (that's the show he and Yusuke watch together, and he's not about to commit the horrible betrayal of watching ahead) but he's pretty sure she'd at least appreciate some of the shows he can dig up. And yeah, maybe he left out the telenovela he's addicted to, but she doesn't need to know about that.
He grins at the screen, amused by her reaction. She's right. They are ugly. It's what makes them so great. ]
They're kind of their own thing. Maybe the scientists who discovered them just ran out of names. [ Then, cheerfully: ] Bet you some cape named themselves after one. The Mole Rat Marauder, or whatever.
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But she would have been young, then, and less inclined to push others away. He almost, almost asks her where they are now when he realizes that they're from a planet that's long since been destroyed. He'd experienced that in only brief moments, knowing that his animals wouldn't remember their repeated demise. He can't imagine experiencing it permanently.
He swallows past the question. They can evade that one too. They've gotten good at that. Instead, he gestures at the house around them. ]
No kidding. That's how I've accumulated so much crap. Maybe I just built the memorial as one big storage shed.
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[ It feels like skating across weak ice. They're both trying their best to navigate without putting down too much weight, without breaking the veneer of an easy conversation. It says something about them, that they're both managing so well now, but maybe that's only because her heart feels numbed in the aftershock of breakdown. ]
I moved around a lot, so things got lost sometimes. Or it wasn't worth the effort of saving. My last big move, back then, I think I ended up throwing away, like, a dozen old communicators. Stuff like that.
... I'm sick of it.
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[ Jaime crosses his legs on the couch, shifting a little to hug one knee to his chest, chin resting lightly upon it as he listens to her talk. He's felt the desire to move before. Several times, in fact. Every time a roommate he had gotten close to leaves, he thinks about packing up his things and moving to apartment where he can live alone, no more roommates to greet and to get close to, no more memories surrounding him. It would be easier. He knows that it would be easier.
He's never done it. Every time he's started going through the motions, he's overcome with a sensation of prolonged loneliness, like he's trying to wipe away all that there's been. He doesn't want to do that.
So he stays right here, and he doesn't throw anything away. Maybe they're gone, but he'll hold onto what's left of them. It's worked for him. ]
Is that why you live alone now? So you don't have to?
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[ She hasn't said it directly, but it's there; speaking in the past tense. It's a recent sting, but a familiar one. It's, what, the fourth time she's lost him? The fifth? She's losing count, and what does that say?
She shakes her head, and finishes her tea, and sets the empty cup back on the table. ]
The City wasn't like here. We didn't just get houses, or assignments like this. You got an apartment at the MAC, but so did everyone else. It was really sketchy. After a while, I was taken in by other people, but when they left, it's not like I could pay a mortgage or anything on my own. I didn't have much of a choice.
[ She was a child; she had caretakers, and for a while parents, and after that, family friends, and then... well, she'd done everything she could to leave it all behind, hadn't she? But no matter where she tries to carve a place for herself, she can't keep it. ]
So... it's something like that, I guess. You can't lose anything else, if you don't have anything left to lose. What do I need another big empty house for?
Besides, I'm a pain to live with, anyway. [ She shrugs, settling back against the cushions. ] Nobody wants to be landed with a total stranger who always knows how you feel. Resentment builds up fast.
It's better for everyone, this way.
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When his parents had been here, they'd lived next door, but he had never made the move to move in with them, nor did he ask them to move in with him. Maybe he should have. Heck, maybe it would have been expected. But there was a part of him that knew with a terrible sort of certainty that he would be here long after they left and the idea of going back to what he had once considered to be normal only to be left alone again seemed too painful a notion.
Ruka had doubtlessly expected Rua to leave. Frankly, Jaime had too. It seems like the closer you are to someone back home, the more likely it is that their stay here will be a short, fleeting thing. For Jaime, it had been worth it. For Ruka... he's not so sure. ]
It only sucks being around an empath if they always point out how you're feeling. You never do that. But I get how it'd make things harder for you. [ He bumps her shoulder with her own, a small gesture that can be mistaken for carelessness. It's what he specializes in. ]
I'm sorry about Rua.
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[ What else is she supposed to say about him? Jaime knows. Maybe not a brother, or a sibling by blood, but he's lost his friends here. He's lost his family, here. She felt the familiar ache of it in that recipe card, and she feels the echo of it now, like the singe that comes from sitting in a dark room and staring too long at the flames of too many candles. It hurts, but she expected it. She has regrets, but they're the same regrets as always, the seesaw of action and inaction, of speech and silence, and never choosing right.
She wonders, with a hollow sort of hurt she can never speak aloud, if it was the burdensome weight of her trauma in that catastrophe that broke the tether. If her tremors, and her nightmares, her jittery paranoia, the ever-present companion of terror, that chased him back into the void between worlds.
Nobody would agree with that assessment. Nobody would nod their heads, or murmur small yeah, maybes, but it doesn't need to be spoken to be true. Everyone who loves her leaves. Everyone she loves leaves her.
There's nothing to say about that. So, instead, after the long seconds of silent grief, she finally digs her elbow into Jaime's ribs — pressure without force. ]
Just because you never see it doesn't mean I never do it, Jaime. I do it all the time.
[ She's done it to him before, more than once. Hell, she pulled it with Khaji Da, when he came to the forefront. Anyone she's met, anybody she's cared about, she's sure she's done it to them. It's why Mitchell always felt her to be kind of a pain in the ass, even as they commiserate; it's why she and Karkat were always arguing, constantly pulling at the threads and the seams of one another's hearts to unravel them and prove the other's damage. Even before it was proximity, even when it was objects, when it was reading faces and guessing intentions, it's how she always circumvented others' defenses. Hiro, and Nygma, and Mitch, and Blue, and Eridan, and Bruno, and her father...
Learn their heart, and confront them with it; a stalking mirror. ]
We only haven't needed to fight about it. That's all.
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He has, for a not insignificant portion of his life, lived with another entity in his head. He's unable to escape another being having access to his every emotion at every point in time and, to boot, another being pointing out his every emotion without any care for petty things like appropriateness or tact. As someone who tends to wear his heart on his sleeve anyway, it's resulted in the complete erosion of anything even remotely resembling personal boundaries. The true nature of his heart may be a privilege afforded to only a precious few, but even others can catch onto any fleeting joys and sorrows in a way he'd never quite learned to hide.
Has she pointed it out before? Because of her empathy? Jaime doesn't think so. Or, at least, he can't ever recall it happening. He'd always thought she has remarkable tact considering the intrusive nature of her powers, particularly when comparing her to Khaji Da, cheerfully bulldozing his way through his heart with all the delicacy of a five year old presented with an immaculate, intricate sandcastle. ]
Well... you never do it to me. And we're closer than most. [ It slipped out without thinking. It's true, isn't it? Or is she like this with everyone? He's never seen her talking to anyone else as her true self long enough to tell. His teeth worry at his bottom lip. ] Or -- I think we are, anyway. So wouldn't it have come up?
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Expression matches feeling; her gaze flicks to the way he gnaws at his lip for concern, the worry preceding fear, and it's a strange sensation no matter how she tries to piece it together. What is it, really? Is it concern about their friendship? (Are they closer than most? Sure, she's told him things she hasn't told anyone else, and so has he — is that all it takes? Are they?) Or is he worried that she's hiding some great litany of complaints about the clarity of his heart?
(Why would he be worried about her opinion in the first place, anyway?) ]
... Just because you don't always see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. [ It's not quite repetition; her attention ducks away, but she pushes the loose hair behind her ear, not trying to close him off completely. She's not sure how to explain everything else. It's hard to be forthright. ] But... there's no point to calling attention to something we both know is obviously true, you know? You don't try to hide from yourself, around me.
As for the rest... [ This time she's the one biting her lip, looking for words. Her fingers toy with one of BB's ears, though he sleeps through it. ] ... If you think so, then you're not wrong. I don't... really go out of my way, to get close to people, anymore. I haven't in a long time. I used to bend over backwards for it.
We're... this is different. From the friendships I've had, before. [ Ugh, obviously. Her breath comes out in a huff, and Ruka shakes her head. ] Though, I don't know how much that's worth, really. I don't have that much to compare it to, after all.
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Jaime's the one who pursues after those who don't wish to be chased. Ruka isn't. He lets that idea settle for a moment, nodding along to acknowledge that of course they're different - she doesn't let anyone else in. He doesn't think there's anyone else here quite in their position. Even if it was a different version of him, even if he doesn't remember it, they still have a history. He huffs out a breath, half a laugh. ]
Yeah. Me neither. [ He has more friendships than Ruka, perhaps, but none of them are the same. How could they be? ] I guess it's dumb to spend too much trying to, um, analyze that sort of thing? [ He crosses his legs, propping an ankle atop a knee. ] There's no point in hiding stuff around you. You get it. [ He glances at the recipe card in her hands. ] Even if you don't wanna.
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[ It's part of the problem. Where Jaime sees it as a reason to commiserate, to be open about things he might otherwise bury, Ruka digs and builds new catacombs beneath them. He understands, but she doesn't like talking about the things that happened. She doesn't like excavating her hurts, and making anyone else endure them. She can't bear them alone, but that's better than seeing anyone else suffer under their weight.
The fact is, he would understand most anything she gave him — even what happened to Kirie, and to Will, and why it sticks so much in her heart, and why she's so damn afraid all the time. He would understand, and that's enough.
She shifts on the couch, pulling her legs up onto the cushions (to some quiet, sleepy protest from sleeping dogs), retreating back, sinking — shrinking — into the furniture. ]
We always were her favorites.
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[ It's how it feels like, sometimes. He's gone home a few times, but rarely for long on either end of the scale. Unlike others, who seem to be ported in and out at a great rate until they eventually disappear, or seem to be at the whims of this world more than he's been, it feels as though he's been forgotten, as though he's more a native of this world than a native of his own. There's no logical basis for that. Maybe it's just because everyone else has forgotten him - why wouldn't the Porter forget about him too? He rarely makes enough of a fuss to be noteworthy. He's just here, steady and stalwart, as consistent as the home he's built here.
But Ruka was gone. She had been gone for a really, really long time. And, astonishingly, she's back with all of her memories intact, at the same age she was as she left. That's more than just improbable. That's almost unheard of - and that's coming from a guy who has a ledger on every scrap of Porter activity he's been able to get his hands on. ]
...I guess I can't say the same for you, though.
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[ For a moment, it's all she says, but the silence isn't one of a complete thought. There's worry in her face, pursing her lips, pinching them in her teeth as she tries to find the right words to say. It's not easy topic — but it's easier to talk about the past. ]
... He was part of the first group. October tenth, oh-eight. [ Only a month away, now. ] Most of the rest of the firsts left, here and there, pretty quick. Two years in, I think there were only... three or four of them left, from that group. She sent us cards on her "birthday." He and Abby got cakes. I think he was like me, he only ported out... once, or twice, maybe, before he was gone for good. In the final year. And you haven't left here for very long, either, have you? So... for ten years, there only hasn't been a you for... a year. Year and a half, at the most. And only two of you. One for one world. A new one, for the new.
No, she'll never forget you.
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The idea that she had once not only spoken to people but interacted with them, gave them cards... it sounds homey. It sounds bizarre. It occurs to him, not for the first time, how different his and Ruka's experiences of places like these are. She doesn't know what it's like to live here for so many years, and he has no idea what it was like to live there. ]
Wow. I didn't know that. I don't think anyone here knows any of that - except a couple, I guess.
[ And they don't seem all that interested in divulging those sorts of tidbits, nor are they as invested as Ruka. Not in the same way, anyway. Maybe it's different when you grow up in one of these places instead of being spirited away as an adult. ]
The longest I've been gone is a couple weeks. [ If that. He never did miss much. ] But she's not like that now. I've never heard about her reaching out to talk to anyone.
[ Who here would be most important to her? ]
...Has she talked to you?
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[ It's why she never jumps forward in age when she comes back, why she never looks different, never loses the damage done to her body done in these worlds. Only one time returning, in all those years.
She doesn't call it "going home" anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped. ]
Do you mean here? No. Not except... the time loop. You know. You heard her then, too. "You’ll let it end like this?" [ She says it as impression, pitch different, tone sarcastic — her mouth pulls into a sharp grin, jaw locked and teeth held clenched together even as she speaks. Once the echo is over with, the forced expression drops back into her more natural melancholy. ] You guys only found out she still existed in this world a few months before I returned. Before that, we... that is, most of us, thought she'd perished in the crossing. I could never accept it, but even that, it just felt like I was in denial. I was maybe the only one who couldn't let go.
[ It was cause for more than a few arguments between her and Karkat, who was certain she'd died. Everyone else, the most anyone seemed willing to say was "well, maybe." She fiddles with the remote control, switching back to one of the public arts channels — music, and dance, and nothing that reminds her of anyone. ]
But, we talked in the old world. She used to play little tricks on us, sometimes. Keep us from getting too comfortable, you know, with the way things were — with the way we were, ourselves. She was different, at the end. She's... nobody you could ever call merciful, or affectionate, but... it was love, even if it wasn't the welcome sort. Nobody asks for an existence like this, so I suppose it's not any consolation. But...
I know it must seem awful, coming straight here, but everything was always much steadier here. It's the kind of world we were trying to achieve. She rewrote this world for us.
... Do you want to know a secret? [ She glances at Jaime there, instead of the way she keeps tugging at her fingers and wringing her hands. She's normally not one for fidgeting, but these kinds of conversations aren't easy to endure. ] It's... a little silly, maybe, but, I don't think I've told anyone else.
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It's odd to think of this place as stable, but Jaime of all people knows that it is. He had gone back only once or twice, for only short periods every time. The first time, Khaji had died. The second, his friends did. The third, there was a nuclear bomb in Chicago.
It had all happened in a matter of weeks. Is this place peaceful? No. But it could be so much worse. Jaime just isn't sure whether or not Lachesis is truly the cause of it, if she's still the same person that Ruka had once known.
He returns her gaze. ]
I seriously doubt I'll think it's silly. What is it?
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[ It's a little wry, more teasing than self-effacing, but her attention drops away from Jaime's face. Her exposed nails scratch at one another, fingers pinching at the nailbeds. ]
So... it's always been this way, in this world, but we weren't always called imPorts. We had a different name at first. "Metahumans." But, a name like that doesn't work for everyone. It's not like everyone who shows up started human, or stays that way. So, imPort, that's something I came up with, to talk about everyone; then my dad started using it, and since he was actually, uh, kind of important, in the early days, everybody else started using it, too. Within a couple years, nobody ever used "metahuman" at all.
That's how I know she didn't find this world, already like this. They wouldn't have been calling us that, if she hadn't interfered.
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[ That's not silly at all. It's... momentuous. That, possibly more than anything else, cements how integral Ruka is to this place, just how much she's really gone through in this universe and the last. It occurs to him that he could doubt that, consider it a coincidence, but the time for that has long since passed.
Every person he's told the term metahuman was completely ignorant to it. It's odd to think it was once the norm. ]
Yeah, that's something all right. I never even knew you guys went by different names in the City. [ ...wait. ]
Your Dad wound up coming to the City too? For a while?
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No. [ It's barely a whisper. ] I said it already, didn't I? I don't remember my parents. My birth parents.
That was someone else.
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[ Her Dad could be someone else, though - someone who had taken over the role back home, no matter who it was. He knows that his Dad's been like a Dad to Paco his whole life; Paco's dad never was in the picture. Or, more likely, it was an imPort, someone she has very little chance of seeing again - or very little chance of seeing again in the same way.
He looks over at her. She looks even smaller than usual. Defeated. ]
...you don't have to talk about him. I was just wondering.
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[ He's offering her an out. She's used to being the one to make those concessions, to clearing the way for someone else to avoid hurt, but getting the same in return isn't common. Most people find something new to learn, they dig their teeth into the wound until it ruptures anew.
She doesn't want to talk about it, but she doesn't want to leave him too curious about it, either. She'll feel the needling bite of it for as long as he carries it. ]
... You've heard enough sad stories from me. I think you already know how this one ends, too.
I would like to point out this is BEFORE he figured out them dokis
[ Jaime shrugs. He's sad for her, of course, but when he mentions his little brother, he manages to maintain remarkably level. It's not feigned, either. He knows so much about the horrible things that people went back to that Ken is the one person he manages not to be sad about, even if he misses the kid horribly; he knows Ken overcomes all that's been thrown his way and is well and alive where he's from. That's good enough for him. Maybe he's not there with him, but as long as Ken continues to be the survivor he knows he is, then he can rest easy.
A little brother's different from a dad, though. ]
I'm sorry anyway. I didn't drag you over here so I could get you to rehash all this again. Let's just... watch TV.
[ If they keep talking, it will keep spiraling back to unpleasantness. Maybe it's because of who they are and what they share, but Jaime prefers to think of it as something that's just in her mood right now; when you're already struggling, sometimes it's difficult to keep your mind from wandering.
When he turns up the volume, he looks at Ruka, quiet and miserable as she is. He would have hugged anyone else by now, but it's always felt different with her, as though he should wait for an express invitation.
After a moment's deliberation, he wraps his arm around her shoulders anyway, squeezing her shoulder once before letting go. As with their every conversation, there's wiggle room. If she wants to slip away, there's plenty of room, but if she wants to stay... well, that's okay too. And if it feels a little different, it shouldn't. Jaime's done this to a hundred people on this couch before. It's just what being a good friend's about, sometimes. ]
he's HOPELESS (they're both hopeless)
Touch takes her by surprise. Not in a startling, jolting way, not in a way that makes her freeze up, or tense — not that she could get much more tense than she is anyway. But it is a surprise, enough that even that simple squeeze forces her to exhale, to try pushing some of that tension out. It's been a long time since casual affection has been common for her; she can name and count the culprits on one hand, from arriving in this world, and years before besides. Maybe it doesn't feel different to Jaime, but it does to Ruka — nobody treats her like this. It's always all or nothing. Rua with his formerly mirrored proportions, the shape of a hug that hasn't changed in ten years; Karkat with their complete absence of boundaries, smoothing hands across each other's backs and combing hair and murmuring through the worst of the darkness; Eridan, whose easy strength and careless treatment always felt like being smothered, being crushed; not even the other Jaime, who'd been this age when she'd lost him, but she'd still been so much younger, and smaller, so easy to fold up and hide away under layers of coat and flannel.
It doesn't remind her of any of them.
He'll feel the residual tremor through her arm, where his hand rests against her shoulder, but it fades, and she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts, and sinks, filling up that residual space between them on the couch so her head can find his shoulder — and maybe it's selfish, when he's still in his work clothes, so there's no barrier between the heart on his lack-of-sleeve and where she rests her head, but she's allowed to be selfish once in a while, isn't she? It's an anchor. It's shore. ]
What do you usually watch? [ It comes after delay, quiet. ] I don't even have a TV at my place.
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Eh, nothing that interesting. Nature documentaries, the discovery channel, stuff like that. Some dumb reality TV, sometimes. [ And some real TV too when he feels like planting his ass down and doing nothing for five hours straight, but he's not the monster who'll toss someone into the middle of some awful low-budget sci-fi show without the proper context! As BB burrows his way into Ruka's lap, Jaime grabs the remote and switches the channel. ]
Here, this one's all about weird animals. They got a whole section on sloths. Mole rats too.
[ And underneath all of what they'd spoken about, the uncomfortable emotions underlying their conversation, the puzzlement and worry at Ruka's current state, there is one earnest emotion: Jaime really enjoys these funky little critters. ]
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[ Look, all she knows about reality TV is what gets popular among her fans online and letting herself get curious about their terrible, terrible URL choices. It's always a mistake. Despite the tease, his selections certainly aren't... the worst things he could have chosen. Could have turned out to be an obsessive sports guy, or putting on real crime dramas with extremely sketchy investigative procedure.
Or game shows. They'd be stuck here all week if it went to game shows.
It doesn't seem to matter so much. Her hand settles against BB, idly scratching his ears, and Jaime's comfort and relief settling around her like it's a heavy blanket he's thrown over her shoulders. Sure, there's still worry, too, but it's a reactive feeling; so long as she gives him nothing new to worry about, it recedes.
The outright earnest delight feels very much Jaime, but at the same time... ]
... They're so ugly... [ The wrinkles and the hairlessness on the inevitably high-def picture is... certainly an image... ] ... are they rats or are they moles?
[ Just because she's good with animals doesn't mean she knows jack shit about. Any of them. ]
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He grins at the screen, amused by her reaction. She's right. They are ugly. It's what makes them so great. ]
They're kind of their own thing. Maybe the scientists who discovered them just ran out of names. [ Then, cheerfully: ] Bet you some cape named themselves after one. The Mole Rat Marauder, or whatever.
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#still not dokis
listen, he's faster than her!!
you can call her dumb as a rock it's Okay it's True
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