[AN] Sorry I am late. As always thank you for the comments , I finally got out of hospital! I have the last of four POVs planed but can't decide who to feature. So far I have written snippets for Elara, Shade, Mare, Farley and Iris. I' ll maybe bring one or two back later in another arc. For now though I really cannot decide who to write. Making continuing a bit harder. Who would you like to see?
Cameron
It's afternoon and she's been busy all day, fixing things, promising to fix other things, even just planning to fix things. Meeting's not until tomorrow, whatever the news are. Still no call from Thomas or Hannah. Her feet tap on the ground a few times before she realizes it.
Of course, Nanny notices her roaming around. She gives her that look again. Cameron chooses to ignore it.
She meets him at the door, putting his jacket on.
"Didn't know you were still here." She mutters and wraps herself into the woolen scarf. It scratches along her neck. She has to sweep her hair from under it to adjust it. It's a little frizzy from the dry air.
" I was just leaving," Kilorn says. "Meeting with Mare."
Does he still have a thing for her or has that died? And why does she even care? None of her business, really. Romance and stuff, it is not her cup of tea. Too sweet, too stressful.
She makes a little disgusted noise in the back of her throat. It's not like she hates Mare Barrow. That's a strong word. If she had more time and optimism, they could be really good friends. She has none of it and they tumble and sass over each other in annoyance pretty often.
He seemingly waits for an answer. Or a question. She doesn't give any of it. "Are you coming along?"
"I just need some air." She brushes him off. "You two have fun or whatever."
Company seems out of question. She feels tired, head hurting a little from all the worrying.
He reads between her creased brow. "Sure you don't want to come along, Cam?"
"Yeah." She shrugs. It's toothless right now. She's not even trying to be snide.
Their shoulders brush when he opens the door.
He gives her a last look out of green eyes. "See you tomorrow."
"Sure." She answers and strides into the cold.
She's wearing the thickest shirt she has, with holes in the sleeves and a little stain on the collar, but no one will ever see it as long as she keeps her jacket on.
Face and hair hidden under a hood as good as possible, she moves through the mess at her feet. The snow is long gone from pristine and white. Instead, it's brown and black. Half molten into water and mud it soaks into the hem of her pants and tries to work through her boots. She's had it worse. Still. The wind bites cold and vicious.
The wind howls, tiny icicles on her skin. She creeps along the alley right behind the station. Trains are running irregularly. If it's the weather or just limitations to watch over the flock of sheep, who knows? There are no excuses. Just bright orange letters on a wall telling how little chances there are to move freely. The checkpoint is still there. But after the final solutions are dragging and there's seemingly no resistance the forces have been cut or moved to another place. The remaining police and security are bristling and foul-mouthed. They are ready to hit. She'd be happy to answer. It's always a little gamble with her papers. She'd not use the train if she didn't have to. Cars are worse. She used to drive alongside her father sometimes. The thought of the little pause, the way his hands were resting on the wheel and the way she used to listen to the radio and wait for him to say something, all that gone for good, that's worse than any checkpoint.
On a Sunday afternoon in this part of town, there's not much to see. Her figure fights the wind relentlessly. The clear air helps to cleanse her head a little. Just enough to shush the tiredness in her bones.
She stops here and there, with some blinking memories that dive out of her mind. A corner she used to hang around last summer. That parking lot where she got into a fight. The memories in this city are small. She's been here for a too short duration of time to have too many. All of them are still tied to Morrey or Thomas. With one attested and locked up and the other missing, it's hard to find something about it she still likes.
Sure, there are other people, good people. Weird people. People that care and people that try at least.
Some are decent enough. She's still not sure many of them would call her a friend.
She's not sure why she sits down on a bench. Her fingers feel cold in the pockets of her jacket. Her ears tingle a little. The cold seeps through every fiber of the world. Tries to conquer it.
The bench doesn't hold her for long. She returns to the alley behind the station. In the dark, she remembers, there used to be patrols and curfew. People are still afraid to go out. The officials say crime rate has vapidly exploded. You get arrested for everything. You just need that look.
If you're silver you're lucky. Lucky, lucky bastards. As always.
If summer was the time for fighting and autumn was the time for laying low and planning, hiding and ducking, what will winter bring? So far everything that it has brought is too little information, freezing and standing still, turning in circles. Sure, some small victories and losses. Still, it takes its time.
Everything always takes time.
Makes you realize how small your wishes are in the corner of the one big that everyone says they wish for. For now, the cold wins. She retreats as the light turns low. The sky gets dark and black, heavy. Without a single star in the sky.
The door opens with a hissing sound, letting a gush of wind and snow inside. She stomps off most of the snow before closing the door shut. She kicks off her boots. Her socks are wet too. Her toes feel a little frozen. Just like the rest of her body.
She wiggles them slightly before peeling off the layers of clothes around her slowly, letting the warmth seep in as she makes her way up to her room.
"I'm back." She yells. Not particularly sure who she is yelling at.
Her phone buzzes.
Hannah:
Brother found and retrieved. But u won't believe me what's happening?
She is glad no one can see she's as relieved that he's alive as pissed for the casual way he always returns.
Her phone buzzes again and she looks unwillingly at a row of pictures as she steps up the stairs with her clothes tugged under her arm.
Thomas is pale with a cut along his jaw and a sling around his arm. Of course, he'd get in trouble without someone having his back. Because that toad of a boyfriend doesn't have the spine for it. He only has the spine for harassment and lies, as it suits him.
As if to prove her point she scrolls over the next image. Thomas with the cut on his chin leaning over, half grimacing half smiling, with the asshole next to him. It's the over exaggerated fun pose Thomas can strike when he's super uncomfortable. Almost like his body isn't sure how to even exist with his thoughts in a tight knot.
She's never seen them together. For the best probably. Those blue eyes always made her think of a shark. Now they seem tired mostly, with shadows and circles eating on the form. Not like she's pitying him.
If Thomas had a grain of self-confidence he'd let go and look for someone who treats him with respect. But he's afraid no one else will ever take him. He thinks they are some star-crossed lovers. Meant to be. He runs back and never listens. If she'll ever meet him in person, she's sure she'll break his face. If Barrow and his brother leave anything for her. She feels a little sick. It's partly her fault he's back together. If she hadn't made that picture of him he'd maybe never have gotten in touch again. And everyone could have skipped a lot of tears and fuckery.
So they are hanging around as they always do. No big deal. Then she notices that there's a pot of flowers in the window behind them. They don't own flowers in the apartment. And the window is wrong too. The next picture is confirming her suspicions.
Thomas mother was always nice to her. She reminded her a bit of her own. It hurt only a little. She is nice and firm, a good one. Of course, she'd be nice to someone Thomas cares about. They still stand in front of the window, snow whirling on the other side. The kitchen, Cameron is sure. Thomas is gone but Hannah is like a paparazzi. She holds onto Calore perfectly, hunched shoulders and grey splotches on his neck. She can't really decide if he looks a little terrified or if she just imagines that.
She invited him inside. Hannah writes. Cameron can imagine the exasperated sigh and palms pushing away her long hair. It's withering white on the tips slightly, as Barrows. Seems to be a Stilts thing.
Sure enough, when she first saw Thomas and Mare together, she was sure they were somehow related. They had some sort of look to them. It wasn't even really visible. Sure they both have similar hair, wear dark clothes and were tanned from the sun, but that was it. It was more of something that went down under the skin. They both have nice comebacks for her slinging slurs around. They both can be pretty good at annoying her. Thomas is easier to go with and talks a lot more than Mare. But that's perhaps because they are much closer.
"We used to hang at the same places," Thomas said once. "And Hannah was swooning for her brother for a while. Heartbreaker that one. Our mothers make jokes about marriage sometimes. But I don't think she ever really noticed me before...before Maven. I was just some guy along the lines. I was always some guy before I ran away from home. No one really saw me before I decided to stop giving fucks. And the rest..we know how that went, Cookie."
No one knows life is shit and hard better than Cameron. She doesn't wish for it to be rainbow with happy sparkling sprinkles on top. But if the shitshow could hold on a second, give everyone a chance to catch up and throw some punches, it would be appreciated.
The phone buzzes again.
She invited him for dinner ?! Dad is like boiling... And Tommy is no help
That's shit for you. She thinks but doesn't write. What does she expect Cameron to do about it? She's unable to help her own brother. She can't do anything. It's frustrating and wrong.
With a long breath, she decides to settle on the bed, toes slowly returning to live.
At least he didn't kill your brother. She answers.
Ida just shakes hands with his royal Highness like they're old business partners? Mom told her to be really polite and that's what she's doing
Thomas is laughing his ass off. It's kinda cute tho
The thought of the toothy smile and the disheveled braid on a little girl shaking hands and trying really hard to be friendly makes Cameron huff. She remembers the heart on her cheek when they sat together on the table and Ida grew bolder and cheeky with every passing second.
She sprawls her long legs over the mattress and yawns. The night was too short and the days keep getting longer. She knows she will probably still not sleep very much. At least it's warm up here. Ada's side of the room is empty. She listens to the heartbeat of the house for a while. Creaking pipes as someone turns on the water in the bathroom. The streaming sound of a shower. Feet tapping over a staircase, rattling of dishes downstairs. It's always busy. There's always someone moving in the day. Maybe part of why she wanders around at night.
Mom is literally melting over Maven
Hannah sure isn't too happy. Cameron can empathize.
He made a joke about Thomas eating habits and they talk about all of Thomas allergies?
She's planning their wedding. Help me, Cameron.
Congrats on your new brother in law.
For a while, there is no reply and she puts the phone away, plugging the charger in. Sometimes days come and go, striding by her window. Sometimes they run and everything seems to be happening at once.
If she had to make a map to explain the weird way everyone is interwoven with the other, it would take a while.
Watching them all enter the pit for a fight, getting drawn right in, that's enough shit. And she's got to look out for herself too.
The phone buzzes on the table, loud noise on the wood. Seems the live ticker will continue.
Dad just started roasting. Maven's doing a good job dodging, gotta give him that.
Don't give him anything, she thinks, but then she starts imagining the interrogation. Thomas father can be brash and harsh. He's not a loud man. He judges you silently before asking you questions that hurt and denying things he does not want to acknowledge. Old school, hard and not particularly well adjusted from wartimes, someone called that generation. She wonders how people will regard their generation. If they will say the same. Despite all the things that have turned, some things have gone worse. And if you ask those high and mighty politicians things will never change at all until this world is done. Or not to the benefits of the small people.
Hey. We just had the racism and homophobia meltdown. Not sure Maven will not burn the house down. He's really quiet and shits it is freaking me out.
Mom looks like she wants to divorce Dad. My sister tries to ignore everything. Thomas is done.
Your father is a dick. Cameron writes back and tries to imagine the disaster. Cameron has spent too many time with Thomas and his sister. She can see how they bent under the pressure. One sighing softly, hands tangling in long hair. The other awkwardly trying to laugh the pain away until he is numb enough to move again, still spending too much time in bed the next days.
It's a good thing one isn't involved at all and the other turns up slightly infrequent. Good hearts don't necessarily make good fighters, do they?
For a second she thinks of her brother again. It's empty without him. There was always something she could hold onto. She could turn and see him. Her hands curl into fists. And then her thoughts shift to something else entirely. To the memory of a shoulder brushing hers, legs folded, a tawny blond head and green eyes, watching her work, telling her to worry another day.
She doesn't know why she suddenly thinks of Kilorn. It's irritating her a little. She's glad the messages still keep coming to distract her.
Complain department, that's the real and right term for how she feels. Wrapping herself inside her blanket without changing clothes, she just waits for sleep to come, irregurlar answering texts and waiting for the next bad news.