••Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, broken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle•••
He was all packed up and ready. The cleanup of the hole he camped out for about couple weeks was now just as "neat" as he found it. Even dust was like before. Now he just finished up with wiping any print that could be hiding and whatever particles decided to grow attachments to the place.
His job was done. In few hours he'll be back. Just all dressed up and across the street. It felt huge and exciting as it felt terribly frightening and catastrophic.
Like there really were two options possible. To him it was just one singular outcome. He had to get it all done and take whatever he planned to take as well as bring the Roland's crew to their spot. One task with a side and all will be done and he could get his lungs work a bit longer. It was the sole purpose he had.
He struggled to draw air for a second longer as his eyes followed the catering organizer lady swing by and point her fingers and hand this way or that. Showing the young crowd of workers to near lines and scenarios as they hustled trays and boxes from large cargo trucks. The place was swarming like a bee hive. Each and every one had a task at hand and a place to be. Each second was full of action.
And the woman orchestrating all that was thriving in excitement and joy. It was her thing. Nate could see that easily. Determination and confidence. It shone through.
Her whole being was glowing some bright energy and even he could feel it.
He kept choking on his inhales as he saw her husband, some government or law enforcement official, stop by to kiss his wife with such loving energy and buzzing enthusiasm. It was a feeling he was barely familiar with. But he understood it and supported.
It just never was his life. So he's not here to judge them for that.
He observed them for a while as they kept talking and smiling at each other and Nate caught a picture on the phone he was showing her just for the woman's eyes flicker flash of sadness. Somebody in the picture was raising her concern but obviously he promised her something regarding the man's silhouette his eye caught briefly because she did smile, albeit slight tearfully.
The moment was short but he still caught the looks. The guy was looking flashing and especially dashing in a suit Nate recognized from Earth style. Old school classics from sixties era or something like that. Some legendary style iconic throughout centuries.
Nate himself used to have one suit like that. He also had a matching fedora and fancy cane to go along. Some snickered at his choice of costume but he just raised middle finger at them.
Some jazz music to flow the mood and it was almost cathartic.
The guy had similar ensemble except for the cane. He had some flashy watch and a bulk on the ankle.
But he did look gallant as fuck and Nate approved.
Sadly he couldn't catch exact facial features on the guy because the man who eerily reminded him of an FBI agent from Earth put the screen away and kissed his wife a goodbye.
Nate just barely managed to slip outside on the roof on the back when his lungs once again reminded him of the illness he had and that sometimes genetic engineering, or whatever shit it was, made little space for other genetic aspects and nature itself.
As the doctor once said he was just as lucky as the guy next door who won million dollars in a lottery but government just wanted to screw that up.
In other words he was fucked up and not even high tech medical science of the colonial world could help more than once in a while sprout a procedure to clean all the gunk out and completely wipe out the infection as well as restore some of the tissue. But like all the fancy stuff in life it came with a price. And it was really high.
But it was life and life always cost high. Nate could only last as long as he could keep it flowing every once in a while for just so long.
Other option was to completely grow a pair of lungs out of literal scrap- his own stem cells- and then try for transplant. It was extremely high risk and even higher extreme of funds called in.
Something a man of lower social level and no legal job or even title for himself, aside fugitive or criminal, could ever dream of. Not even the highest bidder would help him without some sort of decent title.
Even if the space was big enough and colonies and other explorers that occupied galaxies across the vast darkness could manage the technology he would always everywhere be just this piece of shit nobody ever wanted to deal with. He was and forever will be the shady type.
•• I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man •••
If there ever will be anything other than a bottle for his efforts to be alive Noel felt his duty to see it.
He wasn't one for being mollycoddled or treated like eggshell. He was made to be strongest piece of shit humanity can believe exists and that particular asshole guy next door wouldn't dare to bring to the bar.
Yet he was literally herded towards one and he could only feel his blood singing through his veins in anticipation. It sang for that bloody drink he could no longer live without. And before he faced the world he allowed himself that moment of truth- he was addicted to his booze, and not even a beautiful girl could lure him away. He was distracted by his pills so long to wash them down with something stronger.
For all the sorrow he faced in his own soul.
The broken man without life left to live yet full of hopes that something from the past will return his life inside.
And Samara had been right all along, way before she apologized seconds before his world exploded and turned dark.
She knew him so well and understood. Because they were same.
And Nate the poor guy he pulled down his own fall, he deserved better. Just another casualty to add the guilt weighing him down. All the burdens tossed on top of his heart and fizzling the poison of his darkness.
Noel wasn't saint. Never aimed to be. But he always placed others as worthy the saint title. He saw all the good in every single person around but never himself.
No, he wasn't worthy.
So then why he was here in this dark night about to be dressed up like the invalid he truly was he didn't know. They just kept him waiting until all staff members left and provided him the disabled service he was supposed to accept.
They knew he was supposed to accept the wheelchair and all buzz as he departed last among other disabled staff members and other parts of crew and guests because it was policy. And one he recognized from another place long centuries ago.
But if he kept his honesty trip, yes, he absolutely felt the call for that wheelchair even if they deemed him okay to walk by himself. His legs were turning into useless jelly and the pain in his back made any movement impossible. His hands were shaking worse like leaves in a tree in the fall wind.
No, he didn't deserve any of this. He was worthless. His life was empty even if he still loved flying.
But he will never have his own ship nor full control over a battle. Even if he was the best damn pilot after another guy that indeed became a light for the fleet way before he was done schooling.
He'd never be honored the way the other guy deserved. Because he didn't.
Like a ghost for years he kept getting this mock honor thing they just tossed at him like a bone to a dog. Because it was regulation, a policy flaw nobody cared for. He'd be forgotten anyway and kept in the dungeon below actual bridge crew cabins only to show up at console or bar out of spite and need for a booze.
Noel lost to Federation long ago. It was merely gentle and showing compassion in the eye of the whole Fleet and Federation admiralty for sole reason he was now getting escorted outside like a garbage can.
Just because he died on a rooftop of some Federation property and was revived for the whole universe to see what can happen to a shit like him who thought they were special. In reality he was shown that even if he could walk sometimes he will forever be disgrace of the Federation and Starfleet and they'd make sure whole universe will never forget.
That whoever created him is same scumbag as himself and therefore not worth a shit.
•• I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands •••
The suit was on now and time was just about to hit the bell. Neal felt his insides twisting around his ribs and trying to braid themselves.
He was indeed extremely nervous- something Neal Caffrey never was. He used to thrive in the nervous energy and aim it at his next heist.
Never like this.
Never this anxious about attending an event like gala. That one was always on his top list of events he wanted to trick Peter into taking him and especially get a bonus point if El was along.
And that woman always did cater some fancy events as her credibility raised and reviews thrived.
People loved fancy stuff and her finger foods always came to public as best imaginable.
Yet this time it felt completely wrong.
On one side it was suddenly Peter dragging Neal along.
On the other- Neal was utterly afraid of it.
Two things that for the first time got tangled around the familiarity of days in past.
And maybe it did happen too fast, too unexpected, for the conman to wrap his mind around. Because it has never had happened before and as capable Neal was in adjusting this just blew so much out of what was once deemed safe.
He kept staring at the mirror that showed a gaunt face with grey hued skin. Skin that had sheen covering it.
All the bones in his skeleton stuck out as if he was an unfinished painting base sketch. He could literally see the sharp edges and shadow contrasts that oddly and equally eerily reminded pencil or charcoal stokes.
His eyes felt too big and too bright. The cerulean blue dimmed by endless nights of self hate. They almost seemed half dead. With darker shadowing emphasizing months of nightmares and self loathing moments.
Neal tested a smile and his lips cracked at the long forgotten emotion. It felt hollow.
Cheeks sunken in left small creases casting shadows like spiderwebs.
Maybe he did look like zombie if he even knew how one must look like. At least skin color matched for sure.
Neal glanced down at the silhouette his body cast and while it's been just recently he noticed the brand new suit already looked too big on him. The sleeves felt like some creature's wings flapping hopelessly against time and pressure.
And heavens if he actually felt his skin flapping along inside the shirt. It's been already a while since he was able to hold his pen steady for long enough to scribble a note. It all felt so distant.
Like time has trickled past twice as fast and tenfold more. And maybe it really did.
On this planet time felt weird and all wrong but he no longer held Earth's time to compare. His watch simply died about a week ago if that was even a week. To him it felt more like a year and made regret not paying attention to those introductory classes and lectures for new colonists.
He was a colonist. Word that described every soul stepping off those evacuation fleet ships.
Too many for him to count and all full to the brim with people from Earth.
But only he felt like actual zombie trying to claim a territory.
Even if he had no impulse nor inspiration to do more than sleep all the time and fight his demons inside.
He knew his façade will crack more. It does it nonstop. And it will break tonight. Night he dreaded like being thrown to DC unit for his bad behavior. Threatening another agent with a stolen gun after swinging through a window while holding on a string of curtain.
It made him sick just recalling it did happen. All of it under conspiracy Kate dropped off in her evasive manner.
Like he'll always be the one to take the fall.
Kate was like something that still hurt but not enough to cause breakdown again. But he's done his few long ago. They'd even sort of put him on suicide watch after the explosion. From snippets Neal learned how hard he tried to throw himself into the plane remains. How hard he wanted to go along her. She'd always been the one to draw Neal in. And he always fell for her. Even if what she asked in return was too impossible Neal will always be the guy to do it.
Only he failed one last time and now he lost everything he thought he worked his hardest to achieve. He failed everything and everyone. He never deserved all the good coming his way.
He should've died along the planet he loved so much…
••
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand…•••