He pretended to sleep for a few hours, never managed to drift back off and not for lack of trying. Next to him, Augustus sleeps like a rock after downing some cold medicine. "I won't make a habit out of it," he'd said assuredly and no deception crossed the barrier so Delta believed him. 'I'll keep a close eye,' he tells himself as he watches the subtle rise and fall of Sinclair's encased torso, the light but prominent snoring serving as proof that his companion was, in fact, unconscious. What is all of this, he wonders. Are the feelings he sometimes gleams his own or the Panamanian's? Things weren't even half this confusing with Eleanor. Granted, most of his memories with the girl occurred when she was a child and that was often a time of emotional simplicity. Here, he is bound to a grown man who doesn't even seem to understand himself.
The dreams Delta had had were telling in that regard. In the hours he's spent awake since Sinclair had passed out, he's wondered many things - continues to do so with fervor. He agreed to talk. That's a start, but what can Delta push and what does he need to keep far away from? On one hand, so many things have crossed between them that has him beyond curious and on another the very same things might be so off-limits that mentioning them could trigger violent regression. Is Augustus the type to turn like that? The man Delta had met in Rapture might not have been, but this new and very vulnerable man isn't exactly his spitting image. The Alpha looks at the sunlight just starting to peer into his room through the gaps in the trees and both thinks that morning can't come soon enough and prays it stays away just a little while longer.
"Why did you do that?"
The question still has him baffled. What did he think Delta did? Did he have a nightmare? Was Delta in it? Did they have a shared dream that the younger man couldn't remember? The ladder suggestion can't be possible. Delta himself had been dreaming before a bolt of panic ran through his entire body and jolted him awake. Can he be in two dreams at once? Actually… taking his own into account… maybe. It had been another affair in pitched darkness, only hearing voices in the black. He recognized both of them but only because one was Sinclair's and the other belonged to the man that Sinclair often spoke to in these unconscious hallucinations. Somewhere along the thread there had been a name, but that information has since diluted and he can't quite remember it - neither can he most of the interaction between the two aside from the last portion.
The man had said "I love you."
Sinclair laughed and told him to shut up.
Augustus' reply hadn't seemed hurtful - more like a playful jab, something he's done to Delta before… Yet this man seems to be someone close to the Panamanian, much closer than the younger Alpha. Delta is, in many ways, unsure about things in the real world and things surrounding the usual interactions of people; however, he isn't entirely naive. He knows. Knowing stokes a small flame in the pit of his chest and he senses his face burning. All of it feels so immature. Delta balls his right hand into a fist and thumbs over it with his left to try and relieve some of the tension but it does little.
Silence.
Augustus has stopped snoring. The younger man glances over at the second mattress and finds the older man's hazel eyes just starting to crack open. It's still too early for him to be back up… Did Delta accidentally wake him? Did he have another dream? "Wassap chief?" he slurs with a mouthful of sleep.
'Thinking,' comes his simple and honest reply. He doubts Augustus has the brain power to understand more than ten words at the moment.
"How long you been up?"
'Not long.' Sinclair's brow furrows knowingly. He caught that. Delta smiles softly with a scoff. He's gotten better at catching those little tells - though Delta didn't try to hide that one. The older man reaches up and grasps the younger's shoulder and uses it to help lift himself onto his rear with a groan. He leaves it there once he's upright and for a few minutes the two sit side-by-side, backs against the shiplap wall.
"You okay?" He doesn't even look at him.
'No. You?' The Panamanian laughs a breathy laugh and shakes his head.
Through a smile he says, "I don't know why we keep asking each other that," before patting Delta's shoulder and letting his hand slip off and fall limp in the gap between their mattresses. The younger man turns to look out the window. He sucks in a deep breath.
'Is it too early to talk?'
The smile stiffens into a thin line accidented by a huff. Sinclair's hands shift into his lap where they wring together nervously. "We probably won't have this privacy again for a little while, huh…?" He isn't expecting an answer. "Alright, chief… shoot."
The cooperation is unexpected for sure, but the openness of it is even more so. By the looks of things, Augustus is giving Delta free reign, a concept which tugs Delta's lips into a grin. 'What's your favorite color?' Sinclair is quick to throw his larger friend a look of confusion that widens Delta's amused smile with its comically-high brow as the 'what' is left unsaid. 'What's your favorite color?' he repeats. Though he'd deny it, his grin becomes just a tad devious.
"I…" Sinclair holds his forehead in minor distress. "My favorite… I don't..." He looks at Delta. "Green, I guess?" To him, it seems trivial and that's fine.
'Why?'
"What do you mean 'why'? I don't know. I like the way it looks."
'What's your favorite food?'
"What are you doing?"
'What's your favorite food?'
"I thought you wanted to talk about actual problems."
'What is. Your favorite. Food?'
With a relenting sigh, the older man replies, "Crab. I love crab. Just about anything with crab in it, I will eat like I've been deprived of food for weeks. How about you, big hoss? Color? Food?"
Delta smiles a little more gently. 'I like pink… And I don't know much about food.' This time, Augustus beams just slightly, even emitting a tiny chuckle.
"We'll have to fix that. Now, I'm no James Beard, but I think I know my way around a kitchen and I promise to make you something at least edible."
'All that effort for me?' Delta teases.
Another laugh. "Shut up."
And that strikes him… Like a freight train. The vehement need to know - to truly know through the words of the man at his side - becomes almost too much for him to fend off. He's curious beyond reason, wants details he knows he has no right to ask for… But that's it, isn't it? He has no right to ask. It isn't important. It likely has nothing to do with whatever it is that has Augustus acting so unwell and so it shouldn't matter to him more than whatever the real issue is, but it does. Why does it matter to him? Against the burning in his chest, Delta avoids that question and moves on to something he knows really needs to be asked.
'What did you dream about last night?'
Achilles
Achilles
Achilles, come down
Won't you get up off
Get up off the roof?
He'd expected the question to come sooner, preferably without all the trivial fluff that Delta probably hopes settled his nerves a little. The effort is appreciated; however, it's only a calm before the storm, building tension, lying in wait to spring the winds and lashing rain on him. He still doesn't want to talk about it… but he said he would and, regardless of his condition, Augustus Sinclair is a man of his word. And so, he tells Delta everything - every horrible and equal parts muddled detail to which he merely listens in blank silence. By the end of it, Sinclair is choking on something - not tears - and almost isn't able to cough out the last word. It's many long moments of silence before Delta finally "voices" anything on the matter… and what he does say isn't assuring.
'I don't remember that…' his silent voice hums into the back of Sinclair's skull. 'I remember the last part,' he hastily corrects. 'But not… the rest.' But "the rest" is what Augustus wants to be explained away. Please have this gruesome exhibition not be born from his own twisted, guilty mind and just be something from years long passed… The world couldn't give him that solace. Why would it? He doesn't deserve mercy… More and more does Augustus realize that this idea, this spur of the moment decision was a horrible idea. Here Delta is, a kind human being without even a name, shackled to him, a man who will forever plague his subconscious with seeping, inescapable tar.
'You didn't save him… You just gave him another burden.' A ton of bricks on a tightrope…
'Stop!' It's sudden and urgent, so much so that a simple thought crossing his mind makes the older man jump. His shoulders are seized by two massive hands, ones that grip him and ground him so he is unable to run from those big, lop-sided, sea-green eyes. 'Please stop…'
You're scaring us
And all of us
Some of us love you
Achilles, it's not much
But there's proof…
You Crazy assed Cosmonaut
Remember your virtue
Redemption lies planely In truth
He heard him… or… it… his thoughts. He doesn't know anymore. Delta's hands hold tighter, accenting a look of pure distress on his disfigured face. 'You. Are not. A burden. You saved both mine and Eleanor's lives, got yourself turned into…' He pinches the loose mesh on Sinclair's arms. '...This for us… How could I hate you…?'
"How could you-" He looks on with disbelief. "Delta, you know what I've done."
'What happened in Rapture doesn't matter anymore.'
"Doesn't-" The Panamanian twists from the other's grasp and struggles to his feet, finding his balance in his left hand placed against the wall. His face is contorted into thin, rigid lines from furrowed brow to his almost snarl of a frown. "Delta, I hurt people. I took advantage of people. I turned a blind eye to people like Fontaine turning you and all of those little girls into monsters! You're here because of me!"
'No, I'm not.' Delta moves so that he's sitting on the edge of the second mattress, knees almost in his chest when his feet are placed flat on the floor.
"Really? Really? When Ol' Andy Ryan sat me down and told me to throw a man guilty of nothin' more than bein' quiet in prison, what did I do?" By now, tears are starting to well in Sinclair's eyes. They sting like hellfire. "What did I do, Delta? When Andrew Ryan said jump, what did I do!" The younger man stares blankly… barely moves when the older man leans down and his voice becomes but a harsh, gravely whisper… "I said… 'How high…'"
Just humor us, Achilles
Achilles come down
Won't you get up off
Get up off the roof…
Slowly, Delta gets to his feet. He stands at least six inches taller when they're both straight but he doesn't try to tower over the man - to try and gain authority over the situation through sheer brute strength. In all other places, Delta's physique has given him leverage but this isn't a door he has to force open or another protector he must put to sleep. This is a man. Only a man… even if he doesn't think so. Two hands return to their previous positions on the smaller shoulders and hold tight against vein, half-hearted resistance.
'It doesn't matter anymore.'
"How can you say that? No matter how far away we get, those things still happened!"
Delta shrugs. 'They happened. No matter what you say or how much you hurt yourself, that's never going to change.'
"Then what do you suggest I do…?" The look on his face signals that Sinclair finds the notion ridiculous, maybe even disgusting. It's outrage and confusion doing a very poor waltz. "Go about my days and pretend like they didn't? Act like I don't have the blood of dozens on my hands?" He lifts his clothed palms and balls them into shaking, knuckle-popping fists. "Johnny Topside's" quivering lips, to Sinclair's continued bewilderment, turn upwards into a kind… loving… pleading smile.
'Be better.' Two words is all it takes to wipe Augustus's expression clean of all anger. Now there rests only disbelief in his eyes which blow wide as though asking 'how?' It's as though the other had asked him to grow wings and fly. 'I know you can be… I've seen it.'
"So what, I start donating to charity and reading orphans bedtime stories? What good could I possibly fucking do?"
'Why don't you ask the twelve little girls down the hall? Or Eleanor? Since my testimony isn't good enough... You changed our lives... Any good deed is still worth something... Even if it's a small one. No, it doesn't change what happened - nothing will, but… It's still worth something.'
Sinclair scoffs, cheeks now decorated with hot streaks that he tries to wipe away. "It could be worth a king's ransom and it still wouldn't fix anything."
'It's not about fixing something. It's about being better. I want you to try. That's all. Just try." Delta presses his forehead to Augustus's with a mangled hum emanating from the pit of his throat. Maybe he's trying to say something, put something into the real world for the other to grasp only for it to fail to take form. The contact makes the smaller man flinch and then still, practically melting into it just like before.
Achilles
Achilles
Achilles, come down
Won't you get up off
Get up off the roof
The self is not so weightless
Not whole and unbroken
Remember the pact of our youth…
That touch is so warm and that small gurgle somehow reassuring, more so than any silent thought that Delta could ever pass between them. Initially, he calls it forgiveness… but that isn't what it is. For one to forgive, they have to remember the transgression. This? This is something else, something parts foolish and others optimistic. Innocent is a good word for it... Innocent like the moral reasoning of a child... and yet more sound than the self-loathing of an adult. Just try… That's all he wants. Effort. The hatred and mental torture is easy to do - brutual to take, but an effortless process to undertake again and again. Betterment was never that so 'trying' will indeed be quite the order. But… That's what Delta has been doing… Trying.
Through the awkwardness, the coldness, the pain and emotional instability that could send his body into total shutdown, Delta has been trying… Not for himself… but for Augustus… for Eleanor. Calling him a "trooper" would be an understatement. It's all so much… too much. Ol' Johnny Topside is too much… So he laughs. Sinclair laughs and presses equally into the larger man because he can't think of anything else he can possibly do at this moment. He's officially lost it. Delta laughs to… or tries his best to. It's all just little grunts and wheezing. The entire argument is immature and something they should not have had before the sun was even up and that's what's funny. They're emotional wrecks and that's what's funny. What isn't is the two of them finally backing away and looking at each other… And Sinclair seeing those eyes looking upon him with such care. What isn't funny is the older man realizing that his own eyes hold Delta in similar esteem…
What isn't funny is Augustus finally realizing what he's gotten himself into.
Where you go, I'm going
So Jump and I'm jumping
Since there is no me without you….
He sees him enter a store across the street. It's a face he knows he's seen before. Through the large display window of the shop, he catches glimpses of the man weaving through tiny isles. He stops at some, places little items in a hand-held shopping basket. His own face is one he knows will never be recognized and so he leaves his more boisterous companion to his own devices and crosses after the target of his fascination. The store itself is a "mom and pop" shop that likely gets its inventory from local producers. Hand-stitched clothes and toys thrown in with homemade food stuffs like pies and cookies. The benefactor wanders slowly about. He keeps the other man in his peripheral and doesn't fret beyond that. This man doesn't expect a tail and why would he? Soon, the larger man is close enough to see the items in the basket... And he tempts fate.
"Little girls at home?" he asks with a grin and loving tone upon seeing the little stuffed bears and hair-bows. The target of his question looks almost surprised, stunned for a moment like he has to think about the answer - strike one.
"Oh, uh... Yes. Three." he stops mid-stride with a box of children's cold medicine in-hand.
"How old are they? One of mine is six, the other ten." Again, the man has to think about it. Wouldn't a father know the ages of his own children? Strike two.
"Eight. All three of them. Triplets." Easiest answer, smart if he didn't know who was asking. Why try to remember three numbers if one would suffice under the right circumstances? It isn't a tell, but it would still make sense if he has the right man.
"That has to be a handful - having them all at once like that. Not a quiet moment, I'm sure."
"It's isn't too bad. Their older sister can usually get them to simmer down if things get too hectic." An unmentioned fourth daughter. The way he says this radiates an air of partial truth... Maybe the little Lamb...? Not quite a strike, though. Not yet.
"It's always nice to have a helping hand. I'm lucky if I can get a baby sitter that can deal with the youngest one. She's going through her 'mine' phase. Are you from here? You don't look familiar."
"Uh... No. No, just moved here not too long ago."
"Where from?" And... He stops... to think. Strike three.
"New York. Didn't have enough room where we were so we moved closer to some family around here."
"Definitely a lot quieter here. Anyway, welcome. I wouldn't want to hold you up any longer." He grabs a couple boxes of pain killers off of the shelf and heads up to the counter. He doesn't need them, but leaving the store without something would be suspect. He finds Poole a couple blocks down talking to a young woman sitting on a bench - flirting might be the more apt word for it. When he sees him coming, Stanley dismisses himself and eyes his benefactor curiously.
"So? Find anythin' interestin'?"
"Tell me if this rings any bells: Middle-aged man of color, big round glasses, short beard, dresses like a librarian."
"Heh. Boy does it. Sounds like Mister Porter, fella behind 'The Thinker.' It came after your very short time in Rapture, a 'super computer,' he called it. Helped run a lot of automated shit down there."
"So he was important."
"In some ways. You sayin' you think you found him?"
"I know I have."
-Author's Note-
Hello all,
I took a small hiatus to deal with real life issues. It's been a crazy few months on my end and I hope I haven't frustrated anyone with my lack of content. Let this tiny chapter mark my return to this story and the ACTUAL PLOT FINALLY PICKING UP because my slow burns are slower than god damned molasses. I should have warned you guys that this one was going to be a bit of a read.
Anyway, fans and shit. Be prepared.
Love,
Submarines
P.S.
The Song in this chapter is "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths.