mylegacy | ic inbox / drift fleet

Where are you?

So you can punch me? I don't think so.

Fine. I'll find you. But you're only making this worse for yourself.

[HE'S ON THE HUNT NOW THO.]

Hey c'mon Caesar! I'm being a good friend here!

Ma'va te ne a fanculo.

[Excuse him. He needs to go hide somewhere on his ship where Caesar will not suspect to find him because he's pretty sure he's about to die.]

[PRETTY SURE CAESAR IS GONNA STOMP THROUGH THE CAPRINE ANYWAY. Come out for your beatdown, Jojo.]

[You cannot make him. But really the engine room is the only place for his tall ass to hide since it's the only place with big enough equipment. :'(]

[Excuse him when he lets out the most undignified yelp when he's quickly found.]

Caesar! Um, what are you doing here? You know, I'm pretty sure the Tourist called and they were looking for you. You should head back and see what they want!

[Yeah, no, Joseph, sorry. He's not here to talk. He's here to punch you.]

[Which he does. In the stomach. Right now.]

Figlio di puttana!

[That knocks the wind straight out of Joseph immediately. He's doubled over, but okay. He is not going to just take this lying down. Joseph immediately shoulder tackles Caesar.]

[And Caesar goes down, of course, but happily, because this is easier - far easier than talking and trying to sort out whatever lie he's trying today, and having Joseph tell him things that inexplicably piss him off, and having to act like it doesn't bother him. It does. He's mad as hell, and he'd rather Joseph hit him than talk if this is what he's going to say.]

[He's up again in a moment, or at least half-up, leaning on Joseph to get as close to standing as he can before he stomps down hard on Joseph's instep.]

[Joseph knows he was being at least a little bit of a shit at the tail-end of their conversation. He's used to getting decked at least once, maybe twice when he's acting like that. It's nothing that's really bothered him and he certainly doesn't care of he gets bruises or starts bleeding. There's even something vaguely comforting and very familiar about it when Caesar starts using his fists to get Joseph to knock it off. But there's something about this that feels a little different. At least in comparison to those other fights. The last one on the other hand... It's not just irritation, but actual anger that he's receiving and he doesn't fully understand it.]

[But there's no time to ask where it's coming from or why it's being directed at Joseph. The only thing he can do is just try and ride it out, let Caesar wear himself out and then maybe talk about it. Maybe. Either way, he's not all that concerned about talking when Caesar is stomping down that hard on his foot. Joseph stifles another yelp, this time in pain, by gritting his teeth. He's already up enough on his feet himself to grab onto Caesar with a hand and retaliate with a knee.]

[The knee hits him in the gut, and he grunts, pulls back his teeth in a silent snarl of pain. Already, instinctively, he's looking the engine room over, and there are some tools just out of reach, he could - shouldn't reach for them, because he doesn't want to hurt Joseph, just teach him a lesson.]

[What's the lesson, he wonders, and all he can come up with is stop hurting me, but he can't even tell Joseph how. So he grabs Joseph by his arms, his elbows, jerks forward in a headbutt, because it's that or find something heavy, and he doesn't, he doesn't want to do that.]

[Joseph thought maybe that might be enough when he gets him in the gut. Or at least enough to give Caesar a moment to calm himself down without anything further. But then he's being grabbed and before he can stop the momentum, Joseph is sent stumbling backwards and seeing stars when Caesar hits him head with a headbutt.]

[He catches himself, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he shakes his head to try and shake off the fuzziness he feels now in his face. He's about 80% certain his nose is bleeding, but that's the least of his concerns as that earlier maturity of just letting Caesar lose the wind in his sails eventually and wind down is forgotten. The right combination of stronger pain than their usual scraps mixed in with his confusion as to why he's being punished like this is more than enough to strike at his own quick temper.]

You son of a bitch... [he growls.]

[Of course once Joseph's been set off, it overrides and colors most everything. Technique isn't forgotten, but it is transformed into something rougher, blunter. He's more like a bruiser just looking to pummel and lash out. It's exactly why he just comes back at Caesar simply swinging.]

[Caesar could almost scoff at Joseph's poor technique now; does, in fact, open his mouth to laugh, but nothing comes out except a quiet, hoarse, frustrated sob that he wishes he could swallow back around the lump in his throat - and then Joseph's there, fists flying, and it's all he can do to keep up, blocking most of the blows and hissing at the ones that connect to his jaw, his cheek, his chin.]

[He isn't afraid of getting hurt, not like this, just - afraid of Joseph thinking this is a joke, that he's a joke, that he wants to be doing this, much less for the ratings. Because he knows where the money came from now, all the money after the beach, and it makes him sick, and he wants to give it back and just keep the memories. Those are his.]

[There's a wrench just a foot away from him, hanging off a steel shelf. It'd be easy, so easy to reach for it, to just break Joseph's fingers and be done with this whole stupid thing. But he loves Joseph, damn him, damn both of them, and he wants to show him off and show him up and touch him and make sure that he never, ever knows - and he doesn't want to hurt him. Not like that.]

[He grabs Joseph by the front of his shirt, throws him back against the shelf, which rings with the sound of metal on metal. His chest is heaving, there's a darkening mark on his forehead and his cheek, but all he does is shake Joseph a little in impotent frustration, not sure whether to ask him to stop or to hit harder.]

Edited 2015-09-13 08:49 (UTC)

[Being shoved into the shelf is enough to break Joseph's momentum. The pain of steel shelves on his back and the back of his head is enough to break through the cloud of his anger. He grapples first at Caesar's wrists first, expecting one or both to let him go to start swinging back. But Caesar doesn't make any motion that would indicate he's going to let go and start punching. Instead, he just shakes Joseph. Joseph falls back heavy against the shelf with a grunt and lets go of one of Caesar's wrists in favor of bunching his hand up in the front of his shirt.]

[At first, he's just trying to keep Caesar back. Just far enough that he can't really hit or start shaking him again, trying to give himself the space to catch his breath if he can. He keeps his head leaned forward and sees a droplet or two of blood from his nose hit the floor. Joseph looks up at Caesar through his bangs, watching him. Adrenaline sends a small tremor through him, releasing some of the tension as he straightens again, and starts to both pull and allow Caesar in closer again.]

[It's not an abrupt shift. It rarely is, for Caesar. Grief and anger are deep grooves worn in him, and it's easy for him to fall from one to the other with the barest push. Now, with Joseph allowing him close, pulling him by the front of his shirt, he falls gracelessly into grief again - grief but not regret, because he didn't know how to explain it before and he still doesn't.]

[He isn't shoving Joseph anymore. Just looking at him with hurt written openly across his face and no idea how to conceal it.]

Don't make a joke of me, [he manages eventually, and has to deliberately look away from Joseph for a moment, because it would be easy, so easy, to close the distance between them and just kiss him to prove the point, he's not a joke, this is serious, and it hurts.]

I wasn't making--

[It's a childish defense and Joseph knows it. Only little kids say they didn't do something they did once they've got the consequences looking them in the eye, kicking up an overwhelming amount of guilt. But to some extent, it isn't a complete lie. Joseph didn't mean to make a joke out of things. Not like that. Certainly not in any way that was supposed to hurt Caesar.]

[Joseph sighs.]

You are such a fucking idiot sometimes, you know that? [He pulls Caesar to him, wrapping his arms around him tight.] You're always doing this. You expect me to know exactly what's going on in that head of yours and get pissed when I don't get it right. But I can't fix something I don't know about, Caesar.

I didn't know I was pissing you off [hurting you] this much [at all], okay?

[He thought Caesar was just playing along, or only getting the usual amounts of riled up. He didn't realize he was bothering him that much. Never mind that he doesn't understand how or why what he was saying was bothering Caesar that much. Part of Joseph wants to ask, just to make it so Caesar has to lay his cards out on the table and get straight answers out of him. But he thinks he's done enough damage for one day, and pushing Caesar into actually talking is probably just going to erupt into yet another fight. How else could it go when Caesar's this protective of whatever the hell is going through his head?]

I'm sorry.

[He's not expecting Joseph to pull him close. Maybe he should be. That's the point, after all, isn't it, of keeping quiet about this: that things won't change, that he'll be able to get and give the same comfort he's used to. It's not selfless at all. He just doesn't want things to change.]

[He freezes when Joseph wraps his arms around him, stock-still and startled for a moment, although his chin rests automatically on Joseph's shoulder, his gaze falling to the floor. Slowly, he relaxes, wraps his arms loosely around Joseph's waist, feeling the beginnings of guilt crop up in him, too, not for getting upset but for hurting Joseph as badly as he did.]

It's just not funny.

[His voice is quiet, then muffled on the last word as he presses his face into Joseph's shoulder. This is so stupid. He wants to get off this ship, right now.]

[Joseph isn't thinking about it as much as he has in the past when it comes to trying to comfort Caesar. He knows there's still room for error and he could still make a mistake. But he's been timid enough about it in the past to know at least a few things Caesar likes and doesn't like. He likes it when Joseph is close to him like this, so he holds him. He holds him until he relaxes and loosely holds back. He holds him through and beyond that.]

[When he feels Caesar press his face into his shoulder, a hand comes up to start stroking his hair.]

I know. I'm sorry. I won't joke about it again.

[He doesn't say he promises explicitly, but it's there in the firmness of his tone. Joseph doesn't want to hurt Caesar over anything ever again. He knows that's technically impossible. Even if Joseph weren't as clumsy and as prone to putting his foot in his mouth as he is, he'd end up hurting Caesar somehow anyway because that's just what happens between two people sometimes. But the last time he really hurt Caesar (still without meaning to), he lost him. So he means it when he says he won't joke about it again.]

[He never actually meant to teach Joseph how to do this - how to tone down his natural boisterousness and give him comfort. He never meant to ask for comfort at all. But things are different here in the Fleet; he's got too much space to think and not enough ways to cope with all the things he's thinking about. Joseph holds him and he thinks about a thousand things all at once until his head's spinning, until they all coalesce into one thing, which is Joseph, who in moments like these is everything.]

Okay.

[It's a vulnerable kind of thing to say, to give Joseph that trust. But he believes that it's something worth doing, that Joseph deserves it, no matter how many times he's fucked up in the past. Joseph deserves a hundred second chances.]

[He blinks slowly, his eyes unfocused on the engine room behind Joseph's shoulder; his fingers grip a little too tightly to the back of his shirt.]

I love you, you know. You're a good friend.

[He almost cracks a joke. It's a natural impulse for Joseph to start making light of what just happened so no one has to feel bad about it. They can just acknowledge they were stupid for fighting and move on. That's what they're supposed to do, right? Instinctively, that's what he feels even if he's not sure to what part he's responding to that says now is a good time to put distance between them. He is fractionally a little more tense than he was just a few seconds ago, too. It's tempting to break whatever this is by pulling back in any way he can.]

[But the fingers in the back of his shirt seem to be silently telling him, not yet and asking him, stay. So he doesn't fall back into what should be a usual pattern for them. It doesn't matter what made Joseph feel like he needs that space because it's not about what he needs. (Besides, he can figure it out later if it's still bothering him.) He stays. Joseph stays with Caesar because he needs him to.]

I love you, too, Caesar. [Joseph holds him just a little tighter and lets himself smile some.] You're my best friend. I'm glad you're here with me.

[Joseph doesn't do so well on his own, after all, even though he'd probably be just fine in terms of making friends. It's something that comes very easily and naturally to him. But there's no one else he trusts more or that he'd rather be with than Caesar. He won't say it out loud right now, but... He's grateful. To have this second chance with Caesar. To have more time. Silently, he promises himself and Caesar to find a way to bring Caesar home. No matter how long it takes or how many things and people try to stop him, he'll find a way. What else is a good friend supposed to do if not that?]

[Well. And that's it, isn't it. That's what he wants. Not all he wants, but good enough. It's a thousand times better like this, when they're not talking about things that edge too close to secrets, to things that Caesar doesn't want anyone to know, much less Joseph. This is easier. This is a safe space they've created for themselves, where he panics and Joseph, somehow, knows what to do.]

[Joseph holds him tighter, and his fingers loosen slightly in his shirt. He turns his head into the crook of Joseph's neck and just breathes for a few moments, eyes closing, just being here. This is what he wants.]

[When he pulls away, it's with a smile and a light squeeze on Joseph's upper arm, something reassuring, even though it isn't Joseph who needs reassurance at all.]

Thank you. [A beat.] Not for being an asshole. For the other thing.

[For all the other things.]

[Joseph grins crookedly, quietly relieved.]

Yeah, yeah, yeah...

[Joseph rolls his eyes as he wipes his upper lip and nose with the back of his hand. He isn't bleeding too badly at least, but he still starts pinching his nose. He looks down at the floor for a moment, a few tools on the floor, but all he does is toe them with his boot and shove them underneath the shelf before looking back up at Caesar. The fingers of his free hand twitch to reach out and see how tender those bruises on his face are, but he keeps his hands to himself. He sighs.]

I got you pretty good, huh? [Joseph turns him around before throwing an arm around his neck and leading him up out of the engine.] C'mon. We've got some ice in the kitchen. I don't want to hear you bitching later about how I bruised your face and it's all swollen, and blah, blah, blah.

[Maybe he senses that Joseph's thinking about reaching out, maybe he was going to anyway, but when Joseph's fingers twitch he reaches up to experimentally test his bruises. He only winces a little. They're not so bad - he's had worse. And he doesn't regret this, not the way he's come to regret so many things since coming to the Fleet.]

[Joseph's arm comes around his neck, and he ducks his head instinctively, looking at his shoes for a moment as he walks.]

It doesn't matter. I'll still be better-looking than you no matter how much you beat my face in.

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