Regina Mills (
st_oriedqueen) wrote in
strangetrip2017-10-06 01:18 pm
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[GP] All we can do is learn to swim
Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim. - Vicki Harrison
"You're sure?" Regina already knew the answer but demanding that Sam tell her what she already knew satisfied something petty in her. Or maybe just something hurt that hoped he'd have a different answer than her locator spell had already provided.
"Yeah." Sam half-rolled his eyes at her as he leaned across the pink bar counter to grab bottles of beer from the Silver Bar ice bin -- probably the results of Rebekah's last work-effort at the Inn -- for himself and his newly arrived companion.
Briefly, Regina considered burning a hole in the seat of his jeans, but it wouldn't bring Rebekah or any of the absent ones back. Instead, she took refuge in straightening her A-line and walking around the stylish counter Sam lay across like he was surfing the waves of grief. She took down a bottle of pointlessly pricey champagne, and then found the precise cut-crystal glasses Rebekah and Miss Fisher had preferred for their afternoon indulgences. She poured herself a glass and one for the person who dared her openly bitter expression.
"So who all are we missing?" they both said at once, glared at each other and sighed. They both knew the answers, in their own way and for their own reasons. And neither of them wanted to say.
Rebekah Mikaelson. Henry Winchester. Jack Robinson. Phryne Fisher. Dorothy Williams. Angua von Uberwald. Jaime Vegas. Harry Dresden. Lydia Martin. Raleigh Becket. Yasmeen. Joanna Beauchamp. Constance Bonacieux D'Artagnan. Lindsey McDonald.
"Grief is like the ocean," Sam clearly quoted from some fucking where, and Regina tuned him out until he added, "All we can do is learn to swim. Rebekah told me that."
Now Regina rolled her eyes; they weren't friends. "Shut up, Sam."
"You're sure?" Regina already knew the answer but demanding that Sam tell her what she already knew satisfied something petty in her. Or maybe just something hurt that hoped he'd have a different answer than her locator spell had already provided.
"Yeah." Sam half-rolled his eyes at her as he leaned across the pink bar counter to grab bottles of beer from the Silver Bar ice bin -- probably the results of Rebekah's last work-effort at the Inn -- for himself and his newly arrived companion.
Briefly, Regina considered burning a hole in the seat of his jeans, but it wouldn't bring Rebekah or any of the absent ones back. Instead, she took refuge in straightening her A-line and walking around the stylish counter Sam lay across like he was surfing the waves of grief. She took down a bottle of pointlessly pricey champagne, and then found the precise cut-crystal glasses Rebekah and Miss Fisher had preferred for their afternoon indulgences. She poured herself a glass and one for the person who dared her openly bitter expression.
"So who all are we missing?" they both said at once, glared at each other and sighed. They both knew the answers, in their own way and for their own reasons. And neither of them wanted to say.
Rebekah Mikaelson. Henry Winchester. Jack Robinson. Phryne Fisher. Dorothy Williams. Angua von Uberwald. Jaime Vegas. Harry Dresden. Lydia Martin. Raleigh Becket. Yasmeen. Joanna Beauchamp. Constance Bonacieux D'Artagnan. Lindsey McDonald.
"Grief is like the ocean," Sam clearly quoted from some fucking where, and Regina tuned him out until he added, "All we can do is learn to swim. Rebekah told me that."
Now Regina rolled her eyes; they weren't friends. "Shut up, Sam."
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He ran a hand through his bangs and then let it fall again. "Look, I know this sucks for you. Regina fed Rebekah sometimes, so if you're not comfortable with me, she's probably an option. I just wanted you to know. And I thought maybe... I don't know."
For a moment, the misery that Sam kept as locked down as possible showed through in his eyes. "I thought maybe, now that I know why you've always been wary of me, we could finally be friends."
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"It sucks. But it's always sucked from the moment I was murdered and turned into this. The alcohol helps. I assume she told you that too." She shook her head. "I'm not an Original. And I do need help."
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"Murdered," he said repeated tightly, anger flowing through him like a current. "My first girlfriend..." Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, Caroline. That shouldn't have happened to you." He couldn't change it, but if he could, he would hunt the vampire that had turned her and rip their head off. As steadily as he could, he asked, "Do you need to feed now?" Because that was what he could do for her.
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It stung but he'd figure that out eventually and frankly, Caroline wasn't looking forward to being rejected for it after she'd already gotten used to having someone to rely on.
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He reached across the space between them, hand extended for the bottle. When she released it to him, it was a lot emptier than he expected. And lighter. His hand flew up slightly but not enough to splash the remainder.
Without wiping the bottle (what was a little spit compared to blood?), Sam took a long swallow and then held the bottle against his thigh.
"I know Bex well enough to know that if you don't like her, she probably earned that. Her not liking another pretty, smart, blonde vampire is a day that ends in y." As much as Sam adored Rebekah, he had no illusions about her.
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He hadn't given back the bottle, but she got the sense that it was more because he'd forgotten to than because he thought she'd had enough. "She mostly just likes hot guys with soft hearts."
Caroline did too, but not as nice. That was why she'd loved Tyler, and why she'd been drawn to Klaus even though he was probably the worst decision she'd ever made. Rebekah was older, but Caroline was harder. Harder to love, and harder, she thought, to break.
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"She likes people she thinks she can trust," Sam offered, not so much a correction as an adjustment. "Being indestructible never stopped her from getting hurt. Just like being a 'monster' doesn't make you less human. I get that." And plenty in his tone said he wasn't calling her the monster in this conversation.
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His comment made her tilt her head. "What makes you say that? About being a monster?" She held the bottle back out. It seemed like a good way to keep things friendly.
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He lifted the bottle and took a small sip. There wasn't much left, and she needed it more than he did right now.
"I know what that's like. I'm...I've got demon blood in me. It's like this-- this disease. This curse. I'm a freak. Even my dad and my brother think I'm a monster."
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"Monsters aren't what's in you. They're what you do," she said. "Monsters - real monsters - can't be saved."
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He frowned down at his hands, wishing that he'd thought to grab another bottle on their way out. "I'm a hunter. So if demon blood makes me a monster, I'm the thing I'm supposed to kill."
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"It's not semantics." She remembered being delirious, dying. She remembered looking up at Klaus and seeing the pain behind the arrogance. 'Anybody capable of love is capable of being saved.' she'd told him. He hadn't let her die.
"I didn't ask for this. Did you?"
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There was no self-pity in it, not this time. This time, he just wanted her to understand where he was coming from.
"My father raised Dean and I to be hunters, but I've never wanted to be one. Dean says I'm shit as a hunter because I always try to save the monsters. I don't. I try to save the people like you and me, who never wanted to be monsters and try not to hurt anyone."
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"I'm not a monster, Sam. I thought I was for awhile but I'm not. I'm a vampire."
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"I know you're not." He ran his hand through his bangs again and just looked at her, with his hand still gripped behind his neck. When he let his arm fall again, he said, "And I'm not a hunter. I never wanted to be. I'm not going to try to hurt you, Caroline. I don't want to."
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To show she meant it, she moved back around the desk, reversing her previous flight.
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That said, there wasn't much left to talk about. At least not that needed to be discussed in private. So he offered her a small, pained quirk of a smile. "If now is still for drinking, I know a great little bar. It's not far from here..."