ximilialog | The night comes, your stars are missing

Entry tags:

The night comes, your stars are missing

CHARACTERS: Rosinante, open
LOCATION: Around the Ximilia
DATE: Late September after Law's disappearance
CONTENT: Losing one's best friend in the face of an uncertain future is hard
WARNINGS: brooding

It's not that unusual to wake up and find Law already out of the room rather than curled up under blankets. He's an even earlier riser than Rosinante is, and Rosinante's habit of cocooning them both in a sound barrier on the station when sleeping means Law can get up, rummage around in the closet, make coffee, and whatever else he wants to do without the noise being a problem.

It's only later he realizes he didn't smell any coffee that morning, when thinking back on it. After swinging by the infirmary to find Law never came in. After checking the common room, the sunshine room, and then, reluctantly, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the contacts list on the Ximilia network.

Unlisted. Gone.

He keeps to himself and their room most of that first day. Smokes more cigarettes than he really needs to, but he's not really hungry enough to leave. He organizes their things. Punches the wall hard enough to split a knuckle. Cries like he's eight years old again, until he gets his head under control and lights another cigarette. Hopes nobody heard that thunk from the punch out in the hallway, as he gets a bandage from the bathroom.

But as good as he is at being a complete hermit, he doesn't want to be, not around this group. It would stand out too obvious as different from how he's been for months and invite too many questions. So the next day, he drags himself to the mess hall right after showering, digs around in the kitchen until he finds someone's open-to-all leftover rice, and dumps some disparate ingredients on top of it just for general nutrition before sitting down with his bowl to eat breakfast.

His elbow knocks his water glass off the table, and it shatters. He flinches, but doesn't get up right away to do anything about it.

Eventually, he winds up in the simulation room. The simulation runs all day, unless someone stops him and insists they need some time in there too. Inside, a lavish study full of books, portraits, and velvet-covered chairs awaits - though a more careful inspection will notice that the portraits cover cracks in the walls, the wood floor is stained and stressed, and the furniture doesn't quite match, as if assembled piecemeal rather than acquired as a set. A large window behind a table looks out onto a trash heap that stretches all the way to the shoreline.

Bizarrely, an open door on one end of the study connects to what must be the interior of a ship, for it rocks in the waves visible outside the windows. In here, between upended treasure chests and scattered sheets of paper, amidst a cloud of his own smoke, Rosinante paces with his hands in his pockets.

"Where the hell would he have it," he mutters under his breath - and a quick glance toward anyone entering shows he's clearly not oblivious that he has wound up with a visitor.

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[ it's later in the first day that she gets to check on him. it wasn't hard to notice the absences in the infirmary, and though she had only an inkling of the depths of their relationship, she has a faint idea law's disappearance wouldn't be met with easy acceptance regardless.

she finds him in his room, poking around the bathroom. she'd knocked lightly and peeked her head in, easily spotting the large man as he withdraws from the smaller room. the lights on the station can be so unforgiving, highlighting red, puffy eyes all too easily.

the smile she gives him is small, understanding. ]

May I?

[ she gestures towards his bleeding hand. normally, she wouldn't insist... but the lack of a certain presence in the room feels overbearing, even to her. ]

[Oh, Marta. They've comforted each other often enough. If anyone has to see him like this, then at least it's her. He still hesitates a moment, though, as if he needs to think it over, then steps closer and extends his hand.]

Yeah. Thanks. You'll do a better job of it.

[Which may or may not actually be true, given the sheer number of times he's had to wrap his own injuries. As long as nothing is broken, it's not hard. But part of him does appreciate someone checking in on him, even if the rest wants nothing to do with anyone right now. The former part is the one that knows he needs people, even if he's very good at acting like he doesn't.]

[ she's taken to carrying around a little first aid kit on her person after her first mission here had led to her own disastrous injury, so she is well-equipped to help him with his hand without needing to make any infirmary trips.

her hold on his hand is gentle as she looks it over, begins the first few steps of cleaning the wound. ]

...Is this about Law?

[There's really no point pretending otherwise. Anyone with senses knew they spent most of their time together. He nods, and manages not to wince at the feel of her cleaning his injured hand.]

I don't understand. He was right here.

[He glances at the weird frankenstein of a bed, multiple mattresses fused together by Law's power to form something big enough for both of them to share. Even now they continued to sleep like they had while traveling, when Law was small enough to fit under his arm.]

[ Rosinante certainly isn't the only one who thought he'd have a quick go of the simulation room. He needed the distraction of something else to look at, something else to interact with — and after occupying himself in the kitchens, and then the sunlight room, and then the labs, and then making laps around the corridor a few times ... well, it'd only been about an hour and thirty minutes.

He'd huffed in frustration when he'd realized. Time can be so. Agonizingly. S l o w.

Still. It meant that the only real answer to wasting time was the simulation room. And when he steps in and has a fascinated glance around, he doesn't have any complaints about poking about in someone else's simulation, because it's new. Because that newness is even better than whatever he might have loaded back into the room's programming.

(He doesn't think he wants familiarity right now.)

Well. He'll poke about with their permission, anyway. He clears his throat and sort of waves to get Rosinante's attention. ]

Ooh, well, this is nice. Hello. I hope it's all right that I'm here.

[He frowns for a moment, considering whether it might be not all right, but pretty quickly decides it's fine. It's the Doctor, after all - someone Rosinante has come to trust possibly too much given the relatively short time they've known each other. It would be more concerning if the man had ever given him a reason to think that was a mistake, but so far he hasn't.]

I don't mind. Maybe you can help. If you had a land-based office as well as a private quarters on a ship, where would you keep documents so sensitive that even I haven't found them?

[He gestures with a bandaged hand to one room first, through the door, then the second, the room around him. Rooms he's thought up based on the best of his knowledge, which clearly must be missing some crucial element, and yet he's torn through them like a tall, leggy hurricane.

It's quite possible that the help he actually needs is not the sort involving the finding of potentially nonexistent documents.]

Sam hears the crash in the mess hall. The noise by itself isn't unusual - 60 crew, stuff is bound to fall, break, get dinged up. Much more unusual is the way Rosinante is just sitting there.

Now, Sam's not so much a neat freak that he thinks any minor mishap in the kitchen or mess hall needs to be immediately rectified. Glass might be somewhat of the exception there. But even then, his worry shifts away from the shards and onto the fact that Rosinante isn't moving pretty damn fast.

So after just standing and watching for a moment or two, Sam grabs a dustpan moves closer. Keeps his movements quiet and deliberate - nothing hectic, because he doesn't know Rosinante is just spacing out, or if this is something worse. Clears his throat.

"On your left."

Softly, and with a small smile to himself, 'cause that's a gentle callback right there, to another tall, strong, tortured blonde Sam cares for. That one is beyond his reach. he hopes Rosinante isn't.

And with the shards carefully gotten rid of, Sam lowers himself into the seat opposite Rosinante without asking. Looks him up and down, then reaches out a hand and tugs on the edge of the bandage on Rosinante's hand.

"Marta's work?"

Sam's voice makes him look up sharply from his bowl, then give a heavy sigh. Right, yeah, he'd noticed he'd knocked that off, he just couldn't bring himself to care right away. Probably should have, because broken glass is a real hazard, but there's too much going on in his head that isn't about the here and now.

He doesn't get much eaten between then and when Sam joins him, and he lets his hand drift slightly to the side at that tug.

"Yeah," he gives the short reply. It isn't Sam's work, obviously, and well... Not too many people in the infirmary at this point other than him and Marta, are there? The table continues to receive his bitter gaze.

"Punched a wall," he offers, just so Sam doesn't have to ask.

It's not that hard to piece together. Lot of people have vanished. Fast to note the ones who would have usually been one place and never showed up, like their infirmary shift. Sam doesn't know what the relationship was between Rosinante and Law, but he doesn't have to guess too much at the sting of this. Lost McCoy this month, to an unknown fate. Lost Natasha before, to irreversible death. And that's just the horrific grief of a person vanishing into thin air here on the Ximilia. Neither of them, Sam thinks, have lived lives that weren't painted in broad strokes by hardships and hurt one way or another.

So it might not be the same. But he'd like to understand he gets it at least somewhat.

"It can help, putting the hurt somewhere physical." He moves his hand a little, places it over Rosinante's after a moment, warm and solid. Careful not to put pressure on what's under the bandage, though. "Did it?"

"Not as much as I wanted it to."

That moment of blind anger had to be taken out on something, and pillows can't take enough of a beating to make it worthwhile. The sting afterward reminded him of how stupid an idea it was, but his life has seen its share of dumber decisions.

"He was here last night. If he meant for the orbs to send him home, he would've told me first," he says, temporarily having forgotten he didn't actually mention Law at all. His thoughts are so centered around him that he's skipped the middle part, where you actually say what you're thinking about first before carrying on with the rest of it.

He realizes a second later, though, but decides Sam will work it out, or ask if he has to.

It's a little scary how much they all know about each other that they can guess to this kind of pain so fast. Sam wears his people on the sleeve, too. If any of them disappeared like this, he imagines no one on the crew would have to wonder long what was up with him.

His thumb tracks lightly over Rosinante's knuckles. Slowly, not at all erratic. It's meant to be grounding.

"Tell me." About Law. About Law and Rosinante. About what this feels like. About what he needs. About anything and everything really. "I got you."

He doesn't try to pull his hand away, at least. And maybe it helps, but more than anything he's glad not to be alone. He's had enough of alone to last a lifetime. Law reminded him how valuable it was to have someone to love and be loved by in return. Someone who would have his back whenever things got tough. Being alone again isn't something he's ready for.

"When he was a kid, back home, I promised him we'd travel the world together. He... came from a really bad situation. I just wanted him to see there was still good in the world," he explains, then stops, biting his lip. The mess hall isn't really where he wants to break down crying, but he might not have a choice.

"That was thirteen years ago for him. For me... right before I got here. I never got to see him grow up. His birthday's coming up, I was gonna... damnit," he hisses and shoves his sleeve against his eyes to stop those inevitable tears.

And that hits so close to home, too. The time lost. The meaningful plans that now can never come to pass. It's a cruel sort of grief that few people can understand, and it breaks Sam's heart that Rosinante counts amongst them now, if he didn't already before.

Remembers their talk about slavery - wonders if Rosinante still doesn't realize that whatever else he may have been, those right there are the actions - the intentions - of a hero. To take a little boy and try to give him the world so he may see something good in it despite all he'd been through. Like a young girl getting to paint an ex-assassin's metal arm just because she wants to do it.

He gets up, moves around the table to Rosinante's chair. It's not quite a hug he pulls him in, but Sam loops a warm and solid arm around his shoulders.

"I know," is all he says at first, giving Rosinante's tears space. Then, a while later: "We can lock the door of the sim room for three hours. Could go anywhere you want, you and me, and just... stay there a while." Because nobody has to be ashamed for their tears, but Sam also knows that sometimes you just gotta have them in a space you can control, rather than in a space anyone can walk into.

For a few long moments he grinds his teeth and fails to hold back tears. When Sam releases his bandaged hand, that one becomes useful too in trying to wipe them from his face. He hasn't really even bothered with makeup yet today, and it's a good thing considering the number of times it would have wound up smudged all over his face and hands.

Eventually he pulls himself together and nods. The sim room is as good a place as any, and Sam is the anchor he needs right now - someone he feels safe enough to be vulnerable around.

"Yeah," he agrees, then reaches for a napkin so he can blow his nose and attempt to look less miserable if he's going to walk somewhere. "Yeah, let's go there."

[ when rosinante looks, marta can't help but glance over as well; eyeing the patchwork bed like the elephant in the room, feeling her chest clench knowing it will now be too big for the other man. ]

I know you two were close.

[ but she also knows she's only barely aware of how close. ]

If you... If you ever feel lonely. I hope you know you can reach out to me.

[He hadn't seen Rosinante from where he's buried in the cabinets contemplating something to eat, so he startles a little at the glass breaking, turning around and spying his friend. His face breaks out into a smile and he begins to call out to him when something gives him pause.

Rosinante hasn't moved to pick up the glass, and his expression is listless and lost.

Something has happened.

Immediately scrapping the idea of food, Wei Wuxian makes his way over to his friend and kneels to take care of the glass.]

I was already up, I've got this. [He offers Rosinante a brief smile and then picks up the rest of the glass. He should probably take a broom to it later to make sure he gets all the small pieces, but for now he just tosses what he can and then slides into a seat across from Rosinante.]

Do you want to talk about it? [He doesn't mean the glass. He might not know what "it" is, but he knows that there is an "it."]

Or I can tell you some more about my world. [If he would prefer a distraction to talking about his feelings. Wei Wuxian certainly wouldn't blame him.]

The people who've vanished have left some pretty deep gouges in everyone's state of mind, Newt knows, but there are particular people hurt by their absence. For Clara, she had lost a Doctor and River. A lot of people lost Finn and Bones. And he thought immediately of Rosinante when he heard Law had gone, too.

What happened? Some kind of mass glitch? He can't really dwell too long, because there's no answer he'll get out of obsessing. Instead he moves to find Rosi, and eventually finds him in the simulation room. Biting his cheek, he considers how to warn the other he's got a visitor. Ultimately, he settles on:

"If you're looking for a pack of cigarettes, you've already got one lit up."

Pretty lame joke. It's all he's got.

Thanks.

[It's hard to reach out to anyone right now, but she's one of the few he would think of first. She's always been so caring, so sensitive, and if there's ever a need for a person like that, it's now.]

I wish there was a way to know what happened to people who leave. I don't mind if he's gone as long as it means he's safe at home.

[Well no he absolutely does mind, but what can he do about it?]

[Oh right, the glass. He would've gotten to it eventually. Just... who knows when that "eventually" might be. He takes a slow breath and tries to get himself together as Wei Wuxian sits himself down.

Does he want a distraction? Yes, but there's not much that would succeed in actually distracting him much, he can tell. Any words will go in one ear and out the other, and if he's going to hear something he ought to find interesting to remember, he should probably wait until he's capable of focusing on it.

Does he want to talk about it, though?

He rubs at the bridge of his nose, then lets his hand flop back down onto the tabletop.]

Law's gone. Just this morning. Trying to... figure out what to do next.

He's thankfully not so completely focused that he hadn't heard the footsteps, and he looks over his shoulder just as Newt begins to speak.

To which Rosinante snorts, and exhales a plume of smoke. Yes, he does have one lit up, doesn't he? Probably his tenth already today. Or twentieth. He doesn't keep count.

"You have keen observation skills," he replies, deadpan, then retrieves the cigarette from his mouth to hold between his fingers. "No, I'm looking for something I probably won't find. Today has a pattern, I guess."

Well.

[ With renewed confidence in his place aboard this ship, the Doctor steps forward and considers. ]

If we're in a simulation you've thought of yourself, suppose the documents ought to be wherever you want them to? Or where you know you've seen them last?

[ Unfortunately his general approach to looking for lost things would sadly look a little too reminiscent of the present situation anyway, with papers and boxes and jars and those little metal clips strewn all over the place. It's unfortunate. ]

Something about 'hidden in plain sight'?

These are replicas of real places. Not perfect ones, of course. It's more likely that wherever they are in reality, they're in some place I haven't thought to recreate.

[Right? Or maybe he really did just overlook things. Tapping his chin, he paces past the Doctor and back into the first office. He already thought of false bottoms in the drawers, of secret compartments in the seats of the slightly tatty-at-the-edges chairs. Those things are obvious to him in that they're so standard. The insides of books, with pages replaced, encrypted notes tucked away - that's also standard, but a real pain to dig through, and perhaps that's one thing he can check once home.]

These places belong to my brother. I'm missing something. I'm - I probably won't even remember trying to work this out once I get back, but maybe if a pattern sinks in deeply enough, it'll stick.

[Shaking his head, he plants his hands on the desk in front of him, tapping at its surface, then looks over at the Doctor, small among all the furniture sized for someone just a little taller than even himself.]

[His expression drops for a moment and his brow furrows, understanding shooting through him at the new information. He never did get around to meeting Rosinante's friend. He knows what loss is like though. Intimately. With a soft sigh, Wei Wuxian closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again.]

I'm sorry, Rosinante. I know he's very important to you. [And despite how drunk he was that night, he remembers their conversation about birthdays. Remembers what they both let slip. Rosinante won't be seeing his friend again unless he somehow returns to the Ximilia.]

Would you like to talk about him?

What I want to do is smash the orbs one by one until they give up some answers.

[There's a certain firmness to his jaw, a determination in his eyes, that suggests he's actually thought about doing exactly that. This isn't quite the same as an empty threat made out of despair.

But his fist, unconsciously clenched, relaxes as soon as he's said it, and he shakes his head.]

I just want to know he's all right.

[Wei Wuxian's default response to grief is either violent rage or the kind of sorrow that he drowns in, so the suggestion of violence doesn't even give him pause. He understands. If there was a target, he'd point Rosinante at it and have his back. It's harder when there's not.]

With what you told me about him—all the things he became, his strength and his bravery. His determination and how he became exactly what he wanted to be, I'm sure he is alright. You gave him everything he needed to be alright.

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The night comes, your stars are missing

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sorry for the late!!

nbd you're just trying to match 11's username!!

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Mess hall

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lmao weeps it's too real

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