(semi-)closed;

[notarat]

Who: Billy and others.
What:
When: At various points after the town meeting.
Where: Around Milton.

Content Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, murder, identity theft and cannibalism.

( various starters for post-town meeting talks in the comments! i'm totally open to threading out stuff with more people, just hit me up through a pm to this journal or hit me up on plurk at queeningsquare!)

Comments

[fidior]

He doesn't know what Gibson might do, or say. Will there be anger? Hurt, upset? His former steward's been almost disconcertingly calm this entire time, even when speaking of things that would draw an edge to the voices of most other men. Will he tell him to leave his home? Edward would do whatever is asked of him.

He didn't say any of this with the intent to be given forgiveness. In fact, he doesn't want it. He never wants it.

And so, strange and warped as it may be, some part of him fears that Gibson will offer it to him in some shape or form. Even if it's just to tell him that it wasn't ultimately his fault, remind him that all of this was doomed, that there was never any chance at all.

What comes, instead, is... completely unexpected. It's not forgiveness, or accusation, it's just... a fact.

It steals his breath for a long moment, those strained sounds stricken silent as he stays leaned forward, everything aching. It's almost unbearable, this ache; it feels as though it will split wide from inside his chest, like a wound wrenched open.

But even then, he realises with a fresh, stabbing pain, that he's even weaker than those words. He didn't even have the strength for it. It wasn't choosing himself, necessarily. At least, it wasn't choosing his own life, or survival. He didn't follow those men for that reason.

He just gave up fighting. Finally, finally, he realised that it meant nothing. His position, his responsibility, trying to be a "decent man"....

He can't even claim that he would do what it takes to survive, the way Gibson had with sparking a mutiny, and then partaking in it. He wasn't even strong enough for that. Gibson sees him, and he's right. He's right, and he has more strength and clarity than any of the officers had. Edward nods miserably, and then carries it further.

"Yes. In the end... I gave myself up."

It comes with a trembling whisper as wet clouds his vision. He lost himself, gave himself up, and in turn gave up those sick men. Gave up his captain, gave up the captives at the mutineers' camp. There's some part of him aware that by going with the last of the able-bodied men, he could try to help them, try to save someone who might possibly be able to be saved, but... abandoning the sick was the true mark of his failure. It was not what a good, decent man would have done and he knows his soul is tainted by it, forever now.

"....There was a moment when I could have stopped the mutiny." He didn't know a mutiny was brewing at the time, but that fact doesn't matter now. He knew that something was happening, something wrong. Something that needed to be stopped.

"It would have meant killing Sergeant Tozer. But I didn't. I—I couldn't." If he had... if he'd been able to stop one of Hickey's strongest supporters, and the supply of those weapons, what might have happened? Who else might have been saved?

"And now, I am here in this place, standing on trial for the murder of a man whose life I took to spare another."

He lowers his head again, staring at the floor. He didn't plan on telling Gibson all of this, but now he wants him to know. To see all of it.

"Death would be too easy a punishment for me. I accept that I will remain trapped in this place for the rest of my days, that this is what I deserve for what I've allowed to happen, but.... the rest of you do not. I would give anything to spare you all."

[notarat]

The thing about Tozer is news to him. Though with the limited time the other man would have had for such a thing, Billy can imagine when it must have transpired - likely during the chaos that ensued during the bear attack, when they were scrambling to gather what they needed for the mutiny and run off. What other time would there have been, when Tozer's part in the mutiny had only been discovered so recently before that, and when Edward hadn't had an encounter after?

.. he supposes it doesn't matter. After all, it didn't change anything. Tozer was lucky to have run into Edward Little of all men, someone without the spine to pull the trigger. It's less surprising - or rather, less new - than the news about him abandoning the sick.

Billy glances over at the other, and in a way it's very reminiscent of what they went through back home. Their circumstances meant that you were often watching people unravel in front of your eyes - the same way Hickey and the other mutineers must have done with him as he grew weaker and weaker, surely - and that's exactly what it feels like he's doing right now. It's like Edward Little is crumbling with every single word he speaks, like he's trying to sink through the floor. Some of this even feels like confession. Like Billy is more than just a former steward.

It leaves a moment of silence between the two - Edward likely still thinking about what he just said, and Billy's mind now on the same words - until he speaks up again.

".. you see being here as being trapped. As a punishment," he states, echoing the other's words.

It's not like he can't see where it's coming from. This place is still cold and miserable. There's still food shortages sometimes, not to mention the ever-looming threat of the Darkwalker. It's no promised Sandwich Islands, that's for sure. It's not even London.

But--

"What do you imagine the alternative is, Mr. Little? If it was not for this place, I would not be alive. I would not be able to live my life the way I would wish to." Being open about his relationship, for one. Or not constantly having to serve others for a living. This place, for all the ways in which it sucks, is also-- "For some of us, this place is giving us autonomy in ways England never would have."

cw: suicidal ideation / not-quite-attempt / depression... #JustNedThings

[fidior]

Punishment. Yes, it's exactly how Little sees it, sees all of this. Soon, this place will touch him with the supernatural he's been dreading so very much, and what is considered a 'gift' to some will be seen as a punishment to him.

His existence in this place itself is damnation, a fate that, to him, seems worse than death. And he feels that way about the others from their Expedition, those men who suffered and continue to suffer here, not allowed rest but to keep... going. Keep "living", if, in fact any of them are truly alive at all. It's a strange awareness to have for the man who once clung so fiercely onto the concept — to keep going, keep trying, never give up hope.

Now... he wishes there could be rest. He wishes he could stop. Could close his eyes, could be freed of the pain, the memories, the failures and blood on his hands, the torment of knowledge — the men he was responsible for suffered because of him, and his heart can never, ever be freed of that stain, that wound. He deserves this. If he's trapped here forever, yearning for rest.... it's what he deserves.

(Almost a year ago now, on a quiet day, he'd sat on the edge of a bed with his shotgun in arm's reach. But even then, he hadn't grasped it. Even then, he couldn't let himself be freed of this; he let Kieren Walker talk him down from a ledge he never even stepped too far out onto. Little won't fight to protect his life, but he won't allow himself the liberation of taking it at his own hand, either.)

....But some of the others don't see it as damnation. As he listens to Gibson speak, Little thinks to Hickey most of all. Perhaps only now he realises that the two of them really must be compatible here, given they both have this sort of mindset. Speaking of... not just existing, but thriving, a little more than they had ever been able to before here. Because that's what it is, isn't it? Not just existing as some phantom, but truly living?

'We will live.'

He could do that now, too. He could live, not just gasping by his last breaths, marching onwards by sheer force and will, refusing to stop until he literally can't go on anymore and hating himself every step of the way. He could... live.

(He can't.)

"I understand," he says, soft and hoarse, still staring miserably down at the floor, head bowed low. For all that he sees their being trapped here as a terrible fate... some of these men do not. It isn't his responsibility to save them from this, and he should let that go, he should let it go, but— he can't. He can't.

"This place is... a second chance for you, and the other men. You should continue taking it. Building a life for yourself here. I hope—" and he lifts his head again to look up into his former steward's eyes, his own pair wet, lashes sticking unpleasantly to themselves. He has no right sitting beside this man anymore, but while he's still allowed to do so... he has to tell him. "—I hope that you find happiness, William. Not simply survival, but happiness, and purpose."

'What do you imagine the alternative is, Mr. Little?' He hasn't forgotten that question, circles back around to it quietly, gloved hands holding onto themselves.

"...If I might burden you with one more thing, one more troublesome thought, it is that... I do not wish to live. I wish for that alternative." He feels numb as he says it, admits it, and tilts his head up a little to look to a window, to a glint of sunlight filtering in. But this place is cold.

"I have no memory of dying, before here. I was still.... alive. Still breathing, and I— I am deeply afraid that I always will be. Isn't it such weakness? Don't you loathe me for such thoughts?" He manages a soft, humourless sound, hollow.

[notarat]

He's quiet as the other man confesses that.

Sure, it's not like he hasn't seen Little look depressed as hell before. Pretty often, actually. But despite that, Billy never had thought something like this behind it - especially when his own desire is to live. It makes it difficult to assume that someone else might want a different fate. At least the entire deal with Morfin had been a little bit more understandable, given their circumstances and the pain the man had been dealing with.

But what about Little right now? This place is not ideal, but they can live. Hopefully they even can find a way to take away the dangers here. And - as far as Billy knows - he isn't in pain either. No different from the rest of them, anyway.

And yet he's just.. saying that.

His mouth opens, and he's almost questioning the other as to why he's even telling him that in the first place-- but then he rethinks that one, closing his mouth again before making a new attempt.

"Why do you not wish to live?"

That question feels more important right now. Especially when the answers to Little's other questions depend heavily on the answer to this one.

"What reason could you possibly have to not want to live?"

[fidior]

No one's ever asked him the question directly. Nor has he had to think about how to answer it directly.

Back when he'd sat on the edge of that bed all those months ago, knowing he no longer wished to draw breath, he'd known why. He's known why for a very long time. Because he doesn't deserve to live. But... there's something even beneath that, isn't there?

It must seem so strange to anyone else. After all, it goes against human nature of survival. And he, of all people, had thought of survival for so long. Perhaps even longer than most of the men, clinging onto that ridiculous concept of hope, fighting for it, fighting to live—

"Because.... I don't know who I am anymore, William." Again, the words are practically a whisper, a faint thing. The ghosts of all of his men reach their hands up from the depths of him, scratching their nails against the back of his throat, keeping his voice quiet.

"This... dream, this nightmare... whatever it truly may be — it is a chance to become another man. To live as I like, I understand that concept. I understand that others may reach so willingly for it. But... how could I, when every day I must look into the eyes of the men whose suffering lives within me? When my own heart has been ruined, twisted black? I failed at my task, my role. I don't recognise myself. I— have no purpose, no meaning."

His eyes slowly lift to his former steward's, searching, confused, lost. How is Gibson so unlike himself, with all of this? How does he think the way that he does?

"...Have you found one? A new... purpose, a meaning?" Or... is it enough for him to simply be alive? Little can't quite be that way; he needs a purpose, needs something to be. And he failed at it. How can he ever thrive again?

[notarat]

The other did fail. That's something Billy won't deny, nor will he reassure him when it comes to that. There's a part of him that still takes it very personally. Of course it's not like Edward Little personally orchestrated Billy's downfall, but he knows that if only the people in charge had made better decisions, if only they had recognized and been open about certain problems earlier-- Then maybe he wouldn't have died. He certainly thinks his death is no fault of his own, anyway. He tried everything he could to live. It were circumstances created by others that brought him down.

But to act like this about it now-- That's baffling. Acting like it destroys your identity, like you don't know what to do anymore. Billy isn't even sure if he ought to just be baffled at it or find it kind of pathetic, actually.

"Did you imagine that was all there ever was going to be to life? Only the expedition?" Because it's what it sounds like. Like Edward Little doesn't know who he is when he isn't being a lieutenant. "Do you imagine we all feel that way? In that case it may surprise you, but it was not exactly my life long dream to be your steward. To wash your clothes and serve you food."

Sure, he has seen it kind of work out that way before. It's not like he hasn't seen Jopson's devotion to their captain - but Billy found that just as baffling, especially when Jopson was practically just serving a bitter old man. It never made sense to him.

"It was only something I did to earn a living." Maybe he's being way more candid than the usual now, but the more he looks at Edward, the more he feels like that's what the other needs. If no one beats him over the head with this, he's never going to understand. "This place is the most free I have ever felt, not owing anything to anyone. I imagined that was something anyone would feel upon finding themselves here."

[fidior]

There's a soft movement of his mouth as Gibson says what he does — certainly not amusement, but something grim, faint. Edward stares down at his hands and thinks of what it was to be that man, once. The one who had a steward to personally tend to himself and the other lieutenants. The hierarchy, the division of it all. He knows what it is to serve another; his own role kept him tethered in a particular and frustrating way, especially as things went so wrong and he realised that his role was suddenly different too, that he was no longer equipped for the brand of challenges to come. But he couldn't claim to have faced the same challenges as Gibson. Gibson, who ate food the officers would never have dreamed of with their fresh meats, while such things lasted. Gibson, who ate from those poisoned cans much sooner than the men he served did. Gibson, who fell apart faster and quicker.

To think that they thrived at the expense of this man is— a horror. It was never meant, of course (but does that matter, now?)

....Here, too, is another difference. 'It was only something I did to earn a living.'

He isn't like that. It's— his role was everything. Little never really sought glory or status the way some others might. He never even particularly had a thirst for adventure and expedition. He followed his father and brothers into service; he rose in rank, steadily, higher and higher until reaching the position of first, but it wasn't to pursue anything except advancement itself. He was good at his job, so he would keep doing what it took. He knew what was required of him, the rules and structure. He knew who he was. Was it his "dream"...? No, he can't say that it was, but that's because he never really had a dream.

But he did have a purpose.

"I suppose I have always thrived best when I owe something to someone," he finally responds, quiet and thoughtful and aching still. "When I have— a task to fulfill. Someone to report back to." He's been so lost in this place without those things.

"....Freedom was never something I particularly... sought," he realises, looking back up at the other man with knit brows, giving a full-bodied sigh. It must sound so strange. It's strange for him, too. It's the most honest he's been about those feelings to anyone. "But I suppose I was... content." Not happy, but he didn't need to be. Content was enough.

"Rather than feel relieved of my burdens in this place, I feel... reminded of all that I have failed. Lost." He nods softly.

[notarat]

It's one thing to suspect such things about someone you have silently observed for a long time, and it's another thing to hear it directly from their mouth after all that time. Indeed, Edward Little is a man who needs someone to tell him what to do. Not someone who takes the initiative. It's the exact information he had relayed to the other mutineers, in case it might become important for their mutiny, but knowing that even the man sitting opposite from him here is aware of it himself is a little wild. Especially to Billy - a man who does not particularly like following orders, even if he'll do it since it's necessary for things to function.

He doesn't remark on it. These things are Little's own problem. Unpacking any of that feels far too strange of a task for him, of all people.

But the last part? Well, the idea for that feels so apparent that he can't help but speak of it.

"And will dying help them? Will wallowing do it?"

Because that's what it feels like what the other is doing. Just being a sad sack about it. True, it's better than not feeling guilty at all - the sort of thing Billy would condemn the most, if not out of a personal grudge - but it's not exactly helping anyone either, is it?

"If you feel that, then do something with that feeling. There are people you have failed here, aren't there? Make it up to them, if you must." Of course Billy himself is technically on that list of people. He has told the other as much. But there's a reason why he's speaking of it so distantly now, like it's about someone else. It's because the reason of Little making something up to him is so awkward that he'd rather avoid it.

It's just very frank advice, rather than any request, and Billy's facial expression seems to indicate as much as he speaks. It's very neutral. Business-like, almost.

"The only person you help by wasting away is you, by absolving yourself through inaction."

[fidior]

As Gibson speaks, Little finds himself not entirely surprised by the words, though they do stun him. They stun him because they're coming from Gibson. Because they feel like words that have lived inside of himself for a very long time. He might never have looked at them so directly, however. Never like this. And now here Gibson is putting them into such a direct form — making them real and true.

Edward stares at him, surprised.

The truth is that he's understood what Gibson says. Maybe even before this place — because that was what drove him, back when things were crumbling, harder and harder. Despite the heaviness weighing on him for so long, wallowing would do nothing; Little functioned for the sake of the others. He pushed forward, unable to for his own sake but rather for them. Even if ultimately it did nothing, saved no one.

And here... It's been the only thing that has kept him going, if he were to be very honest. He's come close to giving in, more than once, but always he kept going. Trying to help the people here in the ways that he can, trying to do better this time, trying to keep living. It's just... it's not enough. Is it? Now a young man is dead because of him, and who has he really saved? Who has he really helped?

(There are people, his mind whispers, reminds him, echoing against Gibson's words. Kate Marsh, standing on the edge overlooking the Basin. Wynonna Earp, running into a blinding blizzard on her own. There are people here who rely on him. Even Gibson — Little has to look out for him, doesn't he? He has to try to keep him safe, like the rest. That is his purpose now. Perhaps he's known that for a long time, but perhaps... he needed to be reminded by someone like this man sitting beside him.)

"....You are right, William." He finally says quietly, voice soft but heavy with sincerity. "Perhaps it is too easy for me to... forget, sometimes, that I am still needed here." It does sound pathetic even to his own ears, but he does truly feel that way. Especially now, with someone's blood on his hands — he hates himself. All he can see is his own weakness, his own failures, the people he's hurt.

But that doesn't take away the fact that other people need his help, too. He's still realising how the world doesn't function in black and white — good and bad, decent and indecent. There are grey areas; a man like Cornelius Hickey was someone he once called a monster, and yet Little has seen here that he isn't only that. A man like himself can try to do good and in that process, end up hurting people deeply.

"But I assure you, I won't give up. I can't." Despite everything he's said about wanting to... there is a deeply strong resolve capable of thriving inside of Edward Little. Maybe he's faltered from it, worn down again over time here, but maybe now... he's seeing it again; maybe he's needed a sort of fire lit beneath him, someone's unapologetic, blunt words to help him see clearly again. Gibson's exactly right; he can't absolve himself through inaction. He has to keep... going. Even if he loathes himself, he has to keep going.

Edward sighs deep and shaky, eyes still a little glossy with emotion, and nods at him. "I... I am deeply grateful for your ear, and your words. I wish that I might have come to you for wisdom in the past. You have much of it to offer." A different sort of perspective, grounded in... something else. Something Little still might struggle to see sometimes.

"There are many things I wish I had done differently. But.... I vow to you that I'll continue to do them here. To try my best, for them." He swallows. "For you, as well." (Sorry Billy... But he is going to be invested in trying to do better by you too, and keeping you safe...)

cw: (brief) mention of lynching in narration

[notarat]

It does feel like the curling of a monkey paw. Is Billy glad that the other is finally acknowledging that he has wisdom to offer? Sure. It's not like he craves validation from others as much as some people, but it does suck to always be underestimated when you know you can do so much more than other people give you credit for. And he's also glad that the other man is actually taking his advice into account, since Edward Little going around town just moping and looking sad isn't going to help anyone or anything.

But it coming with.. the rest of it.. That's the curling part, alright. It feels kind of awkward to have involuntarily coached hid former superior through what some might see as a very wet-eyed therapy session. And it feels even more awkward to have the other say that he'll do his best.. for him...

He never asked to be involved in this, help..

But considering what he has accomplished right now, Billy will just take it. He'll take what he made the other see, and then hope Little might just forget his resolve when it comes to him in particular in time. So there's just a bit of an awkward nod..

And then, added: "You shouldn't linger here for too long."

Billy doesn't fully want to make this seem like he's kicking the other out, even though that's technically exactly what's happening. He can't endure much more awkward talk like this. Billy is at his limit for the day.

But he wouldn't be himself if he couldn't come up with a convenient excuse to add to it. "People might talk after the town meeting."

Yeah, Edward, you don't want to have been seen by people staying this long in the house of a person some townsfolk were more than happy to practically lynch...