You must continue and you must keep going

[maintiensledroit]

Who: Benton Fraser & you!

What: July-August catchall

When: July-August

Where: Milton, Lakeside, the woods

[open and closed starters through July & August in the comments! hmu @ repeatandfade for questions/plotting ]

Comments

This world has thrown everything at you — Heartman's last request

[maintiensledroit]

[ The house was too quiet. Silent in a way it never is when Heartman's home, but his coat had been by the door and his boots were by the hearth, empty shells without the man himself there to animate them, bright and curious and searching, forever reaching for every scrap of knowledge available to him.

Fraser finds the man in his bedroom, cold and still and with a peaceful expression on his face, tucked into his faintly curving lips. It's almost beatific, but then, why wouldn't it be? If he was right, he's gone to his family. For the second time since he arrived, Fraser looks upon the dead face of a friend; for the second time, he searches out the messages and small items he'll deliver. A last favor for someone who'd done so much for him.

The letters aren't difficult to find. Heartman had always been prepared for his own death. One of them is addressed to him, and Fraser sits at the edge of the bed where his friend's body still lies to open it, to read it carefully. A few moments later, he reaches up to swipe at the stinging mist in his eyes, reads it again before he blinks away any suspicious brightness.

Once he's covered Heartman's body, he dresses — slowly and carefully, his body is still healing — in his uniform, ties the black mourning band around his arm, tucks the Stetson on his head before he picks up the small pile of letters, of packages. Heartman deserves every last ounce of respect Fraser can give him. He'll see this through with all the steadfast loyalty his friend so admired, his eyes dry and his jaw tight.

He'll go through the town, delivering the letters, the items willed to each of Heartman's friends. Only after the last is handed out will he return to the house to fulfill his final duties. How he'll do it, he doesn't know. Perhaps one of the letter receivers will offer him a hand, or maybe he'll push through the pain to carry the remains of his friend far outside of town, to burn his body as requested. No matter what, he'll do this for him. ]

[castitas]

[ June fades into July, but there's still a subdued feeling in the Community Hall. A sort of fragile, uneasy peace. Another kind of tension hangs in the air, Enola's words in the back of her mind: a storm is coming. Kate keeps to herself, quieter than usual. Sombre. Keeps herself busy where she can.

But the sky is clear and full of light, and there's a quiet kind of glory in the brightness of the morning — even with the brittleness of peace. She sits by the fire, warming herself. A mug of hot tea in her hands. While the bruising remains, with violet dark blues shifting into greens and yellow — the swelling's gone down enough she can see out of her black eye. The skin still tender, but healing.

She's been more... wary of everything around her of late, head turning quickly as footsteps draw near. A brief flash of uncertain panic in her eyes until realisation sets in. Kate's getting to her feet, smoothening down her clothes with a little fluster of sorts. ]

Oh. Good morning, Constable. [ There's a weak smile, it still hurts a little to do much more than that. Her voice is a little hoarse, and the words come slowly, but she's able to speak out loud a little. ] You're... looking a whole lot better.

[ Maybe not a whole lot. Neither of them look all that great, considering. But it's the thought that counts. They're getting there. Kate pauses for a beat, her hands coming together and wringing them a little. And then she sees it, a band of black at his arm. Kate stares at it for a long moment, processing. There's a strange feeling, in the pit of her stomach. ]

What's... what's going on?

[maintiensledroit]

[ Fraser takes his hat off as he enters the Community Hall, tucking it at his side with the precision of long practice while he makes his way toward the quiet end of the building, where Kate Marsh sits with her tea by the fire. He nods at her and smiles, slight but warm, as she stands and turns toward him. ]

Hi, Kate. Thank you, I'm feeling a little better. I hope you are, too.

[ Her glance goes to his arm, where the black band sits stark against the red of his uniform, and her hands comes together, squeezing, a tic of hers he's noticed before. She's a bright girl, and he knows she's more than capable of putting things together from pure observation.

It's been such a hard few months. The last thing he wants to do is make it harder for her still, but he has a duty to his friend — and to her. She deserves to receive Heartman's last message to her, a girl who meant so much to him.

Fraser licks his lip and glances down a moment, then meets her eyes again without attempting to mute the sadness and sympathy in his own. He doesn't try to dissemble or procrastinate, only continues on in a gentler tone. ]

Kate, I'm sorry, but I have some bad news. Heartman passed away last night, in his sleep. I believe it was peaceful, but I know that might be small comfort.

cw: lil bit of disassociation...

[castitas]

[ There's a tiny shrug as she smiles, giving a little nod. She's okay, she guesses. Her face and neck still hurt, but it's getting less and less everyday and she quietly brushes it off. It's fine, she'll be okay.

The pause makes the feeling grow in her stomach, seeps upwards into her chest. A cold kind of dread as he meets her eye. Someone has died, she realises. Not the Darkwalker, no. There's been nothing from the being since Enola ripped the sky open and make the green gloom disappear. Then... then something else.

For a long moment, she doesn't react. She hears Heartman, and the world goes a little fuzzy. She stands staring up at him, lips parting. Heartman. Her hands go stiff, squeezing them harder as she worries them. Letting out a shaky exhale, her eyes drifts to one of the windows, the harsh light of the summer sun filtering through. It seems nice out, she thinks. A nice day. Calm. Maybe there'll be better luck trying to find game today. Maybe it won't feel too cold. Maybe the animals might feel a little safer coming out out of their hiding places.

Heartman passed away last night.

Her throat feels tight, tears welling in her eyes. She makes a soft sound. Misunderstanding. Denial. But with it, understanding. She remembers sitting at his bedside after he returned from travelling with Methuselah, reading to him as he slept. How upset she'd been with him. She remembers when they'd first met: Not to worry, I am alive. It's a bit complicated. My soul is tethered to the beach...

Oh, she thinks. Her eyelids flutter, the tears spilling down her cheeks. ]

It was his heart, wasn't it? [ There's a little nod, as if understanding. ] He— He went back to the Beach.

[balancedlight]

Ben! [Sveta calls out when she spots him from her porch. She's looking better, he's - mostly better - but she's still been keeping a watchful eye on them. The community meeting had put a damper on her spirits, but she been determined not to let it show. And Ben is exactly who she needs to cheer her up.

She hops off of the little porch and walks through the snow towards him. As she approaches, however, it becomes very obvious that this is not a happy house call.]

What's happened? [She glances over her shoulder, ready to get her kit at a moment's notice.]

[maintiensledroit]

Hi.

[ Even now he has a smile for her, muted though it might be. He can hardly imagine a time when he wouldn't, when the sight of her face and her delight at seeing him wouldn't be enough to pull even the smallest of curves at the corner of his mouth. And Heartman wouldn't, he's absolutely certain, want it any other way.

So he does smile, though there's a deep well of sadness in his eyes along with the warmth that's always there for her. He removes his hat as he comes up the porch steps, tucking it against his hip. ]

I have some sad news, I'm afraid. Heartman passed away last night. I found him this morning, already gone.

[balancedlight]

[She places a hand on his chest, her eyes wide.]

But - what happened?

[She gently pulls him towards the door, panic gripping her. What had she missed? What had she done wrong?]

[meadqueen]

[Seeing Constable Fraser at her door looking so grim is a cause of deep concern. Randvi knows him well enough by now to know that he is not one of their number who is prone to overreaction. However, after everything they've been through recently the prospect of news fills her with dread.]

Constable Fraser, has something happened?

[Is the violence beginning again?]

[maintiensledroit]

Hello, Randvi. I'm afraid so.

[ He's solemn as he holds out an envelope with her name on it in what might be a familiar hand. ]

Heartman passed away last night. It was peaceful, I believe... there was no sign of any fear or struggle.

He asked me to deliver this to you.

[meadqueen]

Heartman…

[Randvi takes the envelope, her other hand over her mouth. She's reminded abruptly of the morning that Tove, the apprentice tattooist, had shown up at her door to say that her master Svend had died in his sleep. She’d been devastated, thrown into a career without full training and knowing that the one who had taught her would never reach Valhalla. That's how Randvi feels now.]

Do you know… for his people, is that a good death? Have you spoken of such things?

[bestsir]

[ Apart from attending to emergencies and his routing check-ins with people, Goodsir has not been a particularly social man these last few weeks. Nevertheless his door is always open, especially to his friends like Fraser. When Fraser finds him at home, he's preparing for his day—inventorying his supplies, getting his kit together, reviewing his notes on how people are doing, and so forth. ]

Constable Fraser. Good morning.

[maintiensledroit]

Good morning, Doctor.

[ Fraser removes his hat and offers a small smile, somewhat dimmed from his usual good-natured expression. ]

I'm sorry to say I've come with some sad news. Heartman passed away last night, in his sleep.

[bestsir]

Oh.

[ Goodsir's face falls, and unconsciously his hand goes to his own chest. ]

He always felt he was living on borrowed time, I think. But I had hoped...

[notarat]

[ Ever since the town meeting Billy has definitely been wary about opening up the door when there's a knock. Even though it's been days without any sign of any attempts at a hostile attack, the worry still lingers in his veins, fuelled by his natural suspicion and paranoia of other people and their intentions.

.. but there's a knock again. And ignoring it doesn't really feel like an option. Especially when - if the person on the other side does have bad intentions of some kind - it's more likely that they will just kick the door in, the way Rorschach had all those months ago.

So Billy takes a deep breath and gathers all his nerves to move over to the door. His hands feel unbearably warm, but he keeps them clenched to fists at his sides, determined to not just randomly set someone on fire just because he's a little agitated.

Even if he's very unsure what to make of the face he finds when he opens the door. It doesn't feel necessarily very good though.

It mostly translates in uncertainty on Billy's face as he slowly says: ]

.. Constable Fraser..?

[ God, please let him not be here for Hickey. It helps that the other man isn't home right now, but he still so does not want that to be the case. ]

[maintiensledroit]

Good morning, Mr. Gibson.

[ Fraser's expression is friendly, his shoulders straight, but there's a heaviness to him that isn't usually there. He removes his hat, politely, and tucks it against his side, along with a small package wrapped in brown paper.

He glances down, brief, then looks back up to meet Billy's cautious glance. He can't blame the man; after what happened during the town meeting, Billy's mistrust of those in law enforcement is almost certainly at a higher peak than usual. In order to clarify his intentions and soothe any concerns, Fraser continues on, steady and sympathetic. ]

I'm very sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but... Heartman passed away last night, in his sleep.

[ He holds out the package and the accompanying letter without hesitation, but despite his adherence to his duty, there's still a sad shadow clinging to the corners of his eyes, the slope of his shoulders. ]

He asked me to deliver these to you.

[notarat]

[ That changes things.

Billy's expression immediately shifts. He doesn't even have the time to consider attempting to hide it, the way he usually tries to tuck everything down. The news is surprising and bad enough that the surprise openly shows in his widened eyes before he can do even a thing about it. He stares at Fraser like the other man just told him something completely impossible.

But it's not impossible here, is it? So many people have died, have disappeared. It's just that this one hits a little closer to home than most, especially after what's already been a relatively difficult time. ]

He.. passed away?

[ He almost feels a little stupid, echoing it back at Fraser as a question when the other was so clear, but it's so hard to imagine.

Sure, Heartman did talk with him about matters like these, but-- considering this place had brought Billy himself back to life, he hadn't thought about how easily it could take it away as well from others who were similarly saved here.

Something feels awful right in the pit of his stomach. Though Billy takes the package and the letter from the other to keep Fraser from awkwardly having to hold them out, but he doesn't open either of them yet. Instead he just holds them, all his focus still on the other man. ]

Was it-- [ He swallows. ] Was it due to his condition?

Help rebuild what I no longer can — closed to Damian

[maintiensledroit]

[ He doesn't officially move out of the house in Milton, but he spends less and less time there, choosing instead the cold comfort of the woods. Perhaps sleeping on a bedroll tucked inside a lean-to isn't what Svetlana would prefer him to be doing as he recovers, but after everything that's happened, after losing Heartman and watching as the people of this community fought each other over rights and wrongs, he retreats to the best cure he knows: the quiet woods, a small camp.

Diefenbaker, as if called by some greater force, appears on the second night, curling at the foot of the bedroll as glowing coals of the fire settle, as Fraser lies back and looks out of the lean-to at the branches limned against the sky. ]

He really liked you, you know.

[ The wolf flicks his ears forward, his gaze a steady, familiar weight, and Fraser sighs, breathes past the soreness in his ribs, the deeper ache in his chest, before he closes his eyes to sleep.

Quiet descends. If it's broken later by light footfalls, neither Mountie nor wolf hear them. ]

Should you find yourself faltering — closed to La'an

[maintiensledroit]

[ He can't go back in time and right his own wrongs, but every day brings a new chance to make a different decision.

Today's decision sees him moving slowly but stubbornly towards the house where La'an Noonien-Singh has been staying with Jim Kirk. She'd been right, after all; he hadn't made an effort to seek her out, to befriend this version of the woman he knew before.

But he's lost another friend to this place, and it's a harsh reminder that all they have here is each other. He should have been a friend to her, too. He hasn't been. But: every day brings a new chance.

He steps up to the door of her cabin and knocks, wincing a little as the motion pulls at his still-healing ribs. ]

Lieutenant? It's Constable Fraser.

[rescapee]

[ It takes a few moments for the sound of the knock to register in La'an's mind, and even longer for the voice to arrange itself into recognizable words. She wants to ignore it, to stay there on the floor near the dying fire, propped against the couch where she and James had shared meals and conversations, hopes and dreams... He'd been sitting there the last time she saw him, and she hasn't been able to sleep anywhere else since.

The last few days or weeks have been a haze, blurring into an endless stretch of time she can't escape. James Tiberius Kirk is gone. Gone from Milton. Gone from her life. Again.

Struggling to her feet, she knocks over an empty bottle that had once been full of the local moonshine, the glass knocking into the other two she'd acquired, one already nearly half-empty. She clutches a mug in her hand, liquid sloshing inside as she gets herself upright and pads over to the door on socked feet. When she opens the door, a burst of cold air heralds the sight of a familiar face, though she stares as blankly as if she didn't recognize him.

He might very well not recognize her. The usually so put-together lieutenant is unkempt in an oversized black sweater, her hair long and loose around her shoulders. She's silent as she watches him for a moment, and then she steps back and to the side, sweeping out her hand with the mug to usher him inside. ]

[maintiensledroit]

[ Whatever he expected — more fury, some awkwardness, a door slammed in his face — the reality is both far more startling and a good deal sadder. La'an is... distressed is the wrong word, so is upset. Depressed, he thinks, a word he would never have thought to use for this always practical, stubbornly motivated woman. Yet she answers the door looking far from her usually precisely neat self, drowning in a too-large sweater with her hair loose.

He catches the scent of alcohol drifting from her mug as she gestures with it and glances past her to the small collection of bottles clustered on the floor by the fire. ]

I hope I'm not interrupting.

[ He certainly is interrupting what looks like a good old fashioned wallow. What he doesn't know is what might have caused it.

But perhaps that isn't so difficult to deduce: she's obviously been sinking into a blue mood, and yet James Kirk is nowhere to be seen. There's only one mug for the moonshine, but multiple bottles. He'd have heard if the man was killed during the madness that overtook so many of them, but there hadn't been even a whisper.

It's not enough to draw any solid conclusions, of course, but he has a terrible suspicion about just what has her so desolate. Still, she gestures him in, so in he comes, taking off his hat as he does. His face is still a little bruised, but his hair is brushed, and he's as neat and tidy now even without his uniform as she is disheveled. He waits until she's closed the door, then turns to face her, hands clasped behind his back. There's a moment where he considers what he'd been planning to say, visibly throws it out, and gives her a thoughtful look. ]

Have you eaten?

ages later...

[rescapee]

[ Even through the slight fog from the alcohol (she's far from properly drunk at the moment, unfortunately), she notices those healing bruises. The mottled colors of the healing marks twist something inside her chest, guilt rising up like a wave of sickness that can't be tamped down. She tries, though, desperately attempting to bury it in the scratchy cotton of numb grieving. ]

I've been keeping to a liquid diet of late. [ Her voice cracks with disuse, and she punctuates the statement with a swig from her mug. Stepping past him, she moves to perch on the arm of the couch, comfortably within reach of the bottles on the floor, though she doesn't reach for one just yet. ] Is that why you're here, Constable Fraser?

wildcard - early july!

[bigbaddy]

[ The town meeting and how everything went down there definitely lingers in the back of Bigby's mind. Even once it's all over and daily life returns to town, no longer lingering in the shadow of the Darkwalker's darkness. Bigby keeps an eye out, checks in on people, trying to see how much the town meeting did to change some people or their behaviour around here.

And though he's thankful that it doesn't seem to have affected the whole town, he can notice some changes. Just enough that it sits uneasily within him. Just enough for him to want to talk about it with someone reasonable.

.. it's the latter qualification that whittles down his options very quickly, huh.

He definitely thinks of Fraser though. Bigby feels a little guilty, considering the guy already always seems like he's got so much to deal with, even when it comes to Dief-- But he just seems like the best candidate. Especially when he seems like a more mellow guy than Bigby. It's good to have someone who balances him out a little, he thinks.

So very early in July Fraser will hear a knock on the door of the house. Not exactly the most delicate of knocks, which may already betray who's on the other side, but Bigby does add a: ]

Hey, you in?

[ --which means it's now entirely sure who's out there, given that that's very much Bigby's voice. ]

[maintiensledroit]

[ HIs father's journal has been a source of frustration as much as information; maybe more. But he's poring over it now, a cup of coffee steaming on the table next to him as he leans his head on his hand, worrying at his forehead with his thumb and looking for... what, he doesn't quite know. Perhaps he'll know it when he finds it.

But all he can think, as he slowly flips through pages covered in his father's familiar hand, is that he's accumulating quite a library of wisdom left behind by dead friends and family. He'd far rather have the person.

The knock disrupts his reverie, bringing him blinking into the present. Fraser pushes back his chair and heads to the door, opening it to Bigby with a polite nod. ]

Bigby, hi. Would you like to come in?

[ He steps back, opening the door wide, and gestures to the more comfortable living area with chairs and a sofa by the fire. Diefenbaker, worn out from puppy duty, is snoring in a curled up ball on one armchair cushion. ]

I just made some coffee. Can I get you a cup?

[bigbaddy]

Yeah, thanks. [ A slight pause, and then he adds: ] To both of those things.

[ Honestly, he could use some coffee right now. It feels like the past while has been a huge tiring headache in more ways than one. He really doesn't blame Dief for the way the animal is curled up and sleeping right there. If Bigby has experienced anything lately, it's that trying to raise pups in this place is a horrible, horrible time.

And he's not even talking about Dief's pups in Bigby's own case. Those little dogs are nothing compared to a bouncing young half-human, half-dog constantly bothering you, even while you're injured.

Still, despite how tiring that entire thing has been for Bigby, he still gives Fraser a very slight smile. As much of a smile as ever appears on Bigby's face, anyway. He's not here to make things harder on Fraser, even though he knows their conversation will probably have to be kind of tough. Means he could at least make sure to not be an asshole about it though.

He moves over towards one of the chairs, leaving the one Dief is snoring in to Dief himself and instead sitting down in an empty chair to wait for those cups of coffee and Fraser to join him. ]

I wanted to talk to you about all the shit that's been going down lately. I figured you'd be thinking about it as much as I do. [ As different as the two of them are - and Bigby is well aware that he and Fraser are different in so many ways - he feels like this is something they share in common despite it. ]

[maintiensledroit]

[ He goes to the kitchen and pours a couple of mugs of coffee, then returns to hand one to Bigby. His brow furrows as he takes his own seat, mug of coffee held between his hands, but there's no argument in his expression: he has been thinking about 'all the shit that's been going down,' as Bigby puts it.

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop seeing the hurt and betrayal in Svetlana's face as the crowd pronounced Hickey not guilty. But what else could they do? ]

Yes, I have. But I'm no closer to a solution now than I was a few days ago.

[ He gives Bigby a rueful glance over his coffee before he sets the mug aside. ]

I think you can recognize as well as I can that a call for some kind of rule of law from a man who works in law enforcement in his own world might not be taken very well.