Grey (Jing Theme #39 - Black & White)
Community: 50_themes
Characters: Jing + Kir (friendship category)
Fandom: King of Bandits Jing
Full list of themes can be found HERE. X-posted to 50_themes, ankhutenshi, kingofbandit
*
Title: Grey
Theme: #39 - Black & White
Notes: 900 words, finished Dec 13/06. Directly follows Homecoming so make sure you've read that first.
Warnings: Shameless angst. Not a happy fic. Random italics abuse.
"When I was a little boy, everything was black and white, good and evil, you see.
Then I grew up and discovered there was only grey."
-- "The Valkyrie", Highlander
He'd known, of course, that Jing wouldn't be able to stay the whole winter in Amarcord. There were too many memories there, too many reminders, and in a way he was glad that the thief had hauled them out during an unseasonable thaw mid-winter because he couldn't stand to see Jing continue to wither, much like the frozen flowers outside.
It had been a brave attempt, Kir granted.
Jing had tried to make it up to him, of course. They'd lounged in sunny Galliano, far south of Amarcord, until the sun had tanned away any trace of dark circles under Jing's eyes from sleepless nights. He gave the albatross free reign of their activities, which Kir accepted because his companion needed some time to just do instead of think.
And he'd thought that maybe, maybe this time it hadn't been so bad, because Jing would smile when he was supposed to and it didn't look like it hurt quite as much.
Kir found out he was wrong.
Jing didn't have nightmares as often as he did when he had been younger, but when he did, they struck without warning. Kir had been woken suddenly as Jing bolt upright in the bed, fingers clenching the sheet as he tried to separate past from present in the first few moments. Usually he was able to shake it off -- faster now, Kir noted, than in earlier years -- but this one seemed unwilling to let go and it took Jing several minutes and Kir's calming litany to bring his heartbeat under control.
He wasn't sure if he should ask what the dream had been about, but it turned out he didn't have to when Jing covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled, and although it was muffled, the youth lamented, "Would she even recognize me anymore?"
It was the most forlorn thing that Kir had ever heard.
He didn't have an answer, because yes was too simple to compete with such despair and of course seemed too glib in the face of self-doubt. So he could only sit and offer the comfort of a physical presence while Jing cried silently; never demonstrative, even when he was still a child. Jing may have worn his heart on his sleeve, but no one ever got close enough to read the fine print.
Kir suspected there was no answer, because the only person with the absolute authority on that question couldn't be here. Partner and parent may have contained the same letters, but they were far from the same thing.
He wasn't even sure the answer would be an affirmative. Maybe it was good that there was no answer.
Jing had asked him in Amarcord if he'd really become so different, and Kir hadn't lied when he'd answered yes to that. And if the albatross could see it, being with Jing day in and day out, he could only have imagined what it had been like for the Auntie in Balalaika. What it would be like for her, a sudden shock? Or had she, like Kir, been watching Jing over the years?
And it had only gotten harder to watch.
Each new challenge, each new treasure... they didn't last as long. Looking back, Kir could see that Jing's life was filled with patches. When she had died, it became his friends. And with their disappearance, the bandage had been the title of Bandit King, and everything that went with it: the mystery, the infamy, and most importantly, the mask of invincibility. But even now, Kir saw that balm beginning to wear too thin. As his conquests grew, his anonymity began to fail. It was harder for him to pass unnoticed in new cities, forcing them to stay away until the actual heists themselves, and to escape immediately thereafter.
Jing needed the passive interaction of just being able to drift though the crowd and absorb it; it was his proximity to the world, his way of connecting. Stripped of that, Kir watched the young man grow weary and worn.
Kir wished sometimes that Jing would be bitter, or at least sullen by what fate his life had been dealt. If he had, the albatross would have known he at least acknowledged it as unfair.
Nothing. Just unshakable sadness. That, Kir thought, was unfair in itself.
The near-silent sobs had faded, and Jing raised his head to look at his avian companion. Sorry, his grey eyes apologized. I should be stronger...
No, Kir would've answered, you've been more than strong enough.
And it was okay to let the mask slip now and then.
Things had never been as simple as black and white in their youth, but the lines had started to blur and Kir wasn't sure they were even there anymore. There were days that were better than others, but for the most part, the lines between living and merely existing had blurred too, and Kir was beginning to fear the indeterminate place in between the two.
"It's okay," Kir said anyway, and they both knew it wasn't. But Jing needed to hear it and Kir needed to say it; to do anything else was to just give up... a faded grey line that they didn't dare cross.
Characters: Jing + Kir (friendship category)
Fandom: King of Bandits Jing
Full list of themes can be found HERE. X-posted to 50_themes, ankhutenshi, kingofbandit
*
Title: Grey
Theme: #39 - Black & White
Notes: 900 words, finished Dec 13/06. Directly follows Homecoming so make sure you've read that first.
Warnings: Shameless angst. Not a happy fic. Random italics abuse.
"When I was a little boy, everything was black and white, good and evil, you see.
Then I grew up and discovered there was only grey."
-- "The Valkyrie", Highlander
He'd known, of course, that Jing wouldn't be able to stay the whole winter in Amarcord. There were too many memories there, too many reminders, and in a way he was glad that the thief had hauled them out during an unseasonable thaw mid-winter because he couldn't stand to see Jing continue to wither, much like the frozen flowers outside.
It had been a brave attempt, Kir granted.
Jing had tried to make it up to him, of course. They'd lounged in sunny Galliano, far south of Amarcord, until the sun had tanned away any trace of dark circles under Jing's eyes from sleepless nights. He gave the albatross free reign of their activities, which Kir accepted because his companion needed some time to just do instead of think.
And he'd thought that maybe, maybe this time it hadn't been so bad, because Jing would smile when he was supposed to and it didn't look like it hurt quite as much.
Kir found out he was wrong.
Jing didn't have nightmares as often as he did when he had been younger, but when he did, they struck without warning. Kir had been woken suddenly as Jing bolt upright in the bed, fingers clenching the sheet as he tried to separate past from present in the first few moments. Usually he was able to shake it off -- faster now, Kir noted, than in earlier years -- but this one seemed unwilling to let go and it took Jing several minutes and Kir's calming litany to bring his heartbeat under control.
He wasn't sure if he should ask what the dream had been about, but it turned out he didn't have to when Jing covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled, and although it was muffled, the youth lamented, "Would she even recognize me anymore?"
It was the most forlorn thing that Kir had ever heard.
He didn't have an answer, because yes was too simple to compete with such despair and of course seemed too glib in the face of self-doubt. So he could only sit and offer the comfort of a physical presence while Jing cried silently; never demonstrative, even when he was still a child. Jing may have worn his heart on his sleeve, but no one ever got close enough to read the fine print.
Kir suspected there was no answer, because the only person with the absolute authority on that question couldn't be here. Partner and parent may have contained the same letters, but they were far from the same thing.
He wasn't even sure the answer would be an affirmative. Maybe it was good that there was no answer.
Jing had asked him in Amarcord if he'd really become so different, and Kir hadn't lied when he'd answered yes to that. And if the albatross could see it, being with Jing day in and day out, he could only have imagined what it had been like for the Auntie in Balalaika. What it would be like for her, a sudden shock? Or had she, like Kir, been watching Jing over the years?
And it had only gotten harder to watch.
Each new challenge, each new treasure... they didn't last as long. Looking back, Kir could see that Jing's life was filled with patches. When she had died, it became his friends. And with their disappearance, the bandage had been the title of Bandit King, and everything that went with it: the mystery, the infamy, and most importantly, the mask of invincibility. But even now, Kir saw that balm beginning to wear too thin. As his conquests grew, his anonymity began to fail. It was harder for him to pass unnoticed in new cities, forcing them to stay away until the actual heists themselves, and to escape immediately thereafter.
Jing needed the passive interaction of just being able to drift though the crowd and absorb it; it was his proximity to the world, his way of connecting. Stripped of that, Kir watched the young man grow weary and worn.
Kir wished sometimes that Jing would be bitter, or at least sullen by what fate his life had been dealt. If he had, the albatross would have known he at least acknowledged it as unfair.
Nothing. Just unshakable sadness. That, Kir thought, was unfair in itself.
The near-silent sobs had faded, and Jing raised his head to look at his avian companion. Sorry, his grey eyes apologized. I should be stronger...
No, Kir would've answered, you've been more than strong enough.
And it was okay to let the mask slip now and then.
Things had never been as simple as black and white in their youth, but the lines had started to blur and Kir wasn't sure they were even there anymore. There were days that were better than others, but for the most part, the lines between living and merely existing had blurred too, and Kir was beginning to fear the indeterminate place in between the two.
"It's okay," Kir said anyway, and they both knew it wasn't. But Jing needed to hear it and Kir needed to say it; to do anything else was to just give up... a faded grey line that they didn't dare cross.