[fic; cls] human nature
Title: Human Nature
Fandom: Cal Leandros
Pairing: Past Promise/Niko, implied past one-sided Niko/Robin.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Summary: Cal somehow manages to deal with Niko's death.
Warnings: Character death
There isn't really a funeral.
Promise had wanted one. Not for the people or the burial or anything like that. Just for the ceremony, to respect him, she had said. Cal remembers when he first met her and thinks she's probably changed a lot since then. Can't imagine her staying the same after all that time with Niko. But there are some things that haven't changed. She seems as much now as she ever has covered in a veil of serenity, although Cal knows and can see that she's suffering, probably as much as he is. Or not, though, because he's not sure it's possible. Cal, on the other hand, is completely falling apart.
And the worst part is that he's never been well put together in the first place. He's only managed to stay in one piece all these years because Niko was keeping him that way. Niko had never seemed to realize, had always worked so hard just to make sure Cal was okay and had never realized that all Cal really needed was Niko by his side. He wishes he could tell him that now, wishes he didn't still have so much to say.
But it would never be long enough. Cal is glad, and a little surprised, that Niko had lasted as long as he had. It wasn't something Cal would have let himself dwell over before (let alone what Niko would do if he ever found out that Cal was worrying about things like that) because it had always seemed more simple. Niko wouldn't die. He couldn't, because Cal wouldn't let it happen. But that isn't how it happened. And in the end it wasn't any of the fates that they had fought against, any of the things that they had thought would get them both. Together, he guesses. It was something like old age. Bad health. Humanity. Cal still looks the same. Or mostly does. A little paler, maybe, but that's probably more recent; probably because he hasn't really slept since Niko went. He doesn't think he can do it. Go on like this. He's not sure he can last another hour. He can't even imagine what forever is like without Niko. Not that there's any guarantee he'll last that long anyway. Outside of all the dangers in the world, there haven't really been any documented cases of his kind before, so he's not sure how this is supposed to turn out.
Robin, though, looks even more like shit that Cal. It's not surprising. He's practically started living in bars since then. Cal's not sure he's even given himself enough time to sober up once.
Where Promise smiles softly, maybe reminiscing or something like that, Cal guesses, Robin punches an equally drunk bar patron and gets thrown out, again, and runs away from it. Cal is somewhere in the middle. It's impossible to try and block it out like Robin does. Like something permanent has been ripped out of him, like he doesn't even have ground to stand on anymore. But he can't just take it like Promise.
Promise has lost people before. Cal knows this, even though she's never told him, because she is who she is and she has experience. She does assure him, and he believes her (maybe it's something in her eyes; he never could tell with her, but it seemed like her eyes spoke to him more than any other part of her), that she hasn't lost anyone like Niko. Actually, he probably couldn't not believe her because he doesn't think that anyone could be like Niko. She tells him quietly, sitting him on her couch in her too-rich apartment, that it happens and that it will happen again. People die and the way to get past that is to never forget them. She says something about human nature and he feels a little bit better because he knows he should be happy there are still people in his life willing to try, but after everything he thinks maybe the talk made it a little worse.
Robin doesn't talk at all, though. Not really.
Cal finds himself sitting with Robin more often then he'd ever thought he would. They never got along, never grew out of the petty arguments, but Robin had wormed his way under Niko's skin and into Cal's life and he was as much like family as Cal imagined he could be. And the stupid, selfish Puck didn't have any consideration for grieving half-Auphes who were only looking out for that family. He struggles as Cal grips his shoulders and practically drags him from the bar, but with his drunken coordination he ended up in a soaking heap in a cold alley. He screams at Cal, cusses him out and throws things littered around the dirty alley in his general direction.
For a while Cal just takes it. Side steps the objects flying clumsily at the wall of the building behind him, listens to complaints and sobs, and doesn't say anything. When Niko's name appears somewhere in the drunken slurs, though, the air changes and Cal is lurching forward to haul the limp man to his feet by the collar of his expensive silk shirt, already ruined by water and beer and things Cal didn't really want to name or question, and shoving him against the grimy brick wall of the bar Robin had been inhabiting for the last several hours.
Cal draws his fist back and is going to, really wants to, because Robin deserves it and Cal deserves Niko to not be dead and it just isn't fair but Robin's eyes are instantly clear and sober and he does nothing to stop it. If anything, he draws his face forward a little to give Cal a better shot. That's not what stops him, though. If the Puck wanted to take it as much as he wanted to give it then why the hell not? But his eyes instantly fill with something and Cal almost chokes on his next breathe when he thinks it might be pity. He doesn't, though, because he realizes that the look is understanding.
Suddenly, his eyes are burning and his fist are slipping back against the smooth fabric on Robin's collarbone and his legs are giving out, but Robin reaches around and holds him up, slides down with him slowly and Cal is sobbing like a child, crying for the first time in as long as he can remember. The erratic pace of his blood through his veins eventually calms to match the steady rhythmic thumping from Robin chest beneath his hand.
He doesn't think he can do this. God, he doesn't think he can.
He's just glad he doesn't have to do it alone.
Fandom: Cal Leandros
Pairing: Past Promise/Niko, implied past one-sided Niko/Robin.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Summary: Cal somehow manages to deal with Niko's death.
Warnings: Character death
There isn't really a funeral.
Promise had wanted one. Not for the people or the burial or anything like that. Just for the ceremony, to respect him, she had said. Cal remembers when he first met her and thinks she's probably changed a lot since then. Can't imagine her staying the same after all that time with Niko. But there are some things that haven't changed. She seems as much now as she ever has covered in a veil of serenity, although Cal knows and can see that she's suffering, probably as much as he is. Or not, though, because he's not sure it's possible. Cal, on the other hand, is completely falling apart.
And the worst part is that he's never been well put together in the first place. He's only managed to stay in one piece all these years because Niko was keeping him that way. Niko had never seemed to realize, had always worked so hard just to make sure Cal was okay and had never realized that all Cal really needed was Niko by his side. He wishes he could tell him that now, wishes he didn't still have so much to say.
But it would never be long enough. Cal is glad, and a little surprised, that Niko had lasted as long as he had. It wasn't something Cal would have let himself dwell over before (let alone what Niko would do if he ever found out that Cal was worrying about things like that) because it had always seemed more simple. Niko wouldn't die. He couldn't, because Cal wouldn't let it happen. But that isn't how it happened. And in the end it wasn't any of the fates that they had fought against, any of the things that they had thought would get them both. Together, he guesses. It was something like old age. Bad health. Humanity. Cal still looks the same. Or mostly does. A little paler, maybe, but that's probably more recent; probably because he hasn't really slept since Niko went. He doesn't think he can do it. Go on like this. He's not sure he can last another hour. He can't even imagine what forever is like without Niko. Not that there's any guarantee he'll last that long anyway. Outside of all the dangers in the world, there haven't really been any documented cases of his kind before, so he's not sure how this is supposed to turn out.
Robin, though, looks even more like shit that Cal. It's not surprising. He's practically started living in bars since then. Cal's not sure he's even given himself enough time to sober up once.
Where Promise smiles softly, maybe reminiscing or something like that, Cal guesses, Robin punches an equally drunk bar patron and gets thrown out, again, and runs away from it. Cal is somewhere in the middle. It's impossible to try and block it out like Robin does. Like something permanent has been ripped out of him, like he doesn't even have ground to stand on anymore. But he can't just take it like Promise.
Promise has lost people before. Cal knows this, even though she's never told him, because she is who she is and she has experience. She does assure him, and he believes her (maybe it's something in her eyes; he never could tell with her, but it seemed like her eyes spoke to him more than any other part of her), that she hasn't lost anyone like Niko. Actually, he probably couldn't not believe her because he doesn't think that anyone could be like Niko. She tells him quietly, sitting him on her couch in her too-rich apartment, that it happens and that it will happen again. People die and the way to get past that is to never forget them. She says something about human nature and he feels a little bit better because he knows he should be happy there are still people in his life willing to try, but after everything he thinks maybe the talk made it a little worse.
Robin doesn't talk at all, though. Not really.
Cal finds himself sitting with Robin more often then he'd ever thought he would. They never got along, never grew out of the petty arguments, but Robin had wormed his way under Niko's skin and into Cal's life and he was as much like family as Cal imagined he could be. And the stupid, selfish Puck didn't have any consideration for grieving half-Auphes who were only looking out for that family. He struggles as Cal grips his shoulders and practically drags him from the bar, but with his drunken coordination he ended up in a soaking heap in a cold alley. He screams at Cal, cusses him out and throws things littered around the dirty alley in his general direction.
For a while Cal just takes it. Side steps the objects flying clumsily at the wall of the building behind him, listens to complaints and sobs, and doesn't say anything. When Niko's name appears somewhere in the drunken slurs, though, the air changes and Cal is lurching forward to haul the limp man to his feet by the collar of his expensive silk shirt, already ruined by water and beer and things Cal didn't really want to name or question, and shoving him against the grimy brick wall of the bar Robin had been inhabiting for the last several hours.
Cal draws his fist back and is going to, really wants to, because Robin deserves it and Cal deserves Niko to not be dead and it just isn't fair but Robin's eyes are instantly clear and sober and he does nothing to stop it. If anything, he draws his face forward a little to give Cal a better shot. That's not what stops him, though. If the Puck wanted to take it as much as he wanted to give it then why the hell not? But his eyes instantly fill with something and Cal almost chokes on his next breathe when he thinks it might be pity. He doesn't, though, because he realizes that the look is understanding.
Suddenly, his eyes are burning and his fist are slipping back against the smooth fabric on Robin's collarbone and his legs are giving out, but Robin reaches around and holds him up, slides down with him slowly and Cal is sobbing like a child, crying for the first time in as long as he can remember. The erratic pace of his blood through his veins eventually calms to match the steady rhythmic thumping from Robin chest beneath his hand.
He doesn't think he can do this. God, he doesn't think he can.
He's just glad he doesn't have to do it alone.