[There's a split second when North's hand land on him that he wants to react, where he just wants to take a swing and to hit something. He's got so many ghosts in his head, he just wants to fight them out. Fight something, fight anything, just fight it as hard as he's been fighting identifying himself as a fucked up piece of hardware so central to so much pain (and he doesn't even remember that pain, only Epsilon does, and if Epsilon can carry it, why can't he, why can't he be whole again, why can't he just go back to the way things were)...
But his voice and the anger--real anger at the situation, but fueled by ignoring everything else whirling inside him--die in his throat on being held firmly by North. Despite the barbed words and despite the loudly declared blame set at the feet of the other AI, North isn't angry. As a Freelancer, and one who's dead, one who lost his partner, he's as hurt as the rest.
Being hugged by big strong arms isn't unfamiliar, but Caboose, as in all things, has no finesse about it, and is selfish about it, and usually just makes Church angrier, and he kind of wishes Tucker was here instead of North so that they could just talk around it, understand each other, and then move along. This, this is direct, and kindly and caring, and it's scary in its sincerity.
He wants to rip himself apart until there's nothing left to give. He remembers being the Alpha, just a couple weeks back--not the memories the Alpha had, but remembers the panicked desperation, the relief at talking to a Freelancer, how the others walked on eggshells save for Tucker. Now he's just back to being...this, and what's worth saving about this?]
I...
[There is something small inside of him. A place that perhaps used to be bigger, once upon a time. Like a child, he craves this, accepts and appreciates the hug, feels warmth and safety and protection even in this stranger-not-a-stranger. Church brings up his arms to cling around North's back, fingers digging into fabric. His breath shakes and hitches, and he buries his face into North's shoulder.]
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But his voice and the anger--real anger at the situation, but fueled by ignoring everything else whirling inside him--die in his throat on being held firmly by North. Despite the barbed words and despite the loudly declared blame set at the feet of the other AI, North isn't angry. As a Freelancer, and one who's dead, one who lost his partner, he's as hurt as the rest.
Being hugged by big strong arms isn't unfamiliar, but Caboose, as in all things, has no finesse about it, and is selfish about it, and usually just makes Church angrier, and he kind of wishes Tucker was here instead of North so that they could just talk around it, understand each other, and then move along. This, this is direct, and kindly and caring, and it's scary in its sincerity.
He wants to rip himself apart until there's nothing left to give. He remembers being the Alpha, just a couple weeks back--not the memories the Alpha had, but remembers the panicked desperation, the relief at talking to a Freelancer, how the others walked on eggshells save for Tucker. Now he's just back to being...this, and what's worth saving about this?]
I...
[There is something small inside of him. A place that perhaps used to be bigger, once upon a time. Like a child, he craves this, accepts and appreciates the hug, feels warmth and safety and protection even in this stranger-not-a-stranger. Church brings up his arms to cling around North's back, fingers digging into fabric. His breath shakes and hitches, and he buries his face into North's shoulder.]
How can you be sure?