worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

B thinks she probably would've been yanked back by the Admiral regardless, so he just presented a handy face to blame. Someone who made the actual choice for her instead of letting the Admiral take his usually course. But Steve knows Annie better than anyone except maybe Godric, so... "I hope you're right."

Right now, he has a hard time seeing how he's helped anyone. The litany from before Flotilla keeps going around and around in his head, how all his attempts to help only ever hurt. But he can also see how he's still not exactly rational right now. He doesn't say it out loud. He doesn't think he could handle Steve trying to argue the point with him right now.

Besides, he has one more piece of news, which will probably help Steve realize why he's in quite this bad of a shape. "Nurse said they. Decommissioned the Barge. She would... not be allowed to continue in the shape she was, they said." He swallows. "They killed her, Steve. Or good as."

Steve's arm tightens around B a little, wishing he had more comfort to give, that he could convince B that he really had done all right, in the end. He knows it was a hard choice - that calling it hard, really, is an understatement. He knows he loves B for making it, even when he's still clearly afraid it was the wrong one.

But what he goes on to say about the Barge sort of eclipses everything else. Steve doesn't have the rapport with the Barge that B does, clearly. He'd often just thought of the ship as an extension of the Admiral at best, and the Admiral is far from his favorite person. But he knows better now, academically, even if it's been hard to convince his gut; more than that, he knows what the Barge means to B, and what it means, too, that the Authority has had it decommissioned.

Without talking to any of them.

"Oh," he says, softly, and it's like he's feeling a hundred things at once, feeling trapped and dismayed and angry - but the one thing that takes precedence is the way he shifts, turning, reaching for B with the other arm to tug him close in a hug, try to fold him against his chest and maybe curl his fingers a little into B's shirt in lieu of squeezing him too hard. "Oh, no - C'mere."

Libby hastily scoots the rest of the way off B's lap as he turns to curl into Steve and bury his face in his shoulder. There's fear there, of being stuck on this damn ship, of being at the mercy of the Nurse for the rest of their lives. How could there not be? His mind sees paths and outcomes and knows where that ends up. If the Authority already took their ship apart, then they don't have much chance of sending them all back to it, do they?

But mostly, right now, there's just grief. His home is gone. Again. All his people are scattered on other ships. He's probably never going to see them again.

At least there's Steve. Thank god for Steve, making his demand of the Authority, to keep them together. He clings to Steve's shoulder for a long few moments, and finally lets go and really sobs, near-silently but with violently shaking shoulders.

There's nothing he can do but hold B through it, and Steve both hates that fact and has to be grateful that at least he can do that much. It's not enough, but it's something. Right? It's something.

But it's not enough.

He thinks maybe it's a good thing that all it does take to graduate here is the semblance of being happy. The mask. Because he doesn't think he's going to be actually happy about this entire mess... well. Ever. It's not like he has any love for the Admiral, but he also can't deny that the Barge was home. He'd hated it for so long, but after all those years, it had been the place he belonged, more than the world he'd come out of the ice into.

And it had been home for B, more than it had ever been that for Steve, and he presses his nose into B's hair and doesn't know what to say, except, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm here. I love you."

He can't even promise he won't disappear, he knows that just him alone is not enough, but he is here now, and he loves B, and he wishes he could do better than hold him through this, but by God, he will do at least that.

It helps, though. It always helps. Knowing that here, he's not alone. He doesn't have to figure it out by himself. Someone here trusts him, supports him, even loves him. He has to believe this Steve means it. His dumb smile every time B kisses him says he means it. The way he'd said you're it for me, now even before B got up the nerve to kiss him. Maybe one person isn't usually enough, but that's more than he's had anywhere else. And he can build up more people here. He can. He's not entirely forgotten how to be friendly.

He finally gets himself back under control, his head tucked under Steve's chin and his arm curled under that, fingers hooked into Steve's shirt, like a child. But it's okay. If Steve had a problem with him losing control over his emotions like this, he wouldn't have stuck around this long. B loses the plot a lot, after all.

Still, he finds himself saying, "Sorry," anyway, in an undertone.

"Nuh-uh," Steve murmurs softly, trying to nip that right in the bud. "Don't be sorry." His voice is gentle, rather than argumentative, but he still means it. This is a legitimate thing to be anything but sorry about. "You feel things. Because you're a person. So feel them, okay? Even if they kinda suck sometimes."

Steve is really bad at those little comforting sweet nothing phrases you're supposed to tell people when they're sad, but he is, at least, always honest. And he's honest when he says, "I'm - gonna miss her, too."

He rubs one hand up and down B's back slowly, holds him with the other. He wonders if he made the right choice, letting the Authority put him back in the system, insisting they stay together. On the one hand, it led them here. But on the other, they're together. And he would always rather be in hell with this man than in heaven alone. (Hah. Who is he kidding. He's not going to end up in the latter, anyway, alone or otherwise.)

He wants to get a warm washcloth for B's face, but that would also mean getting up and he doesn't want to do that just yet, so he stays put, pressing his mouth to the top of B's head for a moment. He wants to get angry - will get angry, later. At so many things. But not right now, when B needs him to be calm and strong.

B shuts his eyes and smiles a little, huffs an almost-laugh, at the first. He almost comes up with something glib and silly, but then the last admission kneecaps him again. He shudders out a sigh, forcing himself to stay relaxed and not sob again.

When he thinks he can without wobbling too much, he says, "You lived on the Barge for... for years. So much longer than me. It's gotta be. Be like the end of an era, for you." And not even a happy era, for most of it.

"Yeah," Steve admits. "I didn't... really think it would end." Maybe he means his time on the Barge. Maybe he just means the Barge. (He kind of means both, really.)

He isn't entirely sure how he feels about it, but he does mean what he said. He will miss it, even though it had its problems. Even though he hated so much about it. You can still miss things you hated. Sometimes their absence seems to hit harder, even, when they're gone.

"I'm sorry," he says again, softly, because he figures there really is nothing else he can say. B lost his home. Lost his friend. Lost a lot of friends. Steve's sorry, even though he's glad they're together. "We won't forget her. That's gotta count for something."

Not enough. But something.

It's never enough. Nothing B can do is ever enough. He heaves a shuddery little sigh, turns his face further into Steve's shoulder, and says quietly, "We'll remember. We're both really good at that."

Not just from the serum. They've both lost so much. They're the only ones left from their time, from their war, in a way from their universes. Since neither of them is ever going back. They've got a lot to remember. It's not enough, but it's something they can do.

The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

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