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FFTSW: Without
Fandom: Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within
Pairing: Gray/Neil
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Something everyone wants but doesn't dare to have now.
"You alright? Still in the land of the living?"
Some days it's as much an accusation as a question, but not today and not from Neil -- not ever from Neil. No, it's just an honest question that hurts, because it hurts to consider living, most of the time, because they see so much death. So much. And some of it -- just some of it -- is their fault. People they couldn't save. Missions going wrong. "There a mission?"
Neil shakes his head, sitting down on the bed so that it dips beneath his weight, and Gray moves with the dip to lay on his back, looking up at Neil for his answer. "Nah, there's no need for you to get up."
"Good. I'm damn tired."
"You're always damn tired."
Gray shrugs a little and runs a hand over his face, trying to unstick his eyelids properly and get some proper kind of grasp on the day. After all, it's not exactly a normal thing for Neil to come blithely into his rooms and sit on the bed like he owns the place. "I think it's the way the world works nowadays. The captain is tired, the crew is surly, except for the one who is busy madly flirting with the female member."
"It was probably like that before, too -- "
But what before, Neil doesn't say, because no one really talks about before. Staring at his ceiling, still sleep-warm and half confused from dreams of endless running and identical corridors, Gray can't even really remember before -- was he alive then? Really? Or are the pictures in his head, bright edged and clear and aching, pictures of before, are they just static photographs and imagined things built up from folklore?
Was there a before?
A minute later he moves to roll out of bed, shaking those thoughts away, but Neil shakes his head and tsks and puts a hand on his chest, forcing him back down into bed. He gives it a minute before he asks, gives himself a minute to take in the implications of mischief in Neil's eyes.
Up to something. He's always up to something.
"Sorry, sir. Me an' Ryan, and Jane too, even, though you wouldn't believe the talking we had to do to convince her it was a good idea, we all agreed that we were going to make you get some rest. But Ryan's busy and Jane's too sulky, so we is more me, really."
You have a group, you think you know them. You fight beside them, you save their butts and they save yours, you kick enemy butt and you come out alive -- alive, but only just, and aching inside -- you share thoughts and talk while you clean your weapons, but you don't know them, not really. That's the impression Gray gets, looking up into Neil's grin and Neil's sincere, bright eyes. He never thought they'd care so much.
He never thought anyone would think he deserves this.
"So, yeah, sorry, sir, but you'll be staying in bed all day, and I'll be keeping you company."
The ceiling proves a safer place to look than Neil's eyes, so Gray looks, and finds a crack he never found before in whole nights -- whole months of nights -- spent searching the ceiling for cracks to count because that felt like the right thing for a guilty, heartsick survivor -- hah, survivor -- to do.
"Why? Whose -- whose idea?"
"Mine. Because, well..."
For once Neil was at a loss for words. But not at a loss for actions -- not at a loss for something to surprise the hell out of Gray. He shifts slightly and instead of sitting on the bed he shifts, and the movement of the bed moves Gray closer to him as he lies down, and then hesitantly his arm is around Gray's waist.
"Because we all care about you, you've brought us alive out of more things than we've had dinners. Because you'd do the same for us if we needed it -- and don't argue, you need it, we can tell, and because... because the Deepeyes is all we all have left, each other, no family as such and no home anymore. We look after our own, see?"
Gray sees. He sees, too, Neil's collarbone, awkwardly close to his face, and the thin scratchy material of Neil's casual shirt. He shifts a little so he sees Neil's face, and nods, just a tiny bit, just an acknowledgement. They care for him. They -- they love him, and damn he doesn't deserve it but it feels god damn good to think -- to know -- that. He doesn't deserve --
But he can't say he doesn't want it, so he accepts it. Settles down more comfortable with Neil's warmth beside him, Neil's arm around his waist.
Somehow, he can tell that Neil wants something more. Something -- something nobody can give in their world, not now, not anymore, if they ever could. Unconditional love, or something like it, love without fear, love without the constant creeping coldness and ache that the other is going to die, and worse than die, be wrenched apart and out of themselves, gone forever with one hungry touch of those unwordly things. Phantoms.
He loves his team something like that. Something that won't die even if they do. Loves it entire and whole and perfect and he'll love it when they're splintered -- broken -- he'll die for it. But nobody can love just one person like that anymore.
Not quite, anyway.
"You should sleep, too," he says, finally, and Neil shifts against him, as if surprised he's still awake.
"Gray -- "
"Sleep. That's an order."
"Do you want me to -- ?"
Does he want Neil to go? Yes, he does, more than anything. He wants to end the awkward closeness, too close, too comfortable. It's easy to get used to moments like this and then -- then they're gone. Like Aki.
"No. Stay."
Neil grins a little and his arm tightens, just that little bit, uncomfortable, and it's tempting to take more while he can. But Gray lies still, apart from sliding an arm around Neil in return.
"Go to sleep," he half growls, when Neil shifts, and with a cheeky 'yes, cap'n', Neil does.
Trust. That's -- that's a powerful thing. Like teamwork.
Pairing: Gray/Neil
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Something everyone wants but doesn't dare to have now.
"You alright? Still in the land of the living?"
Some days it's as much an accusation as a question, but not today and not from Neil -- not ever from Neil. No, it's just an honest question that hurts, because it hurts to consider living, most of the time, because they see so much death. So much. And some of it -- just some of it -- is their fault. People they couldn't save. Missions going wrong. "There a mission?"
Neil shakes his head, sitting down on the bed so that it dips beneath his weight, and Gray moves with the dip to lay on his back, looking up at Neil for his answer. "Nah, there's no need for you to get up."
"Good. I'm damn tired."
"You're always damn tired."
Gray shrugs a little and runs a hand over his face, trying to unstick his eyelids properly and get some proper kind of grasp on the day. After all, it's not exactly a normal thing for Neil to come blithely into his rooms and sit on the bed like he owns the place. "I think it's the way the world works nowadays. The captain is tired, the crew is surly, except for the one who is busy madly flirting with the female member."
"It was probably like that before, too -- "
But what before, Neil doesn't say, because no one really talks about before. Staring at his ceiling, still sleep-warm and half confused from dreams of endless running and identical corridors, Gray can't even really remember before -- was he alive then? Really? Or are the pictures in his head, bright edged and clear and aching, pictures of before, are they just static photographs and imagined things built up from folklore?
Was there a before?
A minute later he moves to roll out of bed, shaking those thoughts away, but Neil shakes his head and tsks and puts a hand on his chest, forcing him back down into bed. He gives it a minute before he asks, gives himself a minute to take in the implications of mischief in Neil's eyes.
Up to something. He's always up to something.
"Sorry, sir. Me an' Ryan, and Jane too, even, though you wouldn't believe the talking we had to do to convince her it was a good idea, we all agreed that we were going to make you get some rest. But Ryan's busy and Jane's too sulky, so we is more me, really."
You have a group, you think you know them. You fight beside them, you save their butts and they save yours, you kick enemy butt and you come out alive -- alive, but only just, and aching inside -- you share thoughts and talk while you clean your weapons, but you don't know them, not really. That's the impression Gray gets, looking up into Neil's grin and Neil's sincere, bright eyes. He never thought they'd care so much.
He never thought anyone would think he deserves this.
"So, yeah, sorry, sir, but you'll be staying in bed all day, and I'll be keeping you company."
The ceiling proves a safer place to look than Neil's eyes, so Gray looks, and finds a crack he never found before in whole nights -- whole months of nights -- spent searching the ceiling for cracks to count because that felt like the right thing for a guilty, heartsick survivor -- hah, survivor -- to do.
"Why? Whose -- whose idea?"
"Mine. Because, well..."
For once Neil was at a loss for words. But not at a loss for actions -- not at a loss for something to surprise the hell out of Gray. He shifts slightly and instead of sitting on the bed he shifts, and the movement of the bed moves Gray closer to him as he lies down, and then hesitantly his arm is around Gray's waist.
"Because we all care about you, you've brought us alive out of more things than we've had dinners. Because you'd do the same for us if we needed it -- and don't argue, you need it, we can tell, and because... because the Deepeyes is all we all have left, each other, no family as such and no home anymore. We look after our own, see?"
Gray sees. He sees, too, Neil's collarbone, awkwardly close to his face, and the thin scratchy material of Neil's casual shirt. He shifts a little so he sees Neil's face, and nods, just a tiny bit, just an acknowledgement. They care for him. They -- they love him, and damn he doesn't deserve it but it feels god damn good to think -- to know -- that. He doesn't deserve --
But he can't say he doesn't want it, so he accepts it. Settles down more comfortable with Neil's warmth beside him, Neil's arm around his waist.
Somehow, he can tell that Neil wants something more. Something -- something nobody can give in their world, not now, not anymore, if they ever could. Unconditional love, or something like it, love without fear, love without the constant creeping coldness and ache that the other is going to die, and worse than die, be wrenched apart and out of themselves, gone forever with one hungry touch of those unwordly things. Phantoms.
He loves his team something like that. Something that won't die even if they do. Loves it entire and whole and perfect and he'll love it when they're splintered -- broken -- he'll die for it. But nobody can love just one person like that anymore.
Not quite, anyway.
"You should sleep, too," he says, finally, and Neil shifts against him, as if surprised he's still awake.
"Gray -- "
"Sleep. That's an order."
"Do you want me to -- ?"
Does he want Neil to go? Yes, he does, more than anything. He wants to end the awkward closeness, too close, too comfortable. It's easy to get used to moments like this and then -- then they're gone. Like Aki.
"No. Stay."
Neil grins a little and his arm tightens, just that little bit, uncomfortable, and it's tempting to take more while he can. But Gray lies still, apart from sliding an arm around Neil in return.
"Go to sleep," he half growls, when Neil shifts, and with a cheeky 'yes, cap'n', Neil does.
Trust. That's -- that's a powerful thing. Like teamwork.