tushanshu | 13N09 [AUDIO]

[She can tell he's trying to figure things out. He gets a sort of look on his face, stern but not necessarily hard. He's always been at least open to her.]

There's a room back there. I never wanted to bother you or take up room. I can stay at Hannibal's if I'm a bother to you. [Some nights she sleeps there anyway.]

Edited 2013-11-07 06:15 (UTC)

No. [The answer is immediate and firm. Even if he can't remember her, he has a single note on her that tells him all he needs to know and he remembers the shrink and the trouble he was having with the kedan. That's the last person she needs to be spending time around.] No, you don't need a shrink and you're not a bother.

[He assumes. Maybe she doesn't realize how unlike him it is to even offer the invitation to live with him. Hell, if they're not together or soon to be, he still must have trusted her with more than most.]

I'm- I'm sorry I can't remember you. [He frowns again. Instead of his usual scowl, it's something rife with concern. Costigan feels like forgetting her might be the deepest betrayal of all somehow.] If you're living here, there's a reason for it. On both our sides. I won't ask you for your reasons if you don't want to offer them, but I know it means I trusted you and I wanted to protect you.

[She's slow to move in, but she knows that he's at least definitive in his answer. She leans against the wall and nods though. She's already told him once, so rehashing it isn't too bad.]

My dad killed girls that looked like me, and he tried to kill me, too. I got mixed up with Will and Hannibal, they were there when my dad-- [Tried to kill her. She swallows and looks up at him.]

I told you about that before, but I found out last month that Will killed me. That's why I'm here. [At least that's why she thinks she is. He never really told her his reasons.]

[She doesn't need to finish the thought for him to understand what she means. At the latter, his frown shifts to his usual scowl, trying to put the pieces together. Her ability to recount it with such nonchalance is almost disturbing, but maybe that's only because it's him, because she's told him so many times before. It's impossible to know.]

Was Hannibal involved? [Because he needs to know who the threats are and he hasn't seen Hannibal to be notable trustworthy - though not notably untrustworthy either.

Then he pauses, considering just how much he might trust her.] I know how hard it is when the people around you are doing fucked up things. Pure evil like that.. It gets inside you and you wonder if you can ever get rid of it. But you can. I want you to know that. It was them, not you.

[She's told a few people here. It's harder the first time. But eventually it's all words. Telling people is still hard, but she can separate herself from it. That's why she's so calm.]

He saved my life after my father cut my throat. [She lifts her chin to show him the scar across her neck.] He's-- helped.

[There are some things she hasn't told him, yet. Nicholas Boyle for one. But she knows he's trying. She doesn't know why. Why he feels the need to comfort her or even help her. She's never got that out of him.]

I've told you more, Billy. [Her head bends, and she cleared her throat.] My dad made me help him find those girls. They all looked like me. Same age, same hair color. I talked to them. They were a lot like me.

[See? It's fucked up. She exhales and puts her hands in her lap before brushing back her hair. Her hands need to do something. She stops talking though before looking up at him. If he gets to ask the questions, poke at the confines of their relationship, so does she.]

Why do you want to help me? I know you don't remember me, but me telling you this now. Why? [She wants to know what he's thinking.]

[Costigan actually grimaces very slightly at the sight of the scar, angry with the man who caused it despite never having met him. He knew that she helped. It was his single note on her. But he gives a single nod just the same, appreciating the sharing and the elaboration that he's apparently already supposed to know.

A dozen things rush through his mind of things he could say, about how it wasn't her fault or she's not a bad person. But he doesn't know how true those would be and the undercover's not in the habit of lying when it isn't necessary. Instead, he says nothing. The truth is, he can't reassure her of it because he hasn't decided it for himself, if the evil things he's done can be forgiven because of the greater good. He likes to think they can, but it's not certain.

When she looks up again, a small part of him wants to push her hair back for her and tell her it will all be okay. Now that the seed of an idea is there, that they might have something, it's hard to ignore entirely. Instead, he takes another sip of his coffee and shifts uncomfortably.]

I don't know. I guess I know what it's like to come from a fucked up family where people expect you to fuck up too. I know what it's like to want to prove them wrong and what that can cost. [Now it's his turn to avert his eyes, the memory of Queenan's death still fresh in his mind. Knowing it's his fault.] You seem like you want to change and you deserve that. If I can help, then..

[He shrugs as he looks to her again.] Seems only right that I should try.

[Abigail likes to think she's tough, but she still has that teenage invincibility in her. It's the attitude that makes her sometimes cocky or thinks she knows better despite the advice of Hannibal, Will, or even Freddy Lounds. But they saw her as a child. She is pliable though, more than she even will admit out loud. She's been swimming in oceans deeper than her for a long time, and she can't help but be grateful for whoever throws her out a life preserver.

Maybe that's why she stopped questioning Hannibal. She knows he's the person that called her house before her father killed her mother, before he tried to kill her. But she doesn't ask it of him, because she wants someone to care for her. She wants the trust one puts in their family, the intimacy of being close to someone.

Billy has provided that without question. It's part of the reason she hasn't questioned their relationship. He's attractive, older, but that isn't something that even registers so much. She likes being close to him, even if it has been her telling him. She wants to be close so she's told him things to make him feel for her. In her part, it's slight emotional manipulation, but never to do anything with it. Besides she doesn't know how not to be like that. It's not that she's painting herself as some poor damsel, and yes, he doesn't know that she killed Nicholas Boyle, but there are some roads she's still not ready to go down, yet.]

I didn't want to help him, [She says through clenched teeth. Not because she's mad at him, but she's opening up. Truly. Her lips purse, and this for once isn't about her telling him, because he's asked. It's about getting things off her chest.]

Something's wrong with me, if he would do that. [She blinks, looking like she's someplace else.] I can still hear him whispering in my ear that he'd kill me if I didn't help. Me or them.

[Her fingers curl in one another, holding onto something to remind her she's not there. He's dead. She's in Costigan's apartment, not even on the same plane of existence as Minnesota.

And for once that's a comfort.]

[Costigan, for his own part, has been out of his depth for ages and never fully come to transcend that strife. His time as a cop was easy, despite the stress it brought his family, but then he was in jail, then working with Costello. By the end, he was as much criminal as cop, if not more so, but he was never strong enough to stay true to himself or to adapt. Not entirely. That she has survived worse than he endured and come out of it as a better person both makes him ashamed of himself and eager to protect her, to help her be the person he never could be.

When her eyes glaze over with the vision of distance, his brow pulls together. He sets his coffee aside and moves slowly forward, not wanting to startle her, but wanting to pull her back to this time and place. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out his hands to try to rest on either side of her jaw, thumbs on each cheek, trying to gently hold her face to look at him. If she resists at all - pulls away or moves to block him - or panics, he'll immediately withdraw.]

Hey. Hey, you're not there. That's the past, alright? You have a long life ahead of you, full of new choices and directions. You can have a life here. [He's not sure if he would choose to stay here himself, if he had the choice, but he recognizes that not everyone might be able to choose.] Don't worry about Will, or even Hannibal. Take care of yourself.

[He manages to draw her thoughts away when he touches her, only thinking now that besides a few times of being bumped into or being with Hannibal, this is the first that someone's touched her. She's closed herself off so well that it's almost a surprise.]

I am. [Or she's trying. Her smile is faint, but true. He's helped a lot.]

[Costigan runs his thumbs slowly and tenderly across her cheeks. It's a very rare moment of sincere vulnerability in the undercover, when he engages in physical contact for the sake of helping them. After a moment, when she seems more drawn into the present, he drops his hands down to her shoulders.]

You want dinner? We can go grab something from a place nearby.

Do you-- do you remember places here? [Or is it limited to just people?]

[He frowns before sliding his hands off of her shoulders, breaking their contact. Then he turns to walk back towards his coffee, using the natural action as an excuse not to meet her gaze for a moment.]

I remember everything about this place except the people I seem to like and trust.. I remember people who have left and- and people I don't care much about. But the rest, it's like they were never here.- Like you were never here.

[Oh. Well that means something. And she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to do with that, but it's something.]

For what it's worth, I trust you, too. [She likes him, too. But she's not entirely sure what to do with that either since it has only been brought up today, and she's been made aware of it. It's an uncomfortable feeling, being vulnerable, and it scares the living hell out of her, but she isn't running from it either because what she wants more than anything is to be comforted.]

[The undercover turns and gives a smile at her words before retrieving his coffee and taking another long sip. How the two of them came to trust each other, he continues not to know, but he does believe it now more than ever and is grateful for her presence in his life. Even if the version of him that remembers might be less so. At least she's here to prevent his complete isolation, his usual response in these situations.]

I don't know how you came to that decision, but it's good. You should trust me.

[She stands a little straighter.]

You've looked out for me. Even though you have no reason to.

[Costigan straightens in response, taking another sip to finish off his coffee and then setting the mug aside again.]

You look out for me too?

You don't tell me much, but I try and make sure you at least eat. [It's true. He hasn't told her much. It's not that she hasn't wanted to ask, but neither one are very open people, and while she's told him most of her situation, well she definitely needs more protecting here than he seems to.]

That's probably the best you can do. [He offers with a soft smile. The undercover has never been all that good about taking care of himself in the private sector. He's the type to swap a beer for a meal and sometimes skip food entirely. Maybe her presence is why he feels a little more level and energetic.]

Is there anything you really want to know?

[She sort of just shrugs. That's a broad question.]

Where you're from, what you do? I really only know your name and your habits here.

[His smile fades with the idea of opening up, even once it has been offered.]

Boston, Massachusetts. I grew up with my mom on the North Shore mainly, but spent the weekends in South Boston with my dad. I tried to be a cop and that didn't work out, so I worked with my cousin and some guys he knew. [He shrugs noncommittally, speaking factually rather than emotionally.]

I've never been to Boston. [She can tell he doesn't like opening up, and she doesn't want to pry too hard. So she focuses on something else there.]

Is it nice?

[Because she definitely doesn't know about Southie.]

[He appreciates the gesture. Having forgotten her, that natural trust that developed between them isn't there. He's let trusting buried instincts that say, while she might be telling the truth, it would be foolish to admit to anything too profound.]

Yeah. [Costigan can't help a smile when he talks about his city.] The green line's fucked, but the rest of it's good. The pubs, the history, the seafood. It's good. The people are somethin' else too.

The only thing I know about it is the Boston Tea Party. And I've heard about the 'chowda'. [Look at her attempt at his accent. She gives a small grin, trying to ease him some.]

It's by the coast, right? I grew up in Minnesota. [See, they can do this. She moves to sit on the corner of his bed, more relaxed now. Like two people hanging out.]

[His smile widens with her attempt at the accent. Everyone knows the Boston accent and it's something he has picked up unintentionally paired with his aggression. The upper class North Shore of his upbringing believed themselves above the speech, but he had intentionally imitated the speech as a kid when spending time with his father in Southie. Over time, it became natural, a defense mechanism in the same vein as posturing or talking shit.]

Yeah, it's on the coast. East Boston's a peninsula and there's an island out past the harbor that used to be a jail or somethin'. [His hands lift to form the shape of a peninsula to the east of a land mass, trying to orient her somewhat.] My dad used to take me to the fish market sometimes, at the Waterfront.

[But that's enough talk about his family. His smile turns vaguely sheepish.] Can't say I know anything about Minnesota.

[She catches the bit about his father, and she of all people can understand daddy issues, so she doesn't touch it. Instead she chooses to run with the topic he brings up. Her hands cup into the sleeves of her shirt as she tucks a strand of hair back.]

You fish? Will does, too. He was going to give me lures once, I guess-- but felt it wasn't a good gift. Since my dad took me hunting. I'm pretty good though. [She's good with a gun.]

13N09 [AUDIO]

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