it's hard to see the pain behind the mask.
Who: Bethany and Jack.
When: This evening.
Where: The bar.
If any of them still believed in Heaven or Hell, she would be their Anti-Christ. Good thing she didn't think any of them were very devout anymore, and good thing she didn't think any of them actually knew who she was. If they did, she knew she wouldn't have lived through one night. And if she had miraculously survived, it wouldn't have been because of their pity or mercy; it would have been because they wanted information, wanted her to tell them where and who her superiors were and why they were still experimenting and which way was civilization. All questions she couldn't and wouldn't answer, of course. She had been raised with more conviction than the lot of them put together.
Bethany stared at the shot glass in front of her, wondering whether or not she'd actually fill it with the bourbon sitting oh-so-innocently on the bar top just a few inches away. It had been slow for most of the evening, and between the masks and the cryptic notes on her computer every morning, she was entitled to just a little relief. Jim Beam was one of her best friends in this sort of situation; Jack Daniel wasn't in stock, so she'd have to make do. The whiskey slid smoothly from the bottle, and she stared down into the shallow depths of the auburn liquid.
The blonde woman picked up the glass, swirling around its contents as she debated.
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Jack felt like an ass. Specifically, he felt like several different kinds of ass, and none of them good. He couldn't believe himself sometimes, leaving someone in the lurch like that. Several someone's because...well. He'd offered to help and then gone and fucking HIDDEN and what kind of person did that make him? What kind of brain-diseased coward did that let him become?
Shoving open the door to the bar, he scowled to himself. He'd hopped onto the journals to find out what was going on when he finally guilted himself into getting his act together. He was still terrified, and he could admit that freely to himself if nobody else. He didn't know exactly what he thought he was going to do but...
The place was pretty much empty, except for Bethany. Swallowing, Jack tried to ignore the sick, churning feeling in his stomach. Running a hand through his hair, he headed over, waving absently with the other hand.
"Hey Bethany. I-. Hi."
The alcohol was so tempting, so beautiful there in the glass. It didn't look like it would hurt her at all, though science told her it would. Drink it, and she'd keep going and she'd have one hell of a hangover in the morning. But she looked up as he entered, and immediately put the glass back on the counter, maybe a little too hard. Her stomach clenched. Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack. He was freaked out about the mask, and it was her fault. She had made it.
Suddenly, she knew that telling him where she was had been a very, very bad idea. She wanted to scream her confession at him, to beg for his forgiveness. Even if the others in town rioted and killed her she didn't care; she didn't want to hurt Jack. He'd been nothing but kind to her since they'd met, and this was how she repaid him? But tearing apart his sanity, little by little? It wasn't fair. All she could do that there was some underlying cause, that she wasn't the one to blame. At least, not completely.
"Hey, Jack." It was said with a small smile. Another mask, another lie. She wasn't some poor experimented on person. She wasn't a volunteer. She was in on the whole thing, helping the scientists who were crazier than these wretched people. But she didn't say that, didn't let it show at all. All those years of faking her smiles and learning to twist her expression to her liking paid off in that one moment.
Well, she didn't yell at him for abandoning everything, which was a start. Swallowing, he made his way further into the bar, going to plonk down on the stool next to her, stretching his legs out before he sank down. The sick feeling in his gut wasn't going to go away, and Bethany had looked so -dejected-, sitting there and staring at the bottle. If he had the inclination, he'd have made himself rather drunk without even thinking about it.
"How're you holding up?" And wasn't that a stupid question. Everyone was freaked, and barely anything had even HAPPENED yet. But all those people had disappeared from town and that -mask- had flipped him right the hell out. He'd had to look up the poem on the net (and the fact that it had been available on a closed network made him feel even MORE ill) and it'd thrown him completely for six.
"Aside from the bone numbing terror, of course." He added, trying on a smile when Bethany gave him one. It was only fair, and she was trying.
The blonde shifted on the stool, turning towards him a bit. It was just a small sign, angling her face towards him, but it let him know that she was listening, she was there. Another lie, another facade, but it was for his sake. If she told herself that, then the guilt wasn't so bad. She could almost believe that it wasn't her fault, that she wasn't the one tearing apart his sanity little by little.
"Better than most, I suppose." It was just a quiet murmur, her tone of voice subdued as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary to let him know that she was a big player in this game. She knew that eventually, her superiors could turn against her, could fuck with her head the same way they were to these people. All she could do was prepare.
"How... what happened?" she asked, grey-green eyes flickering up to rest on his face, concern obvious. And it was real. She wanted to know, she had to know. Because even though that could soon be her, she still had to study, still had to collect information. She had joined this experiment business because she had wanted to learn about human nature; and it was staring her right in the face. How could she ignore it? Curiosity killed the cat.
Getting comfortable on his stool he sighed, scratching the back of his head again. His stomach did a long, sick roll at the idea of Bethany sitting there by herself while he went and had a private freakout, the slow, bubbling rage building in his chest taking root at the back of his spine. He looked down at the bar for a moment, nose wrinkled at himself, before he answered her.
"I freaked out. I got. This mask. It was fucking beautiful to look at but it had something written in the back. The thing that freaked me out the most is that it could've fit over my face. Just. No." He shuddered, reaching a hand over and adjusting one of the bottles on the bar out of nervous habit. "So I flipped out a bit."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here to help." And he was, really. He didn't know how else to say that other than apologise, and this whole conversation was making him intensely uncomfortable. The guilt was more than he could handle right about now, however, so that won out over his urge to flee the hell out of there.
Beautiful. He had called her work beautiful. She had created it, and that made her beautiful. A perverse sense of satisfaction threatened to make her smile, but she forced it away. Her expression remained carefully worried. She could congratulate herself later, perhaps. But right now, Jack needed her. He needed her concern, even if it was half-fake. But she would give it to him, if it would make this any easier.
Something new began to surface; she decided that it was pity. With that in mind, she did something she hadn't done in a while. Bethany reached out and took his hand in both of hers, gently patting the back of it. "It's fine," she said quietly. A half-smile. "You needed time. It's been slow, anyway." Physical contact wasn't really something she was good at; even though she craved it so often, she never felt right touching someone else unless she knew they wanted it. So she gently let go of his hand, folding her own in her lap again. But her eyes remained on his face, her demeanor still the picture of concern. "You just need to breathe, Jack."
Jack hadn't really been able to think of the mask as anything but. It -was- really pretty to look at, and he found his eye drawn to it, unable to throw the damn thing away. He'd wanted to. Over the last couple of days he'd actually tried, and the fact that he'd fished it out of the scrap bin said something about his mental state, probably.
Blinking in surprise when she reached out at touched him, Jack smiled, letting her do whatever the hell she wanted to his arm. It was nice, really, this whole touching thing. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed any sort of contact until just then.
"You've said that before. I-."
The thought of being shackled down in any one place to any group of people scared the shit out of him.
"I'll try, okay?"
There it was, he was doing better now, wasn't he? For a short moment, she considered reaching out to take his hand again; it had been warm, and her hands always seemed to be cold these days. Plus, he'd smiled. But she decided against it. She hadn't planned on getting close to anyone in this town at all, but working with Jack had made her almost rethink her position. She didn't want to risk turning back on her own word. The results could be disastrous.
Another smile for him, and she lightly slid from the stool. Her feet hit the ground with a low thump, and she rested her weight on her left side, hip cocked. "Would you like a drink to celebrate your return? Or maybe something to eat." This was wrong, she shouldn't be trying so hard to comfort him. But for some reason, it was just coming so naturally. She couldn't help herself.
Jack felt like a bit of a tool, because here he was being rediculous and a complete jerk, abandoning her and everyone else, and she was offering him something to eat? Wow. HE really -was- a jerk. The little spark of self loathing blossomed into a fire at the back of his brain and he sighed, smiling at her on reflex, not wanting to give her anything else to worry about.
"If you're having something, sure. You're a better cook than I am, that's sure." It was easy to compliment her. It just sort of rolled off his tongue. Tilting his head, he rested his chin on his palm, smiling and watching her as she made her way around the bar.
That wasn't even close to being true. All she could really make were pastries, and Lord knew nobody could live off those for very long. But if he wanted to think she could actually cook, more power to him. Besides, she wasn't planning on making a big dinner to celebrate his return or anything. Well, the thought had crossed her mind, but she wasn't going to follow through. She hardly knew him well enough to start playing housewife, after all.
"How about sandwiches? Simple and quick." Even as she spoke, the artist ducked down below the counter and started rooting through the small fridge she'd transferred from her house to the bar. It was convenient, especially when she was hungry during her shift. It wasn't as if she could just leave the whole place unattended.
Considering Jack had managed to completely cock up toast once, she was one up on him. Nodding and smiling he settled his arms on the counter, comfortable in a way he hadn't been for the last couple of days. Maybe it was just because she was still talking to him or maybe it was just because he actually, in some little part of his brain, wanted to BE there, but he relaxed somewhat.
"Sounds great. Better than what I was planning to have for dinner." Stretching out his arms, he gripped onto the other side of the bar, cracking his back before settling down properly.
Peanut butter and jelly it was; she was almost positive that he wouldn't complain about whatever she made. Besides, he looked in need of some comfort food. "What were you planning on eating?" she asked casually. Keep him talking, keep the conversation going. That was really all she had to do. And then she could maybe escort him back to his house, make sure he was locked in safe before heading on home herself. She didn't want him out in the streets in this condition; she had a feeling that something would happen. She just didn't know what.
Because a tiny portion of her truly was worried for him. She didn't particularly enjoy causing people this sort of pain, but in the face of her curiosity, it was almost irrelevant. But this was Jack. For some reason, she actually cared what happened to him. Maybe she'd try to contact her superiors, tell them to leave him alone. He was a volunteer; he'd had nothing to do with the experiments before now. The others, they were somewhat expendable. People like Jack, though, weren't.
"Probably burnt toast." He said with a smile. Wrinkling his nose at her, he shrugged, quite happy to eat whatever it was she was concoting. He leaned his elbows on the bar, frowning slightly at the fact that it was starting to get a little late. He wasn't that fussed, really. It was just that Bethany looked...well, tired.
"Are you sure you're holding up okay?" He asked, shifting on his stool, waiting patiently. He took the time while she was making the sandwiches to watch her, trying not to be so obtrusive about it. She was still there at least. That was something. It was a connection, tenuous at best but he wasn't too good at this interpersonal shit anyway.
The blonde woman grabbed two napkins while she straightened, laying out the jelly, peanut butter, and bread in a neat line. She also grabbed a butter knife, and tried to move quickly so he wouldn't see her hand shake. She could feel his eyes on her, and made sure to keep her eyes focused on the sandwiches. It wasn't that she was unused to stares—but this was Jack. She couldn't say she didn't enjoy his watchfulness; it was simply odd. Something she hadn't expected.
"Holding up okay" was certainly the least of her problems. Between making the masks and keeping up the charade of being a participant, she was downright exhausted. But there was very little she could actually do about all that. "I'm fine," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice as normal as possible. "I'm surviving," she added, almost as if correcting herself.
Oh, peanut butter and jelly. -that- brought back memories. Smiling slightly, he stretched his legs out, watching her hands as she made the sandwiches. It was kind of odd, how this sort of contact (that wasn't really contact at all, was it?) could make him feel better.
Her answer, though, worried him. "You know that if you run into any trouble, you can come get me, right? I mean, I'm not too fantastic in a fight but I can be a meat-shielf." And wow, he said that totally without thinking. He wouldn't offer, couldn't offer that to anyone else. Then again, nobody else had worried about him. And nobody else was making him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at asscrack o'clock at night and listening to him be a giant GIRL about things.
She could hear him shifting, becoming more comfortable, but she didn't look up just yet. She wanted to be in complete control of her facial expressions before risking that; if he caught sight of even a little guilt, he'd be suspicious. And for some reason, she didn't think she could handle that right now. Bethany had a relatively high breaking point, but she felt pretty damn close to reaching it, and knew that there were only a few more straws she could take before her back broke.
His admission caught her by surprise, to say the least. And she broke her silent vow, raising her face to him, shock evident in the way her green eyes widened and her lips parted as if she were about to speak. But she didn't, not yet, and dipped her head to stare at the now-completed sandwiches. Her hands hovered over one, knife poised as if she were about to cut it. "Thank you," she said quietly, her tone sincere. And it was; she had never expected that of him, but a part of her was glad that he'd offered. It meant he didn't just see her as a coworker, and maybe she could find a person to confide in when all this was over and done with. Maybe. Deciding that it was high time to get out of that area of conversation, she shot him a slight smile. "Diagonal or across?"