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Picking up the Pieces (With BlueAmbient)

"I know, that's why it's not fair for me to dump mine on you." Mason moves towards a separate cabinet across the room, opening it to reveal what could almost amount to a bar's worth of alcohol. More than any one person should have. He grabs a nearly full bottle of scotch, and picks up a pair of tumblers on the way back to the island counter.

Mason opts to stay standing as he pours for the both of them. He slides one tumbler toward Maverick, then takes a bite from his own plate of pasta. He'd eaten before heading to the bar, so his portion is smaller than what he'd dished for Maverick. "I wouldn't mind, you know. It wouldn't be babysitting. Sometimes it's nice to have someone care about you." Mason stares down at his plate as he speaks, deep voice a quiet rumble.
 
Maverick still didn't get why it was an issue, but he let it go. Perhaps it was just one of those normal people things he didn't understand yet. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the impressive display of alcohol. Once their drinks were made Maverick took the offered cup and took a drink. "Is that from experience?" Maverick questioned regarding the comment about being cared for. It was enough of a consideration that he looked down into the cup of liquor thoughtfully.

Maybe it would be nice to not have to worry about anything for the night. All he did was worry about this and that, where he was going to park the car for the night or where he was going to get his next meal. It was just exhausting. By the time he was finished with his pasta he was halfway done with his drink. Having had two glasses of bourbon not too terribly long ago he could feel the effect. He continued to work at the cup slowly as he considered what to talk about. Maverick had never really been much of a talker and it showed, but it wouldn't be long before Mason might possibly be able to get him to answer questions far easier.
 
Mason considers his words carefully, not wanting to dampen the slowly relaxing mood building between them. "I had a normal life before the war. Joined up to protect my family. Never imagined they'd want little to nothing to do with me when I came back." He shrugs, then downs his drink in a couple of gulps. Mason has the misfortune of being a heavyweight drinker; it takes a lot for him to get drunk. It's why he owns so much alcohol.

Mason turns away to put the dishes in the sink, then pulls out Tupperware to put away the leftover pasta away. He's quiet, enjoying the companionable silence. But he's also acutely aware of Maverick, can hear his breathing, his heartbeat. It takes Mason a moment to realize he had tuned in to that sound, something he used to do during combat to check on his partner. It brings a bittersweet smile to his lips.
 
It seemed like he had inadvertently hauled up something unpleasant, so Maverick chose not to inquire further. He couldn’t imagine being shunned like that, but Maverick had never had anyone important that could throw him away. Well, he had Mason, but Mason would never do that. Right? Of course not.

Maverick’s attention was back on his drink and it didn’t take long to finish it. He leaned on the island counter and he seemed a lot more at ease than before. Maverick was a lighter weight in comparison so it would take nearly as much effort on his part. He wasn’t at the bar so he didn’t need to pay extra attention to his surroundings. “I like drinking because it lets me relax. I don’t pay as much attention to every little detail. That, and it keeps me from thinking too hard.” he offered. “Sometimes it makes me numb to all the bullshit in life, too.”
 
Mason turns back around to face Maverick when he speaks, the Tupperware of leftover pasta in his hands. He half grimaces when the younger man explains the alcohol helps him relax. There are better ways to relax, but Mason is in no position to judge.

Mason walls over to the fridge to put the Tupperware inside, then returns to the island counter. He pours them each another drink, standing at the end beside Maverick and leaning his hip against the counter. His head is tilted to look down at the younger man. "Still yperspace of your surroundings, hm? I remember nobody could ever sneak up on you without almost getting punched."
 
“Of course. I don’t mean to be…but it’s a habit. One I don’t think is going away anytime soon.” Maverick replied as he was given another drink. His awareness had been quite useful to him in numerous situations that could have ended quite poorly otherwise, but it wasn’t something he could easily turn on or off.

“That reminds me of the time I accidentally gave Richard a bloody nose. He knew better but just had to sneak up on me anyways.” Maverick swirled the liquid around in the cup as he spoke. “Boy did he howl like a baby.” he added with mild amusement. He was talking about their time back with the army. “I’m pretty sure someone dared him to do it. Richard was always bad when it came to peer pressure so they could usually get him to do the dumbest shit.”
 
Mason smiles lightly as Maverick reminisces about their army days. For Mason, it's bittersweet. A part of him wants to go back to those days; he'd felt useful, had been able to get a sense of partnership. He missed that. Sure, he'd had his marriage before the war, had been happy there, but it was a different sense of partnership among the army. And especially with Maverick.

"I honestly barely remember most of there names. Everyone tended to stay away from me, for different reasons than they did with you. At least with you, it was clear they knew you were just there to fight." Mason pauses, tilting his head. He sips his drink, staring into it. They'd never talked about anything other than the next mission when they were paired. "I was a solo scout, when I first joined up. Recon missions, that's what I asked for. One mission, I found a sniper rifle and took out eight men from three blocks away. Eight men pinning one of our squads on an entirely separate mission. One thing led to another, and I became the token snipe."

Mason sighs, but he keeps talking. It's just nice to tell someone about the loneliness he had before being paired with Maverick. "Nobody wanted me on their squad once they spent some time with me. Called me a cursed beast." He shrugs, no longer bothered by it like he had been back then. "I always happened to be in the right place at the right time to hear or see things the others didn't. And since I never had hobbies, and we weren't allowed to write home very often, I spent a lot of time at the gym. Had more strength than most of the others, despite just being a sniper." These were habit-formed white lies he'd created to hide his physical abilities.
 
"I remember Richard because he was a bit of an asshole. I remember some of the others, like Randel, Vincent, and Sorea...and Huang. I can't recall most of them though. I never really cared to get to know any of them." Maverick replied with a shrug. "So many idiots would hit on Sorea though, because she was the only girl in the squad. She made a fool out of every one of them." It was always amusing to see her turn down all the new guys with her icy stare.

Maverick finished his drink and shrugged. "I never really had a problem with you. Well, at first I didn't trust you, but that goes for everybody. Unlike the rest though, you were far more tolerable." And trustworthy. Maverick trusted Mason with his life, and that was no easy achievement. "I guess tolerable isn't really the word for it. I preferred your company over the rest. Less drama and petty bullshit to deal with." And, Mason wasn't bad looking, either. "I wonder though. Why did you bother hanging around me? It wasn't like I was particularly welcoming or friendly, let alone talkative." That had always been something he wondered about.
 
Mason likes hearing Maverick's view of things from back then. It's nice to know he actually had some thoughts about the rest of their squad. Inwardly, he agreed with Maverick's assessment of their lone female member. But to Mason, she was like the rest of them. They were all the same, keeping their distance from him. Mason sighs and looks up at Maverick.

"It's because you didn't shy away from me. Whenever you weren't there, they never spoke to me. They spoke about me, even when they thought I couldn't hear them. And when I react, little things like walking away, I could hear them repeating that damned nickname. Cursed beast." Mason shakes his head, grip tightening on his tumbler. There's a small cracking sound and he promptly puts the glass down; there's a crack running down the side. Had Mason continued holding it, the tumbler likely would have shattered in his hand. "When you were there, they made a point of at least keeping you between me and them. Did you know, that one time the redhead got the broken arm? He said it was from a training accident? Yeah, that was me. Threw him down a little too hard."
 
Now that he thought about it, he did notice the distance others made. It never really made sense to him of course. "I'm surprised my presence made that much of a difference. I wasn't particularly liked either. Some of the older people saw me as an unknown variable. Once a traitor, always a traitor or some bullshit like that." Maverick murmured between sips. Since Maverick was a defector from Delta Union there had been thouse who thought him a spy or something. Many of those suspicions faded over time, but he wondered if his disappearance fueled those suspicions.

The crack of the glass wasn't at all lost on Maverick. Was Mason's grip really that strong? Or perhaps the cups were weak. Whatever the case, he was just glad it didn't shatter. "Well, you are pretty strong. I was wondering what that guy could have done to cause that break." Poor guy was probably too embarrassed to admit it. When he finished his glass he was staring at Mason with no real aim. "That's it though? Just because I didn't avoid you? I mean, I guess it's as good a reason as any." Maverick was unusually talkative, but it could easily be blamed on the alcohol.
 
"You may not have been liked, but at least nobody suspected you of being a spy for the higher up, of feared you'd break bones in training." Mason chuckles dryly, rubbing his hands together. They had started shaking again. Talking about himself always seemed to bring this on when there wasn't any obvious stressors. "Strength is.. Feared, when it can't be controlled."

Without thinking about it, Mason refills Maverick's tumbler, pauses, then drinks straight from the bottle. If he picks up his tumbler again, he'd probably break it. His control over his senses is loosening as he drinks, and it seems his hearing is deciding to increase. Last time it was his sight, and that had left him with an ocular migraine. "There were.. Other reasons. I liked your company, the comfortable silences. No need to fill the air with idle chatter. The way you always seemed to be able to pick up on what needed doing, without needing to be told. You didn't ask questions when I supplied in the moment information that I probably shouldn't have known, or noticed." Mason can hear Maverick's breathing, each breath reminding him of the sound of wind meeting gentle waves at the beach. His heartbeat too, a steady, comforting thump. Idly, Mason's index finger taps the side of the bottle in perfect rhythm with Maverick's heartbeat.
 
Maverick made a thoughtful humming sound when Mason started listing off more reasons. "I guess we both liked the quiet. No incessant bitching or nagging about this or that. Just comfortable silence, plain and simple. I always assumed you were somehow more observant in some aspects, but there really is no room for questioning how intel is received on the fly." he reasoned as he watched his glass fill up once more.

How many drinks had he had so far? Maverick had lost count and at this point he didn't really care. It was too many, judging by his loosening restraint. His thoughts were all over the place, along with his attention. Mostly that attention was entirely directed at Mason as if the man were the most intriguing person in the world right now. Once he realized how much he was staring his heart beat quickened a bit and he struggled to direct his attention else where. "So, aside from security, what do you do? Any hobbies or things that interest you?" It was likely a silly question given Mason told him that sleeping and drinking was about all he did. "Preferred food maybe?"
 
Maverick's heartbeat speeding up definitely doesn't go unnoticed, and Mason's finger tapping increases to continue matching it. Mason's blue eyes seem fixed on Maverick, yet slightly unfocused at the same time. Nobody could really say he was drunk, but he was starting to feel the alcohol's effects. He was relaxed, comfortably warm, and though there's no slur to his words, they certainly fall easily from his lips, unguarded. "You may not have questioned it, but everyone else did. The best I could do was tell them it was dumb luck that I saw something, or that I happened to be in the right place, right time, to hear something. I don't think they ever really believed me."

Mason smiles slightly when Maverick changes the subject. He's grateful, not actually wanting to continue talking about the past. "I don't do much, honestly. I like reading, anything and everything. It's an escape from reality that's probably healthier than drinking. But it's not always enough. Hence.." Mason pauses to lift the bottle and take a drink. "I don't really have any hobbies otherwise. The days kind of blur, and I can never really seem to focus on anything in particular without my mind.. Straying, to places and things I don't want to think about." Things like Maverick, conjured imaginings of his body left behind. "As for food, I'll pretty much eat anything, but I have a sweet spot for iced coffees and coffee flavored ice cream."
 
Maverick was definitely drunk, and it took quite the effort to articulate his words properly. "I feel the same, really. My time in the lab still haunts me, the shit I saw in some of the other labs as well. I'm lucky I wasn't involved in some of the other fucked up shit they were working on. Then of course there is the lack of...desire I suppose. Life just doesn't seem like there is any point to it." That certainly was how he felt just wandering along. Had he said too much? "It's fine though. I keep moving regardless."

"Iced coffee is good. French vanilla, something sweet. I sometimes treat myself to pizza or tacos, but not often." There was a long pause before Maverick frowned. "I'm not so good at this sorta thing." he finished quietly. He never really knew what to ask or talk about, but that was never a problem before. "I don't even know how to be normal. Everyone else makes it look so damn easy."
 
Mason's eyes are fixed on Maverick now. The younger man never spoke about the lab before. Sure, Mason knew where he came from; Sagittarius' lab. But he never got any details about why, or what happened. All he knew was that Maverick wanted revenge on the man, and was willing to work with the rebellion to get it. But then the instant change to talking about a lack of desire, life having no point. Not being good at.. Normal.

That ache comes back to Mason's chest. It's a familiar feeling, a guilt that had originally started when they first got paired. Mason used to think, what the hell is a teenager doing fighting in that war? Eventually, it had turned into a need to protect Maverick. Mason had never worded it. Probably never would. That need to protect turned to guilt over failing when the lab exploded and he lost Maverick. But now.. "You don't need to follow everyone else's normal, Maverick. We were constantly on the front line, we were soldiers. Our normal will never be the same as the average person." Maverick's heartbeat is thumping loudly in Mason's ears, his hearing seeming to focus on that. For a moment, his guard slips, and he presses one hand to his ear. The other is still tapping out the rhythm of Maverick's heart. "Your heartbeat is too loud.."
 
Mason was right. Neither of them were like everyone else. Different experiences and hardships, lifestyles, all of that really made a difference. "You're right. I just...sometimes wish it were easier." he responded softly. His abrasiveness didn't make for the ideal employee, though there was surely something he could do with himself. He was pulled out of these thoughts by the next comment, one that was very strange.

"What do you mean too loud? You can't hear it from over there." Maverick stated, his heart beat increasing from the surprise of such a statement. "You're just fucking with me. I'm drunk, but not that drunk yet." he added after a moment of thought. Surely Mason couldn't hear it, though now that the man had mentioned it, Maverick couldn't stop thinking about it. Mason was always good at hearing things other people couldn't, but surely this was coincidence. He grew more acutely aware of his own heartbeat and noticed the rhythm matching exactly with Mason's fingers. "You can actually hear it?" he asked after a moment of thought. Could it be an ability? That would certainly explain a lot of things.
 
Mason's fingers tap faster with Maverick's heartbeat. With Maverick's questioning, Mason realizes what he said, and a light flush comes to his cheeks. "Ah, I mean, it must be-" In that second, he realizes he's been tapping his fingers to the younger man's heartbeat. He stops, placing his hand flat on the counter. Too late to go back now.

"Yeah, I can hear it. When it slows down, when it speeds up. When it skips a beat." Mason rubs his ear, then places his other hand on the counter as well. He'd been leaning his hip against the edge the whole time, but now he stands straight. His blue eyes meet Maverick's, and he tilts his head. "It's a comforting sound. I used to focus on it a lot, especially when I couldn't see you. It'd let me know you're alive." Mason sighs, lifting his hands to rub roughly at his face. "I keep thinking I'll wake up in the morning and you'll be gone again. That my brain is just playing tricks on me because of all the guilt of leaving you behind."
 
So he really could hear it. That meant that Mason could probably hear a lot of other things as well. If he wasn’t drunk he’d probably be concerned by that. How many times had Mason heard him jerk awake from a nasty nightmare? At least the ones he didn’t audibly scream about.

Those thoughts halt when Mason lists the reason for listening. They were all reasonable, yet he hadn’t realized Mason was that worried about him. Without thinking about it Maverick got up, hands on the counter to keep him steady as he reached out to touch Mason’s arm. “I’ll be here in the morning so don’t worry about it.” he assured. The gesture was pretty much to prove he wasn’t an illusion or anything. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. I’m the idiot who ran off for revenge, and…I didn’t make it easy to find me.” He sat back down to sip on his drink again, thinking about the lingering warmth from that brief contact.
 
Mason jumps slightly when Maverick touches his arm, but he doesn't pull away. The touch is surprisingly soft, and relieves a lot of tension Mason was still holding. He could feel the touch. That meant this wasn't a hallucination. Mason releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and smiles. Suddenly, he seems way more relaxed. More than just the alcohol provides. "I've held this guilt for a year, Maverick. It's not going to go away just like that.. But I feel so much better knowing this is real."

Mason falls silent for a moment, just staring at Maverick, watching the glass come to his lips. "I don't know how many nights I wake up from nightmares of seeing your body engulfed in flames from the lab exploding. I ever actually saw you when it went up, but.. My brain sure came up with scenarios and imaginings.." Mason leans against the counter once more, voice quiet as he speaks. Briefly, he glances over to the clock on the stove. It's nearly midnight. How long had they been sitting here after eating? "It's late.."
 
Maverick was quiet as he listened to Mason once more, the mental image quite vivid of what the man was describing. "The brain does tend to do really dumb things." he agreed, thinking back on the fact that he still occasionally dreamed about that green haired bastard. That sadistic smile that so quickly could become the picturesque form of an erupting volcano at the drop of a hat. Both looks were not what you wanted to see on the man's face as they both meant that nothing good was going to happen.

He stared at the bottom of his glass before Mason mentioned the time. "Is it? I wasn't paying attention." Maverick responded as he glanced at the clock for confirmation. Yeah, it was definitely late. Maverick started to get up with his hands against the counter, slightly unsteady. "I guess it is. Should probably sleep." he added, more talking to himself than anyone else. Could he even get to the bedroom like this?

It took a moment for him to regain his bearings, or what he had left of them before he stubbornly stepped away from the counter with an obvious sway in his step. He had always been stubborn about help. Getting cleaned up could wait until morning. Hell, he would be lucky if he could drag himself up the stairs as he was now.
 
Seeing Maverick sway, Mason moves to help him without being asked. He's less afraid to touch him now, and lightly takes his bicep. His large hand nearly wraps around it. Immediately, he's concerned. Maverick had always been slender, but Mason thought he had a little more bulk to himself than that. "Did you lose weight?"

Mason guides Maverick slowly up the stairs, taking their time. Despite having drank roughly the same amount as Maverick, Mason doesn't sway at all. He won't admit it, but he'd likely drink more once getting to his bedroom. Even more relaxed now knowing Maverick is real, alcohol still lessens the likelihood of nightmares. Doesn't get rid of them, just means there's a higher chance he won't have them.

In the spare bedroom, now to be Maverick's room, Mason seats him on the bed. He steps back, though seems hesitant to leave Maverick alone. "Do you.. Need anything? Before I leave you to sleep?"
 
A few steps in he felt a warm hand grabbing him to steady him, his reaction delayed as he looked over to see Mason standing there. The question almost went over his head but he managed to catch it. "Did I?" he questioned curiously. Perhaps he had. Maverick hadn't been paying attention to that sort of thing but Mason's hand was definitely bigger than his arm and that was of course not a good sign. "I guess I did." Not at all surprising with his habit of skipping meals even if he kept relatively fit otherwise.

Their ascent up the stairs felt like forever but in reality it wasn't that long at all. He grasped the railing as extra leverage and climbed step by step until he was finally at the top. Soon enough he was in his room and on his bed. Maverick didn't stay upright for very long as he flopped onto the bed, waving a hand dismissively before it also landed on the bed. "M'fine. I'll be out soon enough." he responded, his voice partially muffled by the bed.

True to his word it didn't take long for him to fall asleep. Maverick slept like the dead, a clear departure his norm. With all that alcohol in his system he was dead to the world, and while he would sleep quite soundly he would of course hate the morning. A hangover was the inevitable price of a full night's sleep.

When morning came it was late morning before he groaned and started to wake up. He didn't wake up to the uncomfortable makeshift bed in his car for once. No, he was in a real bed. He started to remove his clothes so he could get dressed before he realized that he didn't have any cloths. "Shit..." he mumbled. They were probably done drying by now but he had never retrieved them.

He kept his pants on but carried the shirt in his arm as he made his way downstairs to retrieve his laundry. He had definite tone to his muscles, but they were indeed lacking in comparison to the past. He really should be taking better care of himself but it was hard to find the will to care enough these days. He had obvious scars from both his time in the lab as well as the war, and while it wasn't easily visible, he had a mark on the back of his neck obscured by his hair. A triangle which signified Delta Union, with the code P-187 beneath it. He purposely kept his hair long enough to at least cover it.
 
Mason just nods and steps out of the room, leaving Maverick to get some rest. Retreating to his own bedroom, Mason doesn't turn on the light, instead navigating the mess by memory. There's clothing strewn across the floor, mostly dirty, a hamper of clean tipped over at the end of the bed. Empty bottles of various kinds litter the floor nearby the bed, and there's a half empty bottle of rye on the nightstand. Other random bits of junk food garbage, a pile of dirty sheets, and several blankets also cover the floor. There's a nightlight plugged into an outlet in the ensuite bathroom, shining a weak light through the open door. Dirty towels are piled against the counter, the small garbage can is overflowing with empty toilet paper rolls, and the bathmat is half folded over. This is why Mason didn't want Maverick to see his bedroom. It was his den, his hideaway, and he honestly never cared to clean it, though he probably should.

Mason tosses his phone onto the wireless charge pad on the nightstand, hearing it beep as it starts charging. Even with walls and closed doors between them, Mason can still hear Maverick's heartbeat, though it's much quieter with the distance. He smiles, but picks up the half bottle of rye anyway. Stretching out on the bed, he closes his eyes, listening to that heartbeat and drinking until he passes out.

Much like Maverick, Mason doesn't wake early. However, come late morning, he's caught in one of his nightmares. There's a reason he doesn't take morning security jobs. Twitching and jerking in his sleep, Mason's face is twisted into a pained grimace. One arm reaches out blindly, and he knocks the now empty rye bottle to the floor. It lands on another bottle, and both shatter with a loud crash. Miraculously, this doesn't wake him. Instead, it makes his body jerk, the sound only adding to the nightmare.
 
Instead of getting dressed immediately, Maverick just tossed his dirty clothes into a basket he assumed to be for dirty clothes and walked back up with his clean clothes piled in his arms. Since he was staying he could put it all in the drawer next to the bed or whatever. More importantly though, Maverick wanted a shower. Wearing only his pants he started to make his way to the bathroom with clean clothes in his arms along with his shower supplies.

Just as he reached the bathroom door he heard a sudden shattering sound that was no doubt glass. The sound made him jump as it reminded him of glass windows shattering from the force of an explosion. He dropped everything he had been carrying to find out what had caused the noise because there was only so many things that made that particular sound, and he wasn't aware of any bottles being up here.

The sound came from the room he hadn't been in. The one that Mason simply glossed over. He quickly opened the door and turned on the light to find the mess that was Mason's room, and what a mess it was. The source of the sound was obvious but that was not what caught his attention the most. It was the tossing and turning of an obvious nightmare. Hesitant at first, Maverick stepped into the room and maneuvered his way around the mess to grab Mason's arm, the one that had been waving around.

He shook the other to try waking him up, surprised that the loud crash hadn't done the job already. "Mason, wake up!" he called out, not really sure how to even remedy a situation like this. Surely it was to stop the dream, but he didn't know how Mason would react to being abruptly awoken.
 
Maverick grabbing his arm and shouting made Mason jerk in his sleep again. His eyes flutter for just a second, but it's the shaking that wakes him. However, it doesn't go as a normal person would wake. Mason's right leg hooks around Maverick's waist, flipping him onto the bed. He uses Maverick's grip on his arm to add to the leverage. Mason's free arm shoots up, pulling something out from beneath his pillow as he rolls to straddle Maverick's hips. That something is a knife, now held to Maverick's cheek.

All this happens in a handful of heartbeats. Mason freezes, blinking blue eyes as the younger man comes into focus beneath him. A red flush crosses his cheeks. "Maverick, shit, I didn't.. Sorry.." Mason quickly releases Maverick, dropping the knife onto the bed beside him as he moves away to sit on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. His hands, shaking, rub at his face. "Sorry about the mess.. I don't usually let people in here.."
 
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