Atlanta - I'm (Not) Fine

[Florian Raniari]

Now I'm struggling, I black out so I can't dream
But I still see you sneaking through my weary head
I suffer from a drought of medicine to dull self-doubt
I just wanna drown you out with southern poison

If I had a drink for every Goddamn time I think
About your pale skin dressed in pink
Then at least I could sleep

And if I had a shot for every Goddamn time I thought
About your face and what I lost
At least I'd get some sleep...

Sastre sat at the bar, staring blankly at the glass and the bottle before him.

He reached out, his hand trembling as he grasped the bottle, holding tightly to it for a moment before pouring a full glass of the whiskey. He carefully set the bottle back down on the bar, lifting the glass and holding it up to the light, his eyes narrowed. Letting out a deep, weary sigh, Sastre set the glass down, though his eyes remained locked upon it.

Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that this was a terrible mistake, and he realized that if he did this... if he took this step, there would be no coming back this time. There would be no climbing back up out of the bottle... His life, for all intents and purposes, would be over.

But did he really care? He closed his eyes, feeling more exhausted, more heart-sick than he had in decades. He put on a strong front for Madison, and for Brennan and the others, but that was only an act, and even that fragile facade was beginning to crack. The events of the past few weeks were simply too much for him to take... He now knew that he had never really recovered from Solphi's death, that he'd only buried the memory, and drowned it in alcohol until he'd thought it was long dead.

But it wasn't...

It was still there, and now, after being forced to confront it so often of late, it was beginning to fester, and to kill him from the inside. It was like a poison, one that started in his very soul and flowed out into the rest of him. He ached, he was tired, he could barely think straight, and every waking moment seemed to be a torturous dream from which he couldn't escape.

And then there were the nightmares... He hadn't slept in days, not really. They were too vivid, too real...

For weeks they'd been plaguing him, the images of Solphi's violent death at the hands of those demons. Her blood covered the floor, covered the wall, covered even the ceiling, and when the demons let her body fall to the ground to lay in the rapidly-spreading pool of her blood, she had looked up at him and smiled, saying softly, "It's okay... It's okay..."

And he, being held and restrained as he was, had been helpless to save her, helpless to end the torments that they'd inflicted upon her. And there she'd lain, smiling sadly, telling him that it would be okay as she died... Like he was the one who was hurting, who was dying...

But he had died that day, of that he was certain. He'd died, and though his body lived on, his heart was broken, and his spirit was dead and gone...

He picked up the glass again, raising it to his lips, his hand trembling all the while... And again he set it back down, shaking his head. Could he really do this, even? Should he? He could remember, distantly, the feeling of comfortable detachment that it would give him... the way it would blur his past and let him sleep in blissful, dreamless peace...

But that was only part of it, he knew. He had done terrible, awful things while under its power. People had died--innocent people--due to his mistakes, due to the fact that he'd let that poison take over his life. Could he let that happen again?

What about the people he cared about? Lily, Brennan, Madison, Helena, JJ... They would never forgive him, he knew, but at the same time, he'd be doing this to protect him. He couldn't leave them now, he knew that. His fate seemed to be tied in with theirs, and though he knew his very presence put them in danger, he simply couldn't leave. He cared about them. Maybe he even loved them... If he did this, if he turned his back on them and went back to his old way of living, then maybe they'd force him away, make him leave, and then they'd be safe...

He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping, his body trembling. He was so tired... So hurt, and exhausted, and so heart-broken. And besides, how much time did he have left, really? He knew that things were coming to a head with Darian, and that he'd be lucky to live through their final encounter. Why shouldn't he take a drink, just one drink? What was holding him back? What was so important that he'd force himself to continue trudging along in this horrid, tormented "life" of his? He had nothing left, nothing to offer any of them...

He was nothing...

He lifted the glass to his lips, closed his eyes, and prepared to give himself over to the comforting oblivion that only this could give him...

((TAG anyone!))

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

Brennan walked hesitantly into the bar, squinting as her eyes fought to adjust to the murky light. She gritted her teeth as the stench from a dozen lonesome souls puffing on stale cigarettes assaulted her senses on every level. She closed her eyes a moment against the constant stinging, and then looked around for her quarry. All around her sat unkempt, graying men sporting beer paunches and deadpan expressions.

Yeah, picking out one scruffy, middle aged man in a bar full of drunks will be a breeze, she grumbled mentally, systematically scanning the dark room. No worries there. The running inner dialogue ran to the sarcastic, but it helped mask the mounting worry welling up within. But not by much.

“Hey, little lady, how’s about you buy me a drink?”

Brennan grimaced as a fat patron with only half his teeth left leered at her jauntily from across the room. Ignoring the less-than-tempting invitation, she turned her back on him and sighed in relief as she finally spotted Sastre sitting hunched at the bar. Brennan’s stomach dropped again, however, as she watched the Hunter raise a brimming glass of liquor to his lips. Her breath caught as he paused a moment, the glass poised, then set it down again, untouched. Her spirits lifted slightly, and her heart went out to the old man. He might be down, but he wasn’t broken.

Not yet, anyway, she thought grimly. Threading her way carefully through the myriad tables and puddles of spilled beer, Brennan slowly approached.

Earlier, she had questioned her decision to go after Sastre once he left Madison's house. Her motives, so logical when she had started after him, had seemed so flimsy after the first five minutes. He had seemed depressed and despondent, she had argued...but then, Sastre never was never one to chatter, was he? And didn't it seem like he'd been scribbling in that journal with an extra fervor of late? Almost a mania, really...but then, Sastre was always writing in the damned book. But the sight of Sastre raising that glass of whiskey to his lips shook her, and she knew she had been right to come.

Pausing behind Sastre's shoulder, she gently lifted the glass from his hand as he raised it once more, sliding onto the stool beside him and swigging the contents herself.

"You wouldn't have wanted it anyway," she assured him, scrunching up her face in an exaggerated grimace. "This crap tastes terrible."

Setting the glass back on the bar with a click, she stared determinedly at the pitted wood for a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet his.

"So. Anything you wanna talk about?"

[Florian Raniari]

This isn't fair, nobody taught me how to let go
"Just be here now" and you'll be set free from sorrow?
But at this time I don't see clearly (how will I know)
What is the point, what is the meaning? (how to let go?)

Brennan's familiar voice startled him out of his reverie.

Turning his head quickly away so she wouldn't see the shame in his eyes, Sastre sighed heavily. What the hell was she doing here anyway? Had she been following him? He shook his head, cursing the fact that he hadn't noticed her. He was definitely losing his edge...

"I'm fine, Brennan," he said softly, trying to hide the weariness in his voice. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind as he struggled to rebuild the paper-thin barrier of false-control and confidence that he'd been hiding behind for the past few weeks. After a moment, he looked at her, smiling, once again his usual, unshakable self.

Though his eyes still mirrored the sorrow that was slowly eating away at him from the inside...

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked, scowling a bit. "And don't try and tell me you just 'happened' to run into me here. You followed me. Why?" His blue-grey eyes locked on hers, narrowing to an intense, suspicious glare.

He wasn't entirely sure who he was angrier at, though: himself for having been followed without noticing, or at Brennan for having done so in the first place? He wasn't a child, damn it, he was a grown man! He didn't need to be looked after, or babysat.

For half a second, barely enough time to even notice, his eyes flicked away from Brennan's to settle on the bottle once again, before returning to his glare.

Damn...

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

Brennan’s eyes narrowed, and she stifled a snort at the familiar line from Sastre. She wasn’t really surprised to hear it, although she had hoped that he might open up to her of his own accord. Well, it looked like he’d need a little convincing. Stubborn bastard. But to sweet talk him, or bulldoze it out of him? She barely caught the lost, suffering look that flashed across his face for a moment, but it was enough, and she relented. Trying to bulldoze it out of him might be faster and more satisfying, but there was no way she could do that to her friend. He’d been verbally assaulted enough over the last few weeks, some of it by her. Not this time.

Leveling her gaze, she sighed and locked eyes with Sastre.

“Look, you know I didn’t bump into you by accident tonight just as much as I know that you’re not fine."

She raised an eyebrow and hardened her stare, daring him to try to lie to her again. After a moment she continued, softening.

“Sastre, you’ve been off your game for weeks now. Ever since she showed up. It doesn’t take a nuclear physicist to see that you’re anything but fine.”

Tread carefully here; try not to put him too much on the defensive…

“You’ve been jumpy and nervous – well, more than I’d normally expect from you, at any rate, and that’s saying something." She gave a small, wry smile, trying to draw him out a little. After a moment, though, her brow furrowed. “And…it seems like you’ve given up on trying to care. Or maybe it's that you're trying not to." She met his eyes once more. "And not just about her," she continued. "About everything.”

Hoping to break down the walls that were strangling him, for his sake, and for Lily and Madison’s, she cut to the chase and plowed purposefully ahead.

“Look, I won’t claim to know half of what you’re thinking at any given moment. You’re a harder man to read than what I’m capable of. But when I see that look in your eyes, with a bottle in front of you," she said, pointing, "I think it’s fairly obvious that you’re not ‘fine.’”

[Florian Raniari]

Sastre sighed heavily and looked down, shaking his head.

"Damn it, Brennan... What do you want me to say?" he asked, not meeting her gaze. Running his good hand over his face and through his hair he sighed yet again, his shoulders slumping. "Alright, you win. I'm not fine, alright. At all. Not even close. But what the hell difference does it make?"

Finally now he looked at her dead on, and though there was still a deep shadow of sorrow in his eyes, he primarily looked at her through a veil of anger. He set his jaw stubbornly, clenching his fist and scowling. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and completely controlled.

"I haven't been fine in years, Brennan... Decades even. I never will be fine, do you understand? My entire life has been nothing but danger, and chaos, and hurting myself over and over again for others' sakes. Do you want to know something, something that even your mother doesn't know?" He glared at her, his body beginning to tremble slightly as he became more and more angry. "I have been living this live since I was barely thirteen years old. And I mean it, too, 'living this life.' I have been actively hunting since then... And before that? I lived on the streets, or in sewers, picking through trash for food, or managing to pick a pocket or two if I was lucky."

He stopped, his eyes widening and his expression changing from one of wrath to one of surprise. He had come close... dangerously close to revealing his greatest secret, the secret that he'd sworn a blood-oath to keep. What was going on with him lately? He shook his head, closing his eyes. This was why he tried not to get attached to people; it was simply too much trouble...

And there was Darian, of course. The damned vampire had a knack for finding everyone important to Sastre and seeing to it that they died lingering, painful deaths. Like the death that Madison was sure to suffer, unless Sastre managed to finally move on, taking Darian, his curse, with him...

"Brennan," he went on, softer this time, "I'm not fine. I never was fine, and I never will be... But it doesn't matter any more... Or, rather, it won't soon enough." He smiled sadly, a distant look in his exhausted blue-grey eyes.

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

Brennan simply stared at Sastre a moment, taken aback by her friend’s vehement outburst. She had hoped he would open up to her, but she had expected him to go into the things that had been troubling him lately. This… This was not good. A chill ran through her blood at his cold, emotionless diatribe, and it frightened her almost as much as the way he had sounded just before he finished speaking. He had sounded tired. No. More than tired – much more. He had sounded utterly defeated. Brennan’s heart broke for her friend all over again, and she longed to wrap him in a tight hug and make all of his pain and suffering go away, to finally give him the peace he so sorely deserved. But she doubted that would go over well.

But there was something else she could do.

Find Darian. No matter which way she looked at it, Darian had his patent leather shoed foot right in the middle of everything that was making Sastre miserable. Sastre had some sort of strong feelings for Madison, of that she was certain, but he was afraid to show or act upon them for fear that Darian would rip her away from him. Brennan shuddered at the memory of the vampire screaming at the reserved doctor and launching a table at her from across the common room. That took Madison out of the running. Sastre was also worried about protecting his new-found daughter, but he was terrified to get close to her for fear that she’d draw Darian’s attention. She remembered all too clearly the panicked look in Sastre’s eyes the night she had asked him about the woman’s identity.

“If you ever see her – Lily – in here at the same time as Darian... You keep him away from her, got it? You don't let him touch her, don't even let him near her. Promise me, Brennan…”

So that would be an ix nay on ever getting close to his only child, as well. Well, what did that leave in his life? Hunting. But how much longer could he go on like this? He was in superb physical shape, but he wasn’t healing as fast as he used to. And if he had already given up mentally, then it was only a matter of time… But Sastre couldn’t give up hunting until he brought Darian down, could he? Even this was denied him. But what if Darian was brought down…

Oh, she had a promise for him, all right.

Then and there Brennan decided that she would bring Darian down, one way or another, even if it killed her. Sastre could curse her for the rest of his miserable life, but she’d be damned if she sat by and watched the twisted vampire ruin the lives of so many of her friends for his sick amusement. She’d find some way to take him down. The question was, could she do it in time to do some good for Sastre? Her stomach twisted in dread as she thought of his last words. The only way it wouldn’t matter anymore was if Sastre was dead. Well, she’d be damned if she let that happen either.

She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Sastre,” she said, her voice low and intense with emotion, “I know you’re hurting. I can only imagine the pain you’ve endured in your lifetime.” She leaned in, her eyes still locked on his. “But this is not the way to go. There are people that need you. People that care about you. Your life doesn’t have to revolve around the hunt anymore. There are other ways you can help people. You and Madison have made a great life together these past few weeks. You could be happy together.”

Brennan paused a moment to shake her head, then continued quietly, “Don’t let Darian win. There are people that will help you. That want to help you. You don’t have to face this all alone anymore.”

She laid a hand tentatively on his arm.

“Let us help you. Please.”

[Florian Raniari]

Sastre shook his head at Brennan's words.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. "Madison and I having some sort of life together? Jesus, Brennan, listen to yourself!" He shook his head, not even bothering to try and calm down. The truth was, Brennan had hit terribly close to home, and he didn't like it. The past few weeks with Madison had been some of the best days he'd had in a long time. But every second he spent with her put her in greater danger... How could he claim to care about someone, but go on endangering them like that?

"I will take care of this. Darian is my mess, and I will clean it up, if its the last thing I do. Then, if I somehow manage to live through it anyway, which I doubt, I will finally be done with... with all of this, and I'll be able to... to rest." His shoulders slumped as he said this last, and the weariness about him seemed to increase tenfold.

Softly, barely more than a whisper, he said, "I am done, Brennan. And I deserve a rest. I've put in my time, and I am tired, and I am done!"

Without waiting for a response, he got up and turned his back on her, limping toward the door, his body trembling with exhaustion, anger, and sorrow.

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

Brennan watched Sastre walk away for a moment, then rose quietly to follow. Striding to catch up with the older hunter, she reached him and shoved her hands in her pockets, matching her pace to his. She said nothing for several moments, collecting her thoughts. The trouble was, Sastre was a stubborn bastard, and he was determined to take down Darian alone, or die trying. How could she override decades of training and get him to accept help? Sighing, she finally spoke.

“Listen, I know that you feel obligated to take Darian down. But why does it have to be alone?”

She gave him a look to forestall any interruption and continued on in her most reasonable tone.

“It doesn’t have to be him or you. You’ve been fighting back and forth for years – you know all of each other’s moves by now. Why not bring in a fresh pair of eyes? Bring in another hunter or two that you trust and work something out? You’ll just be that much more likely to succeed without anyone getting hurt.”

Turning, she laid a hand on his arm and met his gaze earnestly.

“There are too many people that care about you to give it up on one selfish all-or-nothing assault. Let someone help you.”

[Florian Raniari]

Sastre shook his head, laughing bitterly.

She just didn't get it at all! Yes, he knew that there were people out there that cared about him, and that would help him if he only asked. But he couldn't get them involved. He'd already made far too many mistakes during his... career. Sastre Quicksilver was supposed to be completely self-sufficient, and utterly detached, neither relying on nor caring about anyone. He'd had the training, the rigorous, grueling, near-murderous training that had turned him into this.

He didn't need anyone. He couldn't risk them getting hurt because of something that he should be able to handle on his own. The more he thought about it, the more he knew that the Old Man, or Julien LeDuc, the two men who had claimed the Quicksilver name before himself, would have long since destroyed Darian by now, and gotten on with their lives. But they were exceptional people, larger than life figures that had forever been elevated to the level of legends in Sastre's mind.

He was a lesser man...

"Brennan," he began tentatively, feeling surprisingly comforted by her hand on his arm. "You can't make that sort of offer, without knowing what you're getting yourself into. Please... Please just trust me to know how to do my job." He reached up, placing his hand over hers and squeezing gently. "Let me take care of this. That's all I need, Brennan. For everyone to just trust me, and to let me handle Darian on my own."

[Abigail Faraday-Brennan]

Brennan stared sadly at Sastre, her heart sinking as she realized she really wasn’t getting anywhere with him. Offering him a melancholy smile, she squeezed his arm in return before letting her hand drop and resuming her pace.

”It’s not a matter of trust, Sastre,” she finally went on, her words measured and earnest. “You are frighteningly good at what you do, and I trust you more than any other two hunters put together. You’re the one that said you weren’t expecting to come out of this alive.”

She thrust her hands into her pockets again, her eyes dropping to the litter-strewn pavement. She wanted to yell and scream and bludgeon some sense into the old hunter, but she had pushed him far enough. He had already opened up to her more than she had expected, and she prayed that it had done him some good. But she wasn’t quite ready to let him go that easily, and after a moment, she turned and offered one last attempt.

“I know what I’m offering better than you might think, Sastre. I may not have been a brilliant hunter for the last four decades, like you, but I’ve seen more than my fair share of things, and you know it.”

She glanced up long enough to catch his eye for a moment before continuing on.

“If you say you can handle this, then I believe you. But if you need something–anything at all–I’ll be here. Just remember that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Hoping her words had made some small difference, Brennan walked on beside him, strolling aimlessly into the night.