[ Alayne exhales. Should she tell him? That she has played weapon to kings and queens and, in attempting to wield herself, has done nothing but come away wounded by her own hand? Call it foolishness or inexperience, but one should not be a weapon in the matters of love. It will do nothing but leave yourself bleeding — a truth that Alayne ultimately keeps to herself. ]
You first.
[ The words are childish but her voice is a gentle dare. Or maybe it's a promise. I will if you will. ]
[ maybe he's begging out of it, god knows that's one way to look at it. but there are few windows through which chuck sees himself with absolute clarity- and this is one. he's a ranger, not an officer. chuck understands that in it's own way- that's a choice. ]
A weapon would say that, [ Alayne observes in not an unkind way. Given her constant search for purpose, it's possible she finds herself envious of such absolute clarity (not that she would ever admit it). ] A good weapon. [ It's doesn't sound particularly praiseful but it's possible she feels that way nevertheless.
There's a long silence that follows. Then: ] What of you and lose ends?
[ there's no self-pity in the assessment. just a quiet certainty. chuck knows he has nothing to go back to, had accepted that the moment he and pentecost had connected. the mutual acknowledgement of every possible way their ride would turn out. of what they were doing every moment that lead up to detonation.
whatever zelien and compass might mean for him is a puzzle he's left untouched. chuck's loose ends, his mission, is making sure the rangers get home in one piece- and that's all there is to it. ]
[ It takes some time for Alayne to parse through what precisely what that means. Chuck is by no means being vague or elusive (no, if anything he's been quite the opposite) but it's the matter-of-factness with which he informs Alayne that ultimately throws her for a loop. She almost says to him: you cannot possibly mean—
But she leaves it for Chuck always seems to say precisely what he intends to — no more, no less.
To her credit, Alayne keeps herself from sounding remorseful when she asks eventually: ]
[ there are only so many ways to answer a question like that. chuck mulls over the words, the exacting quality of her tone- but he has the same answer at the end of his examination as he did before. ]
I did what I needed to.
[ if he sits down to sift through it, through two decades of anger and commitment, fist fights and careless accusations- god knows how many regrets he'll come up with. more than anyone needs, maybe. certainly more than he wants. but pretty words and perfect worlds aside, chuck will still be dead and his old man will still be a marshal and gipsy's pilots will still be heroes and the breach will still be seals. maybe alayne's right, maybe he could want for more- but more has never really been enough. so when he looks at the mess he's made and the turn out they've gotten, chuck decides that he's done alright.
[ There is something terribly final about that sentence. Terrible and awful and lonely. It tells Alayne, without a doubt, of Ranger Hansen's end but — more importantly — it answers her question. Do you ever wish for more? She suspects he doesn't know how to.
Perhaps once he did, but it had ruined things terribly. Perhaps it is a lie he tells himself to make living after the fact less sad.
There are many different reasons Alayne can guess at but all of them seem cruel. It makes her heart ache for him despite herself. Even if he does not feel loneliness, very suddenly she feels it on his behalf. ]
I died once, [ she says eventually, after a very long silence. It's a confession she hasn't given in a very long time, a secret (like her marriage, like Littlefinger's secret kisses) that she's never thought to share with anyone for it benefitted no one (not even herself). But here, in this moment, she gives it to Chuck anyway. As if somehow that would make him feel better; an attempt (perhaps misguided) to make him feel less alone in death. ] Months ago, on a ship not unlike this one. We'd been amongst the stars.
There'd been so many things I'd wanted, still, but wanting those things hadn't made any difference. They hadn't mattered at all.
[ alayne opens her mouth and not for the first time she's done it- chuck finds himself with a dozen things he never wanted to hear. things he didn't want to know because knowing meant they would be part of him, that he wouldn't be able to undo them and wouldn't be able to go back to a time where it wouldn't color who they were as individuals- and what it would mean for this- this place they kept finding one another at.
chuck responds, in the end, the only way he knows how. by opening his mouth and letting whatever will come out, come out.
he's hasn't spoken about this particular piece of his experience before, and can't envision a time that he ever will again. but in this moment, it's there- present and touchable, and that's all it needs to be. ]
Too quiet, [ Alayne says almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting for Chuck to say what he'd said all along, like she knew that the words would eventually come. For her, death had lasted but an hour, maybe less, but during that time it had stretched — vast and still and complete — in every direction: both left and right, both top and bottom. Both without and within.
And if there was one thing that Alayne could not abide, one thing that continued to haunt her in the days and weeks that followed her resurrection, it was the silence. A quiet that was final and that filled ears that would never hear again. ]
[ because chuck's understanding of the silence that came with it- that was another matter entirely. that was making his peace with the life he'd lead and feeling pentecost's own stretch out into his awareness and somewhere in the middle of all of it, deciding what they had. listening to that countdown together.
it didn't feel like enough time, but maybe that was alright. he's hard pressed to think of a series of memories where he didn't want more, and chuck's spent too many years telling himself that's the way life is meant to be. ]
[ There's the soft sound of movement as Alayne shakes her head. Again, quickly: ] Too slow.
[ In the end, death for her had been too much and yet, at the same time, not enough. But Alayne has always been a selfish girl — first wanting a prince, then wanting the capital; wanting Robb and his armies to put everyone's heads upon the walls; wanting to fly away, wanting to be someone else; wanting love to run her through like an iron spike. But perhaps for a man like Chuck Hansen, who to Alayne seems to want not enough, maybe for him it had been just right.
The thought makes her sad for him. Death should be a loss. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( v : d 1 | audio )
You first.
[ The words are childish but her voice is a gentle dare. Or maybe it's a promise. I will if you will. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
[ maybe he's begging out of it, god knows that's one way to look at it. but there are few windows through which chuck sees himself with absolute clarity- and this is one. he's a ranger, not an officer. chuck understands that in it's own way- that's a choice. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
There's a long silence that follows. Then: ] What of you and lose ends?
( v : d 1 | audio )
[ there's no self-pity in the assessment. just a quiet certainty. chuck knows he has nothing to go back to, had accepted that the moment he and pentecost had connected. the mutual acknowledgement of every possible way their ride would turn out. of what they were doing every moment that lead up to detonation.
whatever zelien and compass might mean for him is a puzzle he's left untouched. chuck's loose ends, his mission, is making sure the rangers get home in one piece- and that's all there is to it. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
But she leaves it for Chuck always seems to say precisely what he intends to — no more, no less.
To her credit, Alayne keeps herself from sounding remorseful when she asks eventually: ]
Do you never wish for more?
( v : d 1 | audio )
I did what I needed to.
[ if he sits down to sift through it, through two decades of anger and commitment, fist fights and careless accusations- god knows how many regrets he'll come up with. more than anyone needs, maybe. certainly more than he wants. but pretty words and perfect worlds aside, chuck will still be dead and his old man will still be a marshal and gipsy's pilots will still be heroes and the breach will still be seals. maybe alayne's right, maybe he could want for more- but more has never really been enough. so when he looks at the mess he's made and the turn out they've gotten, chuck decides that he's done alright.
he'll make his peace with it. eventually. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
Perhaps once he did, but it had ruined things terribly. Perhaps it is a lie he tells himself to make living after the fact less sad.
There are many different reasons Alayne can guess at but all of them seem cruel. It makes her heart ache for him despite herself. Even if he does not feel loneliness, very suddenly she feels it on his behalf. ]
I died once, [ she says eventually, after a very long silence. It's a confession she hasn't given in a very long time, a secret (like her marriage, like Littlefinger's secret kisses) that she's never thought to share with anyone for it benefitted no one (not even herself). But here, in this moment, she gives it to Chuck anyway. As if somehow that would make him feel better; an attempt (perhaps misguided) to make him feel less alone in death. ] Months ago, on a ship not unlike this one. We'd been amongst the stars.
There'd been so many things I'd wanted, still, but wanting those things hadn't made any difference. They hadn't mattered at all.
( v : d 1 | audio )
[ alayne opens her mouth and not for the first time she's done it- chuck finds himself with a dozen things he never wanted to hear. things he didn't want to know because knowing meant they would be part of him, that he wouldn't be able to undo them and wouldn't be able to go back to a time where it wouldn't color who they were as individuals- and what it would mean for this- this place they kept finding one another at.
chuck responds, in the end, the only way he knows how. by opening his mouth and letting whatever will come out, come out.
he's hasn't spoken about this particular piece of his experience before, and can't envision a time that he ever will again. but in this moment, it's there- present and touchable, and that's all it needs to be. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
And if there was one thing that Alayne could not abide, one thing that continued to haunt her in the days and weeks that followed her resurrection, it was the silence. A quiet that was final and that filled ears that would never hear again. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
[ because chuck's understanding of the silence that came with it- that was another matter entirely. that was making his peace with the life he'd lead and feeling pentecost's own stretch out into his awareness and somewhere in the middle of all of it, deciding what they had. listening to that countdown together.
it didn't feel like enough time, but maybe that was alright. he's hard pressed to think of a series of memories where he didn't want more, and chuck's spent too many years telling himself that's the way life is meant to be. ]
( v : d 1 | audio )
[ In the end, death for her had been too much and yet, at the same time, not enough. But Alayne has always been a selfish girl — first wanting a prince, then wanting the capital; wanting Robb and his armies to put everyone's heads upon the walls; wanting to fly away, wanting to be someone else; wanting love to run her through like an iron spike. But perhaps for a man like Chuck Hansen, who to Alayne seems to want not enough, maybe for him it had been just right.
The thought makes her sad for him. Death should be a loss. ]